Solitude In September.
By Edward Woodley Bowling
O BEATA SOLITUDO; O SOLA BEATITUDO.
(Inscription in the Grounds of Burg Birseck, near Basel.)
Sweet Solitude where dost thou linger?
When and where shall I look in thy face?
Feel the soft magic touch of thy finger,
The glow of thy silent embrace?
Stern Civilization has banished
Thy charms to a region unknown;
The spell of thy beauty has vanished -
Sweet Solitude, where hast thou flown?
I have sought thee on pampas and prairie,
By blue lake and bluer crevasse,
On shores that are arid and airy,
Lone peak, and precipitous pass.
I have sought thee, sweet Solitude, ever
Regardless of peril and pain;
But in spite of my utmost endeavour
I have sought thee, fair charmer, in vain.
To the Alps, to the Alps in September,
Unconducted by Cook, did I rush;
Full well even now I remember
How my heart with emotion did gush.
Here at least in these lonely recesses
With thee I shall cast in my lot;
Shall feel thy endearing caresses,
Forgetting all else and forgot.
But I met a young couple "proposing"
On the top of the sunny Languard;
I surprised an old gentleman dozing,
"Times" in hand, on the heights of Fort Bard.
In the fir woods of sweet Pontresina
Picnic papers polluted the walks;
On the top of the frosty Bernina
I found a young mountain of - corks.
I trod, by the falls of the Handeck,
On the end of a penny cigar;
As I roamed in the woods above Landeck
A hair-pin my pleasure did mar:
To the Riffel in vain I retreated,
Mr. Gaze and the Gazers were there;
On the top of the Matterhorn seated
I picked up a lady's back hair!
From the Belle Vue in Thun I was hunted
By "'Arry" who wished to play pool;
On the Col du Bonhomme I confronted
The whole of a young ladies' school.
At Giacomo's Inn in Chiesa
I was asked to take shares in a mine;
With an agent for "Mappin's new Razor"
I sat down at Baveno to dine.
On the waves of Lake Leman were floating
Old lemons (imagine my feelings!),
The fish in Lucerne were all gloating
On cast-away salads and peelings;
And egg-shells and old bones of chicken
On the shore of St. Moritz did lie:
My spirit within me did sicken -
Sweet Solitude, where shall I fly?
Disconsolate, gloomy, and undone
I take in the "Dilly" my place;
By Zurich and Basel to London
I rush, as if running a race.
My quest and my troubles are over;
As I drive through the desolate street
To my Club in Pall Mall, I discover
Sweet Solitude's summer retreat.