POE TR Y.
CHINON.
[" Chinon, ville insigne, vile noble, vile antique, voire premiere du monde." —"Pantagruel," Book IV., Prologue de l'enteur.
"Chines (deux ou trois lois) Chinon, Petite grand renom, Assise sus pierre ancienne, Au haat le bois, an pied la Vienne."
—" Pantagruel," Book V., chapitre 35.1
IN that blest nook of broad Touraine,
. Where strays Vienne among the flowers, Mistress of all the goodly plain, White Chinon lifts her crown of towers Above the green and golden fen, White Chinon by the blue Vienne. No vibrant hammers Chinon plies, Nor strident forge, nor murky mill, But like a lazy beauty lies Supine upon the sunlit hill, And southward smiling seems to woo The smiling fields of fair Poitou.
To Chinon by the blue Vienne She came, the heavenly-hearted Maid, And boys and babes she turned to men And men to gods through Christ her aid, And one and all she led them forth To battle in the wasted North.
Lilies of gold and sword of flame, Down the steep path she rode sublime, And well ye know what way she came To Rheims and Rouen in due time; Wherefore I wot that, when ye stand At Chinon, it is holy land.
Likewise for him, who first drew breath Among the vines by Chinon town, Who laughed the Philistines to death And mocked their dismal Dagons down, For Master Francoys Rabelais, In Chinon keep high holiday.
He flogged the monks, be flayed the Pope, The lawyers writhed beneath his rod, He gibed the axe, he jeered the rope, He made a jest of all save God ; Wherefore in Chinon think to pray For Master Francoys Rabelais.
And yours the loss, if ye should fail To climb the cliff, when day is dead, And moonlight floods the shadowy vale As though Vienne had burst her bed, For best of all is Chinon then, White Chinon by the blue Vienne.
FRANK TAYLOR.
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