I am a "coach" in Roman law by fate,
But Nature must have meant me for a poet,
And while I struggle with a rule or date,
Poetic thoughts intrude before I know it.
The changing sunshine on the summer sea
Drives forth the law of cessio bonorum,
Peculium castrense speaks to me
Of Horace and his Dulce et decorum.
I see the matine bee among the flowers
Instead of testamentum militare,
And wander far away from agent's powers
To picture me again some Maud or Mary.
In truth there is no sequence in the thought,
Why should the title De Societate
Suggest, not trading partners, as it ought,
But visions of my last night's valse with Katie?
But worse than this, when I have done my task,
Stern law again asserts her domination,
'Tis cruel 'mid the new-mown hay to bask,
And find one's mind is running on novation;
Or in the dusk, when glow-worms light the moss,
To hear the distant voice of Philomela
Expound the three varieties of dos
And wax right eloquent about tutela.
I had a little respite yesterday,
Dining with one who well knew how to dine us,
But when I slept, the charm soon fled away,
I dreamed I was a pr'tor peregrinus.
Dismasted in the deep of law I lie,
A poor reward it is to stand confessed as
The Virgil of the interdict de vi,
The Petrarch of the patria potestas.