  We took a hundredweight of books To Windermere between us, Our dons had blessed our studious looks, Had they by chance but seen us. Maine, Blackstone, Sandars, all were there, And Hallam's Middle Ages, And Austin with his style so rare, And Poste's enticing pages. We started well: the little inn Was deadly dull and quiet, As dull as Mrs. Wood's East Lynne, Or as the verse of Wyatt. Without distraction thus we read From nine until eleven, Then rowed and sailed until we fed On potted char at seven. Two hours of work! We could devote Next day to recreation, Much illness springs, so doctors note, From lack of relaxation. Let him read law on summer days, Who has a soul that grovels; Better one tale of Thackeray's Than all Justinian's novels. At noon we went upon the lake, We could not stand the slowness Of our lone inn, so dined on steak (They called it steak) at Bowness. We wrestled with the steak, when lo! Rose Jack in such a hurry, He saw a girl he used to know In Suffolk or in Surrey. What matter which? to think that she Should lure him from his duty! For Jack, I knew, would always be A very slave to beauty. And so it proved, alas! for Jack Grew taciturn and thinner, Was out all day alone, and back Too often late for dinner. What could I do? His walks and rows All led to one conclusion; I could not read; our work, heaven knows, Was nothing but confusion. Like Jack I went about alone, Saw Wordsworth's writing-table, And made the higher by a stone The "man" upon Great Gable. At last there came a sudden pause To all his wanderings solus, He learned what writers on the laws Of Rome had meant by dolus. The Suffolk (was it Surrey?) flirt Without a pang threw over Poor Jack and all his works like dirt, And caught a richer lover. We read one morning more to say We had not been quite idle, And then to end the arduous day Enjoyed a swim in Rydal. Next day the hundredweight of books Was packed once more in cases, We left the lakes and hills and brooks And southward turned our faces. Three months, and then the Oxford Schools; Our unbelieving college Saw better than ourselves what fools Pretend sometimes to knowledge. Curst questions! Jack did only one, He gave as his opinion That of the Roman jurists none Had lived before Justinian. I answered two, but all I did Was lacking in discretion, I reckoned guardianship amid The vitia of possession. My second shot was wider still, I held that commodata Could not attest a prÆtor's will Because of culpa lata. We waited fruitlessly that night, There came no blue testamur, Nor was Jack's heavy heart made light By that sweet word Amamur. |
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