“—From Austria I come,
An English wife to win,
And find an English home,
And live and die therein.
Great Lord! how many a year I’ve pined
To drink old ale and speak my mind!”
Loud rang our laughter, and the shout
Hills round the Meuse-boat echoed about.
“—Ay, no offence: laugh on,
Young gentlemen: I’ll join.
Had you to exile gone,
Where free speech is base coin,
You’d sigh to see the jolly nose
Where Freedom’s native liquor flows!”
He this time the laughter led,
Dabbing his oily bullet head.
“—Give me, to suit my moods,
An ale-house on a heath,
I’ll hand the crags and woods
To B’elzebub beneath.
A fig for scenery! what scene
Can beat a Jackass on a green?”
Gravely he seem’d, with gaze intense,
Putting the question to common sense.
“—Why, there’s the ale-house bench:
The furze-flower shining round:
And there’s my waiting-wench,
As lissome as a hound.
With ‘hail Britannia!’ ere I drink,
I’ll kiss her with an artful wink.”
Fair flash’d the foreign landscape while
We breath’d again our native Isle.
“—The geese may swim hard-by;
They gabble, and you talk:
You’re sure there’s not a spy
To mark your name with chalk.
My heart’s an oak, and it won’t grow
In flower-pots, foreigners must know.”
Pensive he stood: then shook his head
Sadly; held out his fist, and said:
