When the man wants weight, the woman takes it up, And topples down the scales; but this is fixt As are the roots of earth and base of all. Man for the field and woman for the hearth: Man for the sword and for the needle she: Man with the head and woman with the heart : All else confusion. Look you! the gray mare Mix with his hearth: but you-she's yet a colt- She might not rank with those detestable That let the bantling scald at home, and brawl Their rights or wrongs like potherbs in the street. I like her none the less for rating at her! Besides, the woman wed is not as we, But suffers change of frame. A lusty brace Of twins may weed her of her folly. Boy, The bearing and the training of a child Is woman's wisdom.' Thus the hard old king: I took my leave it was the point of noon : At the barrier-yet a moment, and once more In conflict with the crash of shivering points, And thunder. On his haunches rose the steed, And into fiery splinters leapt the lance, And out of stricken helmets sprang the fire. Part sat like rocks: part reel'd but kept their seats : Part roll'd on the earth and rose again and drew: Part stumbled mixt with floundering horses. Down From those two bulks at Arac's side, and down The large blows rain'd, as here and everywhere He rode the mellay, lord of the ringing lists, And all the plain,-brand, mace, and shaft, and shieldShock'd, like an iron-clanging anvil bang’d With hammers; till I thought, can this be he From Gama's dwarfish loins? if this be so, The mother makes us most-and thinking thus Like a Saint's glory up in heaven: but she And Cyril, one; but that large-moulded man, His visage all agrin as at a wake, Made at me thro' the press, and, staggering back With stroke on stroke the horse and horseman, came As comes a pillar of electric cloud, Flaying the roofs and sucking up the drains, And shadowing down the champain till it strikes On a wood, and takes, and breaks, and cracks, and splits, And twists the grain with such a roar that Earth Reels, and the herdsmen cry, for everything Gave way before him only Florian, he : That loved me closer than his own right eye, Thrust in between; but Arac rode him down : |