The Probationary Odes of Jonathan Pindar, Esq A cousin of Peter's, and candidate for the post of Poet Laureat to the C. U. S. In two parts |
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THE DRUNKEN INDIAN.—A TALE. |
 | The Probationary Odes of Jonathan Pindar, Esq |  |
79
THE DRUNKEN INDIAN.—A TALE.
An Indian who to Philadelphia came,
The wonders of that wond'rous place to see,
Was ask'd, two fav'rite wishes might he frame,
Sure of the grant, what would those wishes be?
The wonders of that wond'rous place to see,
Was ask'd, two fav'rite wishes might he frame,
Sure of the grant, what would those wishes be?
“That all our rivers might turn into rum,
“And all our mountains sugar-loaves become,”
“And all our mountains sugar-loaves become,”
Quoth he. The questioner proceeds again,
“Those wishes granted, what more would you ask,
“If a third wish you might, likewise, obtain?”
To answer now was not an easy task.
“Those wishes granted, what more would you ask,
“If a third wish you might, likewise, obtain?”
To answer now was not an easy task.
He silent sits and muses as if dumb;
At length in transport cries, “more RUM, more RUM!”
At length in transport cries, “more RUM, more RUM!”
Thus when our Conti-rags were turn'd to gold,
And Speculation saw her gains untold,
Which from that source and from Assumption sprung,
Awhile her wishes in suspense were hung.
And Speculation saw her gains untold,
Which from that source and from Assumption sprung,
Awhile her wishes in suspense were hung.
What next shall Atlas do for Speculation?
Let's have a Bank! a Bank! she cries—to damn the Nation.
Let's have a Bank! a Bank! she cries—to damn the Nation.
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Another boon now offer'd from his hands
;
Awhile in deep suspence the harpy stands;
But hark! she cries out—Sell the Western Lands!
Awhile in deep suspence the harpy stands;
But hark! she cries out—Sell the Western Lands!
| The Probationary Odes of Jonathan Pindar, Esq | |