The Fiftieth Birthday of Agassiz

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It was fifty years ago

     In the pleasant month of May,

In the beautiful Pays de Vaud,

     A child in its cradle lay.

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And Nature, the old nurse, took

     The child upon her knee,

Saying: "Here is a story-book

     Thy Father has written for thee."

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"Come, wander with me," she said,

     "Into regions yet untrod;

And read what is still unread

     In the manuscripts of God."

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And he wandered away and away

     With Nature, the dear old nurse,

Who sang to him night and day

     The rhymes of the universe.

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And whenever the way seemed long, 

     Or his heart began to fail,

She would sing a more wonderful song, 

     Or tell a more marvellous tale.

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So she keeps him still a child,

     And will not let him go,

Though at times his heart beats wild

     For the beautiful Pays de Vaud.

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Though at times he hears in his dreams

     The Ranz des Vaches of old,

And the rush of mountain streams

     From glaciers clear and cold;

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And the mother at home says, "Hark! 

     For his voice I listen and yearn;

It is growing late and dark,

     And my boy does not return!"