The Hope of the World and other poems by Charles Mackay |
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THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN ABROAD. |
 | The Hope of the World and other poems |  |
176
THE COUNTRY GENTLEMAN ABROAD.
I care not for the lovely scenes upon the banks of Rhine;
I care not for its castled steeps, and slopes where grows the vine;
No pleasure upon Switzer lakes or Alpine hills I see,
For my thoughts are far away, in my own countrie.
I care not for its castled steeps, and slopes where grows the vine;
No pleasure upon Switzer lakes or Alpine hills I see,
For my thoughts are far away, in my own countrie.
I long to see the villages, each with its little spire,
And the hospitable farm-steads of York's beloved shire;
To see the corn-fields waving, and the cattle feeding free,
In the pleasant pasture lands of my own countrie.
And the hospitable farm-steads of York's beloved shire;
To see the corn-fields waving, and the cattle feeding free,
In the pleasant pasture lands of my own countrie.
I long to hear on Sunday morn the merry village bell,
Calling the pious folk to church from every hill and dell;
I long to ask the curate home to dinner and to tea,
And chat on politics and crops in my own countrie.
Calling the pious folk to church from every hill and dell;
I long to ask the curate home to dinner and to tea,
And chat on politics and crops in my own countrie.
177
I hate their cookery here in France, their fricassées and stews,
Their bouillon and their cotelettes, their rôtis and ragouts;
I loathe their harsh outlandish names, and pine again to see
The fine fat beef and pudding of my own countrie.
Their bouillon and their cotelettes, their rôtis and ragouts;
I loathe their harsh outlandish names, and pine again to see
The fine fat beef and pudding of my own countrie.
The wine they boast of, charms me not; I strive, but all in vain,
To relish their choice Burgundy, their claret and champagne;
I'd barter, and right willingly, a dozen of all three
For a pot of foaming ale in my own countrie!
To relish their choice Burgundy, their claret and champagne;
I'd barter, and right willingly, a dozen of all three
For a pot of foaming ale in my own countrie!
And yet these lands are good enough, the people kind and true;
Their vineyards pleasant, and their skies bright, vapourless, and blue;
But I'm strange in them, and sick of them, and pine to cross the sea,
To breathe the welcome fogs of my own countrie.
Their vineyards pleasant, and their skies bright, vapourless, and blue;
178
To breathe the welcome fogs of my own countrie.
O England! I've abused thy clime, and oft, without a cause,
Cried out against my countrymen, their manners, and their laws;
Forgetting, thankless that I was, that first among the free,
Stands, and shall stand for evermore, mine own countrie.
Cried out against my countrymen, their manners, and their laws;
Forgetting, thankless that I was, that first among the free,
Stands, and shall stand for evermore, mine own countrie.
And once more treading its green sod, and breathing its dear air,
I'll never stir from it again in search of realms more fair;
I'll never vaunt of pleasant France or sunny Italy,
But live in peace, and die in my own countrie.
I'll never stir from it again in search of realms more fair;
I'll never vaunt of pleasant France or sunny Italy,
But live in peace, and die in my own countrie.
| The Hope of the World and other poems | |