THE FIFTIETH BIRTHDAY OF AGASSIZ. 



MAT 28, 1867. 



It was fifty years ago, 



In the pleasant month of May, 



In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, 

 A child in its cradle lay. 



And Nature, the old nurse, took 



The child upon her knee, 

 Saying-: "Here is a story-book 



Thy Father has written for thee." 



"Come, wander with me," she said, 



"Into regions yet untrod, 

 And read Avhat is still unread 



In the manuscripts of God." 



And he wandered away and away 

 With Nature, the dear old nurse, 



Who sang- to him nig-ht and day 

 The rhymes of the universe. 



And whenever the way seemed long-, 



Or his heart began to fail, 

 She would sing- a more wonderful song, 



Or tell a more marvelous tale. 



So she keeps him still a child, 



And will not let him go, 

 Though at times his heart beats wild 



For the beautiful Pays de Vaud. 



Though at times he hears in his dreams 



The Ran 7 rles Vaches of old. 

 And the rush of mountain streams, 



From glaciers clear and cold; 



And mother at home says, "Hark! 



For his voice I listen and yearn; 

 It is growing late and dark,' 



And my boy does not return." 



THE END. 



