Half child half woman as she was, had wound
A scarf of orange round the stony helm,
And robed the shoulders in a rosy silk,

That made the old warrior from his ivied

nook

Glow like a sunbeam : near his tomb a feast Shone, silver-set; about it lay the guests, And there we join'd them: then the maiden Aunt

Took this fair day for text, and from it preach'd

An universal culture for the crowd,

And all things great; but we, unworthier, told Of college: he had climb'd across the spikes, And he had squeezed himself betwixt the bars,

And he had breath'd the Proctor's dogs; and

one

Discuss'd his tutor, rough to common men, But honeying at the whisper of a lord ; And one the Master, as a rogue in grain Veneer'd with sanctimonious theory.

But while they talk'd, above their heads I

saw

The feudal warrior lady-clad ; which brought My book to mind: and opening this I read Of old Sir Ralph a page or two that rang With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls,

And much I praised her nobleness, and "Where,"

Ask'd Walter, patting Lilia's head (she lay Beside him) lives there such a woman now?"

Quick answer'd Lilia "There are thousands now

Such women, but convention beats them down:

It is but bringing up; no more than that: You men have done it: how I hate you all! Ah, were I something great! I wish I were Some mighty poetess, I would shame you then,

That love to keep us children! I wish That I were some great princess, I would build

Far off from men a college like a man's,
And I would teach them all that men are

taught;

We are twice as quick!" And here she shook aside

The hand that play'd the patron with her curls.

And one said smiling "Pretty were the sight If our old halls could change their sex, and flaunt

With prudes for proctors, dowagers for deans, And sweet girl-graduates in their golden hair.

I think they should not wear our rusty gowns,
But move as rich as Emperor-moths, or Ralph
Who shines so in the corner; yet I fear,
If there were many Lilias in the brood,
However deep you might embower the nest,
Some boy would spy it."

At this upon the sward She tapt her tiny silken-sandal'd foot: "That's your light way; but I would make it death

For any male thing but to peep at us."

Petulant she spoke, and at herself she laugh'd;

A rosebud set with little wilful thorns,
And sweet as English air could make her, she:
But Walter hail'd a score of names upon her,
And "petty Ogress," and "ungrateful Puss,"
And swore he long'd at college, only long'd,
All else was well, for she-society.

They boated and they cricketed; they talk'd
At wine, in clubs, of art, of politics;

They lost their weeks; they vext the souls of deans;

They rode; they betted; made a hundred friends,

And caught the blossom of the flying terms, But miss'd the mignonette of Vivian-place, The little hearth-flower Lilia. Thus he spoke, Part banter, part affection.

"True," she said,

"We doubt not that. O yes, you miss'd us

much.

I'll stake my ruby ring upon it you did."

She held it out; and as a parrot turns Up thro' gilt wires a crafty loving eye, And takes a lady's finger with all care, And bites it for true heart and not for harm, So he with Lilia's. Daintily she shriek'd And wrung it. "Doubt my word again!" he said.

"Come, listen! here is proof that you were miss'd;

We seven stay'd at Christmas up to read;
And there we took one tutor as to read :
The hard-grain'd Muses of the cube and square
Were out of season: never man, I think,
So moulder'd in a sinecure as he :

For while our cloisters echo'd frosty feet, And our long walks were stript as bare as brooms,

We did but talk you over, pledge you all
In wassail; often, like as many girls-
Sick for the hollies and the yews of home
As many little trifling Lilias — play'd
Charades and riddles as at Christmas here,
And what's my thought and when and where
and how,

And often told a tale from mouth to mouth
As here at Christmas."

She remember'd that:

A pleasant game, she thought: she liked it

more

Than magic music, forfeits, all the rest.
But these- what kind of tales did men tell

men,

She wonder'd, by themselves?

A half-disdain Perch'd on the pouted blossom of her lips : And Walter nodded at me ; "He began, The rest would follow, each in turn; and so We forged a sevenfold story. Kind? what

kind?

Chimeras, crotchets, Christmas solecisms,
Seven-headed monsters only made to kill
Time by the fire in winter."

"Kill him now,

The tyrant kill him in the summer too,"
Said Lilia; "Why not now," the maiden Aunt.
"Why not a summer's as a winter's tale?
A tale for summer as befits the time,

And something it should be to suit the place
Heroic, for a hero lies beneath,

Grave, solemn !"

Walter warp'd his mouth at this To something so mock-solemn, that I laugh'd And Lilia woke with sudden-shrilling mirth An echo like a ghostly woodpecker,

Hid in the ruins; till the maiden Aunt
(A little sense of wrong had touch'd her face
With color) turn'd to me with "As you will;
Heroic if you will, or what you will,