From Rhine and Danube, Rhone and Seine, As rivers from their sources gush, The swelling floods of nations rush, And seaward pour: From coast to coast in friendly chain, With countless ships we bridge the straits, And angry ocean separates Europe no more. From Mississippi and from Nile-- From Baltic, Ganges, Bosphorous, In England's ark assembled thus Are friend and guest. Look down the mighty sunlit aisle, And see the sumptuous banquet set, The brotherhood of nations met. Around the feast! Along the dazzling colonnade, Far as the straining eye can gaze, Gleam cross and fountain, bell and vase, In vistas bright; And statues fair of nymph and maid, And steeds and pards and Amazons, Writhing and grappling in the bronze, In endless fight. To deck the glorious roof and dome, To make the Queen a canopy, The peaceful hosts of industry Their standards bear. Yon are the works of Brahmin loom; On such a web of Persian thread The desert Arab bows his head And cries his prayer. Look yonder where the engines toil: These England's arms of conquest are, The trophies of her bloodless war: Brave weapons these. Victorians over wave and soil, With these she sails, she weaves, she tills, Pierces the everlasting hills And spans the seas. The engine roars upon its race, The shuttle whirs the woof, The people hum from floor to roof, With Babel tongue. The fountain in the basin plays, The chanting organ echoes clear, An awful chorus 'tis to hear, A wondrous song! Swell, organ, swell your trumpet blast, March, Queen and Royal pageant, march By splendid aisle and springing arch Of this fair Hall: And see! above the fabric vast, God's boundless Heaven is bending blue, God's peaceful sunlight's beaming through, And shines o'er all. May, 1851. * The U. S. frigate "St. Lawrence." THE BALLAD OF BOUILLABAISSE. A street there is in Paris famous, For which no rhyme our language yields, Rue Neuve des Petits Champs its name is-- The New Street of the Little Fields. And here's an inn, not rich and splendid, But still in comfortable case; The which in youth I oft attended, To eat a bowl of Bouillabaisse. This Bouillabaisse a noble dish is-- A sort of soup or broth, or brew, Or hotchpotch of all sorts of fishes, That Greenwich never could outdo; Green herbs, red peppers, mussels, saffron, Soles, onions, garlic, roach, and dace: All these you eat at TERRÉ'S tavern, In that one dish of Bouillabaisse.