TINO IN EXILE.
[As indicated on another page, TINO'S actual opinion of his Imperial brother-in-law is probably not too amiable; but it has to be disguised in his letters, which are liable to be censored by his wife.]
Thank you, dear William, I am fairly well.
The climate suits me and the simple life—
No diplomats to spoil the scenery's spell,
And only faintest echoes of the strife;
The Alps are mirrored in a lake of blue;
Over my straw-crowned poll the blue skies laugh;
A waterfall (no charge) completes a view
Equal to any German oleograph.
There are no bugle blares to make me jump,
But just the jodler calling to his kine;
A few good Teuton toadies, loud and plump,
More than suffice me in the levée line;
And, when poor ALEXANDER, there in Greece,
Writes of your "agents" rounded up and sacked,
I am content with privacy and peace,
Having, at worst, retained my head intact.
SOPHIE and I have thought of you a lot
(We have so very few distractions here;
We chat about the weather, which is hot,
And then we turn to talk of your career);
For rumour says this bloody war will last
Until the Hohenzollerns get the boot;
And through my brain the bright idea has passed
That you had better do an early scoot.
Were it not wise, dear WILLIAM, ere the day
When Revolution goes for crowns and things,
To cut your loss betimes and come this way
And start a coterie of Exiled Kings?
You might (the choice of safe retreats is poor)
Do worse than join me in this happy land,
And spend your last phase, careless, if obscure,
With your devoted TINO hand-in-hand.
O. S.