Classic Poem

TO HAVRE-DE-GRACE .

Fairest of cities, which the Seine
Surveys 'twixt Paris and the main,
Sweet Havre! sweetest Havre, hail!
How gladly, with my tatter'd sail,
Yet trembling from this wild adventure,
Do I thy friendly harbour enter!

Well — now I've leisure, let me see
What boats are left me; one, two, three —
Bravo! the better half remain;
And all my Heroes' are not slain.
And, if my senses don't deceive,
I too am safe, — yes, I believe,
Without a wound I reach thy shore;
(For I have felt myself all o'er)
I've all my limbs, and be it spoken
With honest triumph, no bone broken —

How pleasing is the sweet transition
From this vile Gun-boat Expedition;
From winds and waves, and wounds and scars,
From British Soldiers, British Tars,
To his own house, where, free from danger,
Muskein may live at rack and manger;
May stretch his limbs in his own cot,
Thankful he has not gone to pot;
Nor for the bubble glory strive,
But bless himself that he's alive!

Havre, sweet Havre! hail again,
O! bid thy sons (a frolic train,
Who under Chenier welcomed in
With dance and song, the Guillotine ),
In long possession seek the strand;
For Muskein now prepares to land,
'Scaped, Heaven knows how, from that cursed crew
That haunt the Rocks of S AINT M ARCOU .