Thence if the savage Sassenach should hound me Into the heart of gallant little Wales, O may some suitable retreat be found me Amid fair Cambria's enchanting vales; For I have ever been, and am, a glutton For all things Welsh-from music down to mutton. Yes, Wales I love, home of the bilious bunny; Whose heather yields the most delicious honey, Whose Bards are countless as the sands o' Dee. Whose leek, to any educated nose, Is sweeter than the overrated rose. There, to assuage the thirsty native throttle, My noble and accomplished friend Lord Bute1 In South Wales, Lord Bute has had a vineyard for nineteen years, and he has made good wine from his grapes. Lord Bute's Fertili Baccho minimum Falernis Invidet uvis. Ille te mecum locus et beatæ Postulant arces; ibi tu calentein Debita sparges lacrima favillam Vatis amici Grows splendid wine at nine-and-six the bottle— A most refined and lucrative pursuit. In fact, there's not 'the differ of' a bouton "Twixt Mouton Rothschild and this Cymru Mouton There Watkin's high but hospitable châlet Will oftentimes invite us for a climb By slow and easy stages from the valley, head gardener says that some of the wine from the 1881 crop realised 115s. a dozen when sold by auction at Birmingham last year. This crop was grown at Castell Coch. Lord Bute has now another large vineyard on the shore of the Bristol Channel, where theGamy Nori' grapes last year gave forty hogsheads of wine of the best quality.'-Daily Graphic, September 17, 1894. |