I ought not to omit that we had on this trip the pleasure of being accompanied by a gentleman from Bristol, whose taste and perfect knowledge of the ground afforded us much gratification. I allude, to Mr. Dix, author of "Pen and Ink Sketches," which formerly appeared in the Boston Atlas. Mr. Dix was with us at Windsor Castle, and when he heard from Weld French or George Vanderbilt that Robinson's birthday would occur shortly, he noted it, and sent James the following pretty lines, which reached him May 15th, in Paris. I think you will be pleased with them.
TO JAMES A. ROBINSON.
When wandering neath old Windsor's towers
We laughed away the sunny hours,
You asked me for a simple rhyme;
So now accept this birthday chime.
No poet I—the "gift divine"
Ne'er was, and never will be, mine;
But take these couplets, which impart
The anxious wishes of my heart,
In place of more aspiring lay,
To greet you on your natal day.
Boy of that country of the brave,
Beyond the Atlantic's western wave,
I, dweller in the motherland,
A welcome give with heart and hand;
And on your birthday breathe a prayer
That you may every blessing share;
That your world journey may be blest
With all that may prepare you best
For the approaching eve of age—
The end of mortal pilgrimage.
Upon your brow of youthful bloom
I would not cast a shade of gloom;
Yet did I say that life will ever
Flow onward like a placid river,
With only sunshine on its breast,
That ne'er 'twill be by storms distressed,
I should but flatter to deceive,
And but a web of falsehood weave.
Yet, checkered though life's path may seem,
Life's pleasures are not all a dream.
What shall I wish you? I would fain
That earthly greatness you may gain;
But if that guerdon is not sent,
Be with some humble lot content;
And let this truth be understood—
Few can be great, all may be good.
Power, pomp, ambition, envy, pride,
Wrecked barks adown life's stream may glide,
Ruined by some fierce passion throe,
E'er, reckless, o'er Time's brink they go;
But if fair virtue grasps the helm,
Nor storm nor wave can overwhelm.
That many happy years be yours:
Seek truth which every good insures;
Press on, though clouds may intervene
And for a moment veil the scene.
Think of the great ones of your land,
And, like them, strive with heart and hand
To leave a name, when you depart,
Which shall be dear to many a heart.
Determine in life's early morn
All good to prize, all ill to scorn,
And aim to live and die as one
Worthy the land of Washington!
Yours affectionately,
j.o.c.