The Ballad of Bouillabaisse 1727

"It is the lot of saint and sinner.

So honest Terré's run his race!" "What will Monsieur require for dinner?" "Say, do you still cook Bouillabaisse?"

"Oh, oui, Monsieur,"'s the waiter's answer;
"Quel vin Monsieur désire-t-il?"
"Tell me a good one." "That I can, Sir;
The Chambertin with yellow seal."
"So Terré's gone," I say, and sink in
My old accustomed corner-place;
"He's done with feasting and with drinking,
With Burgundy and Bouillabaisse.”

My old accustomed corner here is,—
The table still is in the nook;
Ah! vanished many a busy year is,

This well-known chair since last I took,

When first I saw ye, cari luoghi,

I'd scarce a beard upon my face, And now a grizzled, grim old fogy, I sit and wait for Bouillabaisse.

Where are you, old companions trusty
Of early days here met to dine?
Come, waiter! quick, a flagon crusty—
I'll pledge them in the good old wine.
The kind old voices and old faces

My memory can quick retrace;

Around the board they take their places,
And share the wine and Bouillabaisse.

There's Jack has made a wondrous marriage;
There's laughing Tom is laughing yet;
There's brave Augustus drives his carriage;
There's poor old Fred in the Gazette;

On James's head the grass is growing:
Good Lord! the world has wagged apace

Since here we set the Claret flowing,
And drank, and ate the Bouillabaisse.

Ah me! how quick the days are flitting!
I mind me of a time that's gone,
When here I'd sit, as now I'm sitting,
In this same place-but not alone.
A fair young form was nestled near me,
A dear, dear face looked fondly up,
And sweetly spoke and smiled to cheer me.
-There's no one now to share my cup.

I drink it as the Fates ordain it.

...

Come, fill it, and have done with rhymes;
Fill up the lonely glass, and drain it
In memory of dear old times.

Welcome the wine, whate'er the seal is;
And sit you down and say your grace
With thankful heart, whate'er the meal is.
-Here comes the smoking Bouillabaisse!

William Makepeace Thackeray [1811-1863]