IT was fifty years ago | |
| In the pleasant month of May, | |
| In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, | |
| A child in its cradle lay. | |
| |
| And Nature, the old nurse, took | 5 |
| The child upon her knee, | |
| Saying: Here is a story-book | |
| Thy Father has written for thee. | |
| |
| Come, wander with me, she said, | |
| Into regions yet untrod; | 10 |
| And read what is still unread | |
| In the manuscripts of God. | |
| |
| And he wandered away and away | |
| With Nature, the dear old nurse, | |
| Who sang to him night and day | 15 |
| The rhymes of the universe. | |
| |
| 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. | 20 |
| |
| 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; | |
| |
| Though at times he hears in his dreams | 25 |
| The Ranz des Vaches of old, | |
| And the rush of mountain streams | |
| From glaciers clear and cold; | |
| |
| And the mother at home says, Hark! | |
| For his voice I listen and yearn; | 30 |
| It is growing late and dark, | |
| And my boy does not return! | |
| |