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Shall join in your revels, your sports, and your wiles, And return to me beaming all o'er with your smiles;
Too blest if it tells me that, 'mid the gay cheer, Some kind voice had murmur'd, "I wish he were here!"
Let Fate do her worst, there are relics of joy, Bright dreams of the past, which she cannot destroy! Which come in the night-time of sorrow and care, And bring back the features that joy used to wear.
Long, long be my heart with such memories fill'd! Like the vase in which roses have once been distill'd; You may break, you may ruin the vase if you will, But the scent of the roses will hang round it still.
THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE.
A STREET there is in Paris famous,
For which no rhyme our language yields.
This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is-
That Greenwich never could outdo;
In that one dish of Bouillabaisse.
Indeed, a rich and savory stew 'tis ;
And true philosophers, methinks,
Should love good victuals and good drinks.
And Cordelier or Benedictine
I wonder if the house still there is?
Still opening oysters at the door.
I recollect his droll grimace:
We enter-nothing's changed or older. How's Monsieur TERRÉ, waiter, pray?
The waiter stares and shrugs his shoulderMonsieur is dead this many a day."
"It is the lot of saint and sinner,
So honest TERRE'S run his race." "What will Monsieur require for dinner? 'Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse ? "
"Oh, oui, Monsieur," 's the waiter's answer; 'Quel vin Monsieur desire-t-il?"
"Tell me a good one."—" That I can, sir: The Chambertin with yellow seal." “So TERRÉ's gone," I say, and sink in My old accustom'd corner-place; "He's done with feasting and with drinking, With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse."
My old accustom'd corner here is,
This well-known chair since last I took.
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
I'll pledge them in the good old wine.
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 TOM 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 wagg'd apace Since here we set the Claret flowing,
And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse.
Ah me! how quick the days are flitting!
In this same place—but not alone.
I drink it as the Fates ordain it.
Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes:
Fill up the lonely glass and drain it