SWEET AVON.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 7066, 19 January 1891, Page 4

SWEET AVON.

A SONG D__tCATE_ TO THE LEARNED AUBTRAJ>

ASIAN Ass.

(By One of tho Bcdy.)

Green and grave and learned city, Let me pipe my simple ditty, Sure, to pilgrims off tbe billows, thou art fair as fair can be, And thy maidens are so pretty, And so gracious and co witty, That to dwell among thy willows would be happiness to me.

Fellow dry-aa-dusts and doctors, Sage professors, pundita, proctors, You may solemn look and grave on my obtuse fatuity ! But your droning, dismal, dreary, Makes me weary, makes me weary, And my heart is with the Avon where it wanders to the sea.

You may range o'er every topic, From the frigid zone to tropic, Every learned subject rave on, from far Sirius to a flea ; What to me are protozoa, Cell or cyst or midge or moa. When the cool and limpid Avon makes its melody for me ?

What to me is Tiber river, Thames, or Khine, or Guadalquiver, What the sands of rich Pactolus that run golden to the sea ? Take me where the aspens Bbiver, Let me float and dream for ever Down the lingering, dimpling Avon, deareßt, Bweetest stream to me.

Ah! the cool and crystal Avon, That the bending willow? wan; on, And the silver troutletß dart in, as it wanders to the sea, Death were pleasant with a grave on Lovely, sweet, pellucid Avon ; Sure thy shade I'll leave my heart in, when I'm far away from thee !

Let me glide adown tbe river, Where the willow shadows quiver, And the bell-bird, golden- throatod, flings

his notes from tree to trot* ; For if ever taste of Heaven Here on earth to men be given, It is there where silver Avon makes its music to the sea.

When the sad West wind is sighing For the garish day a-dying, When from fields of fragrant olover homeward flies the humble-beo, No one there but me and Kitty, It were pity, it were pity That we oould not float for ever down the Avon to the sea.