When first I saw ye, cari luoghi,
I'd scarce a beard upon my face,
And now a grizzled, grim old fogy,
I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse.
Where are you, old companions trusty
Of early days here met to dine?
Come, waiter! quick, a flagon crusty-
I'll pledge them in the good old wine.
The kind old voices and old faces
My memory can quick retrace;
Around the board they take their places,
And share the wine and Bouillabaisse.
There's JACK has made a wondrous marriage;
There's laughing Toм is laughing yet;
There's brave AUGUSTUS drives his carriage;
There's poor old FRED in the Gazette;
On JAMES'S head the grass is growing:
Good Lord! the world has wagged apace
Since here we set the Claret flowing,
And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse.
Ah me! how quick the days are flitting!
I mind me of a time that's gone,
When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting,
In this same place — but not alone.
A fair young form was nestled near me,
A dear, dear face looked fondly up,
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me
There's no one now to share my cup.
I drink it as the Fates ordain it.
Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes:
Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it
In memory of dear old times.
Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is;
And sit you down and say your grace
With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is.
Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse !
William Makepeace Thackeray.
When Rheims reëchoed to the busy hum
Of multitudes, for high solemnity
Assembled. To the holy fabric moves
The long procession, through the streets bestrewn With flowers and laurel boughs. The courtier throng
Were there, and they in Orleans, who endured
The siege right bravely, Gaucour and La Hire,
The gallant Xaintrailles, Boussac, and Chabannes,
Alençon, and the bravest of the brave,
The Bastard Orleans, now in hope elate,
Soon to release from hard captivity
His dear-beloved brother, gallant men,
And worthy of eternal memory;
For they, in the most perilous times of France,
Despaired not of their country. By the king
The delegated Damsel passed along,
Clad in her battered arms. She bore on high
Her hallowed banner to the sacred pile,
And fixed it on the altar, whilst her hand
Poured on the monarch's head the mystic oil,
Wafted of yore, by milk-white dove from heaven
(So legends say), to Clovis when he stood
At Rheims for baptism; dubious since that day,
When Tolbiac plain reeked with his warrior's blood,
And fierce upon their flight the Almanni pressed,
And reared the shout of triumph; in that hour,
Clovis invoked aloud the Christian God,
And conquered; wake to wonder thus, the chief
Became love's convert, and Clotilda led
Then placed on Charles's brow the crown of France,
And back retiring, gazed upon the king
One moment, quickly scanning all the past,
Till, in the tumult of wild wonderment,
She wept aloud. The assembled multitude
In awful stillness witnessed; then at once,
As with a tempest-rushing noise of winds,
Lifted their mingled clamors. Now the Maid
Stood as prepared to speak, and waved her hand;
And instant silence followed.
"King of France!" She cried, "at Chinon, when my gifted eye Knew thee disguised, what inwardly the spirit Prompted, I promised, with the sword of God, To drive from Orleans far the English wolves, And crown Thee in the rescued walls of Rheims. All is accomplished. I have here this day Fulfilled my mission, and anointed thee King over this great nation."
Here I grew up, amid the loveliest scenes
Of unpolluted nature. Sweet it was,
As the white mists of morning rolled away,
To see the upland's wooded heights appear
Dark in the early dawn, and mark the slope
With gorse-flowers glowing, as the sun illumed
Their golden glory with his deepening light;
Pleasant at noon beside the vocal brook
To lay me down, and watch the floating clouds,
And shape to Fancy's wild similitudes
Their ever varying forms; and oh, how sweet,
To drive my flock at evening to the fold,
And hasten to our little hut, and hear
The voice of kindness bid me welcome home!
"Amid the village playmates of my youth Was one whom riper years approved a friend. A gentle maid was my poor Madelon:
I loved her as a sister, and long time
Her undivided tenderness possessed,
Until a better and a holier tie
Gave her one nearer friend; and then my heart
Partook her happiness, for never lived
A happier pair than Arnaud and his wife.
"Lorraine was called to arms, and with her youth
Went Arnaud to the war. The morn was fair,
Bright shone the sun, the birds sung cheerfully,
And all the fields seemed joyous in the spring:
But to Domremi wretched was that day;
For there was lamentation and the voice
Of anguish, and the deeper agony
That spake not. Never can my heart forget
The feelings that shot through me when the Forn
Gave its last call, and through the castle-gate
The banner moved, and from the clinging arms
Which hung on them, as for a last embrace,
Sons, brethren, husbands, went.
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