 | The Baroness of New York |  |
XXI.
With Doughal stood the advocate,
Quite proud and honored to be seen
In this learned grand Greek's company.
He clutched his button-hole, and he
Clung hard and held him fast as fate,
And glancing 'round, back, and between,
Began all breathless to relate
How this Sir Francis, one midnight,
Was set upon by tramps; how one
Of these same fellows had betrayed
The band; that now the trap was laid;
But strangest thing beneath the sun—
And here he clutched him close and tight,
Let fall his voice, looked left and right,
Held close his head, and, whispering, said:
“The leader of this midnight band
And this Sir Jain are hand in hand!”
Quite proud and honored to be seen
In this learned grand Greek's company.
He clutched his button-hole, and he
Clung hard and held him fast as fate,
And glancing 'round, back, and between,
Began all breathless to relate
How this Sir Francis, one midnight,
Was set upon by tramps; how one
Of these same fellows had betrayed
215
But strangest thing beneath the sun—
And here he clutched him close and tight,
Let fall his voice, looked left and right,
Held close his head, and, whispering, said:
“The leader of this midnight band
And this Sir Jain are hand in hand!”
“A new Dick Turpin,” smiled the man,
And stroked his beard, and stood up tall,
And calmly smiled his scorn on all.
“A poor, weak imitation he.
I hate all copyists.
My plan
Would be to paint a picture; do
A thing original. Now you
Have room to paint eternity,
In this vast land where scarcely yet
God's rounding compass has been set;
And, for a land so very new,
Your skies are glorious to see.
And stroked his beard, and stood up tall,
And calmly smiled his scorn on all.
“A poor, weak imitation he.
I hate all copyists.
My plan
Would be to paint a picture; do
A thing original. Now you
Have room to paint eternity,
In this vast land where scarcely yet
God's rounding compass has been set;
And, for a land so very new,
Your skies are glorious to see.
“And yet your silly painters paint
The old Italian figure, saint
And dark Madonna; all outdone
The century they first struck oil.
Paint nature, sir; cast off the coil
Of custom. Why paint mortal more,
Where God leads ever on before,
As visible as your broad sun?
Ah no! Your feeble painters paint
Their imitations, till the taint
Of felony attaches.
Be
Patient, sir, and pardon me;
But will you tell me what you call
That red wall-paper that hangs the wall?”
The old Italian figure, saint
And dark Madonna; all outdone
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Paint nature, sir; cast off the coil
Of custom. Why paint mortal more,
Where God leads ever on before,
As visible as your broad sun?
Ah no! Your feeble painters paint
Their imitations, till the taint
Of felony attaches.
Be
Patient, sir, and pardon me;
But will you tell me what you call
That red wall-paper that hangs the wall?”
Once more the man glanced left and right,
Then knit his brows from nose to crown,
And then he held a pamphlet out,
And half-way turned to catch the light.
Then with a stiff, important pout,
As if to say, beyond a doubt,
You put it rather strong, read out,
“The Bay of Naples—Loaned by Brown.”
Then knit his brows from nose to crown,
And then he held a pamphlet out,
And half-way turned to catch the light.
Then with a stiff, important pout,
As if to say, beyond a doubt,
You put it rather strong, read out,
“The Bay of Naples—Loaned by Brown.”
“Not loaned by Brown! Done, you mean?”
“Yes, loaned by Brown, sir. Loaned! You see,
It does not matter here so much
Who painted this, or such and such,
Not half so much, sir, as to know
Who owns the picture now. 'Twas seen
Last year, in this same annual show,
Made up, you know, by gen'rous loans,
‘The Bay of Naples—Loaned by Jones.’
'Twas loaned by Smith the year before;
And, this same thing you think a bore,
If you took note, would teach to you
The changes on the Avenue.”
“Yes, loaned by Brown, sir. Loaned! You see,
It does not matter here so much
217
Not half so much, sir, as to know
Who owns the picture now. 'Twas seen
Last year, in this same annual show,
Made up, you know, by gen'rous loans,
‘The Bay of Naples—Loaned by Jones.’
'Twas loaned by Smith the year before;
And, this same thing you think a bore,
If you took note, would teach to you
The changes on the Avenue.”
The robber chieftain smiled and cast
The fellow roughly off, and passed
Along the crowd with lifted head.
“A vulgar beast,” he laughing said.
“A knave! to patient stand and hear
A stranger taunt his countrymen,
And all their honest aims in art,
And never dare to take their part.
The fellow roughly off, and passed
Along the crowd with lifted head.
“A vulgar beast,” he laughing said.
“A knave! to patient stand and hear
A stranger taunt his countrymen,
And all their honest aims in art,
And never dare to take their part.
“This land is fair, but many rocks
Jut out and welcome you with shocks.
The very men a man should meet,
Hide modest in some sweet retreat,
And brass meets brass with knuckled knocks.
Yea, 'tis the best land that hath been,
An honest town, with all its din;
A Hercules in lion skin;
A brave young world of manly men
All should be proud to champion.
Jut out and welcome you with shocks.
The very men a man should meet,
Hide modest in some sweet retreat,
And brass meets brass with knuckled knocks.
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An honest town, with all its din;
A Hercules in lion skin;
A brave young world of manly men
All should be proud to champion.
“This rose tree has its thorns, and he
Is but a prickle on the tree.
As for this crowd, these pictures here,
'Tis but the froth that hides the beer.”
Half laughing thus, in merry mood,
He came to where Sir Francis stood.
Is but a prickle on the tree.
As for this crowd, these pictures here,
'Tis but the froth that hides the beer.”
Half laughing thus, in merry mood,
He came to where Sir Francis stood.
| The Baroness of New York | |