AT THE EMBASSY by LOUIS JONES MAGEE

WELL, vision from the distant West,
What brought you hither? What's your quest?
Just come? What ship? What sent you?
Come here to study or to rest?
Unless you've altered your career,
'T is chiefly for the rest, I fear.
Come on, and I'll present you
To some of your compatriots here.

On many such a @3jour de fete@1
We gather here to celebrate
The common ties that bind us,
The glories of our land and state.
For wanderers like you and me
It's good to have a cup of tea
With people who remind us
Of all we love beyond the sea.

This titled lady here we claim;
She's foreign only in her name.
That beauty there in purple
Is keeping up her nation's fame:
She makes the Europeans stare.
Our countrywomen get their share
Of praise in the court circle.
Now you must meet our @3Secretaire.@1

When (as in every other trade)
Experience and tact are made
A diplomat's conditions,
His labors here will be repaid.
That dash of chiffon, chic, and grace,
That dream of loveliness and lace,
Are recent acquisitions;
The taller has a Gibson face.

And here's the man we rally 'round,
The exiles' help on alien ground,
Poor man, our churchless Pastor.
These travellers love the gospel sound,
But leave more nickel here than gold.
The building fund grows some, we're told,
The colony grows faster.
So many sheep should have a fold.

The Consul does look @3distingue@1.
Ah! there's the Naval @3Attache@1,
And those are his two sisters.
The greybeard with them, by the way,
Been here a score of years or so;
Has seen the envoys come and go
When they were still @3Ministres@1,
A sort of permanence, you know.

If new-world qualities do spoil
By contact with this foreign soil,
It is a satisfaction
That (as for governmental toil)
Our rulers show much skill and sense.
Trust then that foreign residence
Shall not have time for action
On diplomatic eminence!

I wish I wore a uniform!
The officers just seem to swarm
Around that pretty heiress.
They say she took the court by storm.
She's just from home, refreshing sight,
And, if I judge the fashions right,
She came by way of Paris.
You're going? Well, old man, good-night.

Yes, we're a migratory band;
One grasps almost a welcoming hand
To bid farewell; we're all in motion.
Sometimes we miss the native land
And wonder what we left it for;
But still we colonists have more
Than all they have beyond the ocean,
They haven't the Ambassador.

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