De Jesus_. From near and far they came, And took their stated rank, and filed Into the Hall of Acts; the Chancellor And Rector in their robes of silk, and fur, And velvet, and great chains and seals of state; The Bishop, and Inquisitor, and Dean, And Chapter, in their purple; Canonists In green; and Jurists in their scarlet gowns; Frei Luiz of the Chair of Holy Writ, In black and white of the Dominicans; Frei Manoel of the Chair of Scotus, garbed In white and brown of Carmel; titulars In Peter Lombard and Durandus,--sons Of Bernard, Francis and Saint Benedict. When each in order of his ancientry Was seated in the tribune, and below Ranged the licentiates, and bachelors, And, out beyond, the thousand students,--gay In plumes and ruffs, or rags and disrepair,-- There entered Bacharel Frei Constantino Citing the _obligations_; whereupon Egidio began his argument With exposition and arrangement clear, And summary abrupt and crushing, as His old experience in the courts had taught,-- So free in tone and doctrine that the throng Swayed on their benches, beating noisily Great tomes together like the roll of drums. Then silence for Suarez’s _quodlibet_; As half-reluctant, without emphasis, His cold unwavering voice proposed the plan Of his objection,--When uproarious Upon the instant, Frei Egidio In tones of thunder shouted o’er the hall,-- “_Nego majorem!_”--the scholastic world’s Unmitigated insult! How would he, Spain’s boasted theologian, reply To Portugal’s? The Jesuits around Suarez’s rostrum marvelled, whispered, turned, And hid their faces, when they saw him bowed Silent a moment, ere descending, calm, He led them home across the jeering town. Then the mad acclamations; bells of shrine And monastery on the hills; the sweep Of robes prelatical, the cavalcade Of gorgeous nobles into Santa Cruz; The blare of trumpets, and the lanterns strung Yellow beneath the moon; the beggar throngs; The maskers down the lanes; the nightingales And river-songs of students wafted far Across Mondego’s Hills of Loneliness And Meditation where Coimbra slept. Thus triumphed Frei Egidio. But high In the Collegio de Jesus the blow Was red on every cheek; the Rector rose In the community and said: “Padre Francisco, not in fifty years have we In our Coimbra known such sore defeat; Tell me, I pray, had you no thought to save Your honor and the honor of our schools-- You, boast of Rome and Salamanca’s halls.-- You, to whom all the dialectic arts Have been as play--could you not parry, feint, Or bait Egidio until some chance Or newer turn might save your argument?” Suarez bowed and answered: “Better far That we be humbled than a great man fall To utter shame and ruin! Had I told