LINES

ON LEAVING THE CHÂTEAU DU NOZET, NEAR POUILLY IN FRANCE, THE SEAT OF MONSIEUR LAFOND, WHERE THE WRITER HAD

BEEN MOST KINDLY AND HOSPITABLY ENTERTAINED.

No Muses on these lines attend;

I sink the Poet in the Friend.

COWPER.

ADIEU! fair spot, begirt with many a vine,
Sweet sojourn of a new but valued friend;
Henceforth, bright memories of thee and thine
Shall with life's sunniest recollections blend.

Around thee nature's favour'd fruits are growing, With golden berries purple clusters vie ; Within thy walls congenial hearts are glowing With unaffected, Heaven-born sympathy.

Almost a stranger, I was welcom❜d yet

With warmth that springs from friendship of long

years;

What marvel then I left thee with regret,

And think on thee in silence and with tears?

With tears, but not of weakness-tears of joy
And recollection, such as men may shed

When cherish'd thoughts their pensive hours employ,
And the heart fills with more than words have said.

To those I quit shall Heav'n, if pray'r of mine
May aught avail, its choicest gifts impart ;
Adieu! fair spot! a thought of thee and thine

Is deeply graven on the pilgrim's heart.

THE LOIRE.

la Loire dans son sein Incertaine.

ANDRÉ CHÉNIER.

THE Loire, the Loire, whose waters widely spreading O'er countless sands run turbid to the sea,

The Loire through vines and willow islets threading Its truant course, is dear, is dear to me.

Legends and tales, to Fiction's reign belonging,
Recall the spirit of the olden time,

And antique towns, upon its margin thronging,
Awake the soul to memories sublime.

Long barks, with spoil of endless vineyards laden,

Stud the slow current of its sunny wave,

And glide thro' scenes where erst Arc's shepherd maiden To glory led the chivalrous and brave.

I see her now the well-arm'd heights ascending,
Through all her host young valour breathes anew,-
May rivals old, their martial trophies blending,
In deeds of love a holier fame pursue!

The Loire, the Loire, by its far-rolling water
Blois' castled height in gloomy triumph springs,
And Amboise sad with chronicles of slaughter

That darkly stain'd the dwelling-place of kings.

The Loire, the Loire, it brings sweet recollections
Of joys which I upon its banks have known,
It speaks to all the numberless affections

And sympathies which round my heart have grown.

The Loire, the Loire, whose waters widely spreading

O'er countless sands run turbid to the sea,

The Loire through vines and willow islets threading Its truant course, is dear, is dear to me.