 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
487
THE BROKER'S STORY.
My parents held a high position,
And I of course was highly born;
'Twas on the first floor—down the chimney,
I saw the light one winter morn.
Blankets were scarce, and coal was scarcer—
There was no fire in the room, d'ye see;
So father's coat—his best—in tatters,
Was used to make a quilt for me.
And I of course was highly born;
'Twas on the first floor—down the chimney,
I saw the light one winter morn.
Blankets were scarce, and coal was scarcer—
There was no fire in the room, d'ye see;
So father's coat—his best—in tatters,
Was used to make a quilt for me.
My mother was a washerwoman—
I beg your pardon for the word—
A washer-lady (woman, quotha!
That term has grown to be absurd.)
She toiled alone—my sire a drunkard—
The rent to pay and bread to win;
She suckled me in want and sorrow,
And fed me well on milk and gin.
I beg your pardon for the word—
A washer-lady (woman, quotha!
That term has grown to be absurd.)
She toiled alone—my sire a drunkard—
The rent to pay and bread to win;
She suckled me in want and sorrow,
And fed me well on milk and gin.
A child, through streets and lanes I wandered,
And inch by inch I fought my way,
An orphan, for my worthy father,
They fished him from the docks one day.
But as a son I was a model,
To copy which no boy could err;
A pious son who loved his mother—
Whate'er I stole I gave to her.
And inch by inch I fought my way,
An orphan, for my worthy father,
They fished him from the docks one day.
But as a son I was a model,
To copy which no boy could err;
A pious son who loved his mother—
Whate'er I stole I gave to her.
Escaping as I grew the Sessions,
And constables, and jails, and courts,
Soon of a gang I was the leader,
Looked up to in their fights and sports;
To manhood grown, controlled elections.
A master of the rounder's trade,
Led to the polls my skilled repeaters,
And Congressmen and Judges made.
And constables, and jails, and courts,
Soon of a gang I was the leader,
Looked up to in their fights and sports;
488
A master of the rounder's trade,
Led to the polls my skilled repeaters,
And Congressmen and Judges made.
Soon to an office in the customs,
Lord of the ward, I found my way;
A useful man among the merchants,
And worth the keen importer's pay;
There of my salary every dollar
Got multiplied by ten somehow—
The guerdon of my honest labor,
It seems to me a pittance now.
Lord of the ward, I found my way;
A useful man among the merchants,
And worth the keen importer's pay;
There of my salary every dollar
Got multiplied by ten somehow—
The guerdon of my honest labor,
It seems to me a pittance now.
Soon with my little well-earned money,
I bade the Custom House farewell;
On Wall street turned a curbstone broker,
And stocks began to buy and sell.
There fortune followed as my servant;
And as a bull beginning there,
Upon my horns for half a million
A score of bruins tossed in air.
I bade the Custom House farewell;
On Wall street turned a curbstone broker,
And stocks began to buy and sell.
There fortune followed as my servant;
And as a bull beginning there,
Upon my horns for half a million
A score of bruins tossed in air.
Henceforward what I touched was gilded—
At puts and calls expert was I;
The price of stocks at will I handled,
And sunk it low, or flung it high;
Till, what with honesty and virtue
And industry and pious cares,
My life of patient toil rewarded,
I stood among the millionaires.
At puts and calls expert was I;
The price of stocks at will I handled,
And sunk it low, or flung it high;
Till, what with honesty and virtue
And industry and pious cares,
My life of patient toil rewarded,
I stood among the millionaires.
Now in an up-town brownstone palace,
With lackeys smug I take my ease;
On Sundays on a velvet cushion
In church I get upon my knees.
A vestryman—I'll be a warden
Ere Easter week has floated by;
On earth be deemed of saintly savor,
And soar to heaven when I die.
With lackeys smug I take my ease;
On Sundays on a velvet cushion
In church I get upon my knees.
489
Ere Easter week has floated by;
On earth be deemed of saintly savor,
And soar to heaven when I die.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |