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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,
If there were many Lilias in the brood,
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:
All else was well, for she-society.
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
So he with Lilia's. Daintily she shriek'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
So moulder'd in a sinecure as he:
For while our cloisters echo'd frosty feet,
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
But these—what kind of tales did men tell men,
She wonder'd, by themselves ?
Perch'd on the pouted blossom of her lips :
The rest would follow, each in turn; and so
· Kill him now,
The tyrant! kill him in the summer too,'
A tale for summer as befits the time,
And something it should be to suit the place,
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 an April woodpecker,
Hid in the ruins; till the maiden Aunt
• Take Lilia, then, for heroine' clamour'd he, And make her some great Princess, six feet high, Grand, epic, homicidal; and be you
The Prince to win her!'
Then follow me, the Prince,
I answer’d, each be hero in his turn!
Seven and yet one, like shadows in a dream.-
A Gothic ruin and a Grecian house,
A talk of college and of ladies' rights,