Thou, Bacchus-loved, whose gifts are great and high, Thy gen'rous sons, thy senate, and thy sky, Thy genius and thy grace shall Mem'ry well Above all cities, to thy glory, tell. And shall I coldly from thy arms remove, Blush for my birth-place, and disown my love? As tho' thy son, in Scythian climes forlorn, Beneath the Bear with all its snows was born. No, thy Ausonius, Bordeaux! hails thee yet; Nor, as his cradle, can thy claims forget. Dear to the gods thou art, who freely gave Their blessings to thy meads, thy clime, thy wave: Gave thee thy flow'rs that bloom the whole year through, Thy hills of shade, thy prospects ever new, Thy verdant fields, where Winter shuns to be, And thy swift river, rival of the sea. Shall I describe thy mighty walls revered,-- Thy ramparts, by the god of battle feared,-- Thy gates,--thy towers, whose frowning crests assay Amidst the clouds towards Heaven to force a way? How well I love thy beauties to behold, Thy noble monuments, thy mansions bold, Thy simple porticos, thy perfect plan, Thy squares symmetrical: their space, their span. And that proud port which Neptune's lib'ral hand Bade from thy startled walls its arms expand, And show the way to Fortune! Twice each day Bringing his floods all crown'd with glittering spray, And foaming from the oar, while, gleaming white, A host of vessels gaily sweep in sight. It would appear by this description, that Bordeaux was, under its Roman masters, a very magnificent city; the famous _Divona_, the beneficent fountain, so celebrated by Ausonius, has left no trace of its existence, and has employed the learned long to account for its disappearance. Probably it was from some plan of Roman Bordeaux, that the present new town was built; for the above lines might almost describe it as it now stands: certainly, except the gigantic towers, the old city has no claim to praise for wide streets, fine houses, porticos, or symmetrical squares; probably, the architects of the Middle Ages destroyed its _perfect plan_, and swept away most of the beauties and grandeur which inspired the muse of the classic minstrel. Like most pompous descriptions, this was, perhaps, overdrawn at the time as much as, it appeared to me, the accounts of modern travellers have exaggerated the effect of a first arrival by water at Bordeaux.