That on the stretch'd forefinger of all Time Sparkle for ever: then we dipt in all That treats of whatsoever is, the state, The total chronicles of man, the mind,
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, And glutted all night long breast-deep in corn, 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 370 No more from Psyche's lecture, you that talk'd
The trash that made me sick, and almost sad?” "O trash" he said, “but with a kernel in it.
Should I not call her wise, who made me wise? And learnt? I learnt more from her in a flash, Than if my brainpan were an empty hull, And every Muse tumbled a science in. A thousand hearts lie fallow in these halls, And round these halls a thousand baby loves Fly twanging headless arrows at the hearts, Whence follows many a vacant pang; but O With me, Sir, enter'd in the bigger boy, The Head of all the golden-shafted firm, The long-limb'd lad that had a Psyche too; He cleft me thro' the stomacher; and now What think you of it, Florian? do I chase The substance or the shadow? will it hold?
369. With this cf. Archbishop Whately: "It does appear that women have little inventive power. They learn readily, but very rarely originate anything of importance. I have long sought for some instances of invention or discovery by a woman. And the best I have been able to find is Thwaites' Soda-water. A Miss Thwaites of Dublin, an amateur chemist, hit on an improvement in soda-water which enabled her to drive all others out of the market. But besides this, some small musical compositions and some pretty novels and poems are all the female inventions I can find" (Remains, p. 189). 384. A reference to the myth of Eros and Psyche.
The substance or the shadow?
I have no sorcerer's malison on me,
No ghostly hauntings like his Highness. I Flatter myself that always everywhere
I know the substance when I see it. Well, Are castles shadows? Three of them? Is she The sweet proprietress a shadow? If not, Shall those three castles patch my tatter'd coat ? For dear are those three castles to my wants, And dear is sister Psyche to my heart, And two dear things are one of double worth, And much I might have said, but that my zone Unmann'd me: then the Doctors! O to hear The Doctors! O to watch the thirsty plants Imbibing! once or twice I thought to roar, 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; Abate the stride, which speaks of man, and loose A flying charm of blushes o'er this cheek, Where they like swallows coming out of time Will wonder why they came: but hark the bell For dinner, let us go!"
Among the columns, pacing staid and still By twos and threes, till all from end to end With beauties every shade of brown and fair In colours gayer than the morning mist, The long hall glitter'd like a bed of flowers. How might a man not wander from his wits
Pierced thro' with eyes, but that I kept mine own Intent on her, who rapt in glorious dreams,
The second-sight of some Astræan age,
388-93. Added in 1851.
402. 1847-48. but come.
419-26. 1847-48 runs as follows:
Intent upon the Princess, where she sat Among her grave Professors, scattering gems Of Art and Science: only Lady Blanche, A double-rouged and treble-wrinkled Dame, With all her faded Autumns falsely brown.
The present text dates from 1850, except that that edition in line 419 reads "awful dreams," and till 1875 "autumn is spelt with a capital A.
Sat compass'd with professors: they, the while, Discuss'd a doubt and tost it to and fro: A clamour thicken'd, mixt with inmost terms Of art and science: Lady Blanche alone Of faded form and haughtiest lineaments, With all her autumn tresses falsely brown, Shot sidelong daggers at us, a tiger-cat In act to spring.
Concluded, and we sought the gardens: there One walk'd reciting by herself, and one In this hand held a volume as to read,
And smoothed a petted peacock down with that: Some to a low song oar'd a shallop by, Or under arches of the marble bridge Hung, shadow'd from the heat:
In the orange thickets: others tost a ball Above the fountain-jets, and back again With laughter: others lay about the lawns,
Of the older sort, and murmur'd that their May Was passing: what was learning unto them? They wish'd to marry; they could rule a house; Men hated learned women: but we three Sat muffled like the Fates; and often came Melissa hitting all we saw with shafts
Of gentle satire, kin to charity,
That harm'd not: then day droopt; the chapel bells Call'd us we left the walks; we mixt with those Six hundred maidens clad in purest white, Before two streams of light from wall to wall,
While the great organ almost burst his pipes, Groaning for power, and rolling thro' the court A long melodious thunder to the sound Of solemn psalms, and silver litanies, The work of Ida, to call down from Heaven A blessing on her labours for the world.
428. Till 1851 no paragraph at "At last." 442, 443. 1847-48. 446, 447. 1847-48.
Men hated learned women: and to us came. That harm'd not: so we sat; and now when day Droop'd, and the chapel tinkled, mixt with those.
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea! Over the rolling waters go,
Come from the dying moon, and blow,
Blow him again to me;
While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,
Father will come to thee soon;
Rest, rest, on mother's breast,
Father will come to thee soon;
Father will come to his babe in the nest,
Silver sails all out of the west
Under the silver moon:
Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
The song was added in 1850.
Line 6. 1850. dropping.
MORN in the white wake of the morning star Came furrowing all the orient into gold. We rose, and each by other drest with care Descended to the court that lay three parts In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touch'd Above the darkness from their native East.
There while we stood beside the fount, and watch'd Or seem'd to watch the dancing bubble, approach'd Melissa, tinged with wan from lack of sleep, Or grief, and glowing round her dewy eyes The circled Iris of a night of tears;
"And fly" she cried, "O fly, while yet you may! My mother knows :" and when I ask'd her "how' My fault" she wept "my fault! and yet not mine; Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me. My mother, 'tis her wont from night to night To rail at Lady Psyche and her side.
She says the Princess should have been the Head,
Herself and Lady Psyche the two arms;
And so it was agreed when first they came;
But Lady Psyche was the right hand now,
And she the left, or not, or seldom used;
Hers more than half the students, all the love. And so last night she fell to canvass you:
Her countrywomen! she did not envy her.
1, 2. With these lines cf. Love and Duty:
And morning driv'n her plow of pearl Far furrowing into light the mounded rack.
For illustrations, see the annotations on that poem.
7. 1847-48. And while.
IO. 1847-48. Or sorrow.
13. 1847-48. and we demanding "how."
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