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Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
France: Vols. IX–X. 1876–79.

Vire

Vire

By Gustave Le Vavasseur (1819–1896)

Translated by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

IT is good to rhyming go

From the valleys of Vire to the valleys of Bures!

For a poet of Normandy the Low

It is good to rhyming go!

One is inspired and all aglow

With the old singers of voice so pure.

It is good to rhyming go

From the valleys of Vire to the valleys of Bures!

Do you know one Thomas Sonnet?

He was a medical man of Vire;

And turned very well a roundelay,

Do you know this Thomas Sonnet?

To the sick he used to say,

“Never drink bad wine, my dear!”

Do you know this Thomas Sonnet?

He was a medical man of Vire.

Do you know one Master Le Houx?

He was an advocate of Vire;

The taste of dry and sweet he knew;

Do you know this Master Le Houx?

From the holly boughs his name he drew

Which as tavern-signs one sees appear.

Do you know this Master Le Houx?

He was an advocate of Vire.

Do you know one Master Olivier?

He was an ancient fuller of Vire;

He only fulled his tub they say;

Do you know this Master Olivier?

As to his trade, it was only play;

He knew how to sing and drink and leer;

Do you know this Master Olivier?

He was an ancient fuller of Vire.

Olivier, Le Houx, Le Sonnet

Are Peace, and Tavern, and Poesy;

Every good rhymer knows to-day

Olivier, Le Houx, Le Sonnet.

Dame Reason throws her cap away

If the rhyme well chosen be;

Olivier, Le Houx, Le Sonnet

Are Peace and Tavern and Poesy.

Vire is a delicious place,

Vire is a little Norman town.

’T is not the home of a godlike race,

Vire is a delicious place;

But what gives it its crowning grace

Is the peace that there comes down.

Vire is a delicious place,

Vire is a little Norman town.

There are taverns by the score,

And solid are the drinkers there.

More than in Evreux of yore,

There are taverns by the score.

One sees there empty brains no more,

But empty glasses everywhere.

There are taverns by the score,

And solid are the drinkers there.

’T is the fresh cradle of the Song,

And mother of the Vaudeville:

Lawyers as cupbearers throng,

’T is the fresh cradle of the Song.

The fullers pierce the puncheons strong,

The doctors drink abroad their fill;

’T is the fresh cradle of the Song,

And mother of the Vaudeville.

It is good to rhyming go

From the valleys of Vire to the valleys of Bures!

For a poet of Normandy the Low,

It is good to rhyming go!

One is inspired and all aglow

With the old singers of voice so pure.

It is good to rhyming go

From the valleys of Vire to the valleys of Bures!