The day arrived; DICK went, was shown Into an anteroom, alone-- A great gilt room with mirrored door, Festoons of flowers and marble floor, Whose lavish splendours made him look More shabby than a sheepskin book. (His own book--by the way--he spied On a far table, toss'd aside.) DICK waited, as they only wait Who haunt the chambers of the Great. He heard the chairmen come and go; He heard the Porter yawn below; Beyond him, in the Grand Saloon, He heard the silver stroke of noon, And thought how at this very time The old church clock at home would chime. Dear heart, how plain he saw it all! The lich-gate and the crumbling wall, The stream, the pathway to the wood, The bridge where they so oft had stood. Then, in a trice, both church and clock Vanish'd before ... a shuttlecock. A shuttlecock! And following slow The zigzag of its to-and-fro, And so intent upon its flight She neither look'd to left nor right, Came a tall girl with floating hair, Light as a wood-nymph, and as fair. _O Dea certe!_--thought poor Dick, And thereupon his memories quick Ran back to her who flung the ball In HOMER'S page, and next to all The dancing maids that bards have sung; Lastly to One at home, as young, As fresh, as light of foot, and glad, Who, when he went, had seem'd so sad. _O Dea certe!_ (Still, he stirred Nor hand nor foot, nor uttered word.) Meanwhile the shuttlecock in air Went darting gaily here and there; Now crossed a mirror's face, and next Shot up amidst the sprawl'd, perplex'd Olympus overhead. At last, Jerk'd sidelong by a random cast, The striker miss'd it, and it fell Full on the book DICK knew so well. (If he had thought to speak or bow, Judge if he moved a muscle now!) The player paused, bent down to look, Lifted a cover of the book; Pished at the Prologue, passed it o'er, Went forward for a page or more (_Asem and Asa_: DICK could trace Almost the passage and the place); Then for a moment with bent head Rested upon her hand and read. (DICK thought once more how cousin CIS Used when she read to lean like this;-- "Used when she _read_,"--why, CIS could _say_ All he had written,--any day!) Sudden was heard a hurrying tread; The great doors creaked. The reader fled. Forth came a crowd with muffled laughter, A waft of Bergamot, and after, His Chaplain smirking at his side, My Lord himself in all his pride-- A portly shape in stars and lace, With wine-bag cheeks and vacant face.