Page:The poems of Emma Lazarus volume 1.djvu/45

Rh Versailles, &quot; that gorgeous shell of royalty, where the crowd who celebrate the birth of the republic wander freely through the halls and avenues, and into the most sacred rooms of the king. . . . There are ruins on every side in Paris,&quot; she says; &quot; ruins of the Commune, or the Siege, or the Revolution; it is terrible—it seems as if the city were seared with fire and blood.&quot;

Such was Paris to her then, and she hastens back to her beloved London, starting from there on the tour through England that has been mapped out for her. &quot;A Day in Surrey with William Morris,&quot; published in &quot;The Century Magazine,&quot; describes her visit to Merton Abbey, the old Norman monastery, converted into a model factory by the poet - humanitarian, who himself received her as his guest, conducted her all over the picturesque building and garden, and explained to her his views of art and his aims for the people.

She drives through Kent, &quot; where the fields, valleys, and slopes are garlanded with hops and ablaze with scarlet poppies.&quot; Then Canterbury, Windsor, and Oxford, Stratford, Warwick, the valley of the Wye, Wells, Exeter, and Salisbury,—cathedral after cathedral. Back to London, and then north through York, Durham, and Edinburgh, and on the 15th of September she sails for home. We have merely named the names, for it is impossible to convey an idea of