Green wood and silver sea, and, these between,
The sands that are their golden bordering,
Make up, no doubt, as sweetly fair a scene
As ever poet took in hand to sing.
But, for this while, I feel inclined to quarrel
With those who chose to call the spot Balmoral.
Our town is greatly favored by the fate
Which placed these lovely bays so near at hand;
And I, with thousands more, appreciate
The varied beauties of their shore and strand,
And most the fretted rocks, like branching coral,
Which deck the water-frontage of Balmoral.
Yet 'tis not sweet Loch Muick, this bitter sea;
And though the tree-clad hills wave fair and far,
Where are the braes above the twining Dee?
Where loud Glasalit, and towering Lochnagar?
About as like as cabbage is to sorrel
Is its Australian namesake to Balmoral.
Here I am forced to overstate the case,
Imputing undeserved excess of blame.
I only wish to say I think the place
Might have received a more appropriate name;
But rhyme compels to call the deed immoral
Which gave to it the title of Balmoral.
But let us shun dissension. If you please,
Let me suggest that as the scene before you
(This Macaronic rhyme was Calverley's)
Is surely "nulla non donanda lauru,"
Let Scotland and Australia share the laurel,
By leaf and leaf, 'twixt this and that Balmoral.
