Justinian at Windermere

    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,[A]
    Nor was Jack's heavy heart made light
        By that sweet word Amamur.