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Andrew Lang - Partant Pour La Scribie
Work rating: Low

A pleasant land is Scribie, where
   The light comes mostly from below,
And seems a sort of symbol rare
   Of things at large, and how they go,
In rooms where doors are everywhere
   And cupboards shelter friend or foe.

This is a realm where people tell
   Each other, when they chance to meet,
Of things that long ago befell -
   And do most solemnly repeat
Secrets they both know very well,
   Aloud, and in the public street!

A land where lovers go in fours,
   Master and mistress, man and maid;
Where people listen at the doors
   Or `neath a table`s friendly shade,
And comic Irishmen in scores
   Roam o`er the scenes all undismayed:

A land where Virtue in distress
   Owes much to uncles in disguise;
Where British sailors frankly bless
   Their limbs, their timbers, and their eyes;
And where the villain doth confess,
   Conveniently, before he dies!

A land of lovers false and gay;
   A land where people dread a "curse;"
A land of letters gone astray,
   Or intercepted, which is worse;
Where weddings false fond maids betray,
   And all the babes are changed at nurse.

Oh, happy land, where things come right!
   We of the world where things go ill;
Where lovers love, but don`t unite;
   Where no one finds the Missing Will -
Dominion of the heart`s delight,
   Scribie, we`ve loved, and love thee still!
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