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| Thank Fates! I no more, now I've crossed the Styx, Shall hear of "Seventy-one" or "Fifty-six," Nor Treaty,—or of Paris, or of London— Such silly compacts, once for all, are undone. You can't for nothing scratch your neighbour's face; So Isis pays the whole costs of the case. The dwellers by the Styx will now be free To live just as it pleases them,—and me. We're anxious, both, to benefit Bulgaria, So we've agreed to give her a good area,— Much land and many people,—and in fact, To make her independent, strong, compact. My under-nymph, Roumania, overflows With gratitude to me,—so I propose (Lest I should seem her love to underrate) T'accept a slice of family estate We alienated once, in times of yore, Called Bessarabia, on the Euxine shore, By Styx's mouth; for which, we shall arrange That Isis gives some trifle in exchange. For dear Bulgaria anxious, I have made Arrangements for her sons with mine to trade; Her ports shall open to the Euxine gales, Ægean breezes fill her frequent sails. In me is vested (by our mutual wish) The right upon the Styx to row and fish. |
