A rosy blonde, and in a college gown (Her mother's colour) with her lips apart, So stood that same fair creature at the door. Then Lady Psyche Ah-Melissa-you! You heard us?' and Melissa, O pardon me! I heard, I could not help it, did not wish : But, dearest Lady, pray you fear me not, Nor think I bear that heart within my breast, To give three gallant gentlemen to death." This whole foundation ruin, and I lose My honour, these their lives.' Ah, fear me not' Replied Melissa 'no-I would not tell, No, not for all Aspasia's cleverness, No, not to answer, Madam, all those hard things That Sheba came to ask of Solomon.' Be it so' the other that we still may lead The new light up, and culminate in peace, For Solomon may come to Sheba yet.' Among us, debtors for our lives to you, Myself for something more. He said not what, But 'Thanks,' she answer'd 'go: we have been too long Together keep your hoods about the face; They do so that affect abstraction here. Speak little; mix not with the rest; and hold Your promise all, I trust, may yet be well.' We turn'd to go, but Cyril took the child, And held her round the knees against his waist, While Psyche watch'd them, smiling, and the child And thus our conference closed. And then we stroll'd For half the day thro' stately theatres Bench'd crescent-wise. The In each we sat, we heard grave Professor. On the lecture slate The circle rounded under female hands With flawless demonstration: follow'd then A classic lecture, rich in sentiment, With scraps of thundrous Epic lilted out By violet-hooded Doctors, elegies And quoted odes, and jewels five-words-long That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time The morals, something of the frame, the rock, The star, the bird, the fish, the shell, the flower, Electric, chemic laws, and all the rest, And whatsoever can be taught and known ; Till like three horses that have broken fence, We issued gorged with knowledge, and I spoke : Why, Sirs, they do all this as well as we.' They hunt old trails' said Cyril' very well; But when did woman ever yet invent? ' 'Ungracious!' answer'd Florian, have you learnt No more from Psyche's lecture, you that talk'd The trash that made me sick, and almost sad? Should I not call her wise, who made me wise? A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls, And round these halls a thousand baby loves Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts, And two dear things are one of double worth, To break my chain, to shake my mane: but thou, Modulate me, Soul of mincing mimicry! Make liquid treble of that bassoon, my throat; Abase those eyes that ever loved to meet Star-sisters answering under crescent brows; |