 | The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake |  |
284
TO JOHN LANG, ESQ.
We've twined the wreath of honor
Round Doctor Mitchill's brow;
Though bold and daring was the theme,
A loftier waits us now.
In thee, immortal Lang! have all
The Sister Graces met,
Thou Statesman—Sage—and Editor
Of the New-York Gazette!
Round Doctor Mitchill's brow;
Though bold and daring was the theme,
A loftier waits us now.
In thee, immortal Lang! have all
The Sister Graces met,
Thou Statesman—Sage—and Editor
Of the New-York Gazette!
A second Faustus in thine art!
The Newton of our clime!
The Bonaparte of Bulletins!
The Johnson of thy time!—
At thy dread name, the terriers bark,
The rats fly to their holes!
Thou Prince of “Petty Paragraphs,”
“Red Notes,” and “Signal-Poles!”
The Newton of our clime!
The Bonaparte of Bulletins!
The Johnson of thy time!—
At thy dread name, the terriers bark,
The rats fly to their holes!
Thou Prince of “Petty Paragraphs,”
“Red Notes,” and “Signal-Poles!”
There's genius in thy speaking face,
There's greatness in thine air;
Take Franklin's Bust from off thy roof,
And place thine own head there!
Eight corners within pistol-shot
Long with thy fame have rang,
And bluebirds sung and mad cows lowed
The name of Johnny Lang!
There's greatness in thine air;
Take Franklin's Bust from off thy roof,
And place thine own head there!
285
Long with thy fame have rang,
And bluebirds sung and mad cows lowed
The name of Johnny Lang!
H.
| The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake | |