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 prtor'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.