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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/34762-8.txt b/34762-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..197833d --- /dev/null +++ b/34762-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,3420 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Fanny, by Fitz-Greene Halleck + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Fanny + With Other Poems + + +Author: Fitz-Greene Halleck + + + +Release Date: December 30, 2010 [eBook #34762] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY*** + + +E-text prepared by Barbara Tozier, Stephanie McKee, Bill Tozier, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustration. + See 34762-h.htm or 34762-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34762/34762-h/34762-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34762/34762-h.zip) + + +Transcriber's note: + + In many places, this work contains asterisks within words + (as a form of censorship?) or to represent missing fragments + of text. These asterisks, while they appear clumsy, are + preserved in order to avoid changing the meaning of the + text. Because of the prevalence of asterisks in the work, + thought breaks are denoted by strings of dashes instead of + the standard strings of asterisks. + + Text surrounded by underscores is italicized in the original + work. + + The string [oe] is used to refer to the oe ligature, which + is not available in this character set. + + + + + +FANNY +WITH +OTHER POEMS. + + +[Illustration: WEEHAWKEN.] + + + + + + +New-York +Harper & Brothers + + + + +FANNY, + + + "A fairy vision + Of some gay creatures of the element, + That in the colours of the rainbow live, + And play in the plighted clouds." + + MILTON. + + + +FROM THE EDITION OF 1821. + +F. G. Halleck. + +New-York: +Harper & Brothers, 82 Cliff Street +1846. + +Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by +Harper & Brothers, +in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + Fanny ...........................................5 + The Recorder ...................................73 + + EPISTLES, ETC. + + To W*lt*r B*wne, Esq. ..........................95 + To ***** ......................................101 + A Fragment ....................................107 + Song, by Miss *** .............................111 + Song, for the Drama of the Spy ................115 + Address at the Opening of a new Theatre .......117 + The Rhyme of the Ancient Coaster ..............121 + + + + +FANNY. + + + I. + + Fanny was younger once than she is now, + And prettier of course: I do not mean + To say that there are wrinkles on her brow; + Yet, to be candid, she is past eighteen-- + Perhaps past twenty--but the girl is shy + About her age, and Heaven forbid that I + + + II. + + Should get myself in trouble by revealing + A secret of this sort; I have too long + Loved pretty women with a poet's feeling, + And when a boy, in day dream and in song, + Have knelt me down and worshipp'd them: alas! + They never thank'd me for't--but let that pass. + + + III. + + I've felt full many a heart-ache in my day, + At the mere rustling of a muslin gown, + And caught some dreadful colds, I blush to say, + While shivering in the shade of beauty's frown. + They say her smiles are sunbeams--it may be-- + But never a sunbeam would she throw on me. + + + IV. + + But Fanny's is an eye that you may gaze on + For half an hour, without the slightest harm; + E'en when she wore her smiling summer face on + There was but little danger, and the charm + That youth and wealth once gave, has bade farewell. + Hers is a sad, sad tale--'tis mine its woes to tell. + + + V. + + Her father kept, some fifteen years ago, + A retail dry-good shop in Chatham-street, + And nursed his little earnings, sure though slow, + Till, having muster'd wherewithal to meet + The gaze of the great world, he breathed the air + Of Pearl-street--and "set up" in Hanover-square. + + + VI. + + Money is power, 'tis said--I never tried; + I'm but a poet--and bank-notes to me + Are curiosities, as closely eyed, + Whene'er I get them, as a stone would be, + Toss'd from the moon on Doctor Mitchill's table, + Or classic brickbat from the tower of Babel. + + + VII. + + + But he I sing of well has known and felt + That money hath a power and a dominion; + For when in Chatham-street the good man dwelt, + No one would give a sous for his opinion. + And though his neighbours were extremely civil, + Yet, on the whole, they thought him--a poor devil, + + + VIII. + + A decent kind of person; one whose head + Was not of brains particularly full; + It was not known that he had ever said + Any thing worth repeating--'twas a dull, + Good, honest man--what Paulding's muse would call + A "cabbage head"--but he excelled them all + + + IX. + + In that most noble of the sciences, + The art of making money; and he found + The zeal for quizzing him grew less and less, + As he grew richer; till upon the ground + Of Pearl-street, treading proudly in the might + And majesty of wealth, a sudden light + + + X. + + Flash'd like the midnight lightning on the eyes + Of all who knew him; brilliant traits of mind, + And genius, clear and countless as the dies + Upon the peacock's plumage; taste refined, + Wisdom and wit, were his--perhaps much more. + 'Twas strange they had not found it out before. + + + XI. + + In this quick transformation, it is true + That cash had no small share; but there were still + Some other causes, which then gave a new + Impulse to head and heart, and join'd to fill + His brain with knowledge; for there first he met + The editor of the New-York Gazette, + + + XII. + + The sapient Mr. L**G. The world of him + Knows much, yet not one half so much as he + Knows of the world. Up to its very brim + The goblet of his mind is sparkling free + With lore and learning. Had proud Sheba's queen, + In all her bloom and beauty, but have seen + + + XIII. + + This modern Solomon, the Israelite, + Earth's monarch as he was, had never won her. + He would have hang'd himself for very spite, + And she, bless'd woman, might have had the honour + Of some neat "paragraphs"--worth all the lays + That Judah's minstrel warbled in her praise. + + + XIV. + + Her star arose too soon; but that which sway'd + Th' ascendant at our merchant's natal hour + Was bright with better destiny--its aid + Led him to pluck within the classic bower + Of bulletins, the blossoms of true knowledge; + And L**G supplied the loss of school and college. + + + XV. + + For there he learn'd the news some minutes sooner + Than others could; and to distinguish well + The different signals, whether ship or schooner, + Hoisted at Staten Island; and to tell + The change of wind, and of his neighbour's fortunes, + And, best of all--he there learn'd self-importance. + + + XVI. + + Nor were these all the advantages derived + From change of scene; for near his domicil, + He of the pair of polish'd lamps then lived, + And in my hero's promenades, at will, + Could he behold them burning--and their flame + Kindled within his breast the love of fame, + + + XVII. + + And politics, and country; the pure glow + Of patriot ardour, and the consciousness + That talents such as his might well bestow + A lustre on the city; she would bless + His name; and that some service should be done her, + He pledged "life, fortune, and his sacred honour." + + + XVIII. + + And when the sounds of music and of mirth, + Bursting from Fashion's groups assembled there, + Were heard, as round their lone plebeian hearth + Fanny and he were seated--he would dare + To whisper fondly, that the time might come + When he and his could give as brilliant routs at home. + + + XIX. + + And oft would Fanny near that mansion linger, + When the cold winter moon was high in heaven, + And trace out, by the aid of Fancy's finger, + Cards for some future party, to be given + When she, in turn, should be a _belle_, and they + Had lived their little hour, and pass'd away. + + + XX. + + There are some happy moments in this lone + And desolate world of ours, that well repay + The toil of struggling through it, and atone + For many a long, sad night and weary day. + They come upon the mind like some wild air + Of distant music, when we know not where, + + + XXI. + + Or whence, the sounds are brought from, and their power, + Though brief, is boundless. That far, future home, + Oft dream'd of, beckons near--it's rose-wreathed bower, + And cloudless skies before us: we become + Changed on the instant--all gold leaf and gilding: + This is, in vulgar phrase, call'd "castle building." + + + XXII. + + But these, like sunset clouds, fade soon; 'tis vain + To bid them linger longer, or to ask + On what day they intend to call again; + And, surely, 'twere a philosophic task, + Worthy a Mitchill, in his hours of leisure, + To find some means to summon them at pleasure. + + + XXIII. + + There certainly are powers of doing this, + In some degree at least--for instance, drinking. + Champagne will bathe the heart a while in bliss, + And keep the head a little time from thinking + Of cares or creditors--the best wine in town + You'll get from Lynch--the cash must be paid down. + + + XXIV. + + But if you are a bachelor, like me, + And spurn all chains, even though made of roses, + I'd recommend segars--there is a free + And happy spirit, that, unseen, reposes + On the dim shadowy clouds that hover o'er you, + When smoking quietly with a warm fire before you. + + + XXV. + + Dear to the exile is his native land, + In memory's twilight beauty seen afar: + Dear to the broker is a note of hand, + Collaterally secured--the polar star + Is dear at midnight to the sailor's eyes, + And dear are Bristed's volumes at "half price;" + + + XXVI. + + But dearer far to me each fairy minute + Spent in that fond forgetfulness of grief; + There is an airy web of magic in it, + As in Othello's pocket-handkerchief, + Veiling the wrinkles on the brow of sorrow, + The gathering gloom to-day, the thunder cloud to-morrow + + + XXVII. + + And these are innocent thoughts--a man may sit + Upon a bright throne of his own creation; + Untortured by the ghastly sprites that flit + Around the many, whose exalted station + Has been attained by means 'twere pain to hint on, + Just for the rhyme's sake--instance Mr. Cl*n*on. + + + XXVIII. + + He struggled hard, but not in vain, and breathes + The mountain air at last; but there are others + Who strove, like him, to win the glittering wreaths + Of power, his early partisans and brothers, + That linger yet in dust from whence they sprung, + Unhonour'd and unpaid, though, luckily, unhung. + + + XXIX. + + 'Twas theirs to fill with gas the huge balloon + Of party; and they hoped, when it arose, + To soar like eagles in the blaze of noon, + Above the gaping crowd of friends and foes. + Alas! like Guillé's car, it soar'd without them, + And left them with a mob to jeer and flout them. + + + XXX. + + Though Fanny's moonlight dreams were sweet as those + I've dwelt so long upon--they were more stable; + Hers were not "castles in the air" that rose + Based upon nothing; for her sire was able, + As well she knew, to "buy out" the one half + Of Fashion's glittering train, that nightly quaff + + + XXXI. + + Wine, wit, and wisdom, at a midnight rout, + From dandy coachmen, whose "exquisite" grin + And "ruffian" lounge flash brilliantly without, + Down to their brother dandies ranged within, + Gay as the Brussels carpeting they tread on, + And sapient as the oysters they are fed on. + + + XXXII. + + And Rumour (she's a famous liar, yet + 'Tis wonderful how easy we believe her) + Had whisper'd he was rich, and all he met + In Wall-street, nodded, smiled, and "tipp'd the beaver;" + All, from Mr. Gelston, the collector, + Down to the broker, and the bank director. + + XXXIII. + + A few brief years pass'd over, and his rank + Among the worthies of that street was fix'd; + He had become director of a bank, + And six insurance offices, and mix'd + Familiarly, as one among his peers, + With grocers, dry-good merchants, auctioneers, + + + XXXIV. + + Brokers of all grades--stock and pawn--and Jews + Of all religions, who at noonday form, + On 'Change, that brotherhood the moral muse + Delights in, where the heart is pure and warm, + And each exerts his intellectual force + To cheat his neighbour--legally, of course. + + + XXXV. + + And there he shone a planetary star, + Circled around by lesser orbs, whose beams + From his were borrow'd. The simile is not far + From truth--for many bosom friends, it seems, + Did borrow of him, and sometimes forget + To pay--indeed, they have not paid him yet. + + + XXXVI. + + But these he deem'd as trifles, when each mouth + Was open in his praise, and plaudits rose + Upon his willing ear, "like the sweet south + Upon a bank of violets," from those + Who knew his talents, virtues, and so forth; + That is--knew how much money he was worth. + + + XXXVII. + + Alas! poor human nature; had he been + But satisfied with this, his golden days + Their setting hour of darkness had not seen, + And he might still (in the mercantile phrase) + Be living "in good order and condition;" + But he was ruined by that jade Ambition, + + + XXXVIII. + + "That last infirmity of noble minds," + Whose spell, like whiskey, your true patriot liquor, + To politics the lofty hearts inclines + Of all, from Clinton down to the bill-sticker + Of a ward-meeting. She came slyly creeping + To his bedside, where he lay snug and sleeping. + + + XXXIX. + + Her brow was turban'd with a bucktail wreath, + A broach of terrapin her bosom wore, + Tompkins' letter was just seen beneath + Her arm, and in her hand on high she bore + A National Advocate--Pell's polite Review + Lay at her feet--'twas pommell'd black and blue. + + + XL. + + She was in fashion's elegant undress, + Muffled from throat to ankle; and her hair + Was all "_en papillotes_," each auburn tress + Prettily pinn'd apart. You well might swear + She was no beauty; yet, when "made up," ready + For visiters, 'twas quite another lady. + + + XLI. + + Since that wise pedant, Johnson, was in fashion, + Manners have changed as well as moons; and he + Would fret himself once more into a passion, + Should he return (which heaven forbid!), and see, + How strangely from his standard dictionary, + The meaning of some words is made to vary. + + + XLII. + + For instance, an _undress_ at present means + The wearing a pelisse, a shawl, or so; + Or any thing you please, in short, that screens + The face, and hides the form from top to toe; + Of power to brave a quizzing-glass, or storm-- + 'Tis worn in summer, when the weather's warm. + + + XLIII. + + But a full dress is for a winter's night. + The most genteel is made of "woven air;" + That kind of classic cobweb, soft and light, + Which Lady Morgan's Ida used to wear. + And ladies, this aërial manner dress'd in, + Look Eve-like, angel-like, and interesting. + + + XLIV. + + But Miss Ambition was, as I was saying, + "_Dèshabillée_"--his bedside tripping near, + And, gently on his nose her fingers laying, + She roar'd out Tammany! in his frighted ear. + The potent word awoke him from his nap, + And then she vanish'd, whisp'ring _verbum sap_. + + + XLV. + + The last words were beyond his comprehension, + For he had left off schooling, ere the Greek + Or Latin classics claim'd his mind's attention: + Besides, he often had been heard to speak + Contemptuously of all that sort of knowledge, + Taught so profoundly in Columbia College. + + + XLVI. + + We owe the ancients something. You have read + Their works, no doubt--at least in a translation; + Yet there was argument in what he said, + I scorn equivocation or evasion, + And own it must, in candour, be confess'd, + They were an ignorant set of men at best. + + + XLVII. + + 'Twas their misfortune to be born too soon + By centuries, and in the wrong place too; + They never saw a steamboat, or balloon, + Velocipede, or Quarterly Review; + Or wore a pair of Baehr's black satin breeches, + Or read an Almanac, or Clinton's Speeches. + + + XLVIII. + + In short, in every thing we far outshine them,-- + Art, science, taste, and talent; and a stroll + Through this enlighten'd city would refine them + More than ten years hard study of the whole + Their genius has produced of rich and rare-- + God bless the Corporation and the Mayor! + + + XLIX. + + In sculpture, we've a grace the Grecian master, + Blushing, had own'd his purest model lacks; + We've Mr. Bogart in the best of plaster, + The Witch of Endor in the best of wax, + Besides the head of Franklin on the roof + Of Mr. Lang, both jest and weather proof. + + + L. + + And on our City Hall a Justice stands; + A neater form was never made of board, + Holding majestically in her hands + A pair of steelyards and a wooden sword; + And looking down with complaisant civility-- + Emblem of dignity and durability. + + + LI. + + In painting, we have Trumbull's proud _chef d'[oe]uvre_, + Blending in one the funny and the fine: + His "Independence" will endure for ever, + And so will Mr. Allen's lottery sign; + And all that grace the Academy of Arts, + From Dr. Hosack's face to Bonaparte's. + + + LII. + + In architecture, our unrivall'd skill + Cullen's magnesian shop has loudly spoken + To an admiring world; and better still + Is Gautier's fairy palace at Hoboken. + In music, we've the Euterpian Society, + And amateurs, a wonderful variety. + + + LIII. + + In physic, we have Francis and M'Neven, + Famed for long heads, short lectures, and long bills; + And Quackenboss and others, who from heaven + Were rain'd upon us in a shower of pills; + They'd beat the deathless Esculapius hollow, + And make a starveling druggist of Apollo. + + + LIV. + + And who, that ever slumber'd at the Forum, + But owns the first of orators we claim; + Cicero would have bow'd the knee before 'em-- + And for law eloquence, we've Doctor Graham. + Compared with him, their Justins and Quintillians + Had dwindled into second-rate civilians. + + + LV. + + For purity and chastity of style, + There's Pell's preface, and puffs by Horne and Waite. + For penetration deep, and learned toil, + And all that stamps an author truly great, + Have we not Bristed's ponderous tomes? a treasure + For any man of patience and of leisure. + + + LVI. + + Oxonian Bristed! many a foolscap page + He, in his time, hath written, and moreover + (What few will do in this degenerate age) + Hath read his own works, as you may discover + By counting his quotations from himself-- + You'll find the books on any auction shelf. + + + LVII. + + I beg Great Britain's pardon; 'tis not meant + To claim this Oxford scholar as our own: + That he was shipp'd off here to represent + Her literature among us, is well known; + And none could better fill the lofty station + Of Learning's envoy from the British nation. + + + LVIII. + + We fondly hope that he will be respected + At home, and soon obtain a place or pension. + We should regret to see him live neglected, + Like Fearon, Ashe, and others we could mention; + Who paid us friendly visits to abuse + Our country, and find food for the reviews. + + + LIX. + + But to return.--The Heliconian waters + Are sparkling in their native fount no more, + And after years of wandering, the nine daughters + Of poetry have found upon our shore + A happier home, and on their sacred shrines + Glow in immortal ink, the polish'd lines + + + LX. + + Of Woodworth, Doctor Farmer, Moses Scott-- + Names hallow'd by their reader's sweetest smile; + And who that reads at all has read them not? + "That blind old man of Scio's rocky isle," + Homer, was well enough; but would he ever + Have written, think ye, the Backwoodsman? never. + + + LXI. + + Alas! for Paulding--I regret to see + In such a stanza one whose giant powers, + Seen in their native element, will be + Known to a future age, the pride of ours. + There is none breathing who can better wield + The battle-axe of satire. On its field + + + LXII. + + The wreath he fought for he has bravely won, + Long be its laurel green around his brow! + It is too true, I'm somewhat fond of fun + And jesting; but for once I'm serious now. + Why is he sipping weak Castalian dews? + The muse has damn'd him--let him damn the muse + + + LXIII. + + But to return once more: the ancients fought + Some tolerable battles. Marathon + Is still a theme for high and holy thought, + And many a poet's lay. We linger on + The page that tells us of the brave and free, + And reverence thy name, unmatch'd Thermopylæ. + + + LXIV. + + And there were spirited troops in other days-- + The Roman legion and the Spartan band, + And Swartwout's gallant corps, the Iron Grays-- + Soldiers who met their foemen hand to hand, + Or swore, at least, to meet them undismay'd; + Yet what were these to General Laight's brigade + + + LXV. + + Of veterans? nursed in that Free School of glory, + The New-York State Militia. From Bellevue, + E'en to the Battery flagstaff, the proud story + Of their man[oe]uvres at the last review + Has rang; and Clinton's "order" told afar + He never led a better corps to war. + + + LXVI. + + What, Egypt, was thy magic, to the tricks + Of Mr. Charles, Judge Spencer, or Van Buren? + The first with cards, the last in politics, + A conjuror's fame for years have been securing. + And who would now the Athenian dramas read + When he can get "Wall-street," by Mr. Mead. + + + LXVII. + + I might say much about our letter'd men, + Those "grave and reverend seigniors," who compose + Our learn'd societies--but here my pen + Stops short; for they themselves, the rumour goes, + The exclusive privilege by patent claim, + Of trumpeting (as the phrase is) their own fame. + + + LXVIII. + + And, therefore, I am silent. It remains + To bless the hour the Corporation took it + Into their heads to give the rich in brains, + The worn-out mansion of the poor in pocket, + Once "the old almshouse," now a school of wisdom, + Sacred to Scudder's shells and Dr. Griscom. + + + LXIX. + + But whither am I wandering? The esteem + I bear "this fair city of the heart," + To me a dear enthusiastic theme, + Has forced me, all unconsciously, to part + Too long from him, the hero of my story. + Where was he?--waking from his dream of glory. + + + LXX. + + And she, the lady of his dream, had fled, + And left him somewhat puzzled and confused. + He understood, however, half she said; + And that is quite as much as we are used + To comprehend, or fancy worth repeating, + In speeches heard at any public meeting. + + + LXXI. + + And the next evening found him at the Hall; + There he was welcomed by the cordial hand, + And met the warm and friendly grasp of all + Who take, like watchmen, there, their nightly stand, + A ring, as in a boxing match, procuring, + To bet on Clinton, Tompkins, or Van Buren. + + + LXXII. + + 'Twas a propitious moment; for a while + The waves of party were at rest. Upon + Each complacent brow was gay good humour's smile; + And there was much of wit, and jest, and pun, + And high amid the circle, in great glee, + Sat Croaker's old acquaintance, John Targee. + + + LXXIII. + + His jokes excell'd the rest, and oft he sang + Songs, patriotic, as in duty bound. + He had a little of the "nasal twang + Heard at conventicle;" but yet you found + In him a dash of purity and brightness, + That spoke the man of taste and of politeness. + + + LXXIV. + + For he had been, it seems, the bosom friend + Of England's prettiest bard, Anacreon Moore. + They met when he, the bard, came here to lend + His mirth and music to this favourite shore; + For, as the proverb saith, "birds of a feather + Instinctively will flock and fly together." + + + LXXV. + + The winds that wave thy cedar boughs are breathing, + "Lake of the Dismal Swamp!" that poet's name; + And the spray-showers their noonday halos wreathing + Around "Cohoes," are brighten'd by his fame. + And bright its sunbeam o'er St. Lawrence smiles, + Her million lilies, and her thousand isles. + + + LXXVI. + + We hear his music in her oarsmen's lay, + And where her church-bells "toll the evening chime;" + Yet when to him the grateful heart would pay + Its homage, now, and in all coming time, + Up springs a doubtful question whether we + Owe it to Tara's minstrel or Targee. + + + LXXVII. + + Together oft they wander'd--many a spot + Now consecrated, as the minstrel's theme, + By words of beauty ne'er to be forgot, + Their mutual feet have trod; and when the stream + Of thought and feeling flow'd in mutual speech, + 'Twere vain to tell how much each taught to each. + + + LXXVIII. + + But, from the following song, it would appear + That he of Erin from the sachem took + The model of his "Bower of Bendemeer," + One of the sweetest airs in Lalla Rookh; + 'Tis to be hoped that in his next edition, + This, the original, will find admission. + + + SONG. + + There's a barrel of porter at Tammany Hall, + And the bucktails are swigging it all the night long; + In the time of my boyhood 'twas pleasant to call + For a seat and segar, mid the jovial throng. + + That beer and those bucktails I never forget; + But oft, when alone, and unnoticed by all, + I think, is the porter cask foaming there yet? + Are the bucktails still swigging at Tammany Hall? + + No! the porter was out long before it was stale, + But some blossoms on many a nose brightly shone; + And the speeches inspired by the fumes of the ale, + Had the fragrance of porter when porter was gone. + + How much Cozzens will draw of such beer ere he dies, + Is a question of moment to me and to all; + For still dear to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, + Is that barrel of porter at Tammany Hall. + + + SONG. + + There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, + And the nightingale sings round it all the night long, + In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream + To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. + + That bower and its music I never forget; + But oft, when alone, in the bloom of the year, + I think, is the nightingale singing there yet? + Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer? + + No! the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, + But some blossoms were gather'd while freshly they shone; + And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave + All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone. + + Thus memory draws from delight ere it dies, + An essence that breathes of it many a year; + Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, + Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer. + + + LXXIX. + + For many months my hero ne'er neglected + To take his ramble there, and soon found out, + In much less time than one could have expected, + What 'twas they all were quarrelling about. + He learn'd the party countersigns by rote, + And when to clap his hands, and how to vote. + + + LXXX. + + He learn'd that Clinton became Governor + Somehow by chance, when we were all asleep; + That he had neither sense, nor talent, nor + Any good quality, and would not keep + His place an hour after the next election-- + So powerful was the voice of disaffection. + + + LXXXI. + + That he was a mere puppet made to play + A thousand tricks, while Spencer touch'd the springs-- + Spencer, the mighty Warwick of his day, + "That setter up, and puller down of kings," + Aided by Miller, Pell, and Doctor Graham, + And other men of equal worth and fame. + + + LXXXII. + + And that he'd set the people at defiance, + By placing knaves and fools in public stations; + And that his works in literature and science + Were but a schoolboy's web of misquotations; + And that he'd quoted from the devil even-- + "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven." + + + LXXXIII. + + To these authentic facts each bucktail swore; + But Clinton's friends averr'd, in contradiction, + They were but fables, told by Mr. Noah, + Who had a privilege to deal in fiction, + Because he'd written travels, and a melo- + Drama; and was, withal, a pleasant fellow. + + + LXXXIV. + + And they declared that Tompkins was no better + Than he should be; that he had borrow'd money, + And paid it--not in cash--but with a letter; + And though some trifling service he had done, he + Still wanted spirit, energy, and fire; + And was disliked by--Mr. M'Intyre. + + + LXXXV. + + In short, each one with whom in conversation + He join'd, contrived to give him different views + Of men and measures; and the information + Which he obtain'd, but aided to confuse + His brain. At best, 'twas never very clear; + And now 'twas turn'd with politics and beer. + + + LXXXVI. + + And he was puff'd, and flatter'd, and caress'd + By all, till he sincerely thought that nature + Had form'd him for an alderman at least-- + Perhaps, a member of the legislature; + And that he had the talents, ten times over, + Of H*n*y M**gs, or P*t*r H. W*nd*ver. + + + LXXXVII. + + The man was mad, 'tis plain, and merits pity, + Or he had never dared, in such a tone, + To speak of two great persons, whom the city, + With pride and pleasure, points to as her own. + Men, wise in council, brilliant in debate, + "The expectancy and rose of the fair state." + + + LXXXVIII. + + The one--for a pure style and classic manner, + Is--Mr. Sachem Mooney far before. + The other, in his speech about the banner, + Spell-bound his audience until they swore + That such a speech was never heard till then, + And never would be--till he spoke again. + + + LXXXIX. + + Though 'twas presumptuous in this friend of ours + To think of rivalling these, I must allow + That still the man had talents; and the powers + Of his capacious intellect were now + Improved by foreign travel, and by reading, + And at the Hall he'd learn'd, of course, good breeding. + + + XC. + + He had read the newspapers with great attention, + Advertisements and all; and Riley's book + Of travels--valued for its rich invention; + And Day and Turner's Price Current; and took + The Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews; + And also Colonel Pell's; and, to amuse + + + XCI. + + His leisure hours with classic tale and story, + Longworth's Directory, and Mead's Wall-street, + And Mr. Delaplaine's Repository; + And Mitchill's scientific works complete, + With other standard books of modern days, + Lay on his table, cover'd with green baize. + + + XCII. + + His travels had extended to Bath races; + And Bloomingdale and Bergen he had seen, + And Harlæm Heights; and many other places, + By sea and land, had visited; and been, + In a steamboat of the Vice President's, + To Staten-Island once--for fifty cents. + + + XCIII. + + And he had dined, by special invitation, + On turtle, with "the party" at Hoboken; + And thank'd them for his card in an oration, + Declared to be the shortest ever spoken. + And he had stroll'd one day o'er Weehawk hill: + A day worth all the rest--he recollects it still. + + + XCIV. + + Weehawken! In thy mountain scenery yet, + All we adore of nature in her wild + And frolic hour of infancy, is met; + And never has a summer's morning smiled + Upon a lovelier scene, than the full eye + Of the enthusiast revels on--when high + + + XCV. + + Amid thy forest solitudes, he climbs + O'er crags, that proudly tower above the deep, + And knows that sense of danger which sublimes + The breathless moment--when his daring step + Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear + The low dash of the wave with startled ear, + + + XCVI. + + Like the death-music of his coming doom, + And clings to the green turf with desperate force, + As the heart clings to life; and when resume + The currents in his veins their wonted course, + There lingers a deep feeling--like the moan + Of wearied ocean, when the storm is gone. + + + XCVII. + + In such an hour he turns, and on his view, + Ocean, and earth, and heaven, burst before him; + Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue + Of summer's sky in beauty bending o'er him-- + The city bright below; and far away, + Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay. + + + XCVIII. + + Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement, + And banners floating in the sunny air; + And white sails o'er the calm blue waters bent, + Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there + In wild reality. When life is old, + And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold + + + XCIX. + + Its memory of this; nor lives there one + Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood's days + Of happiness were pass'd beneath that sun, + That in his manhood's prime can calmly gaze + Upon that bay, or on that mountain stand, + Nor feel the prouder of his native land. + + + C. + + "This may be poetry, for aught I know," + Said an old, worthy friend of mine, while leaning + Over my shoulder as I wrote, "although + I can't exactly comprehend its meaning. + For my part, I have long been a petitioner + To Mr. John M'Comb, the street-commissioner, + + + CI. + + "That he would think of Weehawk, and would lay it + Handsomely out in avenue and square; + Then tax the land, and make its owners pay it + (As is the usual plan pursued elsewhere); + Blow up the rocks, and sell the wood for fuel-- + 'Twould save us many a dollar, and a duel." + + + CII. + + The devil take you and John M'Comb, said I; + Lang, in its praise, has penn'd one paragraph, + And promised me another. I defy, + With such assistance, yours and the world's laugh; + And half believe that Paulding, on this theme, + Might be a poet--strange as it may seem. + + + CIII. + + For even our traveller felt, when home returning + From that day's tour, as on the deck he stood, + The fire of poetry within him burning; + "Albeit unused to the rhyming mood;" + And with a pencil on his knee he wrote + The following flaming lines + + + TO THE HORSEBOAT. + + 1 + + Away--o'er the wave to the home we are seeking, + Bark of my hope! ere the evening be gone; + There's a wild, wild note in the curlew's shrieking; + There's a whisper of death in the wind's low moan. + + 2 + + Though blue and bright are the heavens above me, + And the stars are asleep on the quiet sea; + And hearts I love, and hearts that love me, + Are beating beside me merrily, + + 3 + + Yet, far in the west, where the day's faded roses, + Touch'd by the moonbeam, are withering fast; + Where the half-seen spirit of twilight reposes, + Hymning the dirge of the hours that are past, + + 4 + + There, where the ocean-wave sparkles at meeting + (As sunset dreams tell us) the kiss of the sky, + On his dim, dark cloud is the infant storm sitting, + And beneath the horizon his lightnings are nigh. + + 5 + + Another hour--and the death-word is given, + Another hour--and his lightnings are here; + Speed! speed thee, my bark; ere the breeze of even + Is lost in the tempest, our home will be near. + + 6 + + Then away o'er the wave, while thy pennant is streaming + In the shadowy light, like a shooting star; + Be swift as the thought of the wanderer, dreaming, + In a stranger land, of his fireside afar. + + 7 + + And while memory lingers I'll fondly believe thee + A being with life and its best feelings warm; + And freely the wild song of gratitude weave thee, + Bless'd spirit! that bore me and mine from the storm. + + + CIV. + + But where is Fanny? She has long been thrown + Where cheeks and roses wither--in the shade. + The age of chivalry, you know, is gone; + And although, as I once before have said, + I love a pretty face to adoration, + Yet, still, I must preserve my reputation, + + + CV. + + As a true dandy of the modern schools. + One hates to be oldfashion'd; it would be + A violation of the latest rules, + To treat the sex with too much courtesy. + 'Tis not to worship beauty, as she glows + In all her diamond lustre, that the beaux + + + CVI. + + Of these enlighten'd days at evening crowd, + Where fashion welcomes in her rooms of light, + That "dignified obedience; that proud + Submission," which, in times of yore, the knight + Gave to his "ladye-love," is now a scandal, + And practised only by your Goth or Vandal. + + + CVII. + + To lounge in graceful attitudes--be stared + Upon, the while, by every fair one's eye, + And stare one's self, in turn; to be prepared + To dart upon the trays, as swiftly by + The dexterous Simon bears them, and to take + One's share, at least, of coffee, cream, and cake, + + + CVIII. + + Is now to be "the ton." The pouting lip, + And sad, upbraiding eye of the poor girl, + Who hardly of joy's cup one drop can sip, + Ere in the wild confusion, and the whirl, + And tumult of the hour, its bubbles vanish, + Must now be disregarded. One must banish + + + CIX. + + Those antiquated feelings, that belong + To feudal manners and a barbarous age. + Time was--when woman "pour'd her soul" in song, + That all was hush'd around. 'Tis now "the rage" + To deem a song, like bugle-tones in battle, + A signal note, that bids each tongue's artillery rattle. + + + CX. + + And, therefore, I have made Miss Fanny wait + My leisure. She had changed, as you will see, as + Much as her worthy sire, and made as great + Proficiency in taste and high ideas. + The careless smile of other days was gone, + And every gesture spoke "_q'en dira-t' on_?" + + + CXI. + + She long had known that in her father's coffers, + And also to his credit in the banks, + There was some cash; and therefore all the offers + Made her, by gentlemen of the middle ranks, + Of heart and hand, had spurn'd, as far beneath + One whose high destiny it was to breathe, + + + CXII. + + Ere long, the air of Broadway or Park Place, + And reign a fairy queen in fairy land; + Display in the gay dance her form of grace, + Or touch with rounded arm and gloveless hand, + Harp or piano.--Madame Catilani + Forgot a while, and every eye on Fanny. + + + CXIII. + + And in anticipation of that hour, + Her star of hope--her paradise of thought, + She'd had as many masters as the power + Of riches could bestow; and had been taught + The thousand nameless graces that adorn + The daughters of the wealthy and high born. + + + CXIV. + + She had been noticed at some public places + (The Battery, and the balls of Mr. Whale), + For hers was one of those attractive faces, + That when you gaze upon them, never fail + To bid you look again; there was a beam, + A lustre in her eye, that oft would seem + + + CXV. + + A little like effrontery; and yet + The lady meant no harm; her only aim + Was but to be admired by all she met, + And the free homage of the heart to claim; + And if she show'd too plainly this intention, + Others have done the same--'twas not of her invention. + + + CXVI. + + She shone at every concert; where are bought + Tickets, by all who wish them, for a dollar; + She patronised the Theatre, and thought + That Wallack look'd extremely well in Rolla; + She fell in love, as all the ladies do, + With Mr. Simpson--talked as loudly, too, + + + CXVII. + + As any beauty of the highest grade, + To the gay circle in the box beside her; + And when the pit--half vex'd and half afraid, + With looks of smother'd indignation eyed her, + She calmly met their gaze, and stood before 'em, + Smiling at vulgar taste and mock decorum. + + + CXVIII. + + And though by no means a _bas bleu_, she had + For literature a most becoming passion; + Had skimm'd the latest novels, good and bad, + And read the Croakers, when they were in fashion; + And Doctor Chalmers' sermons, of a Sunday; + And Woodworth's Cabinet, and the new Salmagundi. + + + CXIX. + + She was among the first and warmest patrons + Of Griscom's _conversaziónes_ where + In rainbow groups, our bright-eyed maids and matrons, + On science bent, assemble; to prepare + Themselves for acting well, in life, their part + As wives and mothers. There she learn'd by heart + + + CXX. + + Words, to the witches in Macbeth unknown. + _Hydraulics_, _hydrostatics_, and _pneumatics_, + _Dioptrics_, _optics_, _katoptrics_, _carbon_, + _Chlorine_, and _iodine_, and _aërostatics_; + Also,--why frogs, for want of air, expire; + And how to set the Tappan sea on fire! + + + CXXI. + + In all the modern languages she was + Exceedingly well versed; and had devoted, + To their attainment, far more time than has, + By the best teachers lately, been allotted; + For she had taken lessons, twice a week, + For a full month in each; and she could speak + + + CXXII. + + French and Italian, equally as well + As Chinese, Portuguese, or German; and, + What is still more surprising, she could spell + Most of our longest English words off hand; + Was quite familiar in Low Dutch and Spanish, + And thought of studying modern Greek and Danish. + + + CXXIII. + + She sang divinely: and in "Love's young dream," + And "Fanny dearest," and "The soldier's bride;" + And every song, whose dear delightful theme, + Is "Love, still love," had oft till midnight tried + Her finest, loftiest "pigeon-wings" of sound, + Waking the very watchmen far around. + + + CXXIV. + + For her pure taste in dress, I can appeal to + Madame Bouquet, and Monsieur Pardessus; + She was, in short, a woman you might kneel to, + If kneeling were in fashion; or if you + Were wearied of your duns and single life, + And wanted a few thousands and a wife. + 1819. + + + CXXV. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + + + CXXVI. + + "There was a sound of revelry by night;" + Broadway was throng'd with coaches, and within + A mansion of the best of brick, the bright + And eloquent eyes of beauty bade begin + The dance; and music's tones swell'd wild and high, + And hearts and heels kept tune in tremulous ecstasy. + + + CXXVII. + + For many a week, the note of preparation + Had sounded through all circles far and near; + And some five hundred cards of invitation + Bade beau and belle in full costume appear; + There was a most magnificent variety, + All quite select, and of the first society. + + + CXXVIII. + + That is to say--the rich and the well-bred, + The arbiters of fashion and gentility, + In different grades of splendour, from the head + Down to the very toe of our nobility: + Ladies, remarkable for handsome eyes + Or handsome fortunes--learned men, and wise: + + + CXXIX. + + Statesmen, and officers of the militia-- + In short, the "first society"--a phrase, + Which you may understand as best may fit you + Besides the blackest fiddlers of those days, + Placed like their sire, Timotheus, on high, + With horsehair fiddle-bows and teeth of ivory. + + + CXXX. + + The carpets were roll'd up the day before, + And, with a breath, two rooms became but one, + Like man and wife--and, on the polish'd floor, + Chalk in the artists' plastic hand had done + All that chalk could do--in young Eden's bowers + They seemed to tread, and their feet press'd on flowers. + + + CXXXI. + + And when the thousand lights of spermaceti + Stream'd like a shower of sunbeams--and free tresses + Wild as the heads that waved them--and a pretty + Collection of the latest Paris dresses + Wander'd about the rooms like things divine, + It was, as I was told, extremely fine. + + + CXXXII. + + The love of fun, fine faces, and good eating, + Brought many who were tired of self and home; + And some were there in the high hope of meeting + The lady of their bosom's love--and some + To study that deep science, how to please, + And manners in high life, and high-soul'd courtesies. + + + CXXXIII. + + And he, the hero of the night, was there, + In breeches of light drab, and coat of blue. + Taste was conspicuous in his powder'd hair, + And in his frequent _jeux de mots_, that drew + Peals of applauses from the listeners round, + Who were delighted--as in duty bound. + + + CXXXIV. + + 'Twas Fanny's father--Fanny near him stood, + Her power, resistless--and her wish, command; + And Hope's young promises were all made good; + "She reign'd a fairy queen in fairy land;" + Her dream of infancy a dream no more, + And then how beautiful the dress she wore! + + + CXXXV. + + Ambition with the sire had kept her word. + He had the rose, no matter for its thorn, + And he seem'd happy as a summer bird, + Careering on wet wing to meet the morn. + Some said there was a cloud upon his brow; + It might be--but we'll not discuss that now. + + + CXXXVI. + + I left him making rhymes while crossing o'er + The broad and perilous wave of the North River. + He bade adieu, when safely on the shore, + To poetry--and, as he thought, for ever. + That night his dream (if after deeds make known + Our plans in sleep) was an enchanting one. + + + CXXXVII. + + He woke, in strength, like Samson from his slumber, + And walk'd Broadway, enraptured the next day; + Purchased a house there--I've forgot the number-- + And sign'd a mortgage and a bond, for pay. + Gave, in the slang phrase, Pearl-street the go-by, + And cut, for several months, St. Tammany. + + + CXXXVIII. + + Bond, mortgage, title-deeds, and all completed, + He bought a coach and half a dozen horses + (The bill's at Lawrence's--not yet receipted-- + You'll find the amount upon his list of losses), + Then fill'd his rooms with servants, and whatever + Is necessary for a "genteel liver." + + + CXXXIX. + + This last removal fix'd him: every stain + Was blotted from his "household coat," and he + Now "show'd the world he was a gentleman," + And, what is better, could afford to be; + His step was loftier than it was of old, + His laugh less frequent, and his manner told + + + CXL. + + What lovers call "unutterable things"-- + That sort of dignity was in his mien + Which awes the gazer into ice, and brings + To recollection some great man we've seen, + The Governor, perchance, whose eye and frown, + 'Twas shrewdly guess'd, would knock Judge Skinner down. + + + CXLI. + + And for "Resources," both of purse and head, + He was a subject worthy Bristed's pen; + Believed devoutly all his flatterers said, + And deem'd himself a Cr[oe]sus among men; + Spread to the liberal air his silken sails, + And lavish'd guineas like a Prince of Wales. + + + CXLII. + + He mingled now with those within whose veins + The blood ran pure--the magnates of the land-- + Hail'd them as his companions and his friends, + And lent them money and his note of hand. + In every institution, whose proud aim + Is public good alone, he soon became + + + CXLIII. + + A man of consequence and notoriety; + His name, with the addition of esquire, + Stood high upon the list of each society, + Whose zeal and watchfulness the sacred fire + Of science, agriculture, art, and learning, + Keep on our country's altars bright and burning. + + + CXLIV. + + At Eastburn's Rooms he met, at two each day, + With men of taste and judgment like his own, + And play'd "first fiddle" in that orchestra + Of literary worthies--and the tone + Of his mind's music, by the listeners caught, + Is traced among them still in language and in thought. + + + CXLV. + + He once made the Lyceum a choice present + Of muscle shells pick'd up at Rockaway; + And Mitchill gave a classical and pleasant + Discourse about them in the streets that day, + Naming the shells, and hard to put in verse 'twas, + "Testaceous coverings of bivalve moluscas." + + + CXLVI. + + He was a trustee of a Savings Bank, + And lectured soundly every evil doer, + Gave dinners daily to wealth, power, and rank, + And sixpence every Sunday to the poor; + He was a wit, in the pun-making line-- + Past fifty years of age, and five feet nine. + + + CXLVII. + + But as he trod to grandeur's pinnacle, + With eagle eye and step that never falter'd, + The busy tongue of scandal dared to tell + That cash was scarce with him, and credit alter'd; + And while he stood the envy of beholders, + The Bank Directors grinn'd, and shrugg'd their shoulders. + + + CXLVIII. + + And when these, the Lord Burleighs of the minute, + Shake their sage heads, and look demure and holy, + Depend upon it there is something in it; + For whether born of wisdom or of folly, + Suspicion is a being whose fell power + Blights every thing it touches, fruit and flower. + + + CXLIX. + + Some friends (they were his creditors) once hinted + About retrenchment and a day of doom; + He thank'd them, as no doubt they kindly meant it, + And made this speech, when they had left the room: + "Of all the curses upon mortals sent, + One's creditors are the most impudent; + + + CL. + + "Now I am one who knows what he is doing, + And suits exactly to his means his ends; + How can a man be in the path to ruin, + When all the brokers are his bosom friends? + Yet, on my hopes, and those of my dear daughter, + These rascals throw a bucket of cold water! + + + CLI. + + "They'd wrinkle with deep cares the prettiest face, + Pour gall and wormwood in the sweetest cup, + Poison the very wells of life--and place + Whitechapel needles, with their sharp points up, + Even in the softest feather bed that e'er + Was manufactured by upholsterer." + + + CLII. + + This said--he journey'd "at his own sweet will," + Like one of Wordsworth's rivers, calmly on; + But yet, at times, Reflection, "in her still + Small voice," would whisper, something must be done; + He ask'd advice of Fanny, and the maid + Promptly and duteously lent her aid. + + + CLIII. + + She told him, with that readiness of mind + And quickness of perception which belong + Exclusively to gentle womankind, + That to submit to slanderers was wrong, + And the best plan to silence and admonish them, + Would be to give "a party"--and astonish them. + + + CLIV. + + The hint was taken--and the party given; + And Fanny, as I said some pages since, + Was there in power and loveliness that even, + And he, her sire, demean'd him like a prince, + And all was joy--it look'd a festival, + Where pain might smooth his brow, and grief her smiles recall. + + + CLV. + + But Fortune, like some others of her sex, + Delights in tantalizing and tormenting; + One day we feed upon their smiles--the next + Is spent in swearing, sorrowing, and repenting. + (If in the last four lines the author lies, + He's always ready to apologize.) + + + CLVI. + + Eve never walk'd in Paradise more pure + Than on that morn when Satan play'd the devil + With her and all her race. A love-sick wooer + Ne'er ask'd a kinder maiden, or more civil, + Than Cleopatra was to Antony + The day she left him on the Ionian sea. + + + CLVII. + + The serpent--loveliest in his coiled ring, + With eye that charms, and beauty that outvies + The tints of the rainbow--bears upon his sting + The deadliest venom. Ere the dolphin dies + Its hues are brightest. Like an infant's breath + Are tropic winds, before the voice of death + + + CLVIII. + + Is heard upon the waters, summoning + The midnight earthquake from its sleep of years + To do its task of wo. The clouds that fling + The lightning, brighten ere the bolt appears; + The pantings of the warrior's heart are proud + Upon that battle morn whose night-dews wet his shroud; + + + CLIX. + + The sun is loveliest as he sinks to rest; + The leaves of autumn smile when fading fast; + The swan's last song is sweetest--and the best + Of Meigs's speeches, doubtless, was his last. + And thus the happiest scene, in these my rhymes, + Closed with a crash, and usher'd in--hard times. + + + CLX. + + St. Paul's toll'd one--and fifteen minutes after + Down came, by accident, a chandelier; + The mansion totter'd from the floor to rafter! + Up rose the cry of agony and fear! + And there was shrieking, screaming, bustling, fluttering, + Beyond the power of writing or of uttering. + + + CLXI. + + The company departed, and neglected + To say good-by--the father storm'd and swore-- + The fiddlers grinn'd--the daughter look'd dejected-- + The flowers had vanish'd from the polish'd floor, + And both betook them to their sleepless beds, + With hearts and prospects broken, but no heads. + + + CLXII. + + The desolate relief of free complaining + Came with the morn, and with it came bad weather; + The wind was east-northeast, and it was raining + Throughout that day, which, take it altogether, + Was one whose memory clings to us through life, + Just like a suit in Chancery, or a wife. + + + CLXIII. + + That evening, with a most important face + And dreadful knock, and tidings still more dreadful, + A notary came--sad things had taken place; + My hero had forgot to "do the needful;" + A note (amount not stated), with his name on't, + Was left unpaid--in short, he had "stopp'd payment." + + + CLXIV. + + I hate your tragedies, both long and short ones + (Except Tom Thumb, and Juan's Pantomime); + And stories woven of sorrows and misfortunes + Are bad enough in prose, and worse in rhyme; + Mine, therefore, must be brief. Under protest + His notes remain--the wise can guess the rest. + + + CLXV. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + + + CLXVI. + + For two whole days they were the common talk; + The party, and the failure, and all that, + The theme of loungers in their morning walk, + Porter-house reasoning, and tea-table chat. + The third, some newer wonder came to blot them, + And on the fourth, the "meddling world" forgot them. + + + CLXVII. + + Anxious, however, something to discover, + I pass'd their house--the shutters were all closed; + The song of knocker and of bell was over; + Upon the steps two chimney sweeps reposed; + And on the door my dazzled eyebeam met + These cabalistic words--"this house to let." + + + CLXVIII. + + They live now, like chameleons, upon air + And hope, and such cold, unsubstantial dishes; + That they removed, is clear, but when or where + None knew. The curious reader, if he wishes, + May ask them, but in vain. Where grandeur dwells, + The marble dome--the popular rumour tells; + + + CLXIX. + + But of the dwelling of the proud and poor + From their own lips the world will never know + When better days are gone--it is secure + Beyond all other mysteries here below, + Except, perhaps, a maiden lady's age, + When past the noonday of life's pilgrimage. + + + CLXX. + + Fanny! 'twas with her name my song began; + 'Tis proper and polite her name should end it; + If in my story of her woes, or plan + Or moral can be traced, 'twas not intended; + And if I've wrong'd her, I can only tell her + I'm sorry for it--so is my bookseller. + + + CLXXI. + + I met her yesterday--her eyes were wet-- + She faintly smiled, and said she had been reading + The Treasurer's Report in the Gazette, + M'Intyre's speech, and Campbell's "Love lies bleeding;" + She had a shawl on, 'twas not a Cashmere one, + And if it cost five dollars, 'twas a dear one. + + + CLXXII. + + Her father sent to Albany a prayer + For office, told how fortune had abused him, + And modestly requested to be Mayor-- + The Council very civilly refused him; + Because, however much they might desire it, + The "public good," it seems, did not require it. + + + CLXXIII. + + Some evenings since, he took a lonely stroll + Along Broadway, scene of past joys and evils; + He felt that withering bitterness of soul, + Quaintly denominated the "blue devils;" + And thought of Bonaparte and Belisarius, + Pompey, and Colonel Burr, and Caius Marius, + + + CLXXIV. + + And envying the loud playfulness and mirth + Of those who pass'd him, gay in youth and hope, + He took at Jupiter a shilling's worth + Of gazing, through the showman's telescope; + Sounds as of far-off bells came on his ears, + He fancied 'twas the music of the spheres. + + + CLXXV. + + He was mistaken, it was no such thing, + 'Twas Yankee Doodle play'd by Scudder's band; + He mutter'd, as he linger'd listening, + Something of freedom and our happy land; + Then sketch'd, as to his home he hurried fast, + This sentimental song--his saddest, and his last. + + + I. + + Young thoughts have music in them, love + And happiness their theme; + And music wanders in the wind + That lulls a morning dream. + And there are angel voices heard, + In childhood's frolic hours, + When life is but an April day + Of sunshine and of showers. + + II. + + There's music in the forest leaves + When summer winds are there, + And in the laugh of forest girls + That braid their sunny hair. + The first wild bird that drinks the dew, + From violets of the spring, + Has music in his song, and in + The fluttering of his wing. + + III. + + There's music in the dash of waves + When the swift bark cleaves their foam; + There's music heard upon her deck, + The mariner's song of home, + When moon and star beams smiling meet + At midnight on the sea-- + And there is music--once a week + In Scudder's balcony. + + IV. + + But the music of young thoughts too soon + Is faint, and dies away, + And from our morning dreams we wake + To curse the coming day. + And childhood's frolic hours are brief, + And oft in after years + Their memory comes to chill the heart, + And dim the eye with tears. + + V. + + To-day, the forest leaves are green, + They'll wither on the morrow, + And the maiden's laugh be changed ere long + To the widow's wail of sorrow. + Come with the winter snows, and ask + Where are the forest birds? + The answer is a silent one, + More eloquent than words. + + VI. + + The moonlight music of the waves + In storms is heard no more, + When the living lightning mocks the wreck + At midnight on the shore, + And the mariner's song of home has ceased, + His corse is on the sea-- + And music ceases when it rains + In Scudder's balcony. + + + + +THE RECORDER. + + + + +THE RECORDER. + +A PETITION. + +BY THOMAS CASTALY. + +Dec. 20, 1828. + + "On they move + In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood + Of flutes and soft RECORDERS." + _Milton._ + + "Live in Settles numbers one day more!" + _Pope._ + + + My dear RECORDER, you and I + Have floated down life's stream together, + And kept unharm'd our friendship's tie + Through every change of Fortune's sky, + Her pleasant and her rainy weather. + Full sixty times since first we met, + Our birthday suns have risen and set, + And time has worn the baldness now + Of Julius Cæsar on your brow; + Your brow, like his, a field of thought, + With broad deep furrows, spirit-wrought, + Whose laurel harvests long have shown + As green and glorious as his own; + And proudly would the CÆSAR claim + Companionship with R*K*R'S name, + His peer in forehead and in fame. + + Both eloquent and learn'd and brave, + Born to command and skill'd to rule, + One made the citizen a slave, + The other makes him more--a fool. + The Cæsar an imperial crown, + His slaves' mad gift, refused to wear, + The R*k*r put his fool's cap on, + And found it fitted to a hair; + The Cæsar, though by birth and breeding, + Travel, the ladies, and light reading, + A gentleman in mien and mind, + And fond of Romans and their mothers, + Was heartless as the Arab's wind, + And slew some millions of mankind, + Including enemies and others. + The R*k*r, like Bob Acres, stood + Edgeways upon a field of blood, + The where and wherefore Swartwout knows, + Pull'd trigger, as a brave man should, + And shot, God bless them--his own toes. + The Cæsar pass'd the Rubicon + With helm, and shield, and breastplate on, + Dashing his war-horse through the waters; + The R*k*r would have built a barge + Or steamboat at the city's charge, + And pass'd it with his wife and daughters. + + But let that pass. As I have said, + There's naught, save laurels, on your head, + And time has changed my clustering hair, + And shower'd the snow-flakes thickly there; + And though our lives have ever been, + As different as their different scene; + Mine more renown'd for rhymes than riches + Yours less for scholarship than speeches; + Mine pass'd in low-roof'd leafy bower, + Yours in high halls of pomp and power, + Yet are we, be the moral told, + Alike in one thing--growing old, + Ripen'd like summer's cradled sheaf, + Faded like autumn's falling leaf-- + And nearing, sail and signal spread, + The quiet anchorage of the dead. + For such is human life, wherever + The voyage of its bark may be, + On home's green-bank'd and gentle river + Or the world's shoreless, sleepless sea. + + Yes, you have floated down the tide + Of time, a swan in grace and pride + And majesty and beauty, till + The law, the Ariel of your will, + Power's best beloved, the law of libel + (A bright link in the legal chain) + Expounded, settled, and made plain, + By your own charge, the jurors' Bible, + Has clipp'd the venom'd tongue of slander, + That dared to call you "Party's gander, + The leader of the geese who make + Our cities' parks and ponds their home, + And keep her liberties awake + By cackling, as their sires saved Rome. + Grander of Party's pond, wherein + Lizard, and toad, and terrapin, + Your alehouse patriots, are seen, + In Faction's feverish sunshine basking;" + And now, to rend this veil of lies, + Word-woven by your enemies, + And keep your sainted memory free + From tarnish with posterity, + I take the liberty of asking + Permission, sir, to write your life, + With all its scenes of calm and strife, + And all its turnings and its windings, + A poem, in a quarto volume-- + Verse, like the subject, blank and solemn, + With elegant appropriate bindings, + Of rat and mole skin the one half, + The other a part fox, part calf. + Your portrait, graven line for line, + From that immortal bust in plaster, + The master piece of Art's great master, + Mr. Praxiteles Browere, + Whose trowel is a thing divine, + Shall smile and bow, and promise there, + And twenty-nine fine forms and faces + (The Corporation and the Mayor), + Linked hand in hand, like loves and graces, + Shall hover o'er it, group'd in air, + With wild pictorial dance and song; + The song of happy bees in bowers, + The dance of Guido's graceful hours, + All scattering Flushing's garden flowers + Round the dear head they've loved so long. + + I know that you are modest, know + That when you hear your merit's praise, + Your cheeks quick blushes come and go, + Lily and rose-leaf, sun and snow, + Like maidens' on their bridal days. + I know that you would fain decline + To aid me and the sacred nine, + In giving to the asking earth + The story of your wit and worth; + For if there be a fault to cloud + The brightness of your clear good sense, + It is, and be the fact allow'd, + Your only failing--Diffidence! + An amiable weakness--given + To justify the sad reflection, + That in this vale of tears not even + A R*k*r is complete perfection, + A most romantic detestation + Of power and place, of pay and ration; + A strange unwillingness to carry + The weight of honour on your shoulders, + For which you have been named, the very + Sensitive Plant of office-holders, + A shrinking bashfulness, whose grace + Gives beauty to your manly face. + Thus shades the green and growing vine + The rough bark of the mountain pine, + Thus round her freedom's waking steel + Harmodius wreathed his country's myrtle; + And thus the golden lemon's peel + Gives fragrance to a bowl of turtle. + + True, "many a flower," the poet sings, + "Is born to blush unseen;" + But you, although you blush, are not + The flower the poets mean. + In vain you wooed a lowlier lot: + In vain you clipp'd your eagle-wings-- + Talents like yours are not forgot + And buried with earth's common things. + No! my dear R*k*r, I would give + My laurels, living and to live, + Or as much cash as you could raise on + Their value, by hypothecation, + To be, for one enchanted hour, + In beauty, majesty, and power, + What you for forty years have been, + The Oberon of life's fairy scene. + + An anxious city sought and found you + In a blessed day of joy and pride, + Scepter'd your jewell'd hand, and crown'd you + Her chief, her guardian, and her guide. + Honours which weaker minds had wrought + In vain for years, and knelt and pray'd for, + Are all your own, unpriced, unbought, + Or (which is the same thing) unpaid for. + Painfully great! against your will + Her hundred offices to hold, + Each chair with dignity to fill, + And your own pockets with her gold. + A sort of double duty, making + Your task a serious undertaking. + + With what delight the eyes of all + Gaze on you, seated in your Hall, + Like Sancho in his island, reigning, + Loved leader of its motley hosts + Of lawyers and their bills of costs, + And all things thereto appertaining, + Such as crimes, constables, and juries, + Male pilferers and female furies, + The police and the _polissons_, + Illegal right and legal wrong. + Bribes, perjuries, law-craft, and cunning, + Judicial drollery and punning; + And all the _et ceteras_ that grace + That genteel, gentlemanly place! + Or in the Council Chamber standing + With eloquence of eye and brow, + Your voice the music of commanding, + And fascination in your bow, + Arranging for the civic shows + Your "men in buckram," as per list, + Your John Does and your Richard Roes, + Those Dummys of your games of whist. + The Council Chamber--where authority + Consists in two words--a majority. + For whose contractors' jobs we pay + Our last dear sixpences for taxes, + As freely as in Sylla's day, + Rome bled beneath his lictors' axes. + Where--on each magisterial nose + In colours of the rainbow linger, + Like sunset hues on Alpine snows, + The printmarks of your thumb and finger. + Where he, the wisest of wild fowl, + Bird of Jove's blue-eyed maid--the owl, + That feather'd alderman, is heard + Nightly, by poet's ear alone, + To other eyes and ears unknown, + Cheering your every look and word, + And making, room and gallery through, + The loud, applauding echoes peal, + Of his "_où peut on etre mieux + Qu'au sein de sa famille_?"[A] + + Oh for a herald's skill to rank + Your titles in their due degrees! + At Singsing--at the Tradesmen's Bank, + In Courts, Committees, Caucuses: + At Albany, where those who knew + The last year's secrets of the great, + Call you the golden handle to + The earthen Pitcher of the State. + (Poor Pitcher! that Van Buren ceases + To want its service gives me pain, + 'Twill break into as many pieces + As Kitty's of Coleraine.) + At Bellevue, on her banquet night, + Where Burgundy and business meet, + On others, at the heart's delight, + The Pewter Mug in Frankfort-street; + From Harlæm bridge to Whitehall dock, + From Bloomingdale to Blackwell's Isles, + Forming, including road and rock, + A city of some twelve square miles, + O'er street and alley, square and block, + Towers, temples, telegraphs, and tiles, + O'er wharves whose stone and timbers mock + The ocean's and its navies' shock, + O'er all the fleets that float before her + O'er all their banners waving o'er her, + Her sky and waters, earth and air-- + You are lord, for who is her lord mayor? + Where is he? Echo answers, where + And voices, like the sound of seas, + Breathe in sad chorus, on the breeze, + The Highland mourner's melody-- + Oh HONE a rie! Oh HONE a rie! + The hymn o'er happy days departed, + The hope that such again may be, + When power was large and liberal-hearted, + And wealth was hospitality. + + One more request, and I am lost, + If you its earnest prayer deny; + It is, that you preserve the most + Inviolable secrecy + As to my plan. Our fourteen wards + Contain some thirty-seven bards, + Who, if my glorious theme were known, + Would make it, thought and word, their own, + My hopes and happiness destroy, + And trample with a rival's joy + Upon the grave of my renown. + My younger brothers in the art, + Whose study is the human heart-- + Minstrels, before whose spells have bow'd + The learn'd, the lovely, and the proud, + Ere their life's morning hours are gone-- + Light hearts be theirs, the muse's boon, + And may their suns blaze bright at noon, + And set without a cloud. + + HILLHOUSE, whose music, like his themes, + Lifts earth to heaven--whose poet dreams + Are pure and holy as the hymn + Echoed from harps of seraphim, + By bards that drank at Zion's fountains + When glory, peace, and hope were hers, + And beautiful upon her mountains + The feet of angel messengers. + BRYANT, whose songs are thoughts that bless + The heart, its teachers, and its joy, + As mothers blend with their caress + Lessons of truth and gentleness + And virtue for the listening boy. + Spring's lovelier flowers for many a day + Have blossom'd on his wandering way, + Beings of beauty and decay, + They slumber in their autumn tomb; + But those that graced his own Green River, + And wreathed the lattice of his home, + Charm'd by his song from mortal doom, + Bloom on, and will bloom on for ever. + And HALLECK--who has made thy roof, + St. Tammany! oblivion-proof-- + Thy beer illustrious, and thee + A belted knight of chivalry; + And changed thy dome of painted bricks + And porter casks and politics, + Into a green Arcadian vale, + With St*ph*n All*n for its lark, + B*n B*il*y's voice its watch-dog's bark, + And J*hn T*rg*e its nightingale. + + These, and the other THIRTY-FOUR, + Will live a thousand years or more-- + If the world lasts so long. For me, + I rhyme not for posterity, + Though pleasant to my heirs might be + The incense of its praise, + When I, their ancestor, have gone, + And paid the debt, the only one + A poet ever pays. + But many are my years, and few + Are left me ere night's holy dew, + And sorrow's holier tears, will keep + The grass green where in death I sleep + And when that grass is green above me, + And those who bless me now and love me + Are sleeping by my side, + Will it avail me aught that men + Tell to the world with lip and pen + That once I lived and died? + No: if a garland for my brow + Is growing, let me have it now, + While I'm alive to wear it; + And if, in whispering my name, + There's music in the voice of fame + Like Garcia's, let me hear it! + + The Christmas holydays are nigh, + Therefore, till Newyear's Eve, good-by, + Then _revenons a nos moutons_, + Yourself and aldermen--meanwhile, + Look o'er this letter with a smile; + And keep the secret of its song + As faithfully, but not as long, + As you have guarded from the eyes + Of editorial Paul Prys, + And other meddling, murmuring claimants, + Those Eleusinian mysteries, + The city's cash receipts and payments. + Yours ever, + T. C. + + [A] A favourite French air. In English, "where can one be more + happy than in the bosom of one's family?" + + + + +EPISTLES, ETC. + + + + +TO + +W*LT*R B*WNE, ESQ., + +MEMBER OF THE COUNCIL OF APPOINTMENT OF THE STATE OF NEW-YORK, AT +ALBANY, 1821. + + "Stand not upon the order of your going. + But go at once." + + "I cannot but remember such things were, + And were most precious to me." + + _Macbeth._ + + + We do not blame you, W*lt*r B*wne, + For a variety of reasons; + You're now the talk of half the town, + A man of talent and renown, + And will be for perhaps two seasons. + That face of yours has magic in it; + Its smile transports us in a minute + To wealth and pleasure's sunny bowers; + And there is terror in its frown, + Which, like a mower's scythe, cuts down + Our city's loveliest flowers. + + We therefore do not blame you, sir, + Whate'er our cause of grief may be; + And cause enough we have to "stir + The very stones to mutiny." + You've driven from the cash and cares + Of office, heedless of our prayers, + Men who have been for many a year + To us and to our purses dear, + And will be to our heirs for ever, + Our tears, thanks to the snow and rain, + Have swell'd the brook in Maiden-lane + Into a mountain river; + And when you visit us again, + Leaning at Tammany on your cane, + Like warrior on his battle blade, + You'll mourn the havoc you have made. + + There is a silence and a sadness + Within the marble mansion now; + Some have wild eyes that threaten madness, + Some think of "kicking up a row." + Judge M*ll*r will not yet believe + That you have ventured to bereave + The city and its hall of him: + He has in his own fine way stated, + "The fact must be substantiated," + Before he'll move a single limb. + He deems it cursèd hard to yield + The laurel won in every field + Through sixteen years of party war, + And to be seen at noon no more, + Enjoying at his office door + The luxury of a tenth segar. + Judge Warner says that, when he's gone, + You'll miss the true Dogberry breed; + And Christian swears that you have done + A most UN-Christian deed. + + How could you have the heart to strike + From place the peerless Pierre Van Wyck? + And the twin colonels, Haines and Pell, + Squire Fessenden, and Sheriff Bell; + M*rr*ll, a justice and a wise one, + And Ned M'Laughlin the exciseman; + The two health officers, believers + In Clinton and contagious fevers; + The keeper of the city's treasures, + The sealer of her weights and measures, + The harbour-master, her best bower + Cable in party's stormy hour; + Ten auctioneers, three bank directors, + And Mott and Duffy, the inspectors + Of whiskey and of flour? + + It was but yesterday they stood + All (ex-officio) great and good. + But by the tomahawk struck down + Of party and of W*lt*r B*wne, + Where are they now? With shapes of air, + The caravan of things that were, + Journeying to their nameless home, + Like Mecca's pilgrims from her tomb; + With the lost Pleiad; with the wars + Of Agamemnon's ancestors; + With their own years of joy and grief, + Spring's bud, and autumn's faded leaf; + With birds that round their cradles flew; + With winds that in their boyhood blew; + With last night's dream and last night's dew. + + Yes, they are gone; alas! each one of them; + Departed--every mother's son of them. + Yet often, at the close of day, + When thoughts are wing'd and wandering, they + Come with the memory of the past, + Like sunset clouds along the mind, + Reflecting, as they're flitting fast + In their wild hues of shade and light, + All that was beautiful and bright + In golden moments left behind. + + + + +TO * * * * *. + + + Dear ***, I am writing, not _to_ you, but _at_ you, + For the feet of you tourists have no resting-place; + But wherever with this the mail-pigeon may catch you, + May she find you with gayety's smile on your face; + Whether chasing a snipe at the Falls of Cohoes, + Or chased by the snakes upon Anthony's Nose; + Whether wandering, at Catskill, from Hotel to Clove, + Making sketches, or speeches, puns, poems, or love; + Or in old Saratoga's unknown fountain-land, + Threading groves of enchantment, half bushes, half sand; + Whether dancing on Sundays, at Lebanon Springs, + With those Madame Hutins of religion, the Shakers; + Or, on Tuesdays, with maidens who seek wedding rings + At Ballston, as taught by mammas and match-makers; + Whether sailing St. Lawrence, with unbroken neck, + From her thousand green isles to her castled Quebec; + Or sketching Niagara, pencil on knee + (The giant of waters, our country's pet lion), + Or dipp'd at Long Branch, in the real salt sea, + With a cork for a dolphin, a Cockney Arion; + Whether roaming earth, ocean, or even the air, + Like Dan O'Rourke's eagle--good luck to you there. + + For myself, as you'll see by the date of my letter, + I'm in town, but of that fact the least said the better; + For 'tis vain to deny (though the city o'erflows + With well-dressed men and women, whom nobody knows) + That one rarely sees persons whose nod is an honour, + A lady with fashion's own impress upon her; + Or a gentleman bless'd with the courage to say, + Like Morris (the Prince Regent's friend, in his day), + "Let others in sweet shady solitudes dwell, + Oh! give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall." + + Apropos--our friend A. chanced this morning to meet + The accomplish'd Miss B. as he pass'd Contoit's Garden, + Both in town in July!--he cross'd over the street, + And she enter'd the rouge-shop of Mrs. St. Martin. + Resolved not to look at another known face, + Through Leonard and Church streets she walked to Park Place, + And he turn'd from Broadway into Catharine-lane, + And coursed, to avoid her, through alley and by-street, + Till they met, as the devil would have it, again, + Face to face, near the pump at the corner of Dey-st. + + Yet, as most of "The Fashion" are journeying now, + With the brown hues of summer on cheek and on brow, + The few "_gens comme il faut_" who are lingering here, + Are, like fruits out of season, more welcome and dear. + Like "the last rose of summer, left blooming alone," + Or the last snows of winter, pure ice of _haut ton_, + Unmelted, undimm'd by the sun's brightest ray, + And, like diamonds, making night's darkness seem day. + One meets them in groups, that Canova might fancy, + At our new lounge at evening, the _Opera Français_, + In nines like the Muses, in threes like the Graces, + Green spots in a desert of commonplace faces. + The Queen, Mrs. Adams, goes there sweetly dress'd + In a beautiful bonnet, all golden and flowery: + While the King, Mr. Bonaparte, smiles on Celeste, + Heloise, and Hutin, from his box at the Bowery. + + For news, Parry still the North Sea is exploring, + And the Grand Turk has taken, they say, the Acropolis, + And we, in Swamp Place, have discover'd, in boring, + A mineral spring to refine the metropolis. + The day we discover'd it was, by-the-way, + In the life of the Cockneys, a glorious day. + For we all had been taught, by tradition and reading, + That to gain what admits us to levees of kings, + The gentleness, courtesy, grace of high breeding, + The only sure way was to "visit the Springs." + So the whole city visited Swamp Spring _en masse_, + From attorney to sweep, from physician to paviour, + To drink of cold water at sixpence a glass, + And learn true politeness and genteel behaviour. + Though the crowd was immense till the hour of departure, + No gentleman's feelings were hurt in the rush, + Save a grocer's, who lost his proof-glass and bung-starter, + And a chimney sweep's, robb'd of his scraper and brush. + They linger'd till sunset and twilight had come, + Then, wearied in limb, but much polish'd in manners, + The sovereign people moved gracefully home, + In the beauty and pride of "an army with banners." + + As to politics--Adams and Clinton yet live, + And reign, we presume, as we never have miss'd 'em, + And woollens and Webster continue to thrive + Under something they call the American System. + If you're anxious to know what the country is doing, + Whether ruin'd already or going to ruin, + And who her next president will be, please heaven, + Read the letters of Jackson, the speeches of Clay, + All the party newspapers, three columns a day, + And Blunt's Annual Register, year 'twenty-seven. + + + + +A FRAGMENT. + + + * * * * * + + His shop is a grocer's--a snug, genteel place, + Near the corner of Oak-street and Pearl; + He can dress, dance, and bow to the ladies with grace + And ties his cravat with a curl. + + He's ask'd to all parties--north, south, east, and west, + That take place between Chatham and Cherry, + And when he's been absent full oft has the "best + Society" ceased to be merry. + + And nothing has darken'd a sky so serene, + Nor disorder'd his beauship's Elysium, + Till this season among our _élitè_ there has been + What is call'd by the clergy "a schism." + + 'Tis all about eating and drinking--one set + Gives sponge-cake, a few "kisses" or so, + And is cool'd after dancing with classic sherbet, + "Sublimed" (see Lord Byron) "with snow." + + Another insists upon punch and _perdrix_, + Lobster-salad, Champagne, and, by way + Of a novelty only, those pearls of our sea, + Stew'd oysters from Lynn-Haven bay. + + Miss Flounce, the young milliner, blue-eyed and bright, + In the front parlour over her shop, + "Entertains," as the phrase is, a party to-night, + Upon peanuts and ginger-pop. + + And Miss Fleece, who's a hosier, and not quite as young, + But is wealthier far than Miss Flounce, + She "entertains" also to-night with cold tongue, + Smoked herring, and cherry-bounce. + + In praise of cold water the Theban bard spoke, + He of Teos sang sweetly of wine; + Miss Flounce is a Pindar in cashmere and cloak, + Miss Fleece an Anacreon divine. + + The Montagues carry the day in Swamp Place; + In Pike-street the Capulets reign; + A _limonadière_ is the badge of one race, + Of the other a flask of Champagne. + + Now as each the same evening her soireè announces, + What better, he asks, can be done, + Than drink water from eight until ten with the Flounces, + And then wine with the Fleeces till one! + + * * * * * + + + + +SONG. + +BY MISS * * * *. + + _Air_, "To ladies eyes a round, boy." + MOORE. + + + The winds of March are humming + Their parting song, their parting song, + And summer's skies are coming, + And days grow long, and days grow long. + I watch, but not in gladness, + Our garden tree, our garden tree; + It buds, in sober sadness, + Too soon for me, too soon for me. + My second winter's over, + Alas! and I, alas! and I + Have no accepted lover: + Don't ask me why, don't ask me why. + + 'Tis not asleep or idle + That love has been, that love has been; + For many a happy bridal + The year has seen, the year has seen; + I've done a bridemaid's duty, + At three or four, at three or four; + My best bouquet had beauty, + Its donor more, its donor more. + My second winter's over, + Alas! and I, alas! and I + Have no accepted lover: + Don't ask me why, don't ask me why. + + His flowers my bosom shaded + One sunny day, one sunny day; + The next, they fled and faded, + Beau and bouquet, beau and bouquet. + In vain, at ball and parties, + I've thrown my net, I've thrown my net; + This waltzing, watching heart is + Unchosen yet, unchosen yet. + My second winter's over, + Alas! and I, alas! and I + Have no accepted lover: + Don't ask me why, don't ask me why. + + They tell me there's no hurry + For Hymen's ring, for Hymen's ring; + And I'm too young to marry: + 'Tis no such thing, 'tis no such thing. + The next spring tides will dash on + My eighteenth year, my eighteenth year; + It puts me in a passion, + Oh dear, oh dear! oh dear, oh dear! + My second winter's over, + Alas! and I, alas! and I + Have no accepted lover: + Don't ask me why, don't ask me why. + + + + +SONG. + +FOR THE DRAMA OF "THE SPY." + + + The harp of love, when first I heard + Its song beneath the moonlight tree, + Was echoed by his plighted word, + And ah, how dear its song to me; + But wail'd the hour will ever be + When to the air the bugle gave, + To hush love's gentle minstrelsy, + The wild war music of the brave. + For he hath heard its song, and now + Its voice is sweeter than mine own; + And he hath broke the plighted vow + He breathed to me and love alone. + That harp hath lost its wonted tone, + No more its strings his fingers move, + Oh would that he had only known + The music of the harp of love. + 1822. + + + + +ADDRESS, + +AT THE OPENING OF A NEW THEATRE. + +November, 1831. + + + Where dwells the Drama's spirit? not alone + Beneath the palace roof, beside the throne, + In learning's cloisters, friendship's festal bowers, + Art's pictured halls, or triumph's laurel'd towers, + Where'er man's pulses beat or passions play, + She joys to smile or sigh his thoughts away: + Crowd times and scenes within her ring of power, + And teach a life's experience in an hour. + + To-night she greets, for the first time, our dome, + Her latest, may it prove her lasting home; + And we her messengers delighted stand, + The summon'd Ariels of her mystic wand, + To ask your welcome. Be it yours to give + Bliss to her coming hours, and bid her live + Within these walls new hallow'd in her cause, + Long in the nurturing warmth of your applause. + + 'Tis in the public smiles, the public loves, + His dearest home, the actor breathes and moves, + Your plaudits are to us and to our art + As is the life-blood to the human heart: + And every power that bids the leaf be green, + In nature acts on this her mimic scene. + + Our sunbeams are the sparklings of glad eyes, + Our winds the whisper of applause, that flies + From lip to lip, the heart-born laugh of glee, + And sounds of cordial hands that ring out merrily, + And heaven's own dew falls on us in the tear + That woman weeps o'er sorrows pictured here, + When crowded feelings have no words to tell + The might, the magic of the actor's spell. + + These have been ours; and do we hope in vain + Here, oft and deep, to feel them ours again? + No! while the weary heart can find repose + From its own pains in fiction's joys or woes; + While there are open lips and dimpled cheeks, + When music breathes, or wit or humour speaks; + While Shakspeare's master spirit can call up + Noblest and worthiest thoughts, and brim the cup + Of life with bubbles bright as happiness, + Cheating the willing bosom into bliss; + So long will those who, in their spring of youth, + Have listen'd to the Drama's voice of truth, + Mark'd in her scenes the manners of their age, + And gather'd knowledge for a wider stage, + Come here to speed with smiles life's summer years, + And melt its winter snow with pleasant tears; + And younger hearts, when ours are hushed and cold, + Be happy here as we have been of old. + + Friends of the stage, who hail it as the shrine + Where music, painting, poetry entwine + Their kindred garlands, whence their blended power + Refines, exalts, ennobles hour by hour + The spirit of the land, and, like the wind, + Unseen but felt, bears on the bark of mind; + To you the hour that consecrates this dome, + Will call up dreams of prouder hours to come, + When some creating poet, born your own, + May waken here the drama's loftiest tone, + Through after years to echo loud and long, + A Shakspeare of the West, a star of song, + Bright'ning your own blue skies with living fire, + All times to gladden and all tongues inspire, + Far as beneath the heaven by sea-winds fann'd, + Floats the free banner of your native land. + + + + +THE RHYME + +OF + +THE ANCIENT COASTER. + +_Written while sailing in an open boat on the Hudson River, between +Stony Point and the Highlands, on seeing the wreck of an old sloop, +June, 1821._ + + "And this our life, exempt from public haunt, + Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, + Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." + SHAKSPEARE. + + + Her side is in the water, + Her keel is in the sand, + And her bowsprit rests on the low gray rock + That bounds the sea and land. + + Her deck is without a mast, + And sand and shells are there, + And the teeth of decay are gnawing her planks, + In the sun and the sultry air. + + No more on the river's bosom, + When sky and wave are calm, + And the clouds are in summer quietness, + And the cool night-breath is balm, + + Will she glide in the swan-like stillness + Of the moon in the blue above, + A messenger from other lands, + A beacon to hope and love. + + No more, in the midnight tempest, + Will she mock the mounting sea, + Strong in her oaken timbers, + And her white sail's bravery. + + She hath borne, in days departed, + Warm hearts upon her deck; + Those hearts, like her, are mouldering now, + The victims, and the wreck + + Of time, whose touch erases + Each vestige of all we love; + The wanderers, home returning, + Who gazed that deck above, + + And they who stood to welcome + Their loved ones on that shore, + Are gone, and the place that knew them + Shall know them never more. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + + It was a night of terror, + In the autumn equinox, + When that gallant vessel found a grave + Upon the Peekskill rocks. + + Captain, mate, cook, and seamen + (They were in all but three), + Were saved by swimming fast and well, + And their gallows-destiny. + + But two, a youth and maiden, + Were left to brave the storm, + With unpronounceable Dutch names, + And hearts with true love warm. + + And they, for love has watchers + In air, on earth, and sea, + Were saved by clinging to the wreck, + And their marriage-destiny. + + From sunset to night's noon + She had lean'd upon his arm, + Nor heard the far-off thunder toll + The tocsin of alarm. + + Not so the youth--he listen'd + To the cloud-wing flapping by; + And low he whisper'd in Low Dutch, + "It tells our doom is nigh. + + "Death is the lot of mortals, + But we are young and strong, + And hoped, not boldly, for a life + Of happy years and long. + + "Yet 'tis a thought consoling, + That, till our latest breath, + We loved in life, and shall not be + Divided in our death. + + "Alas, for those that wait us + On their couch of dreams at home, + The morn will hear the funeral cry + Around their daughter's tomb. + + "They hoped" ('twas a strange moment + In Dutch to quote Shakspeare) + "Thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, + And not have strew'd thy bier." + + But, sweetly-voiced and smiling, + The trusting maiden said, + "Breathed not thy lips the vow to-day, + To-morrow we will wed? + + "And I, who have known thy truth + Through years of joy and sorrow, + Can I believe the fickle winds? + No! we shall wed to-morrow!" + + The tempest heard and paused-- + The wild sea gentler moved-- + They felt the power of woman's faith + In the word of him she loved. + + All night to rope and spar + They clung with strength untired, + Till the dark clouds fled before the sun, + And the fierce storm expired. + + At noon the song of bridal bells + O'er hill and valley ran; + At eve he call'd the maiden his, + "Before the holy man." + + They dwelt beside the waters + That bathe yon fallen pine, + And round them grew their sons and daughters, + Like wild grapes on the vine. + + And years and years flew o'er them, + Like birds with beauty on their wings, + And theirs were happy sleigh-ride winters, + And long and lovely springs, + + Such joys as thrill'd the lips that kiss'd + The wave, rock-cool'd, from Horeb's fountains, + And sorrows, fleeting as the mist + Of morning, spread upon the mountains, + + Till, in a good old age, + Their life-breath pass'd away; + Their name is on the churchyard page-- + Their story in my lay. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + + And let them rest together, + The maid, the boat, the boy, + Why sing of matrimony now, + In this brief hour of joy? + + Our time may come, and let it-- + 'Tis enough for us now to know + That our bark will reach West Point ere long, + If the breeze keep on to blow. + + We have Hudibras and Milton, + Wines, flutes, and a bugle-horn, + And a dozen segars are lingering yet + Of the thousand of yestermorn. + + They have gone, like life's first pleasures, + And faded in smoke away, + And the few that are left are like bosom friends + In the evening of our day. + + We are far from the mount of battle,[B] + Where the wreck first met mine eye, + And now where twin-forts[C] in the olden time rose, + Thro' the Race, like a swift steed, our little bark goes, + And our bugle's notes echo through Anthony's Nose, + So wrecks and rhymes--good-by. + + [B] Stony Point. + + [C] Forts Clinton and Montgomery. + + +FINIS. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY*** + + +******* This file should be named 34762-8.txt or 34762-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/7/6/34762 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Fanny</p> +<p> With Other Poems</p> +<p>Author: Fitz-Greene Halleck</p> +<p>Release Date: December 30, 2010 [eBook #34762]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Barbara Tozier, Stephanie McKee, Bill Tozier,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<div class="blockquot"> +<h3>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE</h3> + +<p>In many places, this work contains asterisks within words (as a form of +censorship?) or to represent missing fragments of text. These asterisks, +while they appear clumsy, are preserved in order to avoid changing the +meaning of the text.</p></div> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h1>FANNY</h1> + +<h3>WITH</h3> + +<h2>OTHER POEMS.</h2> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/illo-001.jpg" width="400" height="307" alt="WEEHAWKEN." title="WEEHAWKEN" /> +<span class="caption">WEEHAWKEN.</span> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h4>NEW-YORK<br /> +HARPER & BROTHERS</h4> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + +<h2>FANNY,</h2> +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 8em;">"A fairy vision</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>Of some gay creatures of the element,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>That in the colours of the rainbow live,</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'>And play in the plighted clouds."</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><span style="margin-left: 12em;"><span class="smcap">Milton.</span></span></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<h4>FROM THE EDITION OF 1821.<br /> +<br /> +F. G. Halleck.<br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<big>NEW-YORK:<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harper & Brothers, 82 Cliff Street</span><br /> +1846.</big></h4> +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + + + + +<h5>Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by<br /> +<span class="smcap">Harper & Brothers</span>,<br /> +in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York.</h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + + + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary=""> +<tr><td align='left'> </td><td align='right'><span class="smcap">Page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#FANNY">Fanny</a></td><td align='right'>5</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_RECORDER">The Recorder</a></td><td align='right'>73</td></tr> +<tr><td align='center' colspan='2'><a href="#EPISTLES_ETC">EPISTLES, ETC.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#WNE">To W*lt*r B*wne, Esq.</a></td><td align='right'>95</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#TO">To *****</a></td><td align='right'>101</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_FRAGMENT">A Fragment</a></td><td align='right'>107</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SONG">Song, by Miss ***</a></td><td align='right'>111</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SPY">Song, for the Drama of the Spy</a></td><td align='right'>115</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ADDRESS">Address at the Opening of a new Theatre</a></td><td align='right'>117</td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_RHYME">The Rhyme of the Ancient Coaster</a></td><td align='right'>121</td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 5]</span></p> +<h2><a name="FANNY" id="FANNY"></a>FANNY.</h2> + +<div class="centerbox"> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>I.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fanny was younger once than she is now,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And prettier of course: I do not mean</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To say that there are wrinkles on her brow;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Yet, to be candid, she is past eighteen—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Perhaps past twenty—but the girl is shy</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 6]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">About her age, and Heaven forbid that I</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>II.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Should get myself in trouble by revealing</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A secret of this sort; I have too long</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Loved pretty women with a poet's feeling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And when a boy, in day dream and in song,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have knelt me down and worshipp'd them: alas!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They never thank'd me for't—but let that pass.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>III.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I've felt full many a heart-ache in my day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At the mere rustling of a muslin gown,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And caught some dreadful colds, I blush to say,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">While shivering in the shade of beauty's frown.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They say her smiles are sunbeams—it may be—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But never a sunbeam would she throw on me.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>IV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Fanny's is an eye that you may gaze on</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For half an hour, without the slightest harm;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">E'en when she wore her smiling summer face on</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">There was but little danger, and the charm</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That youth and wealth once gave, has bade farewell.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 7]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hers is a sad, sad tale—'tis mine its woes to tell.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>V.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her father kept, some fifteen years ago,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A retail dry-good shop in Chatham-street,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And nursed his little earnings, sure though slow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Till, having muster'd wherewithal to meet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The gaze of the great world, he breathed the air</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Pearl-street—and "set up" in Hanover-square.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>VI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Money is power, 'tis said—I never tried;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I'm but a poet—and bank-notes to me</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Are curiosities, as closely eyed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whene'er I get them, as a stone would be,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Toss'd from the moon on Doctor Mitchill's table,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or classic brickbat from the tower of Babel.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>VII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But he I sing of well has known and felt</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That money hath a power and a dominion;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For when in Chatham-street the good man dwelt,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No one would give a sous for his opinion.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And though his neighbours were extremely civil,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 8]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet, on the whole, they thought him—a poor devil,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>VIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A decent kind of person; one whose head</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Was not of brains particularly full;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was not known that he had ever said</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Any thing worth repeating—'twas a dull,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Good, honest man—what Paulding's muse would call</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A "cabbage head"—but he excelled them all</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>IX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In that most noble of the sciences,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The art of making money; and he found</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The zeal for quizzing him grew less and less,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As he grew richer; till upon the ground</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Pearl-street, treading proudly in the might</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And majesty of wealth, a sudden light</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>X.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Flash'd like the midnight lightning on the eyes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of all who knew him; brilliant traits of mind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And genius, clear and countless as the dies</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon the peacock's plumage; taste refined,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wisdom and wit, were his—perhaps much more.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 9]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twas strange they had not found it out before.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In this quick transformation, it is true</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That cash had no small share; but there were still</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Some other causes, which then gave a new</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Impulse to head and heart, and join'd to fill</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His brain with knowledge; for there first he met</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The editor of the New-York Gazette,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sapient Mr. <span class="smcap">L**g</span>. The world of him</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Knows much, yet not one half so much as he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Knows of the world. Up to its very brim</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The goblet of his mind is sparkling free</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With lore and learning. Had proud Sheba's queen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In all her bloom and beauty, but have seen</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This modern Solomon, the Israelite,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Earth's monarch as he was, had never won her.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He would have hang'd himself for very spite,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And she, bless'd woman, might have had the honour</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of some neat "paragraphs"—worth all the lays</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 10]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">That Judah's minstrel warbled in her praise.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her star arose too soon; but that which sway'd</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Th' ascendant at our merchant's natal hour</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was bright with better destiny—its aid</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Led him to pluck within the classic bower</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of bulletins, the blossoms of true knowledge;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And <span class="smcap">L**g</span> supplied the loss of school and college.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For there he learn'd the news some minutes sooner</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Than others could; and to distinguish well</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The different signals, whether ship or schooner,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hoisted at Staten Island; and to tell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The change of wind, and of his neighbour's fortunes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, best of all—he there learn'd self-importance.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor were these all the advantages derived</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From change of scene; for near his domicil,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He of the pair of polish'd lamps then lived,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And in my hero's promenades, at will,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Could he behold them burning—and their flame</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 11]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Kindled within his breast the love of fame,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And politics, and country; the pure glow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of patriot ardour, and the consciousness</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That talents such as his might well bestow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A lustre on the city; she would bless</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His name; and that some service should be done her,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He pledged "life, fortune, and his sacred honour."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And when the sounds of music and of mirth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Bursting from Fashion's groups assembled there,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were heard, as round their lone plebeian hearth</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Fanny and he were seated—he would dare</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To whisper fondly, that the time might come</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When he and his could give as brilliant routs at home.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And oft would Fanny near that mansion linger,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the cold winter moon was high in heaven,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And trace out, by the aid of Fancy's finger,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cards for some future party, to be given</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When she, in turn, should be a <i>belle</i>, and they</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 12]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had lived their little hour, and pass'd away.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There are some happy moments in this lone</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And desolate world of ours, that well repay</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The toil of struggling through it, and atone</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For many a long, sad night and weary day.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They come upon the mind like some wild air</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of distant music, when we know not where,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or whence, the sounds are brought from, and their power,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Though brief, is boundless. That far, future home,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oft dream'd of, beckons near—it's rose-wreathed bower,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And cloudless skies before us: we become</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Changed on the instant—all gold leaf and gilding:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This is, in vulgar phrase, call'd "castle building."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But these, like sunset clouds, fade soon; 'tis vain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To bid them linger longer, or to ask</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On what day they intend to call again;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And, surely, 'twere a philosophic task,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Worthy a Mitchill, in his hours of leisure,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 13]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">To find some means to summon them at pleasure.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There certainly are powers of doing this,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In some degree at least—for instance, drinking.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Champagne will bathe the heart a while in bliss,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And keep the head a little time from thinking</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of cares or creditors—the best wine in town</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You'll get from Lynch—the cash must be paid down.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But if you are a bachelor, like me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And spurn all chains, even though made of roses,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'd recommend segars—there is a free</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And happy spirit, that, unseen, reposes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On the dim shadowy clouds that hover o'er you,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When smoking quietly with a warm fire before you.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dear to the exile is his native land,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In memory's twilight beauty seen afar:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dear to the broker is a note of hand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Collaterally secured—the polar star</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is dear at midnight to the sailor's eyes,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 14]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And dear are Bristed's volumes at "half price;"</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But dearer far to me each fairy minute</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spent in that fond forgetfulness of grief;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There is an airy web of magic in it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As in Othello's pocket-handkerchief,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Veiling the wrinkles on the brow of sorrow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The gathering gloom to-day, the thunder cloud to-morrow</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And these are innocent thoughts—a man may sit</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon a bright throne of his own creation;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Untortured by the ghastly sprites that flit</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Around the many, whose exalted station</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Has been attained by means 'twere pain to hint on,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Just for the rhyme's sake—instance Mr. Cl*n*on.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He struggled hard, but not in vain, and breathes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The mountain air at last; but there are others</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who strove, like him, to win the glittering wreaths</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of power, his early partisans and brothers,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That linger yet in dust from whence they sprung,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 15]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unhonour'd and unpaid, though, luckily, unhung.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twas theirs to fill with gas the huge balloon</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of party; and they hoped, when it arose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To soar like eagles in the blaze of noon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Above the gaping crowd of friends and foes.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alas! like Guillé's car, it soar'd without them,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And left them with a mob to jeer and flout them.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though Fanny's moonlight dreams were sweet as those</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I've dwelt so long upon—they were more stable;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hers were not "castles in the air" that rose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Based upon nothing; for her sire was able,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As well she knew, to "buy out" the one half</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Fashion's glittering train, that nightly quaff</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wine, wit, and wisdom, at a midnight rout,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From dandy coachmen, whose "exquisite" grin</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And "ruffian" lounge flash brilliantly without,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Down to their brother dandies ranged within,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gay as the Brussels carpeting they tread on,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 16]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sapient as the oysters they are fed on.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Rumour (she's a famous liar, yet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Tis wonderful how easy we believe her)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had whisper'd he was rich, and all he met</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In Wall-street, nodded, smiled, and "tipp'd the beaver;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All, from Mr. Gelston, the collector,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Down to the broker, and the bank director.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A few brief years pass'd over, and his rank</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Among the worthies of that street was fix'd;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He had become director of a bank,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And six insurance offices, and mix'd</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Familiarly, as one among his peers,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With grocers, dry-good merchants, auctioneers,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Brokers of all grades—stock and pawn—and Jews</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of all religions, who at noonday form,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On 'Change, that brotherhood the moral muse</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Delights in, where the heart is pure and warm,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And each exerts his intellectual force</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 17]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">To cheat his neighbour—legally, of course.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And there he shone a planetary star,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Circled around by lesser orbs, whose beams</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From his were borrow'd. The simile is not far</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From truth—for many bosom friends, it seems,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Did borrow of him, and sometimes forget</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To pay—indeed, they have not paid him yet.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXXVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But these he deem'd as trifles, when each mouth</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Was open in his praise, and plaudits rose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Upon his willing ear, "like the sweet south</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon a bank of violets," from those</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who knew his talents, virtues, and so forth;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That is—knew how much money he was worth.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXXVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alas! poor human nature; had he been</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But satisfied with this, his golden days</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their setting hour of darkness had not seen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And he might still (in the mercantile phrase)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be living "in good order and condition;"</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 18]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">But he was ruined by that jade Ambition,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXXVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"That last infirmity of noble minds,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whose spell, like whiskey, your true patriot liquor,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To politics the lofty hearts inclines</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of all, from Clinton down to the bill-sticker</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of a ward-meeting. She came slyly creeping</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To his bedside, where he lay snug and sleeping.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XXXIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her brow was turban'd with a bucktail wreath,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A broach of terrapin her bosom wore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tompkins' letter was just seen beneath</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Her arm, and in her hand on high she bore</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A National Advocate—Pell's polite Review</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lay at her feet—'twas pommell'd black and blue.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XL.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She was in fashion's elegant undress,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Muffled from throat to ankle; and her hair</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was all "<i>en papillotes</i>," each auburn tress</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Prettily pinn'd apart. You well might swear</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She was no beauty; yet, when "made up," ready</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 19]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">For visiters, 'twas quite another lady.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XLI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Since that wise pedant, Johnson, was in fashion,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Manners have changed as well as moons; and he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Would fret himself once more into a passion,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Should he return (which heaven forbid!), and see,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">How strangely from his standard dictionary,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The meaning of some words is made to vary.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XLII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For instance, an <i>undress</i> at present means</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The wearing a pelisse, a shawl, or so;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or any thing you please, in short, that screens</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The face, and hides the form from top to toe;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of power to brave a quizzing-glass, or storm—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis worn in summer, when the weather's warm.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XLIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But a full dress is for a winter's night.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The most genteel is made of "woven air;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That kind of classic cobweb, soft and light,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Which Lady Morgan's Ida used to wear.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And ladies, this aërial manner dress'd in,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 20]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Look Eve-like, angel-like, and interesting.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XLIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Miss Ambition was, as I was saying,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"<i>Dèshabillée</i>"—his bedside tripping near,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, gently on his nose her fingers laying,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">She roar'd out Tammany! in his frighted ear.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The potent word awoke him from his nap,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And then she vanish'd, whisp'ring <i>verbum sap</i>.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XLV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The last words were beyond his comprehension,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For he had left off schooling, ere the Greek</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or Latin classics claim'd his mind's attention:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Besides, he often had been heard to speak</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Contemptuously of all that sort of knowledge,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Taught so profoundly in Columbia College.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XLVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We owe the ancients something. You have read</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Their works, no doubt—at least in a translation;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet there was argument in what he said,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I scorn equivocation or evasion,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And own it must, in candour, be confess'd,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 21]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">They were an ignorant set of men at best.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XLVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twas their misfortune to be born too soon</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">By centuries, and in the wrong place too;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They never saw a steamboat, or balloon,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Velocipede, or Quarterly Review;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or wore a pair of Baehr's black satin breeches,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or read an Almanac, or Clinton's Speeches.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XLVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In short, in every thing we far outshine them,—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Art, science, taste, and talent; and a stroll</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through this enlighten'd city would refine them</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">More than ten years hard study of the whole</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their genius has produced of rich and rare—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">God bless the Corporation and the Mayor!</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XLIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In sculpture, we've a grace the Grecian master,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blushing, had own'd his purest model lacks;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We've Mr. Bogart in the best of plaster,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Witch of Endor in the best of wax,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Besides the head of Franklin on the roof</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 22]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Mr. Lang, both jest and weather proof.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>L.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And on our City Hall a Justice stands;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A neater form was never made of board,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Holding majestically in her hands</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A pair of steelyards and a wooden sword;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And looking down with complaisant civility—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Emblem of dignity and durability.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In painting, we have Trumbull's proud <i>chef d'œuvre</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Blending in one the funny and the fine:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His "Independence" will endure for ever,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And so will Mr. Allen's lottery sign;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all that grace the Academy of Arts,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From Dr. Hosack's face to Bonaparte's.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In architecture, our unrivall'd skill</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Cullen's magnesian shop has loudly spoken</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To an admiring world; and better still</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is Gautier's fairy palace at Hoboken.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In music, we've the Euterpian Society,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 23]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And amateurs, a wonderful variety.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In physic, we have Francis and M'Neven,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Famed for long heads, short lectures, and long bills;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Quackenboss and others, who from heaven</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Were rain'd upon us in a shower of pills;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They'd beat the deathless Esculapius hollow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And make a starveling druggist of Apollo.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And who, that ever slumber'd at the Forum,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But owns the first of orators we claim;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cicero would have bow'd the knee before 'em—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And for law eloquence, we've Doctor Graham.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Compared with him, their Justins and Quintillians</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had dwindled into second-rate civilians.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For purity and chastity of style,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">There's Pell's preface, and puffs by Horne and Waite.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For penetration deep, and learned toil,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And all that stamps an author truly great,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have we not Bristed's ponderous tomes? a treasure</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 24]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">For any man of patience and of leisure.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oxonian Bristed! many a foolscap page</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He, in his time, hath written, and moreover</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(What few will do in this degenerate age)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hath read his own works, as you may discover</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By counting his quotations from himself—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You'll find the books on any auction shelf.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I beg Great Britain's pardon; 'tis not meant</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To claim this Oxford scholar as our own:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That he was shipp'd off here to represent</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Her literature among us, is well known;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And none could better fill the lofty station</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Learning's envoy from the British nation.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We fondly hope that he will be respected</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At home, and soon obtain a place or pension.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We should regret to see him live neglected,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Like Fearon, Ashe, and others we could mention;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who paid us friendly visits to abuse</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 25]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our country, and find food for the reviews.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But to return.—The Heliconian waters</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are sparkling in their native fount no more,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And after years of wandering, the nine daughters</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of poetry have found upon our shore</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A happier home, and on their sacred shrines</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Glow in immortal ink, the polish'd lines</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Woodworth, Doctor Farmer, Moses Scott—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Names hallow'd by their reader's sweetest smile;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And who that reads at all has read them not?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"That blind old man of Scio's rocky isle,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Homer, was well enough; but would he ever</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have written, think ye, the Backwoodsman? never.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Alas! for Paulding—I regret to see</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In such a stanza one whose giant powers,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Seen in their native element, will be</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Known to a future age, the pride of ours.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There is none breathing who can better wield</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 26]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">The battle-axe of satire. On its field</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wreath he fought for he has bravely won,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Long be its laurel green around his brow!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It is too true, I'm somewhat fond of fun</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And jesting; but for once I'm serious now.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why is he sipping weak Castalian dews?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The muse has damn'd him—let him damn the muse</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But to return once more: the ancients fought</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Some tolerable battles. Marathon</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is still a theme for high and holy thought,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And many a poet's lay. We linger on</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The page that tells us of the brave and free,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And reverence thy name, unmatch'd Thermopylæ.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And there were spirited troops in other days—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Roman legion and the Spartan band,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Swartwout's gallant corps, the Iron Grays—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Soldiers who met their foemen hand to hand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or swore, at least, to meet them undismay'd;</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 27]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet what were these to General Laight's brigade</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of veterans? nursed in that Free School of glory,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The New-York State Militia. From Bellevue,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">E'en to the Battery flagstaff, the proud story</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of their manœuvres at the last review</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Has rang; and Clinton's "order" told afar</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He never led a better corps to war.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What, Egypt, was thy magic, to the tricks</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of Mr. Charles, Judge Spencer, or Van Buren?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The first with cards, the last in politics,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A conjuror's fame for years have been securing.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And who would now the Athenian dramas read</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When he can get "Wall-street," by Mr. Mead.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I might say much about our letter'd men,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Those "grave and reverend seigniors," who compose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our learn'd societies—but here my pen</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Stops short; for they themselves, the rumour goes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The exclusive privilege by patent claim,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 28]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of trumpeting (as the phrase is) their own fame.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, therefore, I am silent. It remains</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To bless the hour the Corporation took it</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Into their heads to give the rich in brains,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The worn-out mansion of the poor in pocket,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Once "the old almshouse," now a school of wisdom,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sacred to Scudder's shells and Dr. Griscom.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But whither am I wandering? The esteem</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I bear "this fair city of the heart,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To me a dear enthusiastic theme,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Has forced me, all unconsciously, to part</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Too long from him, the hero of my story.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where was he?—waking from his dream of glory.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And she, the lady of his dream, had fled,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And left him somewhat puzzled and confused.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He understood, however, half she said;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And that is quite as much as we are used</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To comprehend, or fancy worth repeating,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 29]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">In speeches heard at any public meeting.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the next evening found him at the Hall;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">There he was welcomed by the cordial hand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And met the warm and friendly grasp of all</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Who take, like watchmen, there, their nightly stand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A ring, as in a boxing match, procuring,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To bet on Clinton, Tompkins, or Van Buren.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twas a propitious moment; for a while</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The waves of party were at rest. Upon</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Each complacent brow was gay good humour's smile;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And there was much of wit, and jest, and pun,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And high amid the circle, in great glee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sat Croaker's old acquaintance, John Targee.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His jokes excell'd the rest, and oft he sang</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Songs, patriotic, as in duty bound.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He had a little of the "nasal twang</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Heard at conventicle;" but yet you found</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In him a dash of purity and brightness,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 30]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">That spoke the man of taste and of politeness.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For he had been, it seems, the bosom friend</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of England's prettiest bard, Anacreon Moore.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They met when he, the bard, came here to lend</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His mirth and music to this favourite shore;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For, as the proverb saith, "birds of a feather</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Instinctively will flock and fly together."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The winds that wave thy cedar boughs are breathing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Lake of the Dismal Swamp!" that poet's name;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the spray-showers their noonday halos wreathing</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Around "Cohoes," are brighten'd by his fame.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And bright its sunbeam o'er St. Lawrence smiles,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her million lilies, and her thousand isles.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We hear his music in her oarsmen's lay,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And where her church-bells "toll the evening chime;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet when to him the grateful heart would pay</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Its homage, now, and in all coming time,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Up springs a doubtful question whether we</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 31]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Owe it to Tara's minstrel or Targee.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Together oft they wander'd—many a spot</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Now consecrated, as the minstrel's theme,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">By words of beauty ne'er to be forgot,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Their mutual feet have trod; and when the stream</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of thought and feeling flow'd in mutual speech,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twere vain to tell how much each taught to each.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But, from the following song, it would appear</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That he of Erin from the sachem took</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The model of his "Bower of Bendemeer,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">One of the sweetest airs in Lalla Rookh;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis to be hoped that in his next edition,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This, the original, will find admission.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 32]</span><br/></p> + +<div class="poem"> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>SONG.</b></span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's a barrel of porter at Tammany Hall,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the bucktails are swigging it all the night long;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the time of my boyhood 'twas pleasant to call</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For a seat and segar, mid the jovial throng.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That beer and those bucktails I never forget;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But oft, when alone, and unnoticed by all,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I think, is the porter cask foaming there yet?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are the bucktails still swigging at Tammany Hall?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No! the porter was out long before it was stale,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But some blossoms on many a nose brightly shone;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the speeches inspired by the fumes of the ale,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Had the fragrance of porter when porter was gone.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">How much Cozzens will draw of such beer ere he dies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is a question of moment to me and to all;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For still dear to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is that barrel of porter at Tammany Hall.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 33]</span><br/></p> + + +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>SONG.</b></span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the nightingale sings round it all the night long,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That bower and its music I never forget;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But oft, when alone, in the bloom of the year,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I think, is the nightingale singing there yet?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No! the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But some blossoms were gather'd while freshly they shone;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thus memory draws from delight ere it dies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">An essence that breathes of it many a year;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 34]</span><br/></p> +</div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For many months my hero ne'er neglected</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To take his ramble there, and soon found out,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In much less time than one could have expected,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">What 'twas they all were quarrelling about.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He learn'd the party countersigns by rote,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And when to clap his hands, and how to vote.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He learn'd that Clinton became Governor</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Somehow by chance, when we were all asleep;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That he had neither sense, nor talent, nor</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Any good quality, and would not keep</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His place an hour after the next election—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So powerful was the voice of disaffection.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That he was a mere puppet made to play</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A thousand tricks, while Spencer touch'd the springs—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spencer, the mighty Warwick of his day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"That setter up, and puller down of kings,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Aided by Miller, Pell, and Doctor Graham,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 35]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And other men of equal worth and fame.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And that he'd set the people at defiance,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">By placing knaves and fools in public stations;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And that his works in literature and science</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Were but a schoolboy's web of misquotations;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And that he'd quoted from the devil even—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To these authentic facts each bucktail swore;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But Clinton's friends averr'd, in contradiction,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They were but fables, told by Mr. Noah,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Who had a privilege to deal in fiction,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Because he'd written travels, and a melo-</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Drama; and was, withal, a pleasant fellow.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And they declared that Tompkins was no better</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Than he should be; that he had borrow'd money,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And paid it—not in cash—but with a letter;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And though some trifling service he had done, he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Still wanted spirit, energy, and fire;</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 36]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And was disliked by—Mr. M'Intyre.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In short, each one with whom in conversation</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He join'd, contrived to give him different views</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of men and measures; and the information</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Which he obtain'd, but aided to confuse</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His brain. At best, 'twas never very clear;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And now 'twas turn'd with politics and beer.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXXVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he was puff'd, and flatter'd, and caress'd</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">By all, till he sincerely thought that nature</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had form'd him for an alderman at least—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Perhaps, a member of the legislature;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And that he had the talents, ten times over,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of H*n*y M**gs, or P*t*r H. W*nd*ver.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXXVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The man was mad, 'tis plain, and merits pity,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or he had never dared, in such a tone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To speak of two great persons, whom the city,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With pride and pleasure, points to as her own.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Men, wise in council, brilliant in debate,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 37]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">"The expectancy and rose of the fair state."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXXVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The one—for a pure style and classic manner,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is—Mr. Sachem Mooney far before.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The other, in his speech about the banner,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Spell-bound his audience until they swore</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That such a speech was never heard till then,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And never would be—till he spoke again.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>LXXXIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though 'twas presumptuous in this friend of ours</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To think of rivalling these, I must allow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That still the man had talents; and the powers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of his capacious intellect were now</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Improved by foreign travel, and by reading,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And at the Hall he'd learn'd, of course, good breeding.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XC.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He had read the newspapers with great attention,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Advertisements and all; and Riley's book</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of travels—valued for its rich invention;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Day and Turner's Price Current; and took</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews;</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 38]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And also Colonel Pell's; and, to amuse</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XCI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His leisure hours with classic tale and story,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Longworth's Directory, and Mead's Wall-street,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Mr. Delaplaine's Repository;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Mitchill's scientific works complete,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With other standard books of modern days,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Lay on his table, cover'd with green baize.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XCII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His travels had extended to Bath races;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Bloomingdale and Bergen he had seen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Harlæm Heights; and many other places,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">By sea and land, had visited; and been,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In a steamboat of the Vice President's,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To Staten-Island once—for fifty cents.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XCIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he had dined, by special invitation,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On turtle, with "the party" at Hoboken;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And thank'd them for his card in an oration,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Declared to be the shortest ever spoken.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he had stroll'd one day o'er Weehawk hill:</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 39]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">A day worth all the rest—he recollects it still.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XCIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Weehawken! In thy mountain scenery yet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">All we adore of nature in her wild</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And frolic hour of infancy, is met;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And never has a summer's morning smiled</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Upon a lovelier scene, than the full eye</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of the enthusiast revels on—when high</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XCV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Amid thy forest solitudes, he climbs</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">O'er crags, that proudly tower above the deep,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And knows that sense of danger which sublimes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The breathless moment—when his daring step</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The low dash of the wave with startled ear,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XCVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like the death-music of his coming doom,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And clings to the green turf with desperate force,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As the heart clings to life; and when resume</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The currents in his veins their wonted course,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There lingers a deep feeling—like the moan</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 40]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of wearied ocean, when the storm is gone.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XCVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In such an hour he turns, and on his view,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ocean, and earth, and heaven, burst before him;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of summer's sky in beauty bending o'er him—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The city bright below; and far away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XCVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And banners floating in the sunny air;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And white sails o'er the calm blue waters bent,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In wild reality. When life is old,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>XCIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its memory of this; nor lives there one</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood's days</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of happiness were pass'd beneath that sun,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That in his manhood's prime can calmly gaze</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Upon that bay, or on that mountain stand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor feel the prouder of his native land.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 41]</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>C.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"This may be poetry, for aught I know,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Said an old, worthy friend of mine, while leaning</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Over my shoulder as I wrote, "although</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I can't exactly comprehend its meaning.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For my part, I have long been a petitioner</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To Mr. John M'Comb, the street-commissioner,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"That he would think of Weehawk, and would lay it</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Handsomely out in avenue and square;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then tax the land, and make its owners pay it</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(As is the usual plan pursued elsewhere);</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Blow up the rocks, and sell the wood for fuel—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twould save us many a dollar, and a duel."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The devil take you and John M'Comb, said I;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lang, in its praise, has penn'd one paragraph,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And promised me another. I defy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With such assistance, yours and the world's laugh;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And half believe that Paulding, on this theme,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 42]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Might be a poet—strange as it may seem.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For even our traveller felt, when home returning</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From that day's tour, as on the deck he stood,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The fire of poetry within him burning;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Albeit unused to the rhyming mood;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And with a pencil on his knee he wrote</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The following flaming lines</span><br /><br /> +</p> + + +<div class="poem"> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>TO THE HORSEBOAT.</b></span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">1</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Away—o'er the wave to the home we are seeking,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Bark of my hope! ere the evening be gone;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's a wild, wild note in the curlew's shrieking;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">There's a whisper of death in the wind's low moan.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">2</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though blue and bright are the heavens above me,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the stars are asleep on the quiet sea;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And hearts I love, and hearts that love me,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 43]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are beating beside me merrily,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">3</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet, far in the west, where the day's faded roses,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Touch'd by the moonbeam, are withering fast;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where the half-seen spirit of twilight reposes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Hymning the dirge of the hours that are past,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">4</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There, where the ocean-wave sparkles at meeting</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(As sunset dreams tell us) the kiss of the sky,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">On his dim, dark cloud is the infant storm sitting,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And beneath the horizon his lightnings are nigh.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">5</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Another hour—and the death-word is given,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Another hour—and his lightnings are here;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Speed! speed thee, my bark; ere the breeze of even</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is lost in the tempest, our home will be near.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">6</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then away o'er the wave, while thy pennant is streaming</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In the shadowy light, like a shooting star;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be swift as the thought of the wanderer, dreaming,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 44]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">In a stranger land, of his fireside afar.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">7</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And while memory lingers I'll fondly believe thee</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">A being with life and its best feelings warm;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And freely the wild song of gratitude weave thee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Bless'd spirit! that bore me and mine from the storm.</span><br /><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But where is Fanny? She has long been thrown</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where cheeks and roses wither—in the shade.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The age of chivalry, you know, is gone;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And although, as I once before have said,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I love a pretty face to adoration,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet, still, I must preserve my reputation,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As a true dandy of the modern schools.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">One hates to be oldfashion'd; it would be</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A violation of the latest rules,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To treat the sex with too much courtesy.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis not to worship beauty, as she glows</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 45]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">In all her diamond lustre, that the beaux</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of these enlighten'd days at evening crowd,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where fashion welcomes in her rooms of light,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That "dignified obedience; that proud</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Submission," which, in times of yore, the knight</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gave to his "ladye-love," is now a scandal,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And practised only by your Goth or Vandal.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To lounge in graceful attitudes—be stared</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon, the while, by every fair one's eye,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And stare one's self, in turn; to be prepared</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To dart upon the trays, as swiftly by</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The dexterous Simon bears them, and to take</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One's share, at least, of coffee, cream, and cake,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is now to be "the ton." The pouting lip,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And sad, upbraiding eye of the poor girl,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who hardly of joy's cup one drop can sip,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ere in the wild confusion, and the whirl,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And tumult of the hour, its bubbles vanish,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 46]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Must now be disregarded. One must banish</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Those antiquated feelings, that belong</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To feudal manners and a barbarous age.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Time was—when woman "pour'd her soul" in song,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That all was hush'd around. 'Tis now "the rage"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To deem a song, like bugle-tones in battle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A signal note, that bids each tongue's artillery rattle.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, therefore, I have made Miss Fanny wait</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My leisure. She had changed, as you will see, as</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Much as her worthy sire, and made as great</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Proficiency in taste and high ideas.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The careless smile of other days was gone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And every gesture spoke "<i>q'en dira-t' on</i>?"</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She long had known that in her father's coffers,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And also to his credit in the banks,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There was some cash; and therefore all the offers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Made her, by gentlemen of the middle ranks,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of heart and hand, had spurn'd, as far beneath</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 47]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">One whose high destiny it was to breathe,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ere long, the air of Broadway or Park Place,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And reign a fairy queen in fairy land;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Display in the gay dance her form of grace,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or touch with rounded arm and gloveless hand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Harp or piano.—Madame Catilani</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Forgot a while, and every eye on Fanny.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And in anticipation of that hour,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Her star of hope—her paradise of thought,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She'd had as many masters as the power</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of riches could bestow; and had been taught</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The thousand nameless graces that adorn</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The daughters of the wealthy and high born.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She had been noticed at some public places</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(The Battery, and the balls of Mr. Whale),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For hers was one of those attractive faces,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That when you gaze upon them, never fail</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To bid you look again; there was a beam,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 48]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">A lustre in her eye, that oft would seem</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A little like effrontery; and yet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The lady meant no harm; her only aim</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was but to be admired by all she met,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the free homage of the heart to claim;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And if she show'd too plainly this intention,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Others have done the same—'twas not of her invention.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She shone at every concert; where are bought</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Tickets, by all who wish them, for a dollar;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She patronised the Theatre, and thought</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That Wallack look'd extremely well in Rolla;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She fell in love, as all the ladies do,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With Mr. Simpson—talked as loudly, too,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As any beauty of the highest grade,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To the gay circle in the box beside her;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And when the pit—half vex'd and half afraid,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With looks of smother'd indignation eyed her,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She calmly met their gaze, and stood before 'em,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 49]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Smiling at vulgar taste and mock decorum.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And though by no means a <i>bas bleu</i>, she had</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For literature a most becoming passion;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Had skimm'd the latest novels, good and bad,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And read the Croakers, when they were in fashion;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Doctor Chalmers' sermons, of a Sunday;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Woodworth's Cabinet, and the new Salmagundi.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She was among the first and warmest patrons</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of Griscom's <i>conversaziónes</i> where</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In rainbow groups, our bright-eyed maids and matrons,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">On science bent, assemble; to prepare</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Themselves for acting well, in life, their part</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As wives and mothers. There she learn'd by heart</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Words, to the witches in Macbeth unknown.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Hydraulics</i>, <i>hydrostatics</i>, and <i>pneumatics</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><i>Dioptrics</i>, <i>optics</i>, <i>katoptrics</i>, <i>carbon</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;"><i>Chlorine</i>, and <i>iodine</i>, and <i>aërostatics</i>;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Also,—why frogs, for want of air, expire;</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 50]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And how to set the Tappan sea on fire!</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In all the modern languages she was</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Exceedingly well versed; and had devoted,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To their attainment, far more time than has,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">By the best teachers lately, been allotted;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For she had taken lessons, twice a week,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For a full month in each; and she could speak</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">French and Italian, equally as well</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">As Chinese, Portuguese, or German; and,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What is still more surprising, she could spell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Most of our longest English words off hand;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was quite familiar in Low Dutch and Spanish,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And thought of studying modern Greek and Danish.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She sang divinely: and in "Love's young dream,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And "Fanny dearest," and "The soldier's bride;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And every song, whose dear delightful theme,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is "Love, still love," had oft till midnight tried</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her finest, loftiest "pigeon-wings" of sound,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Waking the very watchmen far around.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 51]</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For her pure taste in dress, I can appeal to</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Madame Bouquet, and Monsieur Pardessus;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She was, in short, a woman you might kneel to,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">If kneeling were in fashion; or if you</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were wearied of your duns and single life,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And wanted a few thousands and a wife.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 20em;">1819.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * * * * * * * * * *</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * * * * * * * * * *</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"There was a sound of revelry by night;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Broadway was throng'd with coaches, and within</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A mansion of the best of brick, the bright</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And eloquent eyes of beauty bade begin</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The dance; and music's tones swell'd wild and high,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 52]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And hearts and heels kept tune in tremulous ecstasy.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For many a week, the note of preparation</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Had sounded through all circles far and near;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And some five hundred cards of invitation</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Bade beau and belle in full costume appear;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There was a most magnificent variety,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All quite select, and of the first society.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That is to say—the rich and the well-bred,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The arbiters of fashion and gentility,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In different grades of splendour, from the head</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Down to the very toe of our nobility:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ladies, remarkable for handsome eyes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or handsome fortunes—learned men, and wise:</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Statesmen, and officers of the militia—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In short, the "first society"—a phrase,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which you may understand as best may fit you</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Besides the blackest fiddlers of those days,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Placed like their sire, Timotheus, on high,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With horsehair fiddle-bows and teeth of ivory.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 53]</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The carpets were roll'd up the day before,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And, with a breath, two rooms became but one,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like man and wife—and, on the polish'd floor,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Chalk in the artists' plastic hand had done</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All that chalk could do—in young Eden's bowers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They seemed to tread, and their feet press'd on flowers.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And when the thousand lights of spermaceti</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Stream'd like a shower of sunbeams—and free tresses</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wild as the heads that waved them—and a pretty</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Collection of the latest Paris dresses</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Wander'd about the rooms like things divine,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was, as I was told, extremely fine.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The love of fun, fine faces, and good eating,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Brought many who were tired of self and home;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And some were there in the high hope of meeting</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The lady of their bosom's love—and some</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To study that deep science, how to please,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 54]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And manners in high life, and high-soul'd courtesies.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he, the hero of the night, was there,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In breeches of light drab, and coat of blue.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Taste was conspicuous in his powder'd hair,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And in his frequent <i>jeux de mots</i>, that drew</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Peals of applauses from the listeners round,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Who were delighted—as in duty bound.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twas Fanny's father—Fanny near him stood,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Her power, resistless—and her wish, command;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Hope's young promises were all made good;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"She reign'd a fairy queen in fairy land;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her dream of infancy a dream no more,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And then how beautiful the dress she wore!</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ambition with the sire had kept her word.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He had the rose, no matter for its thorn,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he seem'd happy as a summer bird,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Careering on wet wing to meet the morn.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Some said there was a cloud upon his brow;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It might be—but we'll not discuss that now.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 55]</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXXVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I left him making rhymes while crossing o'er</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The broad and perilous wave of the North River.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He bade adieu, when safely on the shore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To poetry—and, as he thought, for ever.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That night his dream (if after deeds make known</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our plans in sleep) was an enchanting one.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXXVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He woke, in strength, like Samson from his slumber,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And walk'd Broadway, enraptured the next day;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Purchased a house there—I've forgot the number—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And sign'd a mortgage and a bond, for pay.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gave, in the slang phrase, Pearl-street the go-by,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And cut, for several months, St. Tammany.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXXVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bond, mortgage, title-deeds, and all completed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He bought a coach and half a dozen horses</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(The bill's at Lawrence's—not yet receipted—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">You'll find the amount upon his list of losses),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then fill'd his rooms with servants, and whatever</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 56]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is necessary for a "genteel liver."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXXXIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This last removal fix'd him: every stain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Was blotted from his "household coat," and he</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now "show'd the world he was a gentleman,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And, what is better, could afford to be;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His step was loftier than it was of old,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His laugh less frequent, and his manner told</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXL.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">What lovers call "unutterable things"—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That sort of dignity was in his mien</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which awes the gazer into ice, and brings</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To recollection some great man we've seen,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Governor, perchance, whose eye and frown,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Twas shrewdly guess'd, would knock Judge Skinner down.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXLI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And for "Resources," both of purse and head,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He was a subject worthy Bristed's pen;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Believed devoutly all his flatterers said,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And deem'd himself a Crœsus among men;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spread to the liberal air his silken sails,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 57]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And lavish'd guineas like a Prince of Wales.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXLII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He mingled now with those within whose veins</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The blood ran pure—the magnates of the land—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Hail'd them as his companions and his friends,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And lent them money and his note of hand.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In every institution, whose proud aim</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is public good alone, he soon became</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXLIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A man of consequence and notoriety;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His name, with the addition of esquire,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Stood high upon the list of each society,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whose zeal and watchfulness the sacred fire</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of science, agriculture, art, and learning,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Keep on our country's altars bright and burning.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXLIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At Eastburn's Rooms he met, at two each day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With men of taste and judgment like his own,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And play'd "first fiddle" in that orchestra</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of literary worthies—and the tone</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of his mind's music, by the listeners caught,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 58]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is traced among them still in language and in thought.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXLV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He once made the Lyceum a choice present</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of muscle shells pick'd up at Rockaway;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Mitchill gave a classical and pleasant</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Discourse about them in the streets that day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Naming the shells, and hard to put in verse 'twas,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Testaceous coverings of bivalve moluscas."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXLVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He was a trustee of a Savings Bank,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And lectured soundly every evil doer,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Gave dinners daily to wealth, power, and rank,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And sixpence every Sunday to the poor;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He was a wit, in the pun-making line—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Past fifty years of age, and five feet nine.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXLVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But as he trod to grandeur's pinnacle,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With eagle eye and step that never falter'd,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The busy tongue of scandal dared to tell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That cash was scarce with him, and credit alter'd;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And while he stood the envy of beholders,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 59]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Bank Directors grinn'd, and shrugg'd their shoulders.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXLVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And when these, the Lord Burleighs of the minute,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Shake their sage heads, and look demure and holy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Depend upon it there is something in it;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For whether born of wisdom or of folly,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Suspicion is a being whose fell power</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Blights every thing it touches, fruit and flower.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CXLIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Some friends (they were his creditors) once hinted</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">About retrenchment and a day of doom;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He thank'd them, as no doubt they kindly meant it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And made this speech, when they had left the room:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Of all the curses upon mortals sent,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One's creditors are the most impudent;</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CL.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Now I am one who knows what he is doing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And suits exactly to his means his ends;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">How can a man be in the path to ruin,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When all the brokers are his bosom friends?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet, on my hopes, and those of my dear daughter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These rascals throw a bucket of cold water!</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 60]</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"They'd wrinkle with deep cares the prettiest face,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Pour gall and wormwood in the sweetest cup,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Poison the very wells of life—and place</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whitechapel needles, with their sharp points up,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Even in the softest feather bed that e'er</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was manufactured by upholsterer."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This said—he journey'd "at his own sweet will,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Like one of Wordsworth's rivers, calmly on;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But yet, at times, Reflection, "in her still</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Small voice," would whisper, something must be done;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He ask'd advice of Fanny, and the maid</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Promptly and duteously lent her aid.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She told him, with that readiness of mind</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And quickness of perception which belong</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Exclusively to gentle womankind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That to submit to slanderers was wrong,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the best plan to silence and admonish them,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 61]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Would be to give "a party"—and astonish them.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The hint was taken—and the party given;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Fanny, as I said some pages since,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was there in power and loveliness that even,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And he, her sire, demean'd him like a prince,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And all was joy—it look'd a festival,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where pain might smooth his brow, and grief her smiles recall.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But Fortune, like some others of her sex,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Delights in tantalizing and tormenting;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One day we feed upon their smiles—the next</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is spent in swearing, sorrowing, and repenting.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">(If in the last four lines the author lies,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He's always ready to apologize.)</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Eve never walk'd in Paradise more pure</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Than on that morn when Satan play'd the devil</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With her and all her race. A love-sick wooer</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Ne'er ask'd a kinder maiden, or more civil,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Than Cleopatra was to Antony</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 62]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">The day she left him on the Ionian sea.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The serpent—loveliest in his coiled ring,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With eye that charms, and beauty that outvies</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The tints of the rainbow—bears upon his sting</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The deadliest venom. Ere the dolphin dies</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its hues are brightest. Like an infant's breath</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Are tropic winds, before the voice of death</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Is heard upon the waters, summoning</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The midnight earthquake from its sleep of years</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To do its task of wo. The clouds that fling</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The lightning, brighten ere the bolt appears;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The pantings of the warrior's heart are proud</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Upon that battle morn whose night-dews wet his shroud;</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sun is loveliest as he sinks to rest;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The leaves of autumn smile when fading fast;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The swan's last song is sweetest—and the best</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of Meigs's speeches, doubtless, was his last.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And thus the happiest scene, in these my rhymes,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 63]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Closed with a crash, and usher'd in—hard times.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">St. Paul's toll'd one—and fifteen minutes after</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Down came, by accident, a chandelier;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The mansion totter'd from the floor to rafter!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Up rose the cry of agony and fear!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And there was shrieking, screaming, bustling, fluttering,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beyond the power of writing or of uttering.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The company departed, and neglected</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To say good-by—the father storm'd and swore—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The fiddlers grinn'd—the daughter look'd dejected—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The flowers had vanish'd from the polish'd floor,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And both betook them to their sleepless beds,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With hearts and prospects broken, but no heads.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The desolate relief of free complaining</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Came with the morn, and with it came bad weather;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wind was east-northeast, and it was raining</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Throughout that day, which, take it altogether,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was one whose memory clings to us through life,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 64]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Just like a suit in Chancery, or a wife.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That evening, with a most important face</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And dreadful knock, and tidings still more dreadful,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A notary came—sad things had taken place;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My hero had forgot to "do the needful;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A note (amount not stated), with his name on't,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was left unpaid—in short, he had "stopp'd payment."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I hate your tragedies, both long and short ones</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(Except Tom Thumb, and Juan's Pantomime);</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And stories woven of sorrows and misfortunes</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Are bad enough in prose, and worse in rhyme;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mine, therefore, must be brief. Under protest</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His notes remain—the wise can guess the rest.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * * * * * * * * * *</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * * * * * * * * * *</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 65]</span> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXVI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For two whole days they were the common talk;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The party, and the failure, and all that,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The theme of loungers in their morning walk,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Porter-house reasoning, and tea-table chat.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The third, some newer wonder came to blot them,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And on the fourth, the "meddling world" forgot them.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXVII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Anxious, however, something to discover,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I pass'd their house—the shutters were all closed;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The song of knocker and of bell was over;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon the steps two chimney sweeps reposed;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And on the door my dazzled eyebeam met</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These cabalistic words—"this house to let."</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXVIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They live now, like chameleons, upon air</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And hope, and such cold, unsubstantial dishes;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That they removed, is clear, but when or where</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">None knew. The curious reader, if he wishes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">May ask them, but in vain. Where grandeur dwells,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 66]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">The marble dome—the popular rumour tells;</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXIX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But of the dwelling of the proud and poor</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From their own lips the world will never know</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When better days are gone—it is secure</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Beyond all other mysteries here below,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Except, perhaps, a maiden lady's age,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When past the noonday of life's pilgrimage.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXX.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Fanny! 'twas with her name my song began;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Tis proper and polite her name should end it;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If in my story of her woes, or plan</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Or moral can be traced, 'twas not intended;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And if I've wrong'd her, I can only tell her</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'm sorry for it—so is my bookseller.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXXI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I met her yesterday—her eyes were wet—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">She faintly smiled, and said she had been reading</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Treasurer's Report in the Gazette,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">M'Intyre's speech, and Campbell's "Love lies bleeding;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She had a shawl on, 'twas not a Cashmere one,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 67]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And if it cost five dollars, 'twas a dear one.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXXII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her father sent to Albany a prayer</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For office, told how fortune had abused him,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And modestly requested to be Mayor—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The Council very civilly refused him;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Because, however much they might desire it,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The "public good," it seems, did not require it.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXXIII.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Some evenings since, he took a lonely stroll</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Along Broadway, scene of past joys and evils;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He felt that withering bitterness of soul,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Quaintly denominated the "blue devils;"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And thought of Bonaparte and Belisarius,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Pompey, and Colonel Burr, and Caius Marius,</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXXIV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And envying the loud playfulness and mirth</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of those who pass'd him, gay in youth and hope,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He took at Jupiter a shilling's worth</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of gazing, through the showman's telescope;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Sounds as of far-off bells came on his ears,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 68]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">He fancied 'twas the music of the spheres.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>CLXXV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He was mistaken, it was no such thing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Twas Yankee Doodle play'd by Scudder's band;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He mutter'd, as he linger'd listening,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Something of freedom and our happy land;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Then sketch'd, as to his home he hurried fast,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This sentimental song—his saddest, and his last.</span><br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> +<div class="poem"> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>I.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Young thoughts have music in them, love</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And happiness their theme;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And music wanders in the wind</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That lulls a morning dream.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And there are angel voices heard,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In childhood's frolic hours,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When life is but an April day</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of sunshine and of showers.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 69]</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>II.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's music in the forest leaves</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When summer winds are there,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And in the laugh of forest girls</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That braid their sunny hair.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The first wild bird that drinks the dew,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From violets of the spring,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Has music in his song, and in</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The fluttering of his wing.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>III.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's music in the dash of waves</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When the swift bark cleaves their foam;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There's music heard upon her deck,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The mariner's song of home,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When moon and star beams smiling meet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At midnight on the sea—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And there is music—once a week</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 70]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">In Scudder's balcony.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>IV.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But the music of young thoughts too soon</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Is faint, and dies away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And from our morning dreams we wake</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To curse the coming day.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And childhood's frolic hours are brief,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And oft in after years</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their memory comes to chill the heart,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And dim the eye with tears.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>V.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To-day, the forest leaves are green,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">They'll wither on the morrow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the maiden's laugh be changed ere long</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To the widow's wail of sorrow.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Come with the winter snows, and ask</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where are the forest birds?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The answer is a silent one,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 71]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">More eloquent than words.</span><br /> +<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>VI.</b></span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The moonlight music of the waves</span><br /><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 72]</span> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In storms is heard no more,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When the living lightning mocks the wreck</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At midnight on the shore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the mariner's song of home has ceased,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">His corse is on the sea—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And music ceases when it rains</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In Scudder's balcony.</span><br /> +</p></div> +</div> + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 73]</span></p> + + + +<h2><a name="THE_RECORDER" id="THE_RECORDER"></a>THE RECORDER.<br/><br/></h2> + +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 74]</span></p> + + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 75]</span></p> +<h2>THE RECORDER.</h2> + +<h3>A PETITION.<br /> +BY THOMAS CASTALY.<br /> +<small>Dec. 20, 1828.</small></h3> + + +<div class="centerbox"> + +<div class="poem"> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em'> +<span style="margin-left: 8em;">"On they move</span><br /> +In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood<br /> +Of flutes and soft <span class="smcap">Recorders</span>."<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><i>Milton.</i></span><br /> +<br/> +"Live in Settles numbers one day more!"<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><i>Pope.</i></span></p> +</div> + +<p> </p> + +<p> +My dear <span class="smcap">Recorder</span>, you and I<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Have floated down life's stream together,</span><br /> +And kept unharm'd our friendship's tie<br /> +Through every change of Fortune's sky,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 76]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her pleasant and her rainy weather.</span><br /> +Full sixty times since first we met,<br /> +Our birthday suns have risen and set,<br /> +And time has worn the baldness now<br /> +Of Julius Cæsar on your brow;<br /> +Your brow, like his, a field of thought,<br /> +With broad deep furrows, spirit-wrought,<br /> +Whose laurel harvests long have shown<br /> +As green and glorious as his own;<br /> +And proudly would the <span class="smcap">Cæsar</span> claim<br /> +Companionship with <span class="smcap">R*k*r's</span> name,<br /> +His peer in forehead and in fame.<br /> +<br /> +Both eloquent and learn'd and brave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Born to command and skill'd to rule,</span><br /> +One made the citizen a slave,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The other makes him more—a fool.</span><br /> +The Cæsar an imperial crown,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">His slaves' mad gift, refused to wear,</span><br /> +The R*k*r put his fool's cap on,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And found it fitted to a hair;</span><br /> +The Cæsar, though by birth and breeding,<br /> +Travel, the ladies, and light reading,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 77]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">A gentleman in mien and mind,</span><br /> +And fond of Romans and their mothers,<br /> +Was heartless as the Arab's wind,<br /> +And slew some millions of mankind,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Including enemies and others.</span><br /> +The R*k*r, like Bob Acres, stood<br /> +Edgeways upon a field of blood,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The where and wherefore Swartwout knows,</span><br /> +Pull'd trigger, as a brave man should,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And shot, God bless them—his own toes.</span><br /> +The Cæsar pass'd the Rubicon<br /> +With helm, and shield, and breastplate on,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Dashing his war-horse through the waters;</span><br /> +The R*k*r would have built a barge<br /> +Or steamboat at the city's charge,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And pass'd it with his wife and daughters.</span><br /> +<br /> +But let that pass. As I have said,<br /> +There's naught, save laurels, on your head,<br /> +And time has changed my clustering hair,<br /> +And shower'd the snow-flakes thickly there;<br /> +And though our lives have ever been,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 78]</span>As different as their different scene;<br /> +Mine more renown'd for rhymes than riches<br /> +Yours less for scholarship than speeches;<br /> +Mine pass'd in low-roof'd leafy bower,<br /> +Yours in high halls of pomp and power,<br /> +Yet are we, be the moral told,<br /> +Alike in one thing—growing old,<br /> +Ripen'd like summer's cradled sheaf,<br /> +Faded like autumn's falling leaf—<br /> +And nearing, sail and signal spread,<br /> +The quiet anchorage of the dead.<br /> +For such is human life, wherever<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The voyage of its bark may be,</span><br /> +On home's green-bank'd and gentle river<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or the world's shoreless, sleepless sea.</span><br /> +<br /> +Yes, you have floated down the tide<br /> +Of time, a swan in grace and pride<br /> +And majesty and beauty, till<br /> +The law, the Ariel of your will,<br /> +Power's best beloved, the law of libel<br /> +(A bright link in the legal chain)<br /> +Expounded, settled, and made plain,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 79]</span>By your own charge, the jurors' Bible,<br /> +Has clipp'd the venom'd tongue of slander,<br /> +That dared to call you "Party's gander,<br /> +The leader of the geese who make<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our cities' parks and ponds their home,</span><br /> +And keep her liberties awake<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">By cackling, as their sires saved Rome.</span><br /> +Grander of Party's pond, wherein<br /> +Lizard, and toad, and terrapin,<br /> +Your alehouse patriots, are seen,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Faction's feverish sunshine basking;"</span><br /> +And now, to rend this veil of lies,<br /> +Word-woven by your enemies,<br /> +And keep your sainted memory free<br /> +From tarnish with posterity,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">I take the liberty of asking</span><br /> +Permission, sir, to write your life,<br /> +With all its scenes of calm and strife,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all its turnings and its windings,</span><br /> +A poem, in a quarto volume—<br /> +Verse, like the subject, blank and solemn,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With elegant appropriate bindings,</span><br /> +Of rat and mole skin the one half,<br /> +The other a part fox, part calf.<br /> +Your portrait, graven line for line,<br /> +From that immortal bust in plaster,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 80]</span>The master piece of Art's great master,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Mr. Praxiteles Browere,</span><br /> +Whose trowel is a thing divine,<br /> +Shall smile and bow, and promise there,<br /> +And twenty-nine fine forms and faces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">(The Corporation and the Mayor),</span><br /> +Linked hand in hand, like loves and graces,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Shall hover o'er it, group'd in air,</span><br /> +With wild pictorial dance and song;<br /> +The song of happy bees in bowers,<br /> +The dance of Guido's graceful hours,<br /> +All scattering Flushing's garden flowers<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Round the dear head they've loved so long.</span><br /> +<br /> +I know that you are modest, know<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That when you hear your merit's praise,</span><br /> +Your cheeks quick blushes come and go,<br /> +Lily and rose-leaf, sun and snow,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like maidens' on their bridal days.</span><br /> +I know that you would fain decline<br /> +To aid me and the sacred nine,<br /> +In giving to the asking earth<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 81]</span>The story of your wit and worth;<br /> +For if there be a fault to cloud<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The brightness of your clear good sense,</span><br /> +It is, and be the fact allow'd,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your only failing—Diffidence!</span><br /> +An amiable weakness—given<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To justify the sad reflection,</span><br /> +That in this vale of tears not even<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A R*k*r is complete perfection,</span><br /> +A most romantic detestation<br /> +Of power and place, of pay and ration;<br /> +A strange unwillingness to carry<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The weight of honour on your shoulders,</span><br /> +For which you have been named, the very<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Sensitive Plant of office-holders,</span><br /> +A shrinking bashfulness, whose grace<br /> +Gives beauty to your manly face.<br /> +Thus shades the green and growing vine<br /> +The rough bark of the mountain pine,<br /> +Thus round her freedom's waking steel<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Harmodius wreathed his country's myrtle;</span><br /> +And thus the golden lemon's peel<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 82]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Gives fragrance to a bowl of turtle.</span><br /> +<br /> +True, "many a flower," the poet sings,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"Is born to blush unseen;"</span><br /> +But you, although you blush, are not<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The flower the poets mean.</span><br /> +In vain you wooed a lowlier lot:<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In vain you clipp'd your eagle-wings—</span><br /> +Talents like yours are not forgot<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And buried with earth's common things.</span><br /> +No! my dear R*k*r, I would give<br /> +My laurels, living and to live,<br /> +Or as much cash as you could raise on<br /> +Their value, by hypothecation,<br /> +To be, for one enchanted hour,<br /> +In beauty, majesty, and power,<br /> +What you for forty years have been,<br /> +The Oberon of life's fairy scene.<br /> +<br /> +An anxious city sought and found you<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In a blessed day of joy and pride,</span><br /> +Scepter'd your jewell'd hand, and crown'd you<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 83]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her chief, her guardian, and her guide.</span><br /> +Honours which weaker minds had wrought<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In vain for years, and knelt and pray'd for,</span><br /> +Are all your own, unpriced, unbought,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Or (which is the same thing) unpaid for.</span><br /> +Painfully great! against your will<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Her hundred offices to hold,</span><br /> +Each chair with dignity to fill,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And your own pockets with her gold.</span><br /> +A sort of double duty, making<br /> +Your task a serious undertaking.<br /> +<br /> +With what delight the eyes of all<br /> +Gaze on you, seated in your Hall,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like Sancho in his island, reigning,</span><br /> +Loved leader of its motley hosts<br /> +Of lawyers and their bills of costs,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And all things thereto appertaining,</span><br /> +Such as crimes, constables, and juries,<br /> +Male pilferers and female furies,<br /> +The police and the <i>polissons</i>,<br /> +Illegal right and legal wrong.<br /> +Bribes, perjuries, law-craft, and cunning,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 84]</span>Judicial drollery and punning;<br /> +And all the <i>et ceteras</i> that grace<br /> +That genteel, gentlemanly place!<br /> +Or in the Council Chamber standing<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">With eloquence of eye and brow,</span><br /> +Your voice the music of commanding,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And fascination in your bow,</span><br /> +Arranging for the civic shows<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your "men in buckram," as per list,</span><br /> +Your John Does and your Richard Roes,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Those Dummys of your games of whist.</span><br /> +The Council Chamber—where authority<br /> +Consists in two words—a majority.<br /> +For whose contractors' jobs we pay<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Our last dear sixpences for taxes,</span><br /> +As freely as in Sylla's day,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Rome bled beneath his lictors' axes.</span><br /> +Where—on each magisterial nose<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In colours of the rainbow linger,</span><br /> +Like sunset hues on Alpine snows,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The printmarks of your thumb and finger.</span><br /> +Where he, the wisest of wild fowl,<br /> +Bird of Jove's blue-eyed maid—the owl,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That feather'd alderman, is heard</span><br /> +Nightly, by poet's ear alone,<br /> +To other eyes and ears unknown,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 85]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">Cheering your every look and word,</span><br /> +And making, room and gallery through,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The loud, applauding echoes peal,</span><br /> +Of his "<i>où peut on etre mieux<br /> +Qu'au sein de sa famille</i>?"<a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a><br /> +<br /> +Oh for a herald's skill to rank<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Your titles in their due degrees!</span><br /> +At Singsing—at the Tradesmen's Bank,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">In Courts, Committees, Caucuses:</span><br /> +At Albany, where those who knew<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The last year's secrets of the great,</span><br /> +Call you the golden handle to<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The earthen Pitcher of the State.</span><br /> +(Poor Pitcher! that Van Buren ceases<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">To want its service gives me pain,</span><br /> +'Twill break into as many pieces<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">As Kitty's of Coleraine.)</span><br /> +At Bellevue, on her banquet night,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Where Burgundy and business meet,</span><br /> +On others, at the heart's delight,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 86]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">The Pewter Mug in Frankfort-street;</span><br /> +From Harlæm bridge to Whitehall dock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">From Bloomingdale to Blackwell's Isles,</span><br /> +Forming, including road and rock,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A city of some twelve square miles,</span><br /> +O'er street and alley, square and block,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Towers, temples, telegraphs, and tiles,</span><br /> +O'er wharves whose stone and timbers mock<br /> +The ocean's and its navies' shock,<br /> +O'er all the fleets that float before her<br /> +O'er all their banners waving o'er her,<br /> +Her sky and waters, earth and air—<br /> +You are lord, for who is her lord mayor?<br /> +Where is he? Echo answers, where<br /> +And voices, like the sound of seas,<br /> +Breathe in sad chorus, on the breeze,<br /> +The Highland mourner's melody—<br /> +Oh <span class="smcap">Hone</span> a rie! Oh <span class="smcap">Hone</span> a rie!<br /> +The hymn o'er happy days departed,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The hope that such again may be,</span><br /> +When power was large and liberal-hearted,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 87]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wealth was hospitality.</span><br /> +<br /> +One more request, and I am lost,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">If you its earnest prayer deny;</span><br /> +It is, that you preserve the most<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Inviolable secrecy</span><br /> +As to my plan. Our fourteen wards<br /> +Contain some thirty-seven bards,<br /> +Who, if my glorious theme were known,<br /> +Would make it, thought and word, their own,<br /> +My hopes and happiness destroy,<br /> +And trample with a rival's joy<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Upon the grave of my renown.</span><br /> +My younger brothers in the art,<br /> +Whose study is the human heart—<br /> +Minstrels, before whose spells have bow'd<br /> +The learn'd, the lovely, and the proud,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Ere their life's morning hours are gone—</span><br /> +Light hearts be theirs, the muse's boon,<br /> +And may their suns blaze bright at noon,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 88]</span><span style="margin-left: 1em;">And set without a cloud.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class="smcap">Hillhouse</span>, whose music, like his themes,<br /> +Lifts earth to heaven—whose poet dreams<br /> +Are pure and holy as the hymn<br /> +Echoed from harps of seraphim,<br /> +By bards that drank at Zion's fountains<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">When glory, peace, and hope were hers,</span><br /> +And beautiful upon her mountains<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The feet of angel messengers.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">Bryant</span>, whose songs are thoughts that bless<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The heart, its teachers, and its joy,</span><br /> +As mothers blend with their caress<br /> +Lessons of truth and gentleness<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And virtue for the listening boy.</span><br /> +Spring's lovelier flowers for many a day<br /> +Have blossom'd on his wandering way,<br /> +Beings of beauty and decay,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">They slumber in their autumn tomb;</span><br /> +But those that graced his own Green River,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And wreathed the lattice of his home,</span><br /> +Charm'd by his song from mortal doom,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Bloom on, and will bloom on for ever.</span><br /> +And <span class="smcap">Halleck</span>—who has made thy roof,<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 89]</span>St. Tammany! oblivion-proof—<br /> +Thy beer illustrious, and thee<br /> +A belted knight of chivalry;<br /> +And changed thy dome of painted bricks<br /> +And porter casks and politics,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Into a green Arcadian vale,</span><br /> +With St*ph*n All*n for its lark,<br /> +B*n B*il*y's voice its watch-dog's bark,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And J*hn T*rg*e its nightingale.</span><br /> +<br /> +These, and the other <small>THIRTY-FOUR</small>,<br /> +Will live a thousand years or more—<br /> +If the world lasts so long. For me,<br /> +I rhyme not for posterity,<br /> +Though pleasant to my heirs might be<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The incense of its praise,</span><br /> +When I, their ancestor, have gone,<br /> +And paid the debt, the only one<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">A poet ever pays.</span><br /> +But many are my years, and few<br /> +Are left me ere night's holy dew,<br /> +And sorrow's holier tears, will keep<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 90]</span>The grass green where in death I sleep<br /> +And when that grass is green above me,<br /> +And those who bless me now and love me<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Are sleeping by my side,</span><br /> +Will it avail me aught that men<br /> +Tell to the world with lip and pen<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">That once I lived and died?</span><br /> +No: if a garland for my brow<br /> +Is growing, let me have it now,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">While I'm alive to wear it;</span><br /> +And if, in whispering my name,<br /> +There's music in the voice of fame<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Like Garcia's, let me hear it!</span><br /> +<br /> +The Christmas holydays are nigh,<br /> +Therefore, till Newyear's Eve, good-by,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">Then <i>revenons a nos moutons</i>,</span><br /> +Yourself and aldermen—meanwhile,<br /> +Look o'er this letter with a smile;<br /> +And keep the secret of its song<br /> +As faithfully, but not as long,<br /> +As you have guarded from the eyes<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 91]</span>Of editorial Paul Prys,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">And other meddling, murmuring claimants,</span><br /> +Those Eleusinian mysteries,<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 1em;">The city's cash receipts and payments.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Yours ever,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;">T. C.</span><br /> +</p> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 92]</span></p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 93]</span></p> + + +<h2><a name="EPISTLES_ETC" id="EPISTLES_ETC"></a>EPISTLES, ETC.</h2> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 94]</span></p> + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 95]</span></p> + +<h2><a name="WNE" id="WNE"></a>W*LT*R B*WNE, <span class="smcap">Esq.,</span><br /> +<br /> +<small>MEMBER OF THE COUNCIL OF APPOINTMENT OF THE STATE OF NEW-YORK, AT +ALBANY, 1821.</small></h2> + + +<div class="centerbox"> + +<div class="poem"> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em'> +"Stand not upon the order of your going.<br /> +But go at once."<br /> +<br /> +"I cannot but remember such things were,<br /> +And were most precious to me."<br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 16em;"><i>Macbeth.</i></span></p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We do not blame you, W*lt*r B*wne,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For a variety of reasons;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You're now the talk of half the town,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A man of talent and renown,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 96]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And will be for perhaps two seasons.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That face of yours has magic in it;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Its smile transports us in a minute</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">To wealth and pleasure's sunny bowers;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And there is terror in its frown,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Which, like a mower's scythe, cuts down</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Our city's loveliest flowers.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We therefore do not blame you, sir,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Whate'er our cause of grief may be;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And cause enough we have to "stir</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The very stones to mutiny."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You've driven from the cash and cares</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of office, heedless of our prayers,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Men who have been for many a year</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To us and to our purses dear,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And will be to our heirs for ever,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our tears, thanks to the snow and rain,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have swell'd the brook in Maiden-lane</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Into a mountain river;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And when you visit us again,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 97]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Leaning at Tammany on your cane,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like warrior on his battle blade,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">You'll mourn the havoc you have made.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">There is a silence and a sadness</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within the marble mansion now;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Some have wild eyes that threaten madness,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Some think of "kicking up a row."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Judge M*ll*r will not yet believe</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That you have ventured to bereave</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The city and its hall of him:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He has in his own fine way stated,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"The fact must be substantiated,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Before he'll move a single limb.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He deems it cursèd hard to yield</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The laurel won in every field</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Through sixteen years of party war,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And to be seen at noon no more,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Enjoying at his office door</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The luxury of a tenth segar.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Judge Warner says that, when he's gone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">You'll miss the true Dogberry breed;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Christian swears that you have done</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 98]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A most <span class="smcap">un</span>-Christian deed.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">How could you have the heart to strike</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From place the peerless Pierre Van Wyck?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the twin colonels, Haines and Pell,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Squire Fessenden, and Sheriff Bell;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">M*rr*ll, a justice and a wise one,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Ned M'Laughlin the exciseman;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The two health officers, believers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In Clinton and contagious fevers;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The keeper of the city's treasures,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sealer of her weights and measures,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The harbour-master, her best bower</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cable in party's stormy hour;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Ten auctioneers, three bank directors,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Mott and Duffy, the inspectors</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of whiskey and of flour?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was but yesterday they stood</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All (ex-officio) great and good.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But by the tomahawk struck down</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 99]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of party and of W*lt*r B*wne,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where are they now? With shapes of air,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The caravan of things that were,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Journeying to their nameless home,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like Mecca's pilgrims from her tomb;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With the lost Pleiad; with the wars</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of Agamemnon's ancestors;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With their own years of joy and grief,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Spring's bud, and autumn's faded leaf;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With birds that round their cradles flew;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With winds that in their boyhood blew;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With last night's dream and last night's dew.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yes, they are gone; alas! each one of them;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Departed—every mother's son of them.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet often, at the close of day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When thoughts are wing'd and wandering, they</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Come with the memory of the past,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Like sunset clouds along the mind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Reflecting, as they're flitting fast</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In their wild hues of shade and light,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All that was beautiful and bright</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In golden moments left behind.</span><br /> +</p> +</div> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 100]</span></p> + + + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 101]</span></p> +<h2><a name="TO" id="TO"></a>TO * * * * *.</h2> + + +<div class="centerbox"> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Dear ***, I am writing, not <i>to</i> you, but <i>at</i> you,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For the feet of you tourists have no resting-place;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But wherever with this the mail-pigeon may catch you,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 102]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">May she find you with gayety's smile on your face;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whether chasing a snipe at the Falls of Cohoes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or chased by the snakes upon Anthony's Nose;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whether wandering, at Catskill, from Hotel to Clove,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Making sketches, or speeches, puns, poems, or love;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or in old Saratoga's unknown fountain-land,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Threading groves of enchantment, half bushes, half sand;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whether dancing on Sundays, at Lebanon Springs,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With those Madame Hutins of religion, the Shakers;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or, on Tuesdays, with maidens who seek wedding rings</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At Ballston, as taught by mammas and match-makers;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whether sailing St. Lawrence, with unbroken neck,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From her thousand green isles to her castled Quebec;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or sketching Niagara, pencil on knee</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">(The giant of waters, our country's pet lion),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or dipp'd at Long Branch, in the real salt sea,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">With a cork for a dolphin, a Cockney Arion;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whether roaming earth, ocean, or even the air,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like Dan O'Rourke's eagle—good luck to you there.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For myself, as you'll see by the date of my letter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I'm in town, but of that fact the least said the better;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For 'tis vain to deny (though the city o'erflows</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 103]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">With well-dressed men and women, whom nobody knows)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That one rarely sees persons whose nod is an honour,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A lady with fashion's own impress upon her;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or a gentleman bless'd with the courage to say,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like Morris (the Prince Regent's friend, in his day),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Let others in sweet shady solitudes dwell,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh! give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Apropos—our friend A. chanced this morning to meet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The accomplish'd Miss B. as he pass'd Contoit's Garden,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Both in town in July!—he cross'd over the street,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And she enter'd the rouge-shop of Mrs. St. Martin.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Resolved not to look at another known face,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through Leonard and Church streets she walked to Park Place,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he turn'd from Broadway into Catharine-lane,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And coursed, to avoid her, through alley and by-street,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till they met, as the devil would have it, again,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 104]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Face to face, near the pump at the corner of Dey-st.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Yet, as most of "The Fashion" are journeying now,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With the brown hues of summer on cheek and on brow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The few "<i>gens comme il faut</i>" who are lingering here,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Are, like fruits out of season, more welcome and dear.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Like "the last rose of summer, left blooming alone,"</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Or the last snows of winter, pure ice of <i>haut ton</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unmelted, undimm'd by the sun's brightest ray,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And, like diamonds, making night's darkness seem day.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">One meets them in groups, that Canova might fancy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At our new lounge at evening, the <i>Opera Français</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In nines like the Muses, in threes like the Graces,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Green spots in a desert of commonplace faces.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Queen, Mrs. Adams, goes there sweetly dress'd</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In a beautiful bonnet, all golden and flowery:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While the King, Mr. Bonaparte, smiles on Celeste,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Heloise, and Hutin, from his box at the Bowery.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For news, Parry still the North Sea is exploring,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And the Grand Turk has taken, they say, the Acropolis,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And we, in Swamp Place, have discover'd, in boring,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 105]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">A mineral spring to refine the metropolis.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The day we discover'd it was, by-the-way,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In the life of the Cockneys, a glorious day.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For we all had been taught, by tradition and reading,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That to gain what admits us to levees of kings,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The gentleness, courtesy, grace of high breeding,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The only sure way was to "visit the Springs."</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So the whole city visited Swamp Spring <i>en masse</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">From attorney to sweep, from physician to paviour,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To drink of cold water at sixpence a glass,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And learn true politeness and genteel behaviour.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Though the crowd was immense till the hour of departure,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No gentleman's feelings were hurt in the rush,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Save a grocer's, who lost his proof-glass and bung-starter,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And a chimney sweep's, robb'd of his scraper and brush.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They linger'd till sunset and twilight had come,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Then, wearied in limb, but much polish'd in manners,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The sovereign people moved gracefully home,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In the beauty and pride of "an army with banners."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As to politics—Adams and Clinton yet live,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And reign, we presume, as we never have miss'd 'em,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And woollens and Webster continue to thrive</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 106]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Under something they call the American System.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">If you're anxious to know what the country is doing,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Whether ruin'd already or going to ruin,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And who her next president will be, please heaven,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Read the letters of Jackson, the speeches of Clay,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All the party newspapers, three columns a day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And Blunt's Annual Register, year 'twenty-seven.</span><br /> +</p> +</div> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 107]</span></p> +<h2><a name="A_FRAGMENT" id="A_FRAGMENT"></a>A FRAGMENT.</h2> + + +<div class="centerbox"> +<p><span style="margin-left: 4em;">* * * * * * * * * * *</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His shop is a grocer's—a snug, genteel place,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Near the corner of Oak-street and Pearl;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He can dress, dance, and bow to the ladies with grace</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 108]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And ties his cravat with a curl.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">He's ask'd to all parties—north, south, east, and west,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That take place between Chatham and Cherry,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And when he's been absent full oft has the "best</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Society" ceased to be merry.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And nothing has darken'd a sky so serene,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Nor disorder'd his beauship's Elysium,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till this season among our <i>élitè</i> there has been</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">What is call'd by the clergy "a schism."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis all about eating and drinking—one set</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Gives sponge-cake, a few "kisses" or so,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And is cool'd after dancing with classic sherbet,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">"Sublimed" (see Lord Byron) "with snow."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Another insists upon punch and <i>perdrix</i>,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Lobster-salad, Champagne, and, by way</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of a novelty only, those pearls of our sea,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 109]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Stew'd oysters from Lynn-Haven bay.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Miss Flounce, the young milliner, blue-eyed and bright,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In the front parlour over her shop,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Entertains," as the phrase is, a party to-night,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Upon peanuts and ginger-pop.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And Miss Fleece, who's a hosier, and not quite as young,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">But is wealthier far than Miss Flounce,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She "entertains" also to-night with cold tongue,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Smoked herring, and cherry-bounce.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In praise of cold water the Theban bard spoke,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He of Teos sang sweetly of wine;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Miss Flounce is a Pindar in cashmere and cloak,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Miss Fleece an Anacreon divine.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The Montagues carry the day in Swamp Place;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">In Pike-street the Capulets reign;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A <i>limonadière</i> is the badge of one race,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 110]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Of the other a flask of Champagne.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Now as each the same evening her soireè announces,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">What better, he asks, can be done,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Than drink water from eight until ten with the Flounces,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And then wine with the Fleeces till one!</span><br /> +</p> + +<p><span style="margin-left: 4em;">* * * * * * * * * * *</span></p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 111]</span></p> +<h2><a name="SONG" id="SONG"></a>SONG.</h2> + + +<h3>BY MISS * * * *.</h3> + + +<div class="centerbox"> +<div class="poem"> +<p style='font-size: 0.9em'><i>Air</i>, "To ladies eyes a round, boy." +<br /> +<span style="margin-left:16em;"><span class="smcap">Moore.</span></span></p> +</div> + +<p> </p> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The winds of March are humming</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Their parting song, their parting song,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And summer's skies are coming,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 112]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">And days grow long, and days grow long.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I watch, but not in gladness,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Our garden tree, our garden tree;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It buds, in sober sadness,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Too soon for me, too soon for me.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My second winter's over,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Alas! and I, alas! and I</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have no accepted lover:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Don't ask me why, don't ask me why.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis not asleep or idle</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">That love has been, that love has been;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For many a happy bridal</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The year has seen, the year has seen;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">I've done a bridemaid's duty,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">At three or four, at three or four;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">My best bouquet had beauty,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Its donor more, its donor more.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My second winter's over,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Alas! and I, alas! and I</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have no accepted lover:</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 113]</span><span style="margin-left: 6em;">Don't ask me why, don't ask me why.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His flowers my bosom shaded</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">One sunny day, one sunny day;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The next, they fled and faded,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Beau and bouquet, beau and bouquet.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In vain, at ball and parties,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">I've thrown my net, I've thrown my net;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">This waltzing, watching heart is</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Unchosen yet, unchosen yet.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My second winter's over,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Alas! and I, alas! and I</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have no accepted lover:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Don't ask me why, don't ask me why.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They tell me there's no hurry</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">For Hymen's ring, for Hymen's ring;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And I'm too young to marry:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">'Tis no such thing, 'tis no such thing.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The next spring tides will dash on</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">My eighteenth year, my eighteenth year;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It puts me in a passion,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 114]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">Oh dear, oh dear! oh dear, oh dear!</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">My second winter's over,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Alas! and I, alas! and I</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 5em;">Have no accepted lover:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Don't ask me why, don't ask me why.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 115]</span></p> +<h2><a name="SPY" id="SPY"></a>SONG.</h2> + +<h3>FOR THE DRAMA OF "THE SPY."</h3> + + +<div class="centerbox"> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The harp of love, when first I heard</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Its song beneath the moonlight tree,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Was echoed by his plighted word,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">And ah, how dear its song to me;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But wail'd the hour will ever be</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">When to the air the bugle gave,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To hush love's gentle minstrelsy,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 116]</span><span style="margin-left: 3em;">The wild war music of the brave.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">For he hath heard its song, and now</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Its voice is sweeter than mine own;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And he hath broke the plighted vow</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">He breathed to me and love alone.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That harp hath lost its wonted tone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">No more its strings his fingers move,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Oh would that he had only known</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">The music of the harp of love.</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 18em;">1822.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 117]</span></p> +<h2><a name="ADDRESS" id="ADDRESS"></a>ADDRESS,<br /> + +<br /> + +<small>AT THE OPENING OF A NEW THEATRE.<br /> +<br /> +November, 1831.</small></h2> + + +<div class="centerbox"> +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where dwells the Drama's spirit? not alone</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Beneath the palace roof, beside the throne,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In learning's cloisters, friendship's festal bowers,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 118]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">Art's pictured halls, or triumph's laurel'd towers,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where'er man's pulses beat or passions play,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She joys to smile or sigh his thoughts away:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Crowd times and scenes within her ring of power,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And teach a life's experience in an hour.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To-night she greets, for the first time, our dome,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her latest, may it prove her lasting home;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And we her messengers delighted stand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The summon'd Ariels of her mystic wand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To ask your welcome. Be it yours to give</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bliss to her coming hours, and bid her live</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Within these walls new hallow'd in her cause,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Long in the nurturing warmth of your applause.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">'Tis in the public smiles, the public loves,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">His dearest home, the actor breathes and moves,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Your plaudits are to us and to our art</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">As is the life-blood to the human heart:</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And every power that bids the leaf be green,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">In nature acts on this her mimic scene.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 119]</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our sunbeams are the sparklings of glad eyes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our winds the whisper of applause, that flies</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From lip to lip, the heart-born laugh of glee,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sounds of cordial hands that ring out merrily,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And heaven's own dew falls on us in the tear</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That woman weeps o'er sorrows pictured here,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When crowded feelings have no words to tell</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The might, the magic of the actor's spell.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">These have been ours; and do we hope in vain</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Here, oft and deep, to feel them ours again?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No! while the weary heart can find repose</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From its own pains in fiction's joys or woes;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While there are open lips and dimpled cheeks,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When music breathes, or wit or humour speaks;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">While Shakspeare's master spirit can call up</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Noblest and worthiest thoughts, and brim the cup</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of life with bubbles bright as happiness,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cheating the willing bosom into bliss;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">So long will those who, in their spring of youth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Have listen'd to the Drama's voice of truth,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Mark'd in her scenes the manners of their age,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 120]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And gather'd knowledge for a wider stage,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Come here to speed with smiles life's summer years,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And melt its winter snow with pleasant tears;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And younger hearts, when ours are hushed and cold,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Be happy here as we have been of old.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Friends of the stage, who hail it as the shrine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Where music, painting, poetry entwine</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their kindred garlands, whence their blended power</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Refines, exalts, ennobles hour by hour</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The spirit of the land, and, like the wind,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Unseen but felt, bears on the bark of mind;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">To you the hour that consecrates this dome,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will call up dreams of prouder hours to come,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When some creating poet, born your own,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">May waken here the drama's loftiest tone,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Through after years to echo loud and long,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A Shakspeare of the West, a star of song,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Bright'ning your own blue skies with living fire,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All times to gladden and all tongues inspire,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Far as beneath the heaven by sea-winds fann'd,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Floats the free banner of your native land.</span><br /> +</p></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 121]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_RHYME" id="THE_RHYME"></a>THE RHYME<br /> +<br /> +<small>OF</small><br /> +<br /> +THE ANCIENT COASTER.</h2> + + +<div class="centerbox"> +<p><i>Written while sailing in an open boat on the Hudson River, between +Stony Point and the Highlands, on seeing the wreck of an old sloop, +June, 1821.</i></p> + +<div class="poem"><p style='font-size: 0.9em'> +"And this our life, exempt from public haunt,<br /> +Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,<br /> +Sermons in stones, and good in every thing."<br /> +<span style="margin-left:16em;"><span class="smcap">Shakspeare.</span></span></p> +</div> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her side is in the water,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Her keel is in the sand,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And her bowsprit rests on the low gray rock</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 122]</span><span style="margin-left: 4em;">That bounds the sea and land.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Her deck is without a mast,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And sand and shells are there,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the teeth of decay are gnawing her planks,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In the sun and the sultry air.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No more on the river's bosom,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">When sky and wave are calm,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the clouds are in summer quietness,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the cool night-breath is balm,</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Will she glide in the swan-like stillness</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of the moon in the blue above,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">A messenger from other lands,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">A beacon to hope and love.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">No more, in the midnight tempest,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Will she mock the mounting sea,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Strong in her oaken timbers,</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 123]</span><span style="margin-left: 4em;">And her white sail's bravery.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">She hath borne, in days departed,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Warm hearts upon her deck;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Those hearts, like her, are mouldering now,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The victims, and the wreck</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Of time, whose touch erases</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Each vestige of all we love;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The wanderers, home returning,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Who gazed that deck above,</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And they who stood to welcome</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Their loved ones on that shore,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Are gone, and the place that knew them</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Shall know them never more.</span><br /> +</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 124]</span></p> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * * * * * * * * * *</span></p> + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">It was a night of terror,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In the autumn equinox,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">When that gallant vessel found a grave</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Upon the Peekskill rocks.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Captain, mate, cook, and seamen</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">(They were in all but three),</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were saved by swimming fast and well,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And their gallows-destiny.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But two, a youth and maiden,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Were left to brave the storm,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">With unpronounceable Dutch names,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And hearts with true love warm.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 125]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">And they, for love has watchers</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In air, on earth, and sea,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Were saved by clinging to the wreck,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And their marriage-destiny.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">From sunset to night's noon</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">She had lean'd upon his arm,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Nor heard the far-off thunder toll</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The tocsin of alarm.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Not so the youth—he listen'd</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To the cloud-wing flapping by;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And low he whisper'd in Low Dutch,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"It tells our doom is nigh.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Death is the lot of mortals,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">But we are young and strong,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And hoped, not boldly, for a life</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of happy years and long.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 126]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Yet 'tis a thought consoling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">That, till our latest breath,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We loved in life, and shall not be</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Divided in our death.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Alas, for those that wait us</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">On their couch of dreams at home,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The morn will hear the funeral cry</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Around their daughter's tomb.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"They hoped" ('twas a strange moment</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In Dutch to quote Shakspeare)</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And not have strew'd thy bier."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But, sweetly-voiced and smiling,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The trusting maiden said,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">"Breathed not thy lips the vow to-day,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">To-morrow we will wed?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 127]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">"And I, who have known thy truth</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Through years of joy and sorrow,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Can I believe the fickle winds?</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">No! we shall wed to-morrow!"</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">The tempest heard and paused—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The wild sea gentler moved—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They felt the power of woman's faith</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In the word of him she loved.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">All night to rope and spar</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">They clung with strength untired,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till the dark clouds fled before the sun,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the fierce storm expired.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At noon the song of bridal bells</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">O'er hill and valley ran;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">At eve he call'd the maiden his,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">"Before the holy man."</span><br /> +<br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 128]</span><span style="margin-left: 2em;">They dwelt beside the waters</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">That bathe yon fallen pine,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And round them grew their sons and daughters,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Like wild grapes on the vine.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And years and years flew o'er them,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Like birds with beauty on their wings,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And theirs were happy sleigh-ride winters,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And long and lovely springs,</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Such joys as thrill'd the lips that kiss'd</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The wave, rock-cool'd, from Horeb's fountains,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And sorrows, fleeting as the mist</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of morning, spread upon the mountains,</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Till, in a good old age,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Their life-breath pass'd away;</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Their name is on the churchyard page—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Their story in my lay.</span><br /> +</p> + + +<p><span class='pagenum'>[Pg 129]</span></p> +<p><span style="margin-left: 2em;">* * * * * * * * * * * *</span></p> + + + +<p> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And let them rest together,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">The maid, the boat, the boy,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Why sing of matrimony now,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In this brief hour of joy?</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Our time may come, and let it—</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">'Tis enough for us now to know</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">That our bark will reach West Point ere long,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">If the breeze keep on to blow.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We have Hudibras and Milton,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Wines, flutes, and a bugle-horn,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And a dozen segars are lingering yet</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Of the thousand of yestermorn.</span><br /> +<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">They have gone, like life's first pleasures,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And faded in smoke away,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And the few that are left are like bosom friends</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">In the evening of our day.</span><br /> +<span class='pagenum'>[Pg 130]</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">We are far from the mount of battle,<a name="FNanchor_B_2" id="FNanchor_B_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_B_2" class="fnanchor">[B]</a></span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">Where the wreck first met mine eye,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And now where twin-forts<a name="FNanchor_C_3" id="FNanchor_C_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_C_3" class="fnanchor">[C]</a> in the olden time rose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Thro' the Race, like a swift steed, our little bark goes,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">And our bugle's notes echo through Anthony's Nose,</span><br /> +<span style="margin-left: 3em;">So wrecks and rhymes—good-by.</span><br /> +</p> +</div> + +<h5>FINIS.</h5> + + + +<hr style="width: 100%;" /> + + +<h3>FOOTNOTES</h3> +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> A favourite French air. In English, "where can one be more +happy than in the bosom of one's family?"</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_B_2" id="Footnote_B_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_B_2"><span class="label">[B]</span></a> Stony Point.</p></div> + +<div class="footnote"><p><a name="Footnote_C_3" id="Footnote_C_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_C_3"><span class="label">[C]</span></a> Forts Clinton and Montgomery.</p></div> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 34762-h.txt or 34762-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/7/6/34762">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/7/6/34762</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Fanny + With Other Poems + + +Author: Fitz-Greene Halleck + + + +Release Date: December 30, 2010 [eBook #34762] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY*** + + +E-text prepared by Barbara Tozier, Stephanie McKee, Bill Tozier, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this + file which includes the original illustration. + See 34762-h.htm or 34762-h.zip: + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34762/34762-h/34762-h.htm) + or + (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/34762/34762-h.zip) + + +Transcriber's note: + + In many places, this work contains asterisks within words + (as a form of censorship?) or to represent missing fragments + of text. These asterisks, while they appear clumsy, are + preserved in order to avoid changing the meaning of the + text. Because of the prevalence of asterisks in the work, + thought breaks are denoted by strings of dashes instead of + the standard strings of asterisks. + + Text surrounded by underscores is italicized in the original + work. + + + + + +FANNY +WITH +OTHER POEMS. + + +[Illustration: WEEHAWKEN.] + + + + + + +New-York +Harper & Brothers + + + + +FANNY, + + + "A fairy vision + Of some gay creatures of the element, + That in the colours of the rainbow live, + And play in the plighted clouds." + + MILTON. + + + +FROM THE EDITION OF 1821. + +F. G. Halleck. + +New-York: +Harper & Brothers, 82 Cliff Street +1846. + +Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1839, by +Harper & Brothers, +in the Clerk's Office of the Southern District of New-York. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + + PAGE + Fanny ...........................................5 + The Recorder ...................................73 + + EPISTLES, ETC. + + To W*lt*r B*wne, Esq. ..........................95 + To ***** ......................................101 + A Fragment ....................................107 + Song, by Miss *** .............................111 + Song, for the Drama of the Spy ................115 + Address at the Opening of a new Theatre .......117 + The Rhyme of the Ancient Coaster ..............121 + + + + +FANNY. + + + I. + + Fanny was younger once than she is now, + And prettier of course: I do not mean + To say that there are wrinkles on her brow; + Yet, to be candid, she is past eighteen-- + Perhaps past twenty--but the girl is shy + About her age, and Heaven forbid that I + + + II. + + Should get myself in trouble by revealing + A secret of this sort; I have too long + Loved pretty women with a poet's feeling, + And when a boy, in day dream and in song, + Have knelt me down and worshipp'd them: alas! + They never thank'd me for't--but let that pass. + + + III. + + I've felt full many a heart-ache in my day, + At the mere rustling of a muslin gown, + And caught some dreadful colds, I blush to say, + While shivering in the shade of beauty's frown. + They say her smiles are sunbeams--it may be-- + But never a sunbeam would she throw on me. + + + IV. + + But Fanny's is an eye that you may gaze on + For half an hour, without the slightest harm; + E'en when she wore her smiling summer face on + There was but little danger, and the charm + That youth and wealth once gave, has bade farewell. + Hers is a sad, sad tale--'tis mine its woes to tell. + + + V. + + Her father kept, some fifteen years ago, + A retail dry-good shop in Chatham-street, + And nursed his little earnings, sure though slow, + Till, having muster'd wherewithal to meet + The gaze of the great world, he breathed the air + Of Pearl-street--and "set up" in Hanover-square. + + + VI. + + Money is power, 'tis said--I never tried; + I'm but a poet--and bank-notes to me + Are curiosities, as closely eyed, + Whene'er I get them, as a stone would be, + Toss'd from the moon on Doctor Mitchill's table, + Or classic brickbat from the tower of Babel. + + + VII. + + + But he I sing of well has known and felt + That money hath a power and a dominion; + For when in Chatham-street the good man dwelt, + No one would give a sous for his opinion. + And though his neighbours were extremely civil, + Yet, on the whole, they thought him--a poor devil, + + + VIII. + + A decent kind of person; one whose head + Was not of brains particularly full; + It was not known that he had ever said + Any thing worth repeating--'twas a dull, + Good, honest man--what Paulding's muse would call + A "cabbage head"--but he excelled them all + + + IX. + + In that most noble of the sciences, + The art of making money; and he found + The zeal for quizzing him grew less and less, + As he grew richer; till upon the ground + Of Pearl-street, treading proudly in the might + And majesty of wealth, a sudden light + + + X. + + Flash'd like the midnight lightning on the eyes + Of all who knew him; brilliant traits of mind, + And genius, clear and countless as the dies + Upon the peacock's plumage; taste refined, + Wisdom and wit, were his--perhaps much more. + 'Twas strange they had not found it out before. + + + XI. + + In this quick transformation, it is true + That cash had no small share; but there were still + Some other causes, which then gave a new + Impulse to head and heart, and join'd to fill + His brain with knowledge; for there first he met + The editor of the New-York Gazette, + + + XII. + + The sapient Mr. L**G. The world of him + Knows much, yet not one half so much as he + Knows of the world. Up to its very brim + The goblet of his mind is sparkling free + With lore and learning. Had proud Sheba's queen, + In all her bloom and beauty, but have seen + + + XIII. + + This modern Solomon, the Israelite, + Earth's monarch as he was, had never won her. + He would have hang'd himself for very spite, + And she, bless'd woman, might have had the honour + Of some neat "paragraphs"--worth all the lays + That Judah's minstrel warbled in her praise. + + + XIV. + + Her star arose too soon; but that which sway'd + Th' ascendant at our merchant's natal hour + Was bright with better destiny--its aid + Led him to pluck within the classic bower + Of bulletins, the blossoms of true knowledge; + And L**G supplied the loss of school and college. + + + XV. + + For there he learn'd the news some minutes sooner + Than others could; and to distinguish well + The different signals, whether ship or schooner, + Hoisted at Staten Island; and to tell + The change of wind, and of his neighbour's fortunes, + And, best of all--he there learn'd self-importance. + + + XVI. + + Nor were these all the advantages derived + From change of scene; for near his domicil, + He of the pair of polish'd lamps then lived, + And in my hero's promenades, at will, + Could he behold them burning--and their flame + Kindled within his breast the love of fame, + + + XVII. + + And politics, and country; the pure glow + Of patriot ardour, and the consciousness + That talents such as his might well bestow + A lustre on the city; she would bless + His name; and that some service should be done her, + He pledged "life, fortune, and his sacred honour." + + + XVIII. + + And when the sounds of music and of mirth, + Bursting from Fashion's groups assembled there, + Were heard, as round their lone plebeian hearth + Fanny and he were seated--he would dare + To whisper fondly, that the time might come + When he and his could give as brilliant routs at home. + + + XIX. + + And oft would Fanny near that mansion linger, + When the cold winter moon was high in heaven, + And trace out, by the aid of Fancy's finger, + Cards for some future party, to be given + When she, in turn, should be a _belle_, and they + Had lived their little hour, and pass'd away. + + + XX. + + There are some happy moments in this lone + And desolate world of ours, that well repay + The toil of struggling through it, and atone + For many a long, sad night and weary day. + They come upon the mind like some wild air + Of distant music, when we know not where, + + + XXI. + + Or whence, the sounds are brought from, and their power, + Though brief, is boundless. That far, future home, + Oft dream'd of, beckons near--it's rose-wreathed bower, + And cloudless skies before us: we become + Changed on the instant--all gold leaf and gilding: + This is, in vulgar phrase, call'd "castle building." + + + XXII. + + But these, like sunset clouds, fade soon; 'tis vain + To bid them linger longer, or to ask + On what day they intend to call again; + And, surely, 'twere a philosophic task, + Worthy a Mitchill, in his hours of leisure, + To find some means to summon them at pleasure. + + + XXIII. + + There certainly are powers of doing this, + In some degree at least--for instance, drinking. + Champagne will bathe the heart a while in bliss, + And keep the head a little time from thinking + Of cares or creditors--the best wine in town + You'll get from Lynch--the cash must be paid down. + + + XXIV. + + But if you are a bachelor, like me, + And spurn all chains, even though made of roses, + I'd recommend segars--there is a free + And happy spirit, that, unseen, reposes + On the dim shadowy clouds that hover o'er you, + When smoking quietly with a warm fire before you. + + + XXV. + + Dear to the exile is his native land, + In memory's twilight beauty seen afar: + Dear to the broker is a note of hand, + Collaterally secured--the polar star + Is dear at midnight to the sailor's eyes, + And dear are Bristed's volumes at "half price;" + + + XXVI. + + But dearer far to me each fairy minute + Spent in that fond forgetfulness of grief; + There is an airy web of magic in it, + As in Othello's pocket-handkerchief, + Veiling the wrinkles on the brow of sorrow, + The gathering gloom to-day, the thunder cloud to-morrow + + + XXVII. + + And these are innocent thoughts--a man may sit + Upon a bright throne of his own creation; + Untortured by the ghastly sprites that flit + Around the many, whose exalted station + Has been attained by means 'twere pain to hint on, + Just for the rhyme's sake--instance Mr. Cl*n*on. + + + XXVIII. + + He struggled hard, but not in vain, and breathes + The mountain air at last; but there are others + Who strove, like him, to win the glittering wreaths + Of power, his early partisans and brothers, + That linger yet in dust from whence they sprung, + Unhonour'd and unpaid, though, luckily, unhung. + + + XXIX. + + 'Twas theirs to fill with gas the huge balloon + Of party; and they hoped, when it arose, + To soar like eagles in the blaze of noon, + Above the gaping crowd of friends and foes. + Alas! like Guille's car, it soar'd without them, + And left them with a mob to jeer and flout them. + + + XXX. + + Though Fanny's moonlight dreams were sweet as those + I've dwelt so long upon--they were more stable; + Hers were not "castles in the air" that rose + Based upon nothing; for her sire was able, + As well she knew, to "buy out" the one half + Of Fashion's glittering train, that nightly quaff + + + XXXI. + + Wine, wit, and wisdom, at a midnight rout, + From dandy coachmen, whose "exquisite" grin + And "ruffian" lounge flash brilliantly without, + Down to their brother dandies ranged within, + Gay as the Brussels carpeting they tread on, + And sapient as the oysters they are fed on. + + + XXXII. + + And Rumour (she's a famous liar, yet + 'Tis wonderful how easy we believe her) + Had whisper'd he was rich, and all he met + In Wall-street, nodded, smiled, and "tipp'd the beaver;" + All, from Mr. Gelston, the collector, + Down to the broker, and the bank director. + + XXXIII. + + A few brief years pass'd over, and his rank + Among the worthies of that street was fix'd; + He had become director of a bank, + And six insurance offices, and mix'd + Familiarly, as one among his peers, + With grocers, dry-good merchants, auctioneers, + + + XXXIV. + + Brokers of all grades--stock and pawn--and Jews + Of all religions, who at noonday form, + On 'Change, that brotherhood the moral muse + Delights in, where the heart is pure and warm, + And each exerts his intellectual force + To cheat his neighbour--legally, of course. + + + XXXV. + + And there he shone a planetary star, + Circled around by lesser orbs, whose beams + From his were borrow'd. The simile is not far + From truth--for many bosom friends, it seems, + Did borrow of him, and sometimes forget + To pay--indeed, they have not paid him yet. + + + XXXVI. + + But these he deem'd as trifles, when each mouth + Was open in his praise, and plaudits rose + Upon his willing ear, "like the sweet south + Upon a bank of violets," from those + Who knew his talents, virtues, and so forth; + That is--knew how much money he was worth. + + + XXXVII. + + Alas! poor human nature; had he been + But satisfied with this, his golden days + Their setting hour of darkness had not seen, + And he might still (in the mercantile phrase) + Be living "in good order and condition;" + But he was ruined by that jade Ambition, + + + XXXVIII. + + "That last infirmity of noble minds," + Whose spell, like whiskey, your true patriot liquor, + To politics the lofty hearts inclines + Of all, from Clinton down to the bill-sticker + Of a ward-meeting. She came slyly creeping + To his bedside, where he lay snug and sleeping. + + + XXXIX. + + Her brow was turban'd with a bucktail wreath, + A broach of terrapin her bosom wore, + Tompkins' letter was just seen beneath + Her arm, and in her hand on high she bore + A National Advocate--Pell's polite Review + Lay at her feet--'twas pommell'd black and blue. + + + XL. + + She was in fashion's elegant undress, + Muffled from throat to ankle; and her hair + Was all "_en papillotes_," each auburn tress + Prettily pinn'd apart. You well might swear + She was no beauty; yet, when "made up," ready + For visiters, 'twas quite another lady. + + + XLI. + + Since that wise pedant, Johnson, was in fashion, + Manners have changed as well as moons; and he + Would fret himself once more into a passion, + Should he return (which heaven forbid!), and see, + How strangely from his standard dictionary, + The meaning of some words is made to vary. + + + XLII. + + For instance, an _undress_ at present means + The wearing a pelisse, a shawl, or so; + Or any thing you please, in short, that screens + The face, and hides the form from top to toe; + Of power to brave a quizzing-glass, or storm-- + 'Tis worn in summer, when the weather's warm. + + + XLIII. + + But a full dress is for a winter's night. + The most genteel is made of "woven air;" + That kind of classic cobweb, soft and light, + Which Lady Morgan's Ida used to wear. + And ladies, this aerial manner dress'd in, + Look Eve-like, angel-like, and interesting. + + + XLIV. + + But Miss Ambition was, as I was saying, + "_Deshabillee_"--his bedside tripping near, + And, gently on his nose her fingers laying, + She roar'd out Tammany! in his frighted ear. + The potent word awoke him from his nap, + And then she vanish'd, whisp'ring _verbum sap_. + + + XLV. + + The last words were beyond his comprehension, + For he had left off schooling, ere the Greek + Or Latin classics claim'd his mind's attention: + Besides, he often had been heard to speak + Contemptuously of all that sort of knowledge, + Taught so profoundly in Columbia College. + + + XLVI. + + We owe the ancients something. You have read + Their works, no doubt--at least in a translation; + Yet there was argument in what he said, + I scorn equivocation or evasion, + And own it must, in candour, be confess'd, + They were an ignorant set of men at best. + + + XLVII. + + 'Twas their misfortune to be born too soon + By centuries, and in the wrong place too; + They never saw a steamboat, or balloon, + Velocipede, or Quarterly Review; + Or wore a pair of Baehr's black satin breeches, + Or read an Almanac, or Clinton's Speeches. + + + XLVIII. + + In short, in every thing we far outshine them,-- + Art, science, taste, and talent; and a stroll + Through this enlighten'd city would refine them + More than ten years hard study of the whole + Their genius has produced of rich and rare-- + God bless the Corporation and the Mayor! + + + XLIX. + + In sculpture, we've a grace the Grecian master, + Blushing, had own'd his purest model lacks; + We've Mr. Bogart in the best of plaster, + The Witch of Endor in the best of wax, + Besides the head of Franklin on the roof + Of Mr. Lang, both jest and weather proof. + + + L. + + And on our City Hall a Justice stands; + A neater form was never made of board, + Holding majestically in her hands + A pair of steelyards and a wooden sword; + And looking down with complaisant civility-- + Emblem of dignity and durability. + + + LI. + + In painting, we have Trumbull's proud _chef d'oeuvre_, + Blending in one the funny and the fine: + His "Independence" will endure for ever, + And so will Mr. Allen's lottery sign; + And all that grace the Academy of Arts, + From Dr. Hosack's face to Bonaparte's. + + + LII. + + In architecture, our unrivall'd skill + Cullen's magnesian shop has loudly spoken + To an admiring world; and better still + Is Gautier's fairy palace at Hoboken. + In music, we've the Euterpian Society, + And amateurs, a wonderful variety. + + + LIII. + + In physic, we have Francis and M'Neven, + Famed for long heads, short lectures, and long bills; + And Quackenboss and others, who from heaven + Were rain'd upon us in a shower of pills; + They'd beat the deathless Esculapius hollow, + And make a starveling druggist of Apollo. + + + LIV. + + And who, that ever slumber'd at the Forum, + But owns the first of orators we claim; + Cicero would have bow'd the knee before 'em-- + And for law eloquence, we've Doctor Graham. + Compared with him, their Justins and Quintillians + Had dwindled into second-rate civilians. + + + LV. + + For purity and chastity of style, + There's Pell's preface, and puffs by Horne and Waite. + For penetration deep, and learned toil, + And all that stamps an author truly great, + Have we not Bristed's ponderous tomes? a treasure + For any man of patience and of leisure. + + + LVI. + + Oxonian Bristed! many a foolscap page + He, in his time, hath written, and moreover + (What few will do in this degenerate age) + Hath read his own works, as you may discover + By counting his quotations from himself-- + You'll find the books on any auction shelf. + + + LVII. + + I beg Great Britain's pardon; 'tis not meant + To claim this Oxford scholar as our own: + That he was shipp'd off here to represent + Her literature among us, is well known; + And none could better fill the lofty station + Of Learning's envoy from the British nation. + + + LVIII. + + We fondly hope that he will be respected + At home, and soon obtain a place or pension. + We should regret to see him live neglected, + Like Fearon, Ashe, and others we could mention; + Who paid us friendly visits to abuse + Our country, and find food for the reviews. + + + LIX. + + But to return.--The Heliconian waters + Are sparkling in their native fount no more, + And after years of wandering, the nine daughters + Of poetry have found upon our shore + A happier home, and on their sacred shrines + Glow in immortal ink, the polish'd lines + + + LX. + + Of Woodworth, Doctor Farmer, Moses Scott-- + Names hallow'd by their reader's sweetest smile; + And who that reads at all has read them not? + "That blind old man of Scio's rocky isle," + Homer, was well enough; but would he ever + Have written, think ye, the Backwoodsman? never. + + + LXI. + + Alas! for Paulding--I regret to see + In such a stanza one whose giant powers, + Seen in their native element, will be + Known to a future age, the pride of ours. + There is none breathing who can better wield + The battle-axe of satire. On its field + + + LXII. + + The wreath he fought for he has bravely won, + Long be its laurel green around his brow! + It is too true, I'm somewhat fond of fun + And jesting; but for once I'm serious now. + Why is he sipping weak Castalian dews? + The muse has damn'd him--let him damn the muse + + + LXIII. + + But to return once more: the ancients fought + Some tolerable battles. Marathon + Is still a theme for high and holy thought, + And many a poet's lay. We linger on + The page that tells us of the brave and free, + And reverence thy name, unmatch'd Thermopylae. + + + LXIV. + + And there were spirited troops in other days-- + The Roman legion and the Spartan band, + And Swartwout's gallant corps, the Iron Grays-- + Soldiers who met their foemen hand to hand, + Or swore, at least, to meet them undismay'd; + Yet what were these to General Laight's brigade + + + LXV. + + Of veterans? nursed in that Free School of glory, + The New-York State Militia. From Bellevue, + E'en to the Battery flagstaff, the proud story + Of their manoeuvres at the last review + Has rang; and Clinton's "order" told afar + He never led a better corps to war. + + + LXVI. + + What, Egypt, was thy magic, to the tricks + Of Mr. Charles, Judge Spencer, or Van Buren? + The first with cards, the last in politics, + A conjuror's fame for years have been securing. + And who would now the Athenian dramas read + When he can get "Wall-street," by Mr. Mead. + + + LXVII. + + I might say much about our letter'd men, + Those "grave and reverend seigniors," who compose + Our learn'd societies--but here my pen + Stops short; for they themselves, the rumour goes, + The exclusive privilege by patent claim, + Of trumpeting (as the phrase is) their own fame. + + + LXVIII. + + And, therefore, I am silent. It remains + To bless the hour the Corporation took it + Into their heads to give the rich in brains, + The worn-out mansion of the poor in pocket, + Once "the old almshouse," now a school of wisdom, + Sacred to Scudder's shells and Dr. Griscom. + + + LXIX. + + But whither am I wandering? The esteem + I bear "this fair city of the heart," + To me a dear enthusiastic theme, + Has forced me, all unconsciously, to part + Too long from him, the hero of my story. + Where was he?--waking from his dream of glory. + + + LXX. + + And she, the lady of his dream, had fled, + And left him somewhat puzzled and confused. + He understood, however, half she said; + And that is quite as much as we are used + To comprehend, or fancy worth repeating, + In speeches heard at any public meeting. + + + LXXI. + + And the next evening found him at the Hall; + There he was welcomed by the cordial hand, + And met the warm and friendly grasp of all + Who take, like watchmen, there, their nightly stand, + A ring, as in a boxing match, procuring, + To bet on Clinton, Tompkins, or Van Buren. + + + LXXII. + + 'Twas a propitious moment; for a while + The waves of party were at rest. Upon + Each complacent brow was gay good humour's smile; + And there was much of wit, and jest, and pun, + And high amid the circle, in great glee, + Sat Croaker's old acquaintance, John Targee. + + + LXXIII. + + His jokes excell'd the rest, and oft he sang + Songs, patriotic, as in duty bound. + He had a little of the "nasal twang + Heard at conventicle;" but yet you found + In him a dash of purity and brightness, + That spoke the man of taste and of politeness. + + + LXXIV. + + For he had been, it seems, the bosom friend + Of England's prettiest bard, Anacreon Moore. + They met when he, the bard, came here to lend + His mirth and music to this favourite shore; + For, as the proverb saith, "birds of a feather + Instinctively will flock and fly together." + + + LXXV. + + The winds that wave thy cedar boughs are breathing, + "Lake of the Dismal Swamp!" that poet's name; + And the spray-showers their noonday halos wreathing + Around "Cohoes," are brighten'd by his fame. + And bright its sunbeam o'er St. Lawrence smiles, + Her million lilies, and her thousand isles. + + + LXXVI. + + We hear his music in her oarsmen's lay, + And where her church-bells "toll the evening chime;" + Yet when to him the grateful heart would pay + Its homage, now, and in all coming time, + Up springs a doubtful question whether we + Owe it to Tara's minstrel or Targee. + + + LXXVII. + + Together oft they wander'd--many a spot + Now consecrated, as the minstrel's theme, + By words of beauty ne'er to be forgot, + Their mutual feet have trod; and when the stream + Of thought and feeling flow'd in mutual speech, + 'Twere vain to tell how much each taught to each. + + + LXXVIII. + + But, from the following song, it would appear + That he of Erin from the sachem took + The model of his "Bower of Bendemeer," + One of the sweetest airs in Lalla Rookh; + 'Tis to be hoped that in his next edition, + This, the original, will find admission. + + + SONG. + + There's a barrel of porter at Tammany Hall, + And the bucktails are swigging it all the night long; + In the time of my boyhood 'twas pleasant to call + For a seat and segar, mid the jovial throng. + + That beer and those bucktails I never forget; + But oft, when alone, and unnoticed by all, + I think, is the porter cask foaming there yet? + Are the bucktails still swigging at Tammany Hall? + + No! the porter was out long before it was stale, + But some blossoms on many a nose brightly shone; + And the speeches inspired by the fumes of the ale, + Had the fragrance of porter when porter was gone. + + How much Cozzens will draw of such beer ere he dies, + Is a question of moment to me and to all; + For still dear to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, + Is that barrel of porter at Tammany Hall. + + + SONG. + + There's a bower of roses by Bendemeer's stream, + And the nightingale sings round it all the night long, + In the time of my childhood 'twas like a sweet dream + To sit in the roses and hear the bird's song. + + That bower and its music I never forget; + But oft, when alone, in the bloom of the year, + I think, is the nightingale singing there yet? + Are the roses still bright by the calm Bendemeer? + + No! the roses soon wither'd that hung o'er the wave, + But some blossoms were gather'd while freshly they shone; + And a dew was distill'd from their flowers, that gave + All the fragrance of summer when summer was gone. + + Thus memory draws from delight ere it dies, + An essence that breathes of it many a year; + Thus bright to my soul, as 'twas then to my eyes, + Is that bower on the banks of the calm Bendemeer. + + + LXXIX. + + For many months my hero ne'er neglected + To take his ramble there, and soon found out, + In much less time than one could have expected, + What 'twas they all were quarrelling about. + He learn'd the party countersigns by rote, + And when to clap his hands, and how to vote. + + + LXXX. + + He learn'd that Clinton became Governor + Somehow by chance, when we were all asleep; + That he had neither sense, nor talent, nor + Any good quality, and would not keep + His place an hour after the next election-- + So powerful was the voice of disaffection. + + + LXXXI. + + That he was a mere puppet made to play + A thousand tricks, while Spencer touch'd the springs-- + Spencer, the mighty Warwick of his day, + "That setter up, and puller down of kings," + Aided by Miller, Pell, and Doctor Graham, + And other men of equal worth and fame. + + + LXXXII. + + And that he'd set the people at defiance, + By placing knaves and fools in public stations; + And that his works in literature and science + Were but a schoolboy's web of misquotations; + And that he'd quoted from the devil even-- + "Better to reign in hell than serve in heaven." + + + LXXXIII. + + To these authentic facts each bucktail swore; + But Clinton's friends averr'd, in contradiction, + They were but fables, told by Mr. Noah, + Who had a privilege to deal in fiction, + Because he'd written travels, and a melo- + Drama; and was, withal, a pleasant fellow. + + + LXXXIV. + + And they declared that Tompkins was no better + Than he should be; that he had borrow'd money, + And paid it--not in cash--but with a letter; + And though some trifling service he had done, he + Still wanted spirit, energy, and fire; + And was disliked by--Mr. M'Intyre. + + + LXXXV. + + In short, each one with whom in conversation + He join'd, contrived to give him different views + Of men and measures; and the information + Which he obtain'd, but aided to confuse + His brain. At best, 'twas never very clear; + And now 'twas turn'd with politics and beer. + + + LXXXVI. + + And he was puff'd, and flatter'd, and caress'd + By all, till he sincerely thought that nature + Had form'd him for an alderman at least-- + Perhaps, a member of the legislature; + And that he had the talents, ten times over, + Of H*n*y M**gs, or P*t*r H. W*nd*ver. + + + LXXXVII. + + The man was mad, 'tis plain, and merits pity, + Or he had never dared, in such a tone, + To speak of two great persons, whom the city, + With pride and pleasure, points to as her own. + Men, wise in council, brilliant in debate, + "The expectancy and rose of the fair state." + + + LXXXVIII. + + The one--for a pure style and classic manner, + Is--Mr. Sachem Mooney far before. + The other, in his speech about the banner, + Spell-bound his audience until they swore + That such a speech was never heard till then, + And never would be--till he spoke again. + + + LXXXIX. + + Though 'twas presumptuous in this friend of ours + To think of rivalling these, I must allow + That still the man had talents; and the powers + Of his capacious intellect were now + Improved by foreign travel, and by reading, + And at the Hall he'd learn'd, of course, good breeding. + + + XC. + + He had read the newspapers with great attention, + Advertisements and all; and Riley's book + Of travels--valued for its rich invention; + And Day and Turner's Price Current; and took + The Edinburgh and Quarterly Reviews; + And also Colonel Pell's; and, to amuse + + + XCI. + + His leisure hours with classic tale and story, + Longworth's Directory, and Mead's Wall-street, + And Mr. Delaplaine's Repository; + And Mitchill's scientific works complete, + With other standard books of modern days, + Lay on his table, cover'd with green baize. + + + XCII. + + His travels had extended to Bath races; + And Bloomingdale and Bergen he had seen, + And Harlaem Heights; and many other places, + By sea and land, had visited; and been, + In a steamboat of the Vice President's, + To Staten-Island once--for fifty cents. + + + XCIII. + + And he had dined, by special invitation, + On turtle, with "the party" at Hoboken; + And thank'd them for his card in an oration, + Declared to be the shortest ever spoken. + And he had stroll'd one day o'er Weehawk hill: + A day worth all the rest--he recollects it still. + + + XCIV. + + Weehawken! In thy mountain scenery yet, + All we adore of nature in her wild + And frolic hour of infancy, is met; + And never has a summer's morning smiled + Upon a lovelier scene, than the full eye + Of the enthusiast revels on--when high + + + XCV. + + Amid thy forest solitudes, he climbs + O'er crags, that proudly tower above the deep, + And knows that sense of danger which sublimes + The breathless moment--when his daring step + Is on the verge of the cliff, and he can hear + The low dash of the wave with startled ear, + + + XCVI. + + Like the death-music of his coming doom, + And clings to the green turf with desperate force, + As the heart clings to life; and when resume + The currents in his veins their wonted course, + There lingers a deep feeling--like the moan + Of wearied ocean, when the storm is gone. + + + XCVII. + + In such an hour he turns, and on his view, + Ocean, and earth, and heaven, burst before him; + Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue + Of summer's sky in beauty bending o'er him-- + The city bright below; and far away, + Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay. + + + XCVIII. + + Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement, + And banners floating in the sunny air; + And white sails o'er the calm blue waters bent, + Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there + In wild reality. When life is old, + And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold + + + XCIX. + + Its memory of this; nor lives there one + Whose infant breath was drawn, or boyhood's days + Of happiness were pass'd beneath that sun, + That in his manhood's prime can calmly gaze + Upon that bay, or on that mountain stand, + Nor feel the prouder of his native land. + + + C. + + "This may be poetry, for aught I know," + Said an old, worthy friend of mine, while leaning + Over my shoulder as I wrote, "although + I can't exactly comprehend its meaning. + For my part, I have long been a petitioner + To Mr. John M'Comb, the street-commissioner, + + + CI. + + "That he would think of Weehawk, and would lay it + Handsomely out in avenue and square; + Then tax the land, and make its owners pay it + (As is the usual plan pursued elsewhere); + Blow up the rocks, and sell the wood for fuel-- + 'Twould save us many a dollar, and a duel." + + + CII. + + The devil take you and John M'Comb, said I; + Lang, in its praise, has penn'd one paragraph, + And promised me another. I defy, + With such assistance, yours and the world's laugh; + And half believe that Paulding, on this theme, + Might be a poet--strange as it may seem. + + + CIII. + + For even our traveller felt, when home returning + From that day's tour, as on the deck he stood, + The fire of poetry within him burning; + "Albeit unused to the rhyming mood;" + And with a pencil on his knee he wrote + The following flaming lines + + + TO THE HORSEBOAT. + + 1 + + Away--o'er the wave to the home we are seeking, + Bark of my hope! ere the evening be gone; + There's a wild, wild note in the curlew's shrieking; + There's a whisper of death in the wind's low moan. + + 2 + + Though blue and bright are the heavens above me, + And the stars are asleep on the quiet sea; + And hearts I love, and hearts that love me, + Are beating beside me merrily, + + 3 + + Yet, far in the west, where the day's faded roses, + Touch'd by the moonbeam, are withering fast; + Where the half-seen spirit of twilight reposes, + Hymning the dirge of the hours that are past, + + 4 + + There, where the ocean-wave sparkles at meeting + (As sunset dreams tell us) the kiss of the sky, + On his dim, dark cloud is the infant storm sitting, + And beneath the horizon his lightnings are nigh. + + 5 + + Another hour--and the death-word is given, + Another hour--and his lightnings are here; + Speed! speed thee, my bark; ere the breeze of even + Is lost in the tempest, our home will be near. + + 6 + + Then away o'er the wave, while thy pennant is streaming + In the shadowy light, like a shooting star; + Be swift as the thought of the wanderer, dreaming, + In a stranger land, of his fireside afar. + + 7 + + And while memory lingers I'll fondly believe thee + A being with life and its best feelings warm; + And freely the wild song of gratitude weave thee, + Bless'd spirit! that bore me and mine from the storm. + + + CIV. + + But where is Fanny? She has long been thrown + Where cheeks and roses wither--in the shade. + The age of chivalry, you know, is gone; + And although, as I once before have said, + I love a pretty face to adoration, + Yet, still, I must preserve my reputation, + + + CV. + + As a true dandy of the modern schools. + One hates to be oldfashion'd; it would be + A violation of the latest rules, + To treat the sex with too much courtesy. + 'Tis not to worship beauty, as she glows + In all her diamond lustre, that the beaux + + + CVI. + + Of these enlighten'd days at evening crowd, + Where fashion welcomes in her rooms of light, + That "dignified obedience; that proud + Submission," which, in times of yore, the knight + Gave to his "ladye-love," is now a scandal, + And practised only by your Goth or Vandal. + + + CVII. + + To lounge in graceful attitudes--be stared + Upon, the while, by every fair one's eye, + And stare one's self, in turn; to be prepared + To dart upon the trays, as swiftly by + The dexterous Simon bears them, and to take + One's share, at least, of coffee, cream, and cake, + + + CVIII. + + Is now to be "the ton." The pouting lip, + And sad, upbraiding eye of the poor girl, + Who hardly of joy's cup one drop can sip, + Ere in the wild confusion, and the whirl, + And tumult of the hour, its bubbles vanish, + Must now be disregarded. One must banish + + + CIX. + + Those antiquated feelings, that belong + To feudal manners and a barbarous age. + Time was--when woman "pour'd her soul" in song, + That all was hush'd around. 'Tis now "the rage" + To deem a song, like bugle-tones in battle, + A signal note, that bids each tongue's artillery rattle. + + + CX. + + And, therefore, I have made Miss Fanny wait + My leisure. She had changed, as you will see, as + Much as her worthy sire, and made as great + Proficiency in taste and high ideas. + The careless smile of other days was gone, + And every gesture spoke "_q'en dira-t' on_?" + + + CXI. + + She long had known that in her father's coffers, + And also to his credit in the banks, + There was some cash; and therefore all the offers + Made her, by gentlemen of the middle ranks, + Of heart and hand, had spurn'd, as far beneath + One whose high destiny it was to breathe, + + + CXII. + + Ere long, the air of Broadway or Park Place, + And reign a fairy queen in fairy land; + Display in the gay dance her form of grace, + Or touch with rounded arm and gloveless hand, + Harp or piano.--Madame Catilani + Forgot a while, and every eye on Fanny. + + + CXIII. + + And in anticipation of that hour, + Her star of hope--her paradise of thought, + She'd had as many masters as the power + Of riches could bestow; and had been taught + The thousand nameless graces that adorn + The daughters of the wealthy and high born. + + + CXIV. + + She had been noticed at some public places + (The Battery, and the balls of Mr. Whale), + For hers was one of those attractive faces, + That when you gaze upon them, never fail + To bid you look again; there was a beam, + A lustre in her eye, that oft would seem + + + CXV. + + A little like effrontery; and yet + The lady meant no harm; her only aim + Was but to be admired by all she met, + And the free homage of the heart to claim; + And if she show'd too plainly this intention, + Others have done the same--'twas not of her invention. + + + CXVI. + + She shone at every concert; where are bought + Tickets, by all who wish them, for a dollar; + She patronised the Theatre, and thought + That Wallack look'd extremely well in Rolla; + She fell in love, as all the ladies do, + With Mr. Simpson--talked as loudly, too, + + + CXVII. + + As any beauty of the highest grade, + To the gay circle in the box beside her; + And when the pit--half vex'd and half afraid, + With looks of smother'd indignation eyed her, + She calmly met their gaze, and stood before 'em, + Smiling at vulgar taste and mock decorum. + + + CXVIII. + + And though by no means a _bas bleu_, she had + For literature a most becoming passion; + Had skimm'd the latest novels, good and bad, + And read the Croakers, when they were in fashion; + And Doctor Chalmers' sermons, of a Sunday; + And Woodworth's Cabinet, and the new Salmagundi. + + + CXIX. + + She was among the first and warmest patrons + Of Griscom's _conversaziones_ where + In rainbow groups, our bright-eyed maids and matrons, + On science bent, assemble; to prepare + Themselves for acting well, in life, their part + As wives and mothers. There she learn'd by heart + + + CXX. + + Words, to the witches in Macbeth unknown. + _Hydraulics_, _hydrostatics_, and _pneumatics_, + _Dioptrics_, _optics_, _katoptrics_, _carbon_, + _Chlorine_, and _iodine_, and _aerostatics_; + Also,--why frogs, for want of air, expire; + And how to set the Tappan sea on fire! + + + CXXI. + + In all the modern languages she was + Exceedingly well versed; and had devoted, + To their attainment, far more time than has, + By the best teachers lately, been allotted; + For she had taken lessons, twice a week, + For a full month in each; and she could speak + + + CXXII. + + French and Italian, equally as well + As Chinese, Portuguese, or German; and, + What is still more surprising, she could spell + Most of our longest English words off hand; + Was quite familiar in Low Dutch and Spanish, + And thought of studying modern Greek and Danish. + + + CXXIII. + + She sang divinely: and in "Love's young dream," + And "Fanny dearest," and "The soldier's bride;" + And every song, whose dear delightful theme, + Is "Love, still love," had oft till midnight tried + Her finest, loftiest "pigeon-wings" of sound, + Waking the very watchmen far around. + + + CXXIV. + + For her pure taste in dress, I can appeal to + Madame Bouquet, and Monsieur Pardessus; + She was, in short, a woman you might kneel to, + If kneeling were in fashion; or if you + Were wearied of your duns and single life, + And wanted a few thousands and a wife. + 1819. + + + CXXV. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + + + CXXVI. + + "There was a sound of revelry by night;" + Broadway was throng'd with coaches, and within + A mansion of the best of brick, the bright + And eloquent eyes of beauty bade begin + The dance; and music's tones swell'd wild and high, + And hearts and heels kept tune in tremulous ecstasy. + + + CXXVII. + + For many a week, the note of preparation + Had sounded through all circles far and near; + And some five hundred cards of invitation + Bade beau and belle in full costume appear; + There was a most magnificent variety, + All quite select, and of the first society. + + + CXXVIII. + + That is to say--the rich and the well-bred, + The arbiters of fashion and gentility, + In different grades of splendour, from the head + Down to the very toe of our nobility: + Ladies, remarkable for handsome eyes + Or handsome fortunes--learned men, and wise: + + + CXXIX. + + Statesmen, and officers of the militia-- + In short, the "first society"--a phrase, + Which you may understand as best may fit you + Besides the blackest fiddlers of those days, + Placed like their sire, Timotheus, on high, + With horsehair fiddle-bows and teeth of ivory. + + + CXXX. + + The carpets were roll'd up the day before, + And, with a breath, two rooms became but one, + Like man and wife--and, on the polish'd floor, + Chalk in the artists' plastic hand had done + All that chalk could do--in young Eden's bowers + They seemed to tread, and their feet press'd on flowers. + + + CXXXI. + + And when the thousand lights of spermaceti + Stream'd like a shower of sunbeams--and free tresses + Wild as the heads that waved them--and a pretty + Collection of the latest Paris dresses + Wander'd about the rooms like things divine, + It was, as I was told, extremely fine. + + + CXXXII. + + The love of fun, fine faces, and good eating, + Brought many who were tired of self and home; + And some were there in the high hope of meeting + The lady of their bosom's love--and some + To study that deep science, how to please, + And manners in high life, and high-soul'd courtesies. + + + CXXXIII. + + And he, the hero of the night, was there, + In breeches of light drab, and coat of blue. + Taste was conspicuous in his powder'd hair, + And in his frequent _jeux de mots_, that drew + Peals of applauses from the listeners round, + Who were delighted--as in duty bound. + + + CXXXIV. + + 'Twas Fanny's father--Fanny near him stood, + Her power, resistless--and her wish, command; + And Hope's young promises were all made good; + "She reign'd a fairy queen in fairy land;" + Her dream of infancy a dream no more, + And then how beautiful the dress she wore! + + + CXXXV. + + Ambition with the sire had kept her word. + He had the rose, no matter for its thorn, + And he seem'd happy as a summer bird, + Careering on wet wing to meet the morn. + Some said there was a cloud upon his brow; + It might be--but we'll not discuss that now. + + + CXXXVI. + + I left him making rhymes while crossing o'er + The broad and perilous wave of the North River. + He bade adieu, when safely on the shore, + To poetry--and, as he thought, for ever. + That night his dream (if after deeds make known + Our plans in sleep) was an enchanting one. + + + CXXXVII. + + He woke, in strength, like Samson from his slumber, + And walk'd Broadway, enraptured the next day; + Purchased a house there--I've forgot the number-- + And sign'd a mortgage and a bond, for pay. + Gave, in the slang phrase, Pearl-street the go-by, + And cut, for several months, St. Tammany. + + + CXXXVIII. + + Bond, mortgage, title-deeds, and all completed, + He bought a coach and half a dozen horses + (The bill's at Lawrence's--not yet receipted-- + You'll find the amount upon his list of losses), + Then fill'd his rooms with servants, and whatever + Is necessary for a "genteel liver." + + + CXXXIX. + + This last removal fix'd him: every stain + Was blotted from his "household coat," and he + Now "show'd the world he was a gentleman," + And, what is better, could afford to be; + His step was loftier than it was of old, + His laugh less frequent, and his manner told + + + CXL. + + What lovers call "unutterable things"-- + That sort of dignity was in his mien + Which awes the gazer into ice, and brings + To recollection some great man we've seen, + The Governor, perchance, whose eye and frown, + 'Twas shrewdly guess'd, would knock Judge Skinner down. + + + CXLI. + + And for "Resources," both of purse and head, + He was a subject worthy Bristed's pen; + Believed devoutly all his flatterers said, + And deem'd himself a Croesus among men; + Spread to the liberal air his silken sails, + And lavish'd guineas like a Prince of Wales. + + + CXLII. + + He mingled now with those within whose veins + The blood ran pure--the magnates of the land-- + Hail'd them as his companions and his friends, + And lent them money and his note of hand. + In every institution, whose proud aim + Is public good alone, he soon became + + + CXLIII. + + A man of consequence and notoriety; + His name, with the addition of esquire, + Stood high upon the list of each society, + Whose zeal and watchfulness the sacred fire + Of science, agriculture, art, and learning, + Keep on our country's altars bright and burning. + + + CXLIV. + + At Eastburn's Rooms he met, at two each day, + With men of taste and judgment like his own, + And play'd "first fiddle" in that orchestra + Of literary worthies--and the tone + Of his mind's music, by the listeners caught, + Is traced among them still in language and in thought. + + + CXLV. + + He once made the Lyceum a choice present + Of muscle shells pick'd up at Rockaway; + And Mitchill gave a classical and pleasant + Discourse about them in the streets that day, + Naming the shells, and hard to put in verse 'twas, + "Testaceous coverings of bivalve moluscas." + + + CXLVI. + + He was a trustee of a Savings Bank, + And lectured soundly every evil doer, + Gave dinners daily to wealth, power, and rank, + And sixpence every Sunday to the poor; + He was a wit, in the pun-making line-- + Past fifty years of age, and five feet nine. + + + CXLVII. + + But as he trod to grandeur's pinnacle, + With eagle eye and step that never falter'd, + The busy tongue of scandal dared to tell + That cash was scarce with him, and credit alter'd; + And while he stood the envy of beholders, + The Bank Directors grinn'd, and shrugg'd their shoulders. + + + CXLVIII. + + And when these, the Lord Burleighs of the minute, + Shake their sage heads, and look demure and holy, + Depend upon it there is something in it; + For whether born of wisdom or of folly, + Suspicion is a being whose fell power + Blights every thing it touches, fruit and flower. + + + CXLIX. + + Some friends (they were his creditors) once hinted + About retrenchment and a day of doom; + He thank'd them, as no doubt they kindly meant it, + And made this speech, when they had left the room: + "Of all the curses upon mortals sent, + One's creditors are the most impudent; + + + CL. + + "Now I am one who knows what he is doing, + And suits exactly to his means his ends; + How can a man be in the path to ruin, + When all the brokers are his bosom friends? + Yet, on my hopes, and those of my dear daughter, + These rascals throw a bucket of cold water! + + + CLI. + + "They'd wrinkle with deep cares the prettiest face, + Pour gall and wormwood in the sweetest cup, + Poison the very wells of life--and place + Whitechapel needles, with their sharp points up, + Even in the softest feather bed that e'er + Was manufactured by upholsterer." + + + CLII. + + This said--he journey'd "at his own sweet will," + Like one of Wordsworth's rivers, calmly on; + But yet, at times, Reflection, "in her still + Small voice," would whisper, something must be done; + He ask'd advice of Fanny, and the maid + Promptly and duteously lent her aid. + + + CLIII. + + She told him, with that readiness of mind + And quickness of perception which belong + Exclusively to gentle womankind, + That to submit to slanderers was wrong, + And the best plan to silence and admonish them, + Would be to give "a party"--and astonish them. + + + CLIV. + + The hint was taken--and the party given; + And Fanny, as I said some pages since, + Was there in power and loveliness that even, + And he, her sire, demean'd him like a prince, + And all was joy--it look'd a festival, + Where pain might smooth his brow, and grief her smiles recall. + + + CLV. + + But Fortune, like some others of her sex, + Delights in tantalizing and tormenting; + One day we feed upon their smiles--the next + Is spent in swearing, sorrowing, and repenting. + (If in the last four lines the author lies, + He's always ready to apologize.) + + + CLVI. + + Eve never walk'd in Paradise more pure + Than on that morn when Satan play'd the devil + With her and all her race. A love-sick wooer + Ne'er ask'd a kinder maiden, or more civil, + Than Cleopatra was to Antony + The day she left him on the Ionian sea. + + + CLVII. + + The serpent--loveliest in his coiled ring, + With eye that charms, and beauty that outvies + The tints of the rainbow--bears upon his sting + The deadliest venom. Ere the dolphin dies + Its hues are brightest. Like an infant's breath + Are tropic winds, before the voice of death + + + CLVIII. + + Is heard upon the waters, summoning + The midnight earthquake from its sleep of years + To do its task of wo. The clouds that fling + The lightning, brighten ere the bolt appears; + The pantings of the warrior's heart are proud + Upon that battle morn whose night-dews wet his shroud; + + + CLIX. + + The sun is loveliest as he sinks to rest; + The leaves of autumn smile when fading fast; + The swan's last song is sweetest--and the best + Of Meigs's speeches, doubtless, was his last. + And thus the happiest scene, in these my rhymes, + Closed with a crash, and usher'd in--hard times. + + + CLX. + + St. Paul's toll'd one--and fifteen minutes after + Down came, by accident, a chandelier; + The mansion totter'd from the floor to rafter! + Up rose the cry of agony and fear! + And there was shrieking, screaming, bustling, fluttering, + Beyond the power of writing or of uttering. + + + CLXI. + + The company departed, and neglected + To say good-by--the father storm'd and swore-- + The fiddlers grinn'd--the daughter look'd dejected-- + The flowers had vanish'd from the polish'd floor, + And both betook them to their sleepless beds, + With hearts and prospects broken, but no heads. + + + CLXII. + + The desolate relief of free complaining + Came with the morn, and with it came bad weather; + The wind was east-northeast, and it was raining + Throughout that day, which, take it altogether, + Was one whose memory clings to us through life, + Just like a suit in Chancery, or a wife. + + + CLXIII. + + That evening, with a most important face + And dreadful knock, and tidings still more dreadful, + A notary came--sad things had taken place; + My hero had forgot to "do the needful;" + A note (amount not stated), with his name on't, + Was left unpaid--in short, he had "stopp'd payment." + + + CLXIV. + + I hate your tragedies, both long and short ones + (Except Tom Thumb, and Juan's Pantomime); + And stories woven of sorrows and misfortunes + Are bad enough in prose, and worse in rhyme; + Mine, therefore, must be brief. Under protest + His notes remain--the wise can guess the rest. + + + CLXV. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + + + CLXVI. + + For two whole days they were the common talk; + The party, and the failure, and all that, + The theme of loungers in their morning walk, + Porter-house reasoning, and tea-table chat. + The third, some newer wonder came to blot them, + And on the fourth, the "meddling world" forgot them. + + + CLXVII. + + Anxious, however, something to discover, + I pass'd their house--the shutters were all closed; + The song of knocker and of bell was over; + Upon the steps two chimney sweeps reposed; + And on the door my dazzled eyebeam met + These cabalistic words--"this house to let." + + + CLXVIII. + + They live now, like chameleons, upon air + And hope, and such cold, unsubstantial dishes; + That they removed, is clear, but when or where + None knew. The curious reader, if he wishes, + May ask them, but in vain. Where grandeur dwells, + The marble dome--the popular rumour tells; + + + CLXIX. + + But of the dwelling of the proud and poor + From their own lips the world will never know + When better days are gone--it is secure + Beyond all other mysteries here below, + Except, perhaps, a maiden lady's age, + When past the noonday of life's pilgrimage. + + + CLXX. + + Fanny! 'twas with her name my song began; + 'Tis proper and polite her name should end it; + If in my story of her woes, or plan + Or moral can be traced, 'twas not intended; + And if I've wrong'd her, I can only tell her + I'm sorry for it--so is my bookseller. + + + CLXXI. + + I met her yesterday--her eyes were wet-- + She faintly smiled, and said she had been reading + The Treasurer's Report in the Gazette, + M'Intyre's speech, and Campbell's "Love lies bleeding;" + She had a shawl on, 'twas not a Cashmere one, + And if it cost five dollars, 'twas a dear one. + + + CLXXII. + + Her father sent to Albany a prayer + For office, told how fortune had abused him, + And modestly requested to be Mayor-- + The Council very civilly refused him; + Because, however much they might desire it, + The "public good," it seems, did not require it. + + + CLXXIII. + + Some evenings since, he took a lonely stroll + Along Broadway, scene of past joys and evils; + He felt that withering bitterness of soul, + Quaintly denominated the "blue devils;" + And thought of Bonaparte and Belisarius, + Pompey, and Colonel Burr, and Caius Marius, + + + CLXXIV. + + And envying the loud playfulness and mirth + Of those who pass'd him, gay in youth and hope, + He took at Jupiter a shilling's worth + Of gazing, through the showman's telescope; + Sounds as of far-off bells came on his ears, + He fancied 'twas the music of the spheres. + + + CLXXV. + + He was mistaken, it was no such thing, + 'Twas Yankee Doodle play'd by Scudder's band; + He mutter'd, as he linger'd listening, + Something of freedom and our happy land; + Then sketch'd, as to his home he hurried fast, + This sentimental song--his saddest, and his last. + + + I. + + Young thoughts have music in them, love + And happiness their theme; + And music wanders in the wind + That lulls a morning dream. + And there are angel voices heard, + In childhood's frolic hours, + When life is but an April day + Of sunshine and of showers. + + II. + + There's music in the forest leaves + When summer winds are there, + And in the laugh of forest girls + That braid their sunny hair. + The first wild bird that drinks the dew, + From violets of the spring, + Has music in his song, and in + The fluttering of his wing. + + III. + + There's music in the dash of waves + When the swift bark cleaves their foam; + There's music heard upon her deck, + The mariner's song of home, + When moon and star beams smiling meet + At midnight on the sea-- + And there is music--once a week + In Scudder's balcony. + + IV. + + But the music of young thoughts too soon + Is faint, and dies away, + And from our morning dreams we wake + To curse the coming day. + And childhood's frolic hours are brief, + And oft in after years + Their memory comes to chill the heart, + And dim the eye with tears. + + V. + + To-day, the forest leaves are green, + They'll wither on the morrow, + And the maiden's laugh be changed ere long + To the widow's wail of sorrow. + Come with the winter snows, and ask + Where are the forest birds? + The answer is a silent one, + More eloquent than words. + + VI. + + The moonlight music of the waves + In storms is heard no more, + When the living lightning mocks the wreck + At midnight on the shore, + And the mariner's song of home has ceased, + His corse is on the sea-- + And music ceases when it rains + In Scudder's balcony. + + + + +THE RECORDER. + + + + +THE RECORDER. + +A PETITION. + +BY THOMAS CASTALY. + +Dec. 20, 1828. + + "On they move + In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood + Of flutes and soft RECORDERS." + _Milton._ + + "Live in Settles numbers one day more!" + _Pope._ + + + My dear RECORDER, you and I + Have floated down life's stream together, + And kept unharm'd our friendship's tie + Through every change of Fortune's sky, + Her pleasant and her rainy weather. + Full sixty times since first we met, + Our birthday suns have risen and set, + And time has worn the baldness now + Of Julius Caesar on your brow; + Your brow, like his, a field of thought, + With broad deep furrows, spirit-wrought, + Whose laurel harvests long have shown + As green and glorious as his own; + And proudly would the CAESAR claim + Companionship with R*K*R'S name, + His peer in forehead and in fame. + + Both eloquent and learn'd and brave, + Born to command and skill'd to rule, + One made the citizen a slave, + The other makes him more--a fool. + The Caesar an imperial crown, + His slaves' mad gift, refused to wear, + The R*k*r put his fool's cap on, + And found it fitted to a hair; + The Caesar, though by birth and breeding, + Travel, the ladies, and light reading, + A gentleman in mien and mind, + And fond of Romans and their mothers, + Was heartless as the Arab's wind, + And slew some millions of mankind, + Including enemies and others. + The R*k*r, like Bob Acres, stood + Edgeways upon a field of blood, + The where and wherefore Swartwout knows, + Pull'd trigger, as a brave man should, + And shot, God bless them--his own toes. + The Caesar pass'd the Rubicon + With helm, and shield, and breastplate on, + Dashing his war-horse through the waters; + The R*k*r would have built a barge + Or steamboat at the city's charge, + And pass'd it with his wife and daughters. + + But let that pass. As I have said, + There's naught, save laurels, on your head, + And time has changed my clustering hair, + And shower'd the snow-flakes thickly there; + And though our lives have ever been, + As different as their different scene; + Mine more renown'd for rhymes than riches + Yours less for scholarship than speeches; + Mine pass'd in low-roof'd leafy bower, + Yours in high halls of pomp and power, + Yet are we, be the moral told, + Alike in one thing--growing old, + Ripen'd like summer's cradled sheaf, + Faded like autumn's falling leaf-- + And nearing, sail and signal spread, + The quiet anchorage of the dead. + For such is human life, wherever + The voyage of its bark may be, + On home's green-bank'd and gentle river + Or the world's shoreless, sleepless sea. + + Yes, you have floated down the tide + Of time, a swan in grace and pride + And majesty and beauty, till + The law, the Ariel of your will, + Power's best beloved, the law of libel + (A bright link in the legal chain) + Expounded, settled, and made plain, + By your own charge, the jurors' Bible, + Has clipp'd the venom'd tongue of slander, + That dared to call you "Party's gander, + The leader of the geese who make + Our cities' parks and ponds their home, + And keep her liberties awake + By cackling, as their sires saved Rome. + Grander of Party's pond, wherein + Lizard, and toad, and terrapin, + Your alehouse patriots, are seen, + In Faction's feverish sunshine basking;" + And now, to rend this veil of lies, + Word-woven by your enemies, + And keep your sainted memory free + From tarnish with posterity, + I take the liberty of asking + Permission, sir, to write your life, + With all its scenes of calm and strife, + And all its turnings and its windings, + A poem, in a quarto volume-- + Verse, like the subject, blank and solemn, + With elegant appropriate bindings, + Of rat and mole skin the one half, + The other a part fox, part calf. + Your portrait, graven line for line, + From that immortal bust in plaster, + The master piece of Art's great master, + Mr. Praxiteles Browere, + Whose trowel is a thing divine, + Shall smile and bow, and promise there, + And twenty-nine fine forms and faces + (The Corporation and the Mayor), + Linked hand in hand, like loves and graces, + Shall hover o'er it, group'd in air, + With wild pictorial dance and song; + The song of happy bees in bowers, + The dance of Guido's graceful hours, + All scattering Flushing's garden flowers + Round the dear head they've loved so long. + + I know that you are modest, know + That when you hear your merit's praise, + Your cheeks quick blushes come and go, + Lily and rose-leaf, sun and snow, + Like maidens' on their bridal days. + I know that you would fain decline + To aid me and the sacred nine, + In giving to the asking earth + The story of your wit and worth; + For if there be a fault to cloud + The brightness of your clear good sense, + It is, and be the fact allow'd, + Your only failing--Diffidence! + An amiable weakness--given + To justify the sad reflection, + That in this vale of tears not even + A R*k*r is complete perfection, + A most romantic detestation + Of power and place, of pay and ration; + A strange unwillingness to carry + The weight of honour on your shoulders, + For which you have been named, the very + Sensitive Plant of office-holders, + A shrinking bashfulness, whose grace + Gives beauty to your manly face. + Thus shades the green and growing vine + The rough bark of the mountain pine, + Thus round her freedom's waking steel + Harmodius wreathed his country's myrtle; + And thus the golden lemon's peel + Gives fragrance to a bowl of turtle. + + True, "many a flower," the poet sings, + "Is born to blush unseen;" + But you, although you blush, are not + The flower the poets mean. + In vain you wooed a lowlier lot: + In vain you clipp'd your eagle-wings-- + Talents like yours are not forgot + And buried with earth's common things. + No! my dear R*k*r, I would give + My laurels, living and to live, + Or as much cash as you could raise on + Their value, by hypothecation, + To be, for one enchanted hour, + In beauty, majesty, and power, + What you for forty years have been, + The Oberon of life's fairy scene. + + An anxious city sought and found you + In a blessed day of joy and pride, + Scepter'd your jewell'd hand, and crown'd you + Her chief, her guardian, and her guide. + Honours which weaker minds had wrought + In vain for years, and knelt and pray'd for, + Are all your own, unpriced, unbought, + Or (which is the same thing) unpaid for. + Painfully great! against your will + Her hundred offices to hold, + Each chair with dignity to fill, + And your own pockets with her gold. + A sort of double duty, making + Your task a serious undertaking. + + With what delight the eyes of all + Gaze on you, seated in your Hall, + Like Sancho in his island, reigning, + Loved leader of its motley hosts + Of lawyers and their bills of costs, + And all things thereto appertaining, + Such as crimes, constables, and juries, + Male pilferers and female furies, + The police and the _polissons_, + Illegal right and legal wrong. + Bribes, perjuries, law-craft, and cunning, + Judicial drollery and punning; + And all the _et ceteras_ that grace + That genteel, gentlemanly place! + Or in the Council Chamber standing + With eloquence of eye and brow, + Your voice the music of commanding, + And fascination in your bow, + Arranging for the civic shows + Your "men in buckram," as per list, + Your John Does and your Richard Roes, + Those Dummys of your games of whist. + The Council Chamber--where authority + Consists in two words--a majority. + For whose contractors' jobs we pay + Our last dear sixpences for taxes, + As freely as in Sylla's day, + Rome bled beneath his lictors' axes. + Where--on each magisterial nose + In colours of the rainbow linger, + Like sunset hues on Alpine snows, + The printmarks of your thumb and finger. + Where he, the wisest of wild fowl, + Bird of Jove's blue-eyed maid--the owl, + That feather'd alderman, is heard + Nightly, by poet's ear alone, + To other eyes and ears unknown, + Cheering your every look and word, + And making, room and gallery through, + The loud, applauding echoes peal, + Of his "_ou peut on etre mieux + Qu'au sein de sa famille_?"[A] + + Oh for a herald's skill to rank + Your titles in their due degrees! + At Singsing--at the Tradesmen's Bank, + In Courts, Committees, Caucuses: + At Albany, where those who knew + The last year's secrets of the great, + Call you the golden handle to + The earthen Pitcher of the State. + (Poor Pitcher! that Van Buren ceases + To want its service gives me pain, + 'Twill break into as many pieces + As Kitty's of Coleraine.) + At Bellevue, on her banquet night, + Where Burgundy and business meet, + On others, at the heart's delight, + The Pewter Mug in Frankfort-street; + From Harlaem bridge to Whitehall dock, + From Bloomingdale to Blackwell's Isles, + Forming, including road and rock, + A city of some twelve square miles, + O'er street and alley, square and block, + Towers, temples, telegraphs, and tiles, + O'er wharves whose stone and timbers mock + The ocean's and its navies' shock, + O'er all the fleets that float before her + O'er all their banners waving o'er her, + Her sky and waters, earth and air-- + You are lord, for who is her lord mayor? + Where is he? Echo answers, where + And voices, like the sound of seas, + Breathe in sad chorus, on the breeze, + The Highland mourner's melody-- + Oh HONE a rie! Oh HONE a rie! + The hymn o'er happy days departed, + The hope that such again may be, + When power was large and liberal-hearted, + And wealth was hospitality. + + One more request, and I am lost, + If you its earnest prayer deny; + It is, that you preserve the most + Inviolable secrecy + As to my plan. Our fourteen wards + Contain some thirty-seven bards, + Who, if my glorious theme were known, + Would make it, thought and word, their own, + My hopes and happiness destroy, + And trample with a rival's joy + Upon the grave of my renown. + My younger brothers in the art, + Whose study is the human heart-- + Minstrels, before whose spells have bow'd + The learn'd, the lovely, and the proud, + Ere their life's morning hours are gone-- + Light hearts be theirs, the muse's boon, + And may their suns blaze bright at noon, + And set without a cloud. + + HILLHOUSE, whose music, like his themes, + Lifts earth to heaven--whose poet dreams + Are pure and holy as the hymn + Echoed from harps of seraphim, + By bards that drank at Zion's fountains + When glory, peace, and hope were hers, + And beautiful upon her mountains + The feet of angel messengers. + BRYANT, whose songs are thoughts that bless + The heart, its teachers, and its joy, + As mothers blend with their caress + Lessons of truth and gentleness + And virtue for the listening boy. + Spring's lovelier flowers for many a day + Have blossom'd on his wandering way, + Beings of beauty and decay, + They slumber in their autumn tomb; + But those that graced his own Green River, + And wreathed the lattice of his home, + Charm'd by his song from mortal doom, + Bloom on, and will bloom on for ever. + And HALLECK--who has made thy roof, + St. Tammany! oblivion-proof-- + Thy beer illustrious, and thee + A belted knight of chivalry; + And changed thy dome of painted bricks + And porter casks and politics, + Into a green Arcadian vale, + With St*ph*n All*n for its lark, + B*n B*il*y's voice its watch-dog's bark, + And J*hn T*rg*e its nightingale. + + These, and the other THIRTY-FOUR, + Will live a thousand years or more-- + If the world lasts so long. For me, + I rhyme not for posterity, + Though pleasant to my heirs might be + The incense of its praise, + When I, their ancestor, have gone, + And paid the debt, the only one + A poet ever pays. + But many are my years, and few + Are left me ere night's holy dew, + And sorrow's holier tears, will keep + The grass green where in death I sleep + And when that grass is green above me, + And those who bless me now and love me + Are sleeping by my side, + Will it avail me aught that men + Tell to the world with lip and pen + That once I lived and died? + No: if a garland for my brow + Is growing, let me have it now, + While I'm alive to wear it; + And if, in whispering my name, + There's music in the voice of fame + Like Garcia's, let me hear it! + + The Christmas holydays are nigh, + Therefore, till Newyear's Eve, good-by, + Then _revenons a nos moutons_, + Yourself and aldermen--meanwhile, + Look o'er this letter with a smile; + And keep the secret of its song + As faithfully, but not as long, + As you have guarded from the eyes + Of editorial Paul Prys, + And other meddling, murmuring claimants, + Those Eleusinian mysteries, + The city's cash receipts and payments. + Yours ever, + T. C. + + [A] A favourite French air. In English, "where can one be more + happy than in the bosom of one's family?" + + + + +EPISTLES, ETC. + + + + +TO + +W*LT*R B*WNE, ESQ., + +MEMBER OF THE COUNCIL OF APPOINTMENT OF THE STATE OF NEW-YORK, AT +ALBANY, 1821. + + "Stand not upon the order of your going. + But go at once." + + "I cannot but remember such things were, + And were most precious to me." + + _Macbeth._ + + + We do not blame you, W*lt*r B*wne, + For a variety of reasons; + You're now the talk of half the town, + A man of talent and renown, + And will be for perhaps two seasons. + That face of yours has magic in it; + Its smile transports us in a minute + To wealth and pleasure's sunny bowers; + And there is terror in its frown, + Which, like a mower's scythe, cuts down + Our city's loveliest flowers. + + We therefore do not blame you, sir, + Whate'er our cause of grief may be; + And cause enough we have to "stir + The very stones to mutiny." + You've driven from the cash and cares + Of office, heedless of our prayers, + Men who have been for many a year + To us and to our purses dear, + And will be to our heirs for ever, + Our tears, thanks to the snow and rain, + Have swell'd the brook in Maiden-lane + Into a mountain river; + And when you visit us again, + Leaning at Tammany on your cane, + Like warrior on his battle blade, + You'll mourn the havoc you have made. + + There is a silence and a sadness + Within the marble mansion now; + Some have wild eyes that threaten madness, + Some think of "kicking up a row." + Judge M*ll*r will not yet believe + That you have ventured to bereave + The city and its hall of him: + He has in his own fine way stated, + "The fact must be substantiated," + Before he'll move a single limb. + He deems it cursed hard to yield + The laurel won in every field + Through sixteen years of party war, + And to be seen at noon no more, + Enjoying at his office door + The luxury of a tenth segar. + Judge Warner says that, when he's gone, + You'll miss the true Dogberry breed; + And Christian swears that you have done + A most UN-Christian deed. + + How could you have the heart to strike + From place the peerless Pierre Van Wyck? + And the twin colonels, Haines and Pell, + Squire Fessenden, and Sheriff Bell; + M*rr*ll, a justice and a wise one, + And Ned M'Laughlin the exciseman; + The two health officers, believers + In Clinton and contagious fevers; + The keeper of the city's treasures, + The sealer of her weights and measures, + The harbour-master, her best bower + Cable in party's stormy hour; + Ten auctioneers, three bank directors, + And Mott and Duffy, the inspectors + Of whiskey and of flour? + + It was but yesterday they stood + All (ex-officio) great and good. + But by the tomahawk struck down + Of party and of W*lt*r B*wne, + Where are they now? With shapes of air, + The caravan of things that were, + Journeying to their nameless home, + Like Mecca's pilgrims from her tomb; + With the lost Pleiad; with the wars + Of Agamemnon's ancestors; + With their own years of joy and grief, + Spring's bud, and autumn's faded leaf; + With birds that round their cradles flew; + With winds that in their boyhood blew; + With last night's dream and last night's dew. + + Yes, they are gone; alas! each one of them; + Departed--every mother's son of them. + Yet often, at the close of day, + When thoughts are wing'd and wandering, they + Come with the memory of the past, + Like sunset clouds along the mind, + Reflecting, as they're flitting fast + In their wild hues of shade and light, + All that was beautiful and bright + In golden moments left behind. + + + + +TO * * * * *. + + + Dear ***, I am writing, not _to_ you, but _at_ you, + For the feet of you tourists have no resting-place; + But wherever with this the mail-pigeon may catch you, + May she find you with gayety's smile on your face; + Whether chasing a snipe at the Falls of Cohoes, + Or chased by the snakes upon Anthony's Nose; + Whether wandering, at Catskill, from Hotel to Clove, + Making sketches, or speeches, puns, poems, or love; + Or in old Saratoga's unknown fountain-land, + Threading groves of enchantment, half bushes, half sand; + Whether dancing on Sundays, at Lebanon Springs, + With those Madame Hutins of religion, the Shakers; + Or, on Tuesdays, with maidens who seek wedding rings + At Ballston, as taught by mammas and match-makers; + Whether sailing St. Lawrence, with unbroken neck, + From her thousand green isles to her castled Quebec; + Or sketching Niagara, pencil on knee + (The giant of waters, our country's pet lion), + Or dipp'd at Long Branch, in the real salt sea, + With a cork for a dolphin, a Cockney Arion; + Whether roaming earth, ocean, or even the air, + Like Dan O'Rourke's eagle--good luck to you there. + + For myself, as you'll see by the date of my letter, + I'm in town, but of that fact the least said the better; + For 'tis vain to deny (though the city o'erflows + With well-dressed men and women, whom nobody knows) + That one rarely sees persons whose nod is an honour, + A lady with fashion's own impress upon her; + Or a gentleman bless'd with the courage to say, + Like Morris (the Prince Regent's friend, in his day), + "Let others in sweet shady solitudes dwell, + Oh! give me the sweet shady side of Pall Mall." + + Apropos--our friend A. chanced this morning to meet + The accomplish'd Miss B. as he pass'd Contoit's Garden, + Both in town in July!--he cross'd over the street, + And she enter'd the rouge-shop of Mrs. St. Martin. + Resolved not to look at another known face, + Through Leonard and Church streets she walked to Park Place, + And he turn'd from Broadway into Catharine-lane, + And coursed, to avoid her, through alley and by-street, + Till they met, as the devil would have it, again, + Face to face, near the pump at the corner of Dey-st. + + Yet, as most of "The Fashion" are journeying now, + With the brown hues of summer on cheek and on brow, + The few "_gens comme il faut_" who are lingering here, + Are, like fruits out of season, more welcome and dear. + Like "the last rose of summer, left blooming alone," + Or the last snows of winter, pure ice of _haut ton_, + Unmelted, undimm'd by the sun's brightest ray, + And, like diamonds, making night's darkness seem day. + One meets them in groups, that Canova might fancy, + At our new lounge at evening, the _Opera Francais_, + In nines like the Muses, in threes like the Graces, + Green spots in a desert of commonplace faces. + The Queen, Mrs. Adams, goes there sweetly dress'd + In a beautiful bonnet, all golden and flowery: + While the King, Mr. Bonaparte, smiles on Celeste, + Heloise, and Hutin, from his box at the Bowery. + + For news, Parry still the North Sea is exploring, + And the Grand Turk has taken, they say, the Acropolis, + And we, in Swamp Place, have discover'd, in boring, + A mineral spring to refine the metropolis. + The day we discover'd it was, by-the-way, + In the life of the Cockneys, a glorious day. + For we all had been taught, by tradition and reading, + That to gain what admits us to levees of kings, + The gentleness, courtesy, grace of high breeding, + The only sure way was to "visit the Springs." + So the whole city visited Swamp Spring _en masse_, + From attorney to sweep, from physician to paviour, + To drink of cold water at sixpence a glass, + And learn true politeness and genteel behaviour. + Though the crowd was immense till the hour of departure, + No gentleman's feelings were hurt in the rush, + Save a grocer's, who lost his proof-glass and bung-starter, + And a chimney sweep's, robb'd of his scraper and brush. + They linger'd till sunset and twilight had come, + Then, wearied in limb, but much polish'd in manners, + The sovereign people moved gracefully home, + In the beauty and pride of "an army with banners." + + As to politics--Adams and Clinton yet live, + And reign, we presume, as we never have miss'd 'em, + And woollens and Webster continue to thrive + Under something they call the American System. + If you're anxious to know what the country is doing, + Whether ruin'd already or going to ruin, + And who her next president will be, please heaven, + Read the letters of Jackson, the speeches of Clay, + All the party newspapers, three columns a day, + And Blunt's Annual Register, year 'twenty-seven. + + + + +A FRAGMENT. + + + * * * * * + + His shop is a grocer's--a snug, genteel place, + Near the corner of Oak-street and Pearl; + He can dress, dance, and bow to the ladies with grace + And ties his cravat with a curl. + + He's ask'd to all parties--north, south, east, and west, + That take place between Chatham and Cherry, + And when he's been absent full oft has the "best + Society" ceased to be merry. + + And nothing has darken'd a sky so serene, + Nor disorder'd his beauship's Elysium, + Till this season among our _elite_ there has been + What is call'd by the clergy "a schism." + + 'Tis all about eating and drinking--one set + Gives sponge-cake, a few "kisses" or so, + And is cool'd after dancing with classic sherbet, + "Sublimed" (see Lord Byron) "with snow." + + Another insists upon punch and _perdrix_, + Lobster-salad, Champagne, and, by way + Of a novelty only, those pearls of our sea, + Stew'd oysters from Lynn-Haven bay. + + Miss Flounce, the young milliner, blue-eyed and bright, + In the front parlour over her shop, + "Entertains," as the phrase is, a party to-night, + Upon peanuts and ginger-pop. + + And Miss Fleece, who's a hosier, and not quite as young, + But is wealthier far than Miss Flounce, + She "entertains" also to-night with cold tongue, + Smoked herring, and cherry-bounce. + + In praise of cold water the Theban bard spoke, + He of Teos sang sweetly of wine; + Miss Flounce is a Pindar in cashmere and cloak, + Miss Fleece an Anacreon divine. + + The Montagues carry the day in Swamp Place; + In Pike-street the Capulets reign; + A _limonadiere_ is the badge of one race, + Of the other a flask of Champagne. + + Now as each the same evening her soiree announces, + What better, he asks, can be done, + Than drink water from eight until ten with the Flounces, + And then wine with the Fleeces till one! + + * * * * * + + + + +SONG. + +BY MISS * * * *. + + _Air_, "To ladies eyes a round, boy." + MOORE. + + + The winds of March are humming + Their parting song, their parting song, + And summer's skies are coming, + And days grow long, and days grow long. + I watch, but not in gladness, + Our garden tree, our garden tree; + It buds, in sober sadness, + Too soon for me, too soon for me. + My second winter's over, + Alas! and I, alas! and I + Have no accepted lover: + Don't ask me why, don't ask me why. + + 'Tis not asleep or idle + That love has been, that love has been; + For many a happy bridal + The year has seen, the year has seen; + I've done a bridemaid's duty, + At three or four, at three or four; + My best bouquet had beauty, + Its donor more, its donor more. + My second winter's over, + Alas! and I, alas! and I + Have no accepted lover: + Don't ask me why, don't ask me why. + + His flowers my bosom shaded + One sunny day, one sunny day; + The next, they fled and faded, + Beau and bouquet, beau and bouquet. + In vain, at ball and parties, + I've thrown my net, I've thrown my net; + This waltzing, watching heart is + Unchosen yet, unchosen yet. + My second winter's over, + Alas! and I, alas! and I + Have no accepted lover: + Don't ask me why, don't ask me why. + + They tell me there's no hurry + For Hymen's ring, for Hymen's ring; + And I'm too young to marry: + 'Tis no such thing, 'tis no such thing. + The next spring tides will dash on + My eighteenth year, my eighteenth year; + It puts me in a passion, + Oh dear, oh dear! oh dear, oh dear! + My second winter's over, + Alas! and I, alas! and I + Have no accepted lover: + Don't ask me why, don't ask me why. + + + + +SONG. + +FOR THE DRAMA OF "THE SPY." + + + The harp of love, when first I heard + Its song beneath the moonlight tree, + Was echoed by his plighted word, + And ah, how dear its song to me; + But wail'd the hour will ever be + When to the air the bugle gave, + To hush love's gentle minstrelsy, + The wild war music of the brave. + For he hath heard its song, and now + Its voice is sweeter than mine own; + And he hath broke the plighted vow + He breathed to me and love alone. + That harp hath lost its wonted tone, + No more its strings his fingers move, + Oh would that he had only known + The music of the harp of love. + 1822. + + + + +ADDRESS, + +AT THE OPENING OF A NEW THEATRE. + +November, 1831. + + + Where dwells the Drama's spirit? not alone + Beneath the palace roof, beside the throne, + In learning's cloisters, friendship's festal bowers, + Art's pictured halls, or triumph's laurel'd towers, + Where'er man's pulses beat or passions play, + She joys to smile or sigh his thoughts away: + Crowd times and scenes within her ring of power, + And teach a life's experience in an hour. + + To-night she greets, for the first time, our dome, + Her latest, may it prove her lasting home; + And we her messengers delighted stand, + The summon'd Ariels of her mystic wand, + To ask your welcome. Be it yours to give + Bliss to her coming hours, and bid her live + Within these walls new hallow'd in her cause, + Long in the nurturing warmth of your applause. + + 'Tis in the public smiles, the public loves, + His dearest home, the actor breathes and moves, + Your plaudits are to us and to our art + As is the life-blood to the human heart: + And every power that bids the leaf be green, + In nature acts on this her mimic scene. + + Our sunbeams are the sparklings of glad eyes, + Our winds the whisper of applause, that flies + From lip to lip, the heart-born laugh of glee, + And sounds of cordial hands that ring out merrily, + And heaven's own dew falls on us in the tear + That woman weeps o'er sorrows pictured here, + When crowded feelings have no words to tell + The might, the magic of the actor's spell. + + These have been ours; and do we hope in vain + Here, oft and deep, to feel them ours again? + No! while the weary heart can find repose + From its own pains in fiction's joys or woes; + While there are open lips and dimpled cheeks, + When music breathes, or wit or humour speaks; + While Shakspeare's master spirit can call up + Noblest and worthiest thoughts, and brim the cup + Of life with bubbles bright as happiness, + Cheating the willing bosom into bliss; + So long will those who, in their spring of youth, + Have listen'd to the Drama's voice of truth, + Mark'd in her scenes the manners of their age, + And gather'd knowledge for a wider stage, + Come here to speed with smiles life's summer years, + And melt its winter snow with pleasant tears; + And younger hearts, when ours are hushed and cold, + Be happy here as we have been of old. + + Friends of the stage, who hail it as the shrine + Where music, painting, poetry entwine + Their kindred garlands, whence their blended power + Refines, exalts, ennobles hour by hour + The spirit of the land, and, like the wind, + Unseen but felt, bears on the bark of mind; + To you the hour that consecrates this dome, + Will call up dreams of prouder hours to come, + When some creating poet, born your own, + May waken here the drama's loftiest tone, + Through after years to echo loud and long, + A Shakspeare of the West, a star of song, + Bright'ning your own blue skies with living fire, + All times to gladden and all tongues inspire, + Far as beneath the heaven by sea-winds fann'd, + Floats the free banner of your native land. + + + + +THE RHYME + +OF + +THE ANCIENT COASTER. + +_Written while sailing in an open boat on the Hudson River, between +Stony Point and the Highlands, on seeing the wreck of an old sloop, +June, 1821._ + + "And this our life, exempt from public haunt, + Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, + Sermons in stones, and good in every thing." + SHAKSPEARE. + + + Her side is in the water, + Her keel is in the sand, + And her bowsprit rests on the low gray rock + That bounds the sea and land. + + Her deck is without a mast, + And sand and shells are there, + And the teeth of decay are gnawing her planks, + In the sun and the sultry air. + + No more on the river's bosom, + When sky and wave are calm, + And the clouds are in summer quietness, + And the cool night-breath is balm, + + Will she glide in the swan-like stillness + Of the moon in the blue above, + A messenger from other lands, + A beacon to hope and love. + + No more, in the midnight tempest, + Will she mock the mounting sea, + Strong in her oaken timbers, + And her white sail's bravery. + + She hath borne, in days departed, + Warm hearts upon her deck; + Those hearts, like her, are mouldering now, + The victims, and the wreck + + Of time, whose touch erases + Each vestige of all we love; + The wanderers, home returning, + Who gazed that deck above, + + And they who stood to welcome + Their loved ones on that shore, + Are gone, and the place that knew them + Shall know them never more. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + + It was a night of terror, + In the autumn equinox, + When that gallant vessel found a grave + Upon the Peekskill rocks. + + Captain, mate, cook, and seamen + (They were in all but three), + Were saved by swimming fast and well, + And their gallows-destiny. + + But two, a youth and maiden, + Were left to brave the storm, + With unpronounceable Dutch names, + And hearts with true love warm. + + And they, for love has watchers + In air, on earth, and sea, + Were saved by clinging to the wreck, + And their marriage-destiny. + + From sunset to night's noon + She had lean'd upon his arm, + Nor heard the far-off thunder toll + The tocsin of alarm. + + Not so the youth--he listen'd + To the cloud-wing flapping by; + And low he whisper'd in Low Dutch, + "It tells our doom is nigh. + + "Death is the lot of mortals, + But we are young and strong, + And hoped, not boldly, for a life + Of happy years and long. + + "Yet 'tis a thought consoling, + That, till our latest breath, + We loved in life, and shall not be + Divided in our death. + + "Alas, for those that wait us + On their couch of dreams at home, + The morn will hear the funeral cry + Around their daughter's tomb. + + "They hoped" ('twas a strange moment + In Dutch to quote Shakspeare) + "Thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid, + And not have strew'd thy bier." + + But, sweetly-voiced and smiling, + The trusting maiden said, + "Breathed not thy lips the vow to-day, + To-morrow we will wed? + + "And I, who have known thy truth + Through years of joy and sorrow, + Can I believe the fickle winds? + No! we shall wed to-morrow!" + + The tempest heard and paused-- + The wild sea gentler moved-- + They felt the power of woman's faith + In the word of him she loved. + + All night to rope and spar + They clung with strength untired, + Till the dark clouds fled before the sun, + And the fierce storm expired. + + At noon the song of bridal bells + O'er hill and valley ran; + At eve he call'd the maiden his, + "Before the holy man." + + They dwelt beside the waters + That bathe yon fallen pine, + And round them grew their sons and daughters, + Like wild grapes on the vine. + + And years and years flew o'er them, + Like birds with beauty on their wings, + And theirs were happy sleigh-ride winters, + And long and lovely springs, + + Such joys as thrill'd the lips that kiss'd + The wave, rock-cool'd, from Horeb's fountains, + And sorrows, fleeting as the mist + Of morning, spread upon the mountains, + + Till, in a good old age, + Their life-breath pass'd away; + Their name is on the churchyard page-- + Their story in my lay. + + * * * * * + * * * * * + + And let them rest together, + The maid, the boat, the boy, + Why sing of matrimony now, + In this brief hour of joy? + + Our time may come, and let it-- + 'Tis enough for us now to know + That our bark will reach West Point ere long, + If the breeze keep on to blow. + + We have Hudibras and Milton, + Wines, flutes, and a bugle-horn, + And a dozen segars are lingering yet + Of the thousand of yestermorn. + + They have gone, like life's first pleasures, + And faded in smoke away, + And the few that are left are like bosom friends + In the evening of our day. + + We are far from the mount of battle,[B] + Where the wreck first met mine eye, + And now where twin-forts[C] in the olden time rose, + Thro' the Race, like a swift steed, our little bark goes, + And our bugle's notes echo through Anthony's Nose, + So wrecks and rhymes--good-by. + + [B] Stony Point. + + [C] Forts Clinton and Montgomery. + + +FINIS. + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FANNY*** + + +******* This file should be named 34762.txt or 34762.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/7/6/34762 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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