 | The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake |  |
278
TO JOHN MINSHULL, ESQ.,
POET AND PLAYWRIGHT: FORMERLY OF MAIDEN LANE, BUT NOW ABSENT IN EUROPE.
Oh! bard of the West, hasten back from Great Britain,
Our harp-strings are silent, they droop on the tree;
What poet among us is worthy to sit in
The chair whose fair cushion was hallowed by thee?
In vain the wild clouds o'er our mountain-tops hover,
Our rivers flow sadly, our groves are bereft;
They have lost, and forever, their poet, their lover!
And Woodworth and Paulding are all we have left.
Our harp-strings are silent, they droop on the tree;
What poet among us is worthy to sit in
The chair whose fair cushion was hallowed by thee?
In vain the wild clouds o'er our mountain-tops hover,
Our rivers flow sadly, our groves are bereft;
They have lost, and forever, their poet, their lover!
And Woodworth and Paulding are all we have left.
Great Woodworth, the champion of Buckets and Freedom,
Thou editor, author, and critic to boot,
I must leave thy rich volumes to those that can read 'em,
For my part I never had patience to do't.
And as for poor Upham (who in a fine huff says
He'll yield to no Briton the laurel of wit),
Alas! they have “stolen his ideas,” as Puff says,
I had read all his verses before they were writ.
Thou editor, author, and critic to boot,
I must leave thy rich volumes to those that can read 'em,
For my part I never had patience to do't.
And as for poor Upham (who in a fine huff says
He'll yield to no Briton the laurel of wit),
Alas! they have “stolen his ideas,” as Puff says,
I had read all his verses before they were writ.
279
But hail to thee, Paulding, the pride of the Backwood!
The poet of cabbages,
log huts, and gin,
God forbid thou shouldst get in the clutches of Blackwood!
Oh, Lord! how the wits of old England would grin!
In pathos, oh! who could be flatter or funnier?
Were ever descriptions more vulgar and tame?
I wronged thee, by Heaven! when I said there were none here
Could cope with great Minshull, thou peer of his fame!
The poet of cabbages,
“So have I seen in gardens rich and rare
A stately cabbage waxing fat each day;
Unlike the lively foliage of the trees,
Its stubborn leaves ne'er wave in summer breeze,
Nor flower, like those that prank the walks around,
Upon its clumsy stem is ever found:
It heeds not noontide heats, or evening's balm,
And stands unmov'd in one eternal calm.
At last, when all the garden's pride is lost,
It ripens in drear autumn's killing frost;
And in a savory sourkrout finds its end,
From which detested dish, me Heaven defend!”
Paulding's “Backwoodsman,” Book II.
A stately cabbage waxing fat each day;
Unlike the lively foliage of the trees,
Its stubborn leaves ne'er wave in summer breeze,
Nor flower, like those that prank the walks around,
Upon its clumsy stem is ever found:
It heeds not noontide heats, or evening's balm,
And stands unmov'd in one eternal calm.
At last, when all the garden's pride is lost,
It ripens in drear autumn's killing frost;
And in a savory sourkrout finds its end,
From which detested dish, me Heaven defend!”
Paulding's “Backwoodsman,” Book II.
God forbid thou shouldst get in the clutches of Blackwood!
Oh, Lord! how the wits of old England would grin!
In pathos, oh! who could be flatter or funnier?
Were ever descriptions more vulgar and tame?
I wronged thee, by Heaven! when I said there were none here
Could cope with great Minshull, thou peer of his fame!
D.
| The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake | |