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The Poet’s Love For Liveliness
by [?]


(“Moi, quelque soit le monde.”)

[XV., May 11, 1830.]

For me, whate’er my life and lot may show,
Years blank with gloom or cheered by mem’ry’s glow,
Turmoil or peace; never be it mine, I pray,
To be a dweller of the peopled earth,
Save ‘neath a roof alive with children’s mirth
Loud through the livelong day.

So, if my hap it be to see once more
Those scenes my footsteps tottered in before,
An infant follower in Napoleon’s train:
Rodrigo’s holds, Valencia and Leon,
And both Castiles, and mated Aragon;
Ne’er be it mine, O Spain!

To pass thy plains with cities scant between,
Thy stately arches flung o’er deep ravine,
Thy palaces, of Moor’s or Roman’s time;
Or the swift makings of thy Guadalquiver,
Save in those gilded cars, where bells forever
Ring their melodious chime.

Translated by Fraser’s Magazine