From the French. At La Chaudeau

By Xavier Marmier

AT La Chaudeau,—’t is long since then:

I was young,—my years twice ten;

All things smiled on the happy boy,

Dreams of love and songs of joy,

Azure of heaven and wave below,

At La Chaudeau.

To La Chaudeau I come back old:

My head is gray, my blood is cold;

Seeking along the meadow ooze,

Seeking beside the river Seymouse,

The days of my spring-time of long ago

At La Chaudeau.

At La Chaudeau nor heart nor brain

Ever grows old with grief and pain;

A sweet remembrance keeps off age;

A tender friendship doth still assuage

The burden of sorrow that one may know

At La Chaudeau.

At La Chaudeau, had fate decreed

To limit the wandering life I lead,

Peradventure I still, forsooth,

Should have preserved my fresh green youth

Under the shadows the hill-tops throw

At La Chaudeau.

At La Chaudeau, live on, my friends,

Happy to be where God intends;

And sometimes, by the evening fire,

Think of him whose sole desire

Is again to sit in the old château

At La Chaudeau.