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,

Nor was Jack's heavy heart made light

By that sweet word Amamur.