NO. 3. CLARENS.
AKE Leman wooes me with its crystal
face—
(That observation is the late Lord
Byron's)
And Chillon seems a damp unpleasant
place—
(Where Bonnivard, poor soul, got
clapt in irons.)
Beside me Vevey lies, romantic town,
(I wish the weather were not quite
so damp,
And, not far distant, Alpine summits
frown—
(Ah, just what I expected. That's the cramp!)
Before the blast are driven the flying clouds—
(And I should like to blow a cloud as well)
The vapours wrap the mountain-tops in shrouds—
(I left my mild cheroots at the hotel.)
Dotting the glassy surface of the stream,
(Oh, here's a cigarette—my mind's at ease,)
The boats move silently as in a dream—
(Confound it! where on earth are my fusees?)
Methinks in such a Paradise as this,
(Thank goodness, there 's a clodhopper in sight.)
To live were ecstasy, to die were bliss.
(Could you oblige me, Monsieur, with a light?)
I could live pure beneath so pure a sky——
(The rain's completely spoilt my Sunday coat,)
And sink into the tomb without a sigh—
(There's the bell ringing for the table d'hote.)