Half-legend, half-historic, counts and kings Who laid about them at their wills and died; And mixt with these, a lady, one that arm'd And, I all rapt in this,'Come out,' he said, 6 "To the Abbey: there is Aunt Elizabeth And sister Lilia with the rest. We went (I kept the book and had my finger in it) a The fountain of the moment, playing now A twisted snake, and now a rain of pearls, Danced like a wisp: and somewhat lower down A man with knobs and wires and vials fired A cannon : Echo answer'd in her sleep : And shook the lilies : perch'd about the knolls With Science hand in hand went; otherwhere Pure sport: a herd of boys with clamour bowl'd Like tumbled fruit in grass; and men and maids Arranged a country dance, and flew thro' light The broad ambrosial aisles of lofty lime Made noise with bees and breeze from end to end. Strange was the sight and smacking of the time; And long we gazed, but satiated at length Came to the ruins. High-arch'd and ivy-claspt, Of finest Gothic lighter than a fire, Thro' one wide chasm of time and frost they gave The park, the crowd, the house; but all within The sward was trim as any garden lawn: And here we lit on Aunt Elizabeth, And Lilia with the rest, and lady friends From neighbour seats: and there was Ralph himself, A broken statue propt against the wall, As gay as any. Lilia, wild with sport, 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 And all things great; but we, unworthier, told 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 1 With tilt and tourney; then the tale of her That drove her foes with slaughter from her walls, 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 I were some great Princess, I would build And I would teach them all that men are taught; And one said smiling 'Pretty were the sight |