 | The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake |  |
253
THE CROAKERS.
BY FITZ-GREENE HALLECK AND JOSEPH RODMAN DRAKE.
255
TO ENNUI.
Avaunt! arch-enemy of fun,
Grim nightmare of the wind;
Which way, great Momus! shall I run,
A refuge safe to find?
My puppy's dead—Miss Rumor's breath
Is stopped for lack of news,
And Fitz is almost hypped to death,
And Lang has got the blues.
Grim nightmare of the wind;
Which way, great Momus! shall I run,
A refuge safe to find?
My puppy's dead—Miss Rumor's breath
Is stopped for lack of news,
And Fitz is almost hypped to death,
And Lang has got the blues.
I've read friend Noah's book quite through,
Appendix, notes, and all;
I've swallowed Lady Morgan's too,
And blundered through De Staël;
The Edinburgh Review—I've seen't
The last that has been shipped;
I've read, in short, all books in print,
And some in manuscript.
Appendix, notes, and all;
I've swallowed Lady Morgan's too,
And blundered through De Staël;
The Edinburgh Review—I've seen't
The last that has been shipped;
I've read, in short, all books in print,
And some in manuscript.
256
I'm sick of General Jackson's toast,
Canals are naught to me:
Nor do I care who rules the roast,
Clinton—or John Targee:
No stock in any Bank I own,
I fear no Lottery shark,
And if the Battery were gone,
I'd ramble in the Park.
Canals are naught to me:
Nor do I care who rules the roast,
Clinton—or John Targee:
No stock in any Bank I own,
I fear no Lottery shark,
And if the Battery were gone,
I'd ramble in the Park.
Let gilded Guardsmen
shake their toes,
Let Altorf
please the pit,
Let Mister Hawkins blow his nose
And Spooner
publish it:
Insolvent laws let Marshall break,
Let dying Baldwin cavil;
And let Tenth-Ward Electors shake
Committees to the devil.
Let Altorf
A drama founded on the tradition of William Tell, and unsuccessfully played at the Park Theatre. Its author, Miss Fanny Wright, a Scottish lady, was for a time a public lecturer on morals and religion, from a somewhat infidel point of view. Her chief theme was “just knowledge,” which she pronounced “joost nolidge.”
Let Mister Hawkins blow his nose
And Spooner
“Spooner and Baldwin,” editors of newspapers, the one in Brooklyn, the other in New York. The former had quoted in his columns the three words alluded to from the chorus to a song, to the tune of “Yankee Doodle,” gracing a comic and comical opera, entitled the “Saw-mill”—the work of Mr. Micah Hawkins, a merry and musical genius from Long Island—performed once, and, I believe, but once, at the Chatham Garden Theatre.
Insolvent laws let Marshall break,
Let dying Baldwin cavil;
And let Tenth-Ward Electors shake
Committees to the devil.
In vain—for like a cruel cat
That sucks a child to death,
Or like the Madagascar bat
Who poisons with his breath,
The fiend—the fiend is on me still;
Come, doctor, here's your pay—
What potion, lotion, plaster, pill,
Will drive the beast away?
That sucks a child to death,
Or like the Madagascar bat
Who poisons with his breath,
The fiend—the fiend is on me still;
Come, doctor, here's your pay—
What potion, lotion, plaster, pill,
Will drive the beast away?
D.
257
ON PRESENTING THE FREEDOM OF THE CITY
In a gold box to a great General.
General Jackson, since President of the United States, on his first visit to New York. At the dinner with which he was welcomed (see the “Secret Mine”) by the Tammany Society, its Grand Sachem, Mr. Mooney, eloquently assured him that, at the announcement of his intended visit, the hearts of its members had “expanded to explosion.” In reply to which the General gave as a toast, “De Witt Clinton, the Governor of the great and patriotic State of New York.” As a large proportion of the guests were bitterly opposed to Mr. Clinton in politics, a compliment so flattering to him alike surprised and annoyed them. The gentlemen named in the verses were all prominent leaders in the two adverse parties, and designated, by their approval or non-approval of the toast, their party attachments.
General Jackson, since President of the United States, on his first visit to New York. At the dinner with which he was welcomed (see the “Secret Mine”) by the Tammany Society, its Grand Sachem, Mr. Mooney, eloquently assured him that, at the announcement of his intended visit, the hearts of its members had “expanded to explosion.” In reply to which the General gave as a toast, “De Witt Clinton, the Governor of the great and patriotic State of New York.” As a large proportion of the guests were bitterly opposed to Mr. Clinton in politics, a compliment so flattering to him alike surprised and annoyed them. The gentlemen named in the verses were all prominent leaders in the two adverse parties, and designated, by their approval or non-approval of the toast, their party attachments.
The Board is met—the names are read;
Elate of heart, the glad committee
Declare the mighty man has said
He'll take “the freedom of the city.”
He thanks the Council, and the Mayor,
Presents 'em all his humble service;
And thinks he's time enough to spare
To sit an hour or two with Jervis.
Elate of heart, the glad committee
Declare the mighty man has said
He'll take “the freedom of the city.”
He thanks the Council, and the Mayor,
Presents 'em all his humble service;
And thinks he's time enough to spare
To sit an hour or two with Jervis.
John Wesley Jarvis, the popular portrait-painter of the day, a favorite of his patrons and of many social circles for his genial drollery of song and story. Most of the portraits of our officers, civil and military, then winning honorable distinction, and now gracing our public halls and chambers, we owe to his admired and admirable pencil. Halleck's portrait, painted by Jarvis for Dr. DeKay (now in the possession of Drake's daughter, Mrs. Commodore DeKay), is by many esteemed the best likeness we have of the poet.
Hurra! hurra! prepare the room—
Skaats! are the ham and oysters come?
Go—make some savory whiskey-punch,
The General takes it with his lunch;
For a sick stomach, 'tis a cure fit,
And vastly useful in a surfeit.
Skaats! are the ham and oysters come?
Go—make some savory whiskey-punch,
The General takes it with his lunch;
For a sick stomach, 'tis a cure fit,
And vastly useful in a surfeit.
But see! the Mayor is in the chair;
The Council is convened again;
And ranged in many a circle fair,
The ladies and the gentlemen
Sit mincing, smiling, bowing, talking
Of Congress—balls—the Indian force—
Some think the General will be walking,
And some suppose he'll ride, of course:
And some are whistling—some are humming,
And some are peering in the Park
To try if they can see him coming;
And some are half asleep—when, hark!
The Council is convened again;
And ranged in many a circle fair,
The ladies and the gentlemen
258
Of Congress—balls—the Indian force—
Some think the General will be walking,
And some suppose he'll ride, of course:
And some are whistling—some are humming,
And some are peering in the Park
To try if they can see him coming;
And some are half asleep—when, hark!
A triumph on the warlike drum,
A heart-uplifting bugle-strain,
A fife's far flourish—and “They come!”
Rung from the gathered train.
Sit down—the fun will soon commence—
Quick, quick, your Honor, mount your place,
Present your loaded compliments,
And fire a volley in his face!
A heart-uplifting bugle-strain,
A fife's far flourish—and “They come!”
Rung from the gathered train.
Sit down—the fun will soon commence—
Quick, quick, your Honor, mount your place,
Present your loaded compliments,
And fire a volley in his face!
They're at it now—great guns and small—
Squib, cracker, cannon, musketry;
Dear General, though you swallow all,
I must confess it sickens me.
Squib, cracker, cannon, musketry;
Dear General, though you swallow all,
I must confess it sickens me.
D.
259
THE SECRET MINE,
SPRUNG AT A LATE SUPPER
The songs were good, for Mead and Hawkins sung 'em,
The wine went round, 'twas laughter all, and joke;
When crack! the General sprung a mine among 'em,
And beat a safe retreat amid the smoke:
As fall the sticks of rockets when you fire 'em,
So fell the Bucktails at that toast accurst;
Looking like Korah, Dathan, and Abiram,
When the firm earth beneath their footsteps burst.
The wine went round, 'twas laughter all, and joke;
When crack! the General sprung a mine among 'em,
And beat a safe retreat amid the smoke:
As fall the sticks of rockets when you fire 'em,
So fell the Bucktails at that toast accurst;
Looking like Korah, Dathan, and Abiram,
When the firm earth beneath their footsteps burst.
Quelled is big Haff who oft has fire and flood stood,
More pallid grows the snowy cheek of Rose,
Cold sweats bedew the leathern hide of Bloodgood,
Deep sinks the concave of pug Edwards' nose.
But see the Generals Colden and Bogardus,
Joy sits enthroned in each elated eye;
While Doyle and Mumford clap their fists as hard as
The iron mauls in Pearson's factory.
More pallid grows the snowy cheek of Rose,
Cold sweats bedew the leathern hide of Bloodgood,
Deep sinks the concave of pug Edwards' nose.
But see the Generals Colden and Bogardus,
Joy sits enthroned in each elated eye;
While Doyle and Mumford clap their fists as hard as
The iron mauls in Pearson's factory.
The midnight conclave met—good Johnny Targee
Begins, as usual, to bestow advice:
“Declare the General a fool, I charge ye!
And swear the toast was not his own free choice;
Tell 'em that Colden prompted, and maintain it:
That is the fact, I'm sure, but we can see
By sending Aleck
down to ascertain it.”
The hint was taken, and accordingly
Begins, as usual, to bestow advice:
260
And swear the toast was not his own free choice;
Tell 'em that Colden prompted, and maintain it:
That is the fact, I'm sure, but we can see
By sending Aleck
“Aleck,” the name of Alexander Hamilton abbreviated, a member of the Legislature at the time, and especially opposed to Mr. Clinton; the eldest son of the illustrious soldier and statesman of the same name, whose death, a few years previous, in the duel with Colonel Burr, had put the hearts of his countrymen in mourning.
The hint was taken, and accordingly
A certain member had a conversation,
And asked a certain surgeon all about it:
Some folks assert he got the information;
'Tis also said, he came away without it.
Good people all! I'm up to more than you know;
But prudence frowns, my coward goose-quill lingers,
For fear that flint-and-trigger Doctor Brunaugh
Should slip a challenge in your poet's fingers!
And asked a certain surgeon all about it:
Some folks assert he got the information;
'Tis also said, he came away without it.
Good people all! I'm up to more than you know;
But prudence frowns, my coward goose-quill lingers,
For fear that flint-and-trigger Doctor Brunaugh
Should slip a challenge in your poet's fingers!
D.
261
BONY'S FIGHT.
“There was Captain Cucumber, Lieutenant Tripe, Ensign Pattyman and myself.”
Foote.
When Bony fought his host of foes,
Heroes and generals arose
Like mushrooms when he bade them;
Europe, while trembling at his nod,
Thought him a sort of demi-god,
So wondrous quick he made them.
Heroes and generals arose
Like mushrooms when he bade them;
Europe, while trembling at his nod,
Thought him a sort of demi-god,
So wondrous quick he made them.
But “every dog must have his day,”
And Bony's power has passed away,
His track let others follow;
Yet in that talent of the Great,
With dash of goose-quill to create,
Our Clinton beats him hollow!
And Bony's power has passed away,
His track let others follow;
Yet in that talent of the Great,
With dash of goose-quill to create,
Our Clinton beats him hollow!
Alas! thou little god
of war,
The proud effulgence of thy star
Is dimmed, I fear, forever,
Though bright thy buttons long have shined,
And still thy powdered hair behind
Is clubbed so neat and clever.
The proud effulgence of thy star
Is dimmed, I fear, forever,
Though bright thy buttons long have shined,
And still thy powdered hair behind
Is clubbed so neat and clever.
262
Yet round thee are assembled now
New chieftains, all intent as thou
On hard militia duty:
Here's King, conspicuous for his hat,
And Ferris Pell, for God knows what,
And Bayard , for his beauty.
New chieftains, all intent as thou
On hard militia duty:
Here's King, conspicuous for his hat,
And Ferris Pell, for God knows what,
And Bayard , for his beauty.
These are but colonels—there are hosts
Of higher grades, like Banquo's ghosts,
Upon my sight advancing;
In truth they made e'en Jackson stare,
When in the Park, up-tossed in air,
He saw their plumage dancing.
Of higher grades, like Banquo's ghosts,
Upon my sight advancing;
In truth they made e'en Jackson stare,
When in the Park, up-tossed in air,
He saw their plumage dancing.
Yet I should wrong them not to name
Two Major-Generals, high in fame,
By Heaven! a gallant pair!
(They haven't any soldiers yet,)
His Honor, General by brevet,
Bogardus, brevet Mayor.
Two Major-Generals, high in fame,
By Heaven! a gallant pair!
(They haven't any soldiers yet,)
His Honor, General by brevet,
Bogardus, brevet Mayor.
Should England dare to send again
Her scoundrel red-coats o'er the main,
I fear some sad disaster;
Each soldier wears an epaulette,
The Guards have turned a capering set,
And want a dancing-master.
Her scoundrel red-coats o'er the main,
I fear some sad disaster;
Each soldier wears an epaulette,
The Guards have turned a capering set,
And want a dancing-master.
263
Sam Swartwout!
where are now thy Grays?
Oh, bid again their banner blaze
O'er hearts and ranks unbroken!
Let drum and fife your slumbers break,
And bid the devil freely take
Your meadows at Hoboken!
Oh, bid again their banner blaze
O'er hearts and ranks unbroken!
Let drum and fife your slumbers break,
And bid the devil freely take
Your meadows at Hoboken!
H.
264
TO MR. POTTER,
THE VENTRILOQUIST.
Dear Sir, you've heard that Mr. Robbin
Has brought in, without rhyme or reason,
A bill to send you jugglers hopping;
That bill will pass this very season.
Now, as you lose your occupation,
And may perhaps be low in coffer,
I send for your consideration
The following very liberal offer:
Has brought in, without rhyme or reason,
A bill to send you jugglers hopping;
That bill will pass this very season.
Now, as you lose your occupation,
And may perhaps be low in coffer,
I send for your consideration
The following very liberal offer:
Five hundred down, by way of bounty
Expenses paid (as shall be stated),
Next April to Chenango County,
And there we'll have you nominated.
Your duty'll be to watch the tongues
When Root's brigade begins to skirmish,
To stop their speeches in their lungs,
And bring out such as I shall furnish.
Expenses paid (as shall be stated),
Next April to Chenango County,
And there we'll have you nominated.
Your duty'll be to watch the tongues
When Root's brigade begins to skirmish,
To stop their speeches in their lungs,
And bring out such as I shall furnish.
Thy ventriloquial powers, my Potter!
Shall turn to music every word,
And make the Martling
Deists utter
Harmonious anthems to our Lord;
Then, all their former tricks upsetting,
To honey thou shalt change their gall,
For Sharpe shall vindicate brevetting,
And Root admire the great canal.
Shall turn to music every word,
265
Harmonious anthems to our Lord;
Then, all their former tricks upsetting,
To honey thou shalt change their gall,
For Sharpe shall vindicate brevetting,
And Root admire the great canal.
It will be pleasant, too, to hear a
Decent speech among our swains;
We almost had begun to fear a
Famine for the dearth of brains.
No more their tongues shall play the devil,
Thy potent art the fault prevents;
Now German shall, for once, be civil,
And Bacon speak with common-sense.
Decent speech among our swains;
We almost had begun to fear a
Famine for the dearth of brains.
No more their tongues shall play the devil,
Thy potent art the fault prevents;
Now German shall, for once, be civil,
And Bacon speak with common-sense.
Poor German's head is but a leaker;
Should yours be found compact and close,
As you're to be the only speaker,
We'll make you Speaker of the House.
If you're in haste to “touch the siller,”
Dispatch me your acceptance merely,
And call on trusty Mr. Miller,
He'll pay the cash—Sir, yours sincerely,
Should yours be found compact and close,
As you're to be the only speaker,
We'll make you Speaker of the House.
If you're in haste to “touch the siller,”
Dispatch me your acceptance merely,
And call on trusty Mr. Miller,
He'll pay the cash—Sir, yours sincerely,
D.
266
TO MR. SIMPSON,
MANAGER OF THE PARK THEATRE.
I'm a friend to your theatre, oft have I told you,
And a still warmer friend, Mr. Simpson, to you;
And it gives me great pain, be assured, to behold you
Go fast to the devil, as lately you do.
We scarcely should know you were still in existence,
Were it not for the play-bills one sees in Broadway;
The newspapers all seem to keep at a distance;
Have your puffers deserted for want of their pay?
And a still warmer friend, Mr. Simpson, to you;
And it gives me great pain, be assured, to behold you
Go fast to the devil, as lately you do.
We scarcely should know you were still in existence,
Were it not for the play-bills one sees in Broadway;
The newspapers all seem to keep at a distance;
Have your puffers deserted for want of their pay?
Poor Woodworth!
his Chronicle died broken-hearted;
What a loss to the drama, the world, and the age!
And Coleman is silent since Philipps departed,
And Noah's too busy to think of the stage.
Now, the aim of this letter is merely to mention
That, since all your critics are laid on the shelf,
Out of pure love for you, it is my kind intention
To take box No. 3, and turn critic myself.
What a loss to the drama, the world, and the age!
And Coleman is silent since Philipps departed,
And Noah's too busy to think of the stage.
Now, the aim of this letter is merely to mention
That, since all your critics are laid on the shelf,
Out of pure love for you, it is my kind intention
To take box No. 3, and turn critic myself.
Your ladies are safe—if you please you may say it,
Perhaps they have faults, but I'll let them alone;
Yet I owe two a debt—'tis my duty to pay it—
Of them I must speak in a kind, friendly tone.
Mrs. Barnes —Shakespeare's heart would have beat had he seen her—
Her magic has drawn from me many a tear,
And ne'er shall my pen or its satire chagrin her,
While pathos, and genius, and feeling are dear.
Perhaps they have faults, but I'll let them alone;
267
Of them I must speak in a kind, friendly tone.
Mrs. Barnes —Shakespeare's heart would have beat had he seen her—
Her magic has drawn from me many a tear,
And ne'er shall my pen or its satire chagrin her,
While pathos, and genius, and feeling are dear.
And there's sweet Miss Leesugg,
by-the-bye, she's not pretty,
She's a little too large, and has not too much grace,
Yet, there's something about her so witching and witty,
'Tis pleasure to gaze on her good-humored face.
But as for your men—I don't mean to be surly,
Of praise that they merit they'll each have his share;
For the present, there's Olliff, a famous Lord Burleigh,
And Hopper and Maywood, a promising pair.
She's a little too large, and has not too much grace,
Yet, there's something about her so witching and witty,
'Tis pleasure to gaze on her good-humored face.
But as for your men—I don't mean to be surly,
Of praise that they merit they'll each have his share;
For the present, there's Olliff, a famous Lord Burleigh,
And Hopper and Maywood, a promising pair.
H.
268
THE NATIONAL PAINTING.
Awake! ye forms of verse divine;
Painting! descend on canvas wing,
And hover o'er my head, Design!
Your son, your glorious son, I sing!
At Trumbull's name, I break my sloth,
To load him with poetic riches;
The Titian of a table-cloth!
The Guido of a pair of breeches!
Painting! descend on canvas wing,
And hover o'er my head, Design!
Your son, your glorious son, I sing!
At Trumbull's name, I break my sloth,
To load him with poetic riches;
The Titian of a table-cloth!
The Guido of a pair of breeches!
Come, star-eyed maid, Equality!
In thine adorer's praise I revel;
Who brings, so fierce his love to thee,
All forms and faces to a level:
Old, young, great, small, the grave, the gay,
Each man might swear the next his brother,
And there they stand in dread array,
To fire their votes at one another.
In thine adorer's praise I revel;
Who brings, so fierce his love to thee,
All forms and faces to a level:
Old, young, great, small, the grave, the gay,
Each man might swear the next his brother,
And there they stand in dread array,
To fire their votes at one another.
How bright their buttons shine! how straight
Their coat-flaps fall in plaited grace!
How smooth the hair on every pate!
How vacant each immortal face!
And then the tints, the shade, the flush,
(I wrong them with a strain too humble,)
Not mighty Sherred's strength of brush
Can match thy glowing hues, my Trumbull!
Their coat-flaps fall in plaited grace!
How smooth the hair on every pate!
How vacant each immortal face!
269
(I wrong them with a strain too humble,)
Not mighty Sherred's strength of brush
Can match thy glowing hues, my Trumbull!
Go on, great painter! dare be dull—
No longer after Nature dangle;
Call rectilinear beautiful;
Find grace and freedom in an angle:
Pour on the red, the green, the yellow,
“Paint till a horse may mire upon it,”
And while I've strength to write or bellow,
I'll sound your praises in a sonnet.
No longer after Nature dangle;
Call rectilinear beautiful;
Find grace and freedom in an angle:
Pour on the red, the green, the yellow,
“Paint till a horse may mire upon it,”
And while I've strength to write or bellow,
I'll sound your praises in a sonnet.
D.
270
THE BATTERY WAR.
“Twice twenty shoe-boys, twice two dozen guards,
Chairmen and porters, hackney-coachmen, dandies!”
Tom Thumb.
Chairmen and porters, hackney-coachmen, dandies!”
Tom Thumb.
“Here, Dickens!—go fetch my great-coat and umbrella,
Tell Johnny and Robert to put on their shoes;
And Dickens—take something to drink, my good fellow,
You may go with Tom Ostler, along, if you choose:
You must put your new coat on, but mind and be quiet,
Till my clerk, Mr. Scribble, shall tip you the wink;
Then, roar like the devil—hiss—kick up a riot!
I imagine we'll settle the thing in a twink.”
Tell Johnny and Robert to put on their shoes;
And Dickens—take something to drink, my good fellow,
You may go with Tom Ostler, along, if you choose:
You must put your new coat on, but mind and be quiet,
Till my clerk, Mr. Scribble, shall tip you the wink;
Then, roar like the devil—hiss—kick up a riot!
I imagine we'll settle the thing in a twink.”
Arrived at the Hall, they were nothing too early;
Little Hartman was placed, like King Log, in the chair,
Supported, for contrast, by modest King Charlie;
The General was speaking, who is to be Mayor:
Undaunted he stood in the midst of the bobbery,
Clerks, footmen, and dandies—ye gods! what a noise!
No thief in Fly-Market, just caught in a robbery,
Could raise such a clatter of blackguards and boys.
Little Hartman was placed, like King Log, in the chair,
Supported, for contrast, by modest King Charlie;
The General was speaking, who is to be Mayor:
Undaunted he stood in the midst of the bobbery,
Clerks, footmen, and dandies—ye gods! what a noise!
No thief in Fly-Market, just caught in a robbery,
Could raise such a clatter of blackguards and boys.
271
Mercein and Bogardus each told a long story,
Very fine, without doubt, to such folks as could hear;
Then the two kings resigned, and in high gig and glory
The light-footed chief of the Guards took the chair:
So he made them a speech, about little or nothing,
Except he advised them to go home to bed;
And the simple fact is, that, in spite of their mouthing,
'Twas the only good, sensible thing that was said.
Very fine, without doubt, to such folks as could hear;
Then the two kings resigned, and in high gig and glory
The light-footed chief of the Guards took the chair:
So he made them a speech, about little or nothing,
Except he advised them to go home to bed;
And the simple fact is, that, in spite of their mouthing,
'Twas the only good, sensible thing that was said.
By-the-way, though, we've heard that these sons of sedition,
These vile Bonapartes (to quote Jemmy Lent),
Are about to bring forward a second edition,
And Squire McGareaghan fears the event.
Now to let our wise Council their honest game play on yet,
Just call out, your Honor, the Gingerbread Guards,
Bid them drive at the traitors with cutlass and bayonet,
And then pick their pockets as bare—as your bard's.
These vile Bonapartes (to quote Jemmy Lent),
Are about to bring forward a second edition,
And Squire McGareaghan fears the event.
Now to let our wise Council their honest game play on yet,
Just call out, your Honor, the Gingerbread Guards,
Bid them drive at the traitors with cutlass and bayonet,
And then pick their pockets as bare—as your bard's.
D.
272
TO CROAKER, JUNIOR.
Your hand, my dear Junior! we're all in a flame
To see a few more of your flashes;
The Croakers forever! I'm proud of the name—
But, brother, I fear, though our cause is the same,
We shall quarrel like Brutus and Cassius.
To see a few more of your flashes;
The Croakers forever! I'm proud of the name—
But, brother, I fear, though our cause is the same,
We shall quarrel like Brutus and Cassius.
But why should we do so? 'tis false what they tell
That poets can never be cronies;
Unbuckle your harness, in peace let us dwell;
Our goose-quills will canter together as well
As a pair of Prime mouse-colored ponies.
That poets can never be cronies;
Unbuckle your harness, in peace let us dwell;
Our goose-quills will canter together as well
As a pair of Prime mouse-colored ponies.
Once blended in spirit, we'll make our appeal,
And by law be incorporate too;
Apply for a charter in crackers to deal;
A fly-flapper rampant shall shine on our seal,
And the firm shall be “Croaker & Co.”
And by law be incorporate too;
Apply for a charter in crackers to deal;
A fly-flapper rampant shall shine on our seal,
And the firm shall be “Croaker & Co.”
Fun! prosper the union—smile, Fate, on its birth!
Miss Atropos, shut up your scissors;
Together we'll range through the regions of mirth,
A pair of bright Gemini dropped on the earth,
The Castor and Pollux of quizzers.
Miss Atropos, shut up your scissors;
Together we'll range through the regions of mirth,
A pair of bright Gemini dropped on the earth,
The Castor and Pollux of quizzers.
D.
273
[_]
[Mr. Editor: I wish you to precede the lines I send you enclosed, by republishing Mr. Hamilton's late letter to the Governor verbatim, in order that the world may see that, on this occasion, at least, the poet does not deal in fiction.]
“To De Witt Clinton, Governor of the State of New York.“Sir: To your shame and confusion let it be recorded, that you dare not assume the responsibility of preserving to our national councils a patriotic and distinguished statesman, while you could advocate the publication of an insidious and base attack upon private character through the public organ of your administration.
“You know the motive of my visit to Mr. Root—you were not ignorant that the senatorial reëlection of Rufus King
Rufus King, then recently chosen United-States Senator from the State of New York, an eminent statesman and diplomatist.
“Your obedient servant,
ALEXANDER HAMILTON.“Assembly Chamber, March 8th, 1819.”
A VERY MODEST LETTER FROM ONE GREAT MAN TO ANOTHER.
“To be a well-favored man is the gift of fortune, but to write and read comes by nature.”
Dogberry.
How dare you, Sir, presume to say,
And write and print the paltry thing,
That I did wrong the other day
To give my vote for Mr. King?
And write and print the paltry thing,
That I did wrong the other day
To give my vote for Mr. King?
274
'Twas natural that I should take a
Particular interest in it, Sir,
For I've been agent at Jamaica,
And he a foreign minister.
Particular interest in it, Sir,
For I've been agent at Jamaica,
And he a foreign minister.
You say you've marked my course of late,
And mean to make what I've been doing
A means of breaking up the State,
And bringing on our party's ruin.
And mean to make what I've been doing
A means of breaking up the State,
And bringing on our party's ruin.
With all who've known your scoundrel tricks,
Since first you came to curse the nation,
The Lucifer of politics,
“You disappoint no expectation.”
Since first you came to curse the nation,
The Lucifer of politics,
“You disappoint no expectation.”
It suits your mean and grovelling spirit
Thus to attack great men like me;
You slander only chiefs of merit,
Stars in our country's galaxy!
Thus to attack great men like me;
You slander only chiefs of merit,
Stars in our country's galaxy!
Elijah, when his task was done,
His mantle o'er Elisha threw;
Now I'm my father's eldest son,
And heir to all his talents too.
His mantle o'er Elisha threw;
Now I'm my father's eldest son,
And heir to all his talents too.
We're proud to say, the world well knows
You never liked our family;
We, “one and all,” have been your foes,
My brother Jim, and John, and I.
You never liked our family;
275
My brother Jim, and John, and I.
For my own sake, you well may wonder
That I these lines to you have sent;
It is to lay the public under
An “obligation permanent.”
That I these lines to you have sent;
It is to lay the public under
An “obligation permanent.”
Assembly Chamber, March 8th.
Done into English and verse by H.
276
TO THE SURGEON-GENERAL OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK.
“Why, Tom! he knows all things. An it be not the devil himself, we may thank God.”
Village Wizard.
Oh! Mitchill, lord of granite flints,
Doctus in law—and wholesome dishes;
Protector of the patent splints,
The foe of whales—the friend of fishes,
“Tom Codus,”—“Septon” “Phlogobombas!”
What title shall we find to fit you?
Inquisitor of sprats and compost,
Or Surgeon-General of militia!
Doctus in law—and wholesome dishes;
Protector of the patent splints,
The foe of whales—the friend of fishes,
“Tom Codus,”—“Septon” “Phlogobombas!”
What title shall we find to fit you?
Inquisitor of sprats and compost,
Or Surgeon-General of militia!
We hail thee—mammoth of the State!
Steam frigate on the waves of physic!
Equal in practice or debate,
To cure the nation or the phthisic;
The amateur of Tartar dogs,
Wheat-flies, and maggots that create 'em!
Of mummies, and of mummy chogs!
Of brickbats, lotteries, and pomatum!
Steam frigate on the waves of physic!
Equal in practice or debate,
To cure the nation or the phthisic;
The amateur of Tartar dogs,
Wheat-flies, and maggots that create 'em!
Of mummies, and of mummy chogs!
Of brickbats, lotteries, and pomatum!
277
It matters not how low or high it is,
Thou knowest each hill and vale of knowledge;
Fellow of forty-nine societies,
And lecturer in Hosack's College.
And when thou diest, for life is brief,
Thy name, in all its gathered glory,
Shall shine, immortal, as the leaf
Of Delaplaine's Repository! ”
Thou knowest each hill and vale of knowledge;
Fellow of forty-nine societies,
And lecturer in Hosack's College.
And when thou diest, for life is brief,
Thy name, in all its gathered glory,
Shall shine, immortal, as the leaf
Of Delaplaine's Repository! ”
D.
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.
280
THE MAN WHO FRETS AT WORLDLY STRIFE.
“A merry heart goes all the way,
A sad one tires in a mile-a.”
Winter's Tale.
A sad one tires in a mile-a.”
Winter's Tale.
The man who frets at worldly strife,
Grows sallow, sour, and thin;
Give us the lad whose happy life
Is one perpetual grin;
He, Midas-like, turns all to gold,
He smiles when others sigh,
Enjoys alike the hot and cold,
And laughs through wet and dry.
Grows sallow, sour, and thin;
Give us the lad whose happy life
Is one perpetual grin;
He, Midas-like, turns all to gold,
He smiles when others sigh,
Enjoys alike the hot and cold,
And laughs through wet and dry.
There's fun in every thing we meet,
The greatest, worst, and best,
Existence is a merry treat,
And every speech a jest:
Be't ours to watch the crowds that pass
Where Mirth's gay banner waves;
To show fools through a quizzing-glass,
And bastinade the knaves.
The greatest, worst, and best,
Existence is a merry treat,
And every speech a jest:
Be't ours to watch the crowds that pass
Where Mirth's gay banner waves;
To show fools through a quizzing-glass,
And bastinade the knaves.
281
The serious world will scold and ban,
In clamor loud and hard,
To hear Meigs called a Congressman,
And Paulding styled a bard;
But, come what may, the man's in luck
Who turns it all to glee,
And laughing, cries, with honest Puck,
“Great Lord! what fools ye be.”
In clamor loud and hard,
To hear Meigs called a Congressman,
And Paulding styled a bard;
But, come what may, the man's in luck
Who turns it all to glee,
And laughing, cries, with honest Puck,
“Great Lord! what fools ye be.”
D.
282
TO E. SIMPSON, ESQ.,
ON WITNESSING THE REPRESENTATION OF THE NEW TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS.
I have been every night, whether empty or crowded,
And taken my seat in your Box No. 3;
In a sort of poetical Scotch mist I'm shrouded,
As the far-famed Invisible Girl used to be.
And taken my seat in your Box No. 3;
In a sort of poetical Scotch mist I'm shrouded,
As the far-famed Invisible Girl used to be.
As a critic professed, 'tis my province to flout you,
And hiss as they did at poor Charley's Macheath;
But all is so right and so proper about you,
That I'm forced to be civil in spite of my teeth.
And hiss as they did at poor Charley's Macheath;
But all is so right and so proper about you,
That I'm forced to be civil in spite of my teeth.
In your dresses and scenery, classic and clever;
Such invention! such blending of old things and new!
Let Kemble's proud laurels be withered forever!
Wear the wreath, my dear Simpson, 'tis fairly your due.
Such invention! such blending of old things and new!
Let Kemble's proud laurels be withered forever!
Wear the wreath, my dear Simpson, 'tis fairly your due.
How apropos now was that street scene in Brutus,
Where the sign “Coffee-House” in plain English was writ!
By-the-way, “Billy Niblo's”
would much better suit us,
And box, pit, and gallery, roar at the wit.
Where the sign “Coffee-House” in plain English was writ!
283
And box, pit, and gallery, roar at the wit.
How sparkled the eyes of the raptured beholders,
To see Kilner, a Roman, in robes “à la Grec!”
How graceful they flowed o'er his neatly-turned shoulders!
How completely they set off his Johnny-Bull neck!
To see Kilner, a Roman, in robes “à la Grec!”
How graceful they flowed o'er his neatly-turned shoulders!
How completely they set off his Johnny-Bull neck!
But to hint at the thousand fine things that amuse me,
Would take me a month—so adieu till my next.
And your actors, they must for the present excuse me;
One word though, en passant, for fear they'll be vexed.
Would take me a month—so adieu till my next.
And your actors, they must for the present excuse me;
One word though, en passant, for fear they'll be vexed.
Moreland, Howard, and Garner, the last importation!
Three feathers as bright as the Prince Regent's plume!
Though puffing is, certainly, not my vocation,
I always shall praise them, whenever I've room.
Three feathers as bright as the Prince Regent's plume!
Though puffing is, certainly, not my vocation,
I always shall praise them, whenever I've room.
With manners so formed to persuade and to win you,
With faces one need but to look on to love,
They're like Jefferson's “Natural Bridge” in Virginia—
“Worth a voyage across the Atlantic,” by Jove!
With faces one need but to look on to love,
They're like Jefferson's “Natural Bridge” in Virginia—
“Worth a voyage across the Atlantic,” by Jove!
H.
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.
286
TO DOMESTIC PEACE.
“Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre.”
Oh, Peace! ascend again thy throne,
Resume the spotless olive-leaf,
Display thy snowy muslin gown,
And wave o'er this distracted town
Thy cambric pocket-handkerchief!
Resume the spotless olive-leaf,
Display thy snowy muslin gown,
And wave o'er this distracted town
Thy cambric pocket-handkerchief!
Or, if thou dost not like the dress
(We own we have our doubts upon it),
Come like some pretty Quakeress,
And let thine orbs of quietness
Shine, dove-like, from a satin bonnet!
(We own we have our doubts upon it),
Come like some pretty Quakeress,
And let thine orbs of quietness
Shine, dove-like, from a satin bonnet!
We need thee, row-abhorring maid!
The dogs of party bark alarms,
And e'er the Battery tax is laid,
And e'er the next election's made,
E'en Murray's Guards will rush to arms
The dogs of party bark alarms,
And e'er the Battery tax is laid,
And e'er the next election's made,
E'en Murray's Guards will rush to arms
Feds, Coodies, Bucktails,
all in flame,
With peals of nonsense frighten thee;
Sweet Peace! thou wert not much to blame,
If thou shouldst loathe the very name
Of Clinton, or of John Targee.
With peals of nonsense frighten thee;
287
If thou shouldst loathe the very name
Of Clinton, or of John Targee.
For us, enthroned in elbow-chair,
Thy foes alone with ink we sprinkle;
We love to smooth the cheek of care,
Until we leave no furrow there,
Save laughter's evanescent wrinkle.
Thy foes alone with ink we sprinkle;
We love to smooth the cheek of care,
Until we leave no furrow there,
Save laughter's evanescent wrinkle.
With thee and mirth, we'll quit the throng—
Each hour shall see our pleasures vary;
Jarvis shall bring his Cats along,
And Lynch shall float in floods of song
Pure as his highest-priced Madeira!
Each hour shall see our pleasures vary;
Jarvis shall bring his Cats along,
And Lynch shall float in floods of song
Pure as his highest-priced Madeira!
D.
288
TO E. SIMPSON, ESQ.,
MANAGER OF THE NEW-YORK THEATRE.
Mr. PHILIPPS has gone—and he carries away with him
Much of my cash, and my hearty good-will;
To both he is welcome, and long may they stay with him—
Poor as he's made me, I'll cherish him still.
Much of my cash, and my hearty good-will;
To both he is welcome, and long may they stay with him—
Poor as he's made me, I'll cherish him still.
For when the wild spell of his melody bound me,
I marked not the flight of the gay, happy hours;
His music created a fairy-land round me;
Above it, was sunshine—below it, were flowers.
I marked not the flight of the gay, happy hours;
His music created a fairy-land round me;
Above it, was sunshine—below it, were flowers.
But 'tis folly to weep—we must cease to regret him;
Look about—you have many as brilliant a star:
There's Barnes (you may laugh if you will), but just let him
Play Belino for once;—he'll beat Philipps by far!
Look about—you have many as brilliant a star:
There's Barnes (you may laugh if you will), but just let him
Play Belino for once;—he'll beat Philipps by far!
When he sings “Love's Young Dream,” every heart will be beating,
The ladies shall wave their white kerchiefs in air;
The peals of applauses shall hail the repeating
Of his “Eveleen's Bower,” and his “Robin Adair!”
The ladies shall wave their white kerchiefs in air;
289
Of his “Eveleen's Bower,” and his “Robin Adair!”
Fancy's sketch! such fine shakes and such comic expression
He'll give it; 'twill put all the fiddles in tone!
And let Olliff (clean shaved, with a new hero dress on)
Play Baron Toraldi for that night alone.
He'll give it; 'twill put all the fiddles in tone!
And let Olliff (clean shaved, with a new hero dress on)
Play Baron Toraldi for that night alone.
If you wish to give all your acquaintance delight,
Fill your house to the brim, take this hint—it will go;
The humor will make e'en your candles burn bright,
And crowd every seat, to the very fourth row.
Fill your house to the brim, take this hint—it will go;
The humor will make e'en your candles burn bright,
And crowd every seat, to the very fourth row.
Besides, entre-nous, there's another good reason—
Perhaps 'twill the proud heart of Beekman beguile;
He may promise to lower your rent the next season,
And, for once in his life,—take his hat off and smile.
Perhaps 'twill the proud heart of Beekman beguile;
He may promise to lower your rent the next season,
And, for once in his life,—take his hat off and smile.
H.
290
TO CAPTAIN SEAMAN WEEKS,
CHAIRMAN OF THE TENTH WARD INDEPENDENT ELECTORS.
Captain weeks, your right hand—though I never have seen it,
I shake it on paper, full ten times a day:
I love your Tenth Ward, and I wish I lived in it;
Do you know any house there to let against May?
I don't mind what the rent is, so long as I get off
From these party-mad beings, these tongues without heads!
I'm ashamed to be seen, sir, among such a set of
Clintonians, Tammanies, Coodies, and Feds!
I shake it on paper, full ten times a day:
I love your Tenth Ward, and I wish I lived in it;
Do you know any house there to let against May?
I don't mind what the rent is, so long as I get off
From these party-mad beings, these tongues without heads!
I'm ashamed to be seen, sir, among such a set of
Clintonians, Tammanies, Coodies, and Feds!
Besides, I am nervous, and can't bear the racket
These gentlemen make when they're begging for votes;
There's John Haff, and Ben Bailly, and Christian, and Bracket,
Only think what fine music must come from their throats!
Colonel Warner calls Clinton a “star in the banner,”
Mapes swears by his sword-knot he'll ruin us all;
While Meigs flashes out in his fine classic manner,
“The meteor Gorgon of Clinton must fall!”
These gentlemen make when they're begging for votes;
There's John Haff, and Ben Bailly, and Christian, and Bracket,
Only think what fine music must come from their throats!
Colonel Warner calls Clinton a “star in the banner,”
Mapes swears by his sword-knot he'll ruin us all;
While Meigs flashes out in his fine classic manner,
“The meteor Gorgon of Clinton must fall!”
291
In vain I endeavor to give them a hint on
Sense, reason, or temper—they laugh at it all;
For sense is nonsense when it makes against Clinton,
And reason is treason in Tammany Hall.
So I mean (though I fear I shall seem unto some a
Strange, obstinate, odd-headed kind of an elf)
To strike my old tent in the Fourth, and become a
“Tenth Ward independent elector” myself.
Sense, reason, or temper—they laugh at it all;
For sense is nonsense when it makes against Clinton,
And reason is treason in Tammany Hall.
So I mean (though I fear I shall seem unto some a
Strange, obstinate, odd-headed kind of an elf)
To strike my old tent in the Fourth, and become a
“Tenth Ward independent elector” myself.
D.
292
ABSTRACT OF THE SURGEON-GENERAL'S REPORT.
The Surgeon-General by brevet,
With zeal for public service burning,
Thinks this a happy time to get
Another chance to show his learning;
He has in consequence collected
His wits, and stewed them in retorts;
By distillation thus perfected,
He hopes to shine, and so reports
With zeal for public service burning,
Thinks this a happy time to get
Another chance to show his learning;
He has in consequence collected
His wits, and stewed them in retorts;
By distillation thus perfected,
He hopes to shine, and so reports
That he has searched authorities
From Johnson down to Ashe and Shelley,
And finds that a militia is
What he is now about to tell ye:
Militia means—such citizens
As e'en in peace are kept campaigning—
The gallant souls that shoulder guns,
And, twice a year, go out a-training!
From Johnson down to Ashe and Shelley,
And finds that a militia is
What he is now about to tell ye:
Militia means—such citizens
As e'en in peace are kept campaigning—
The gallant souls that shoulder guns,
And, twice a year, go out a-training!
This point being fixed, we must, I think, sir,
Proceed unto the second part,
Entitled Grog—a kind of drink, sir,
Which, by its action on the heart,
Makes men so brave, they dare attack
A bastion at its angle salient;
This is a well-established fact—
The very proverb says—pot-valiant.
Proceed unto the second part,
Entitled Grog—a kind of drink, sir,
Which, by its action on the heart,
Makes men so brave, they dare attack
A bastion at its angle salient;
293
The very proverb says—pot-valiant.
Grog—I'll define it in a minute—
Take gin, rum, whiskey, or peach-brandy,
Put but a little water in it,
And that is Grog—now understand me,
I mean to say, that should the spirit
Be left out by some careless dog,
It is—I wish the world may hear it!
It is plain water, and not Grog.
Take gin, rum, whiskey, or peach-brandy,
Put but a little water in it,
And that is Grog—now understand me,
I mean to say, that should the spirit
Be left out by some careless dog,
It is—I wish the world may hear it!
It is plain water, and not Grog.
Having precisely fixed what Grog is
(My reasoning, sir, that question settles!),
We next must ascertain what Prog is—
Now Prog, in vulgar phrase, is victuals:
This will embrace all kinds of food,
Which on the smoking board can charm ye,
And by digestion furnish blood,
A thing essential in an army!
(My reasoning, sir, that question settles!),
We next must ascertain what Prog is—
Now Prog, in vulgar phrase, is victuals:
This will embrace all kinds of food,
Which on the smoking board can charm ye,
And by digestion furnish blood,
A thing essential in an army!
These things should all be swallowed warm,
For heat, digestion much facilitates;
Cold is a tonic, and does harm;
A tonic always, sir, debilitates.
My plan then is to raise, as fast
As possible, a corps of cooks,
And drill them daily from the last
Editions of your cookery-books!
For heat, digestion much facilitates;
Cold is a tonic, and does harm;
A tonic always, sir, debilitates.
My plan then is to raise, as fast
As possible, a corps of cooks,
And drill them daily from the last
Editions of your cookery-books!
294
TO AN ELDERLY COQUETTE
“Parcius junctas quatiunt fenestras.”
Horace, Book I., Ode 25.
Horace, Book I., Ode 25.
Ah, Chloe! no more at each party and ball
You shine the gay queen of the hour,
The lip, that alluringly smiled upon all,
Finds none to acknowledge its power;
No longer the hearts of the dandies you break,
No poet adores you in numbers;
No billets-doux sweeten, nor serenades wake
The peaceful repose of your slumbers.
You shine the gay queen of the hour,
The lip, that alluringly smiled upon all,
Finds none to acknowledge its power;
No longer the hearts of the dandies you break,
No poet adores you in numbers;
No billets-doux sweeten, nor serenades wake
The peaceful repose of your slumbers.
Dissipation has clouded those eloquent eyes,
That sparkled like gems of the ocean;
Thy bosom is fair—but its billowy rise
Awakens no kindred commotion:
And pale are those rubies of rapture, where Love
Had showered his sweetest of blisses;
And the wrinkles which Time has implanted above,
Are covered in vain with false tresses.
That sparkled like gems of the ocean;
Thy bosom is fair—but its billowy rise
Awakens no kindred commotion:
And pale are those rubies of rapture, where Love
Had showered his sweetest of blisses;
And the wrinkles which Time has implanted above,
Are covered in vain with false tresses.
The autumn is on thee—fell Scandal prepares
To hasten the wane of thy glory;
Too soon Disappointment will hand thee down-stairs,
And old maidenhood end the sad story:
For me—long escaped from your trammels—I choose
To enlist in the new corps of jokers;
Abandoning Chloe, I kneel to the Muse,
And, instead of love-ditties, write Croakers.
To hasten the wane of thy glory;
295
And old maidenhood end the sad story:
For me—long escaped from your trammels—I choose
To enlist in the new corps of jokers;
Abandoning Chloe, I kneel to the Muse,
And, instead of love-ditties, write Croakers.
D.
296
TO ---, ESQUIRE.
Come, shut up your Blackstone, and sparkle again
The leader and light of our classical revels;
While statues and cases bewilder your brain,
No wonder you're vexed and beset with blue devils:
But a change in your diet will banish the blues;
Then come, my old chum, to our banquet sublime;
Our wine shall be caught from the lips of the Muse,
And each plate and tureen shall be hallowed in rhyme.
The leader and light of our classical revels;
While statues and cases bewilder your brain,
No wonder you're vexed and beset with blue devils:
But a change in your diet will banish the blues;
Then come, my old chum, to our banquet sublime;
Our wine shall be caught from the lips of the Muse,
And each plate and tureen shall be hallowed in rhyme.
Scott, from old Albin, shall furnish the dishes
With wild-fowl and ven'son that none can surpass;
And Mitchill, who sung the amours of the fishes,
Shall fetch his most exquisite tomcod and bass.
Leigh Hunt shall select, at his Hampstead Parnassus,
Fine greens, from the hot-bed, the table to cheer;
And Wordsworth shall bring us whole bowls of molasses
Diluted with water from sweet Windermere.
With wild-fowl and ven'son that none can surpass;
And Mitchill, who sung the amours of the fishes,
Shall fetch his most exquisite tomcod and bass.
Leigh Hunt shall select, at his Hampstead Parnassus,
Fine greens, from the hot-bed, the table to cheer;
And Wordsworth shall bring us whole bowls of molasses
Diluted with water from sweet Windermere.
To rouse the dull fancy and give us an appetite,
Black wormwood bitters Lord Byron shall bear,
And Montgomery bring (to consumptives a happy sight)
Tepid soup-meagre and “l'eau capillaire;”
George Coleman shall sparkle in old bottled cider,
Roast-beef and potatoes friend Crabbe will supply;
Rogers shall hash us an “olla podrida,”
And the best of fresh “cabbage” from Paulding we'll buy.
Black wormwood bitters Lord Byron shall bear,
And Montgomery bring (to consumptives a happy sight)
Tepid soup-meagre and “l'eau capillaire;”
297
Roast-beef and potatoes friend Crabbe will supply;
Rogers shall hash us an “olla podrida,”
And the best of fresh “cabbage” from Paulding we'll buy.
Mr. Tennant—free, fanciful, laughing, and lofty,
Shall pour out Tokay and Scotch whiskey like rain;
Southey shall sober our spirits with coffee,
And Horace in London “flash up in champagne.”
Tom Campbell shall cheer us with rosy Madeira,
Refined by long keeping, rich, sparkling, and pure;
And Moore, “pour chasse café,” to each one shall bear a
Sip-witching bumper of parfait amour.
Shall pour out Tokay and Scotch whiskey like rain;
Southey shall sober our spirits with coffee,
And Horace in London “flash up in champagne.”
Tom Campbell shall cheer us with rosy Madeira,
Refined by long keeping, rich, sparkling, and pure;
And Moore, “pour chasse café,” to each one shall bear a
Sip-witching bumper of parfait amour.
Then come to our banquet—oh! how can you pause
A moment between merry rhyme and dull reason?
Preferring the wit-blighting “Spirit of Laws”
To the spirit of verse, is poetical treason!
Judge Phœbus will certainly issue his writ,
No quirk or evasion your cause can make good, man;
Only think what you'll suffer, when sentenced to sit
And be kept broad awake till you've read the Backwoodsman!
A moment between merry rhyme and dull reason?
Preferring the wit-blighting “Spirit of Laws”
To the spirit of verse, is poetical treason!
Judge Phœbus will certainly issue his writ,
No quirk or evasion your cause can make good, man;
Only think what you'll suffer, when sentenced to sit
And be kept broad awake till you've read the Backwoodsman!
D.
298
ODE TO IMPUDENCE.
“Integer vitæ, scelerisque purus.”
Horace, Book I., Ode 22.
Horace, Book I., Ode 22.
The man who wears a brazen face,
Quite à son aise his glass may quaff;
And whether in or out of place,
May twirl his stick, and laugh.
Useless to him the broad doubloon,
Red note, or dollar of the mill;
Though all his gold be in the moon,
His brass is current money still.
Quite à son aise his glass may quaff;
And whether in or out of place,
May twirl his stick, and laugh.
Useless to him the broad doubloon,
Red note, or dollar of the mill;
Though all his gold be in the moon,
His brass is current money still.
Thus, when my cash was at low water,
At Niblo's I sat down to dine;
And after a tremendous slaughter
Among the wild-fowl and the wine,
The bill before mine eyes was placed—
When, slightly turning round my head,
“Charge it,” cried I—the man amazed,
Stared, made his congé, and obeyed.
At Niblo's I sat down to dine;
And after a tremendous slaughter
Among the wild-fowl and the wine,
The bill before mine eyes was placed—
When, slightly turning round my head,
“Charge it,” cried I—the man amazed,
Stared, made his congé, and obeyed.
Oh! bear me to some forest thick,
Where wampumed Choctaws prowl alone,
Where ne'er was heard the name of tick,
And bankrupt laws are quite unknown;
Or to some shop, by bucks abhorred,
Where to the longing pauper's sorrow,
The cursed inscription decks the board
Of “Pay to-day and trust to-morrow.”
Where wampumed Choctaws prowl alone,
299
And bankrupt laws are quite unknown;
Or to some shop, by bucks abhorred,
Where to the longing pauper's sorrow,
The cursed inscription decks the board
Of “Pay to-day and trust to-morrow.”
Or plunge me in the dungeon-tower;
With bolts and turnkeys dim mine eyes;
While, called from death by Marshall's power,
The ghosts of murdered debts arise!
The easy dupes I'll wheedle still,
With looks of brass and words of honey;
And having scored a decent bill,
Pay off my impudence for money.
With bolts and turnkeys dim mine eyes;
While, called from death by Marshall's power,
The ghosts of murdered debts arise!
The easy dupes I'll wheedle still,
With looks of brass and words of honey;
And having scored a decent bill,
Pay off my impudence for money.
D.
300
TO MRS. BARNES,
THE ACTRESS.
Dear Ma'am—we seldom take the pen
To praise, for whim and jest our trade is;
We're used to deal with gentlemen,
To spatter folly's skirts, and then
We're somewhat bashful with the ladies.
To praise, for whim and jest our trade is;
We're used to deal with gentlemen,
To spatter folly's skirts, and then
We're somewhat bashful with the ladies.
Nor is it meant to give advice;
We dare not take so much upon us;
But merely wish, in phrase concise,
To beg you, Ma'am, and Mr. Price,
For God's sake, to have mercy on us!
We dare not take so much upon us;
But merely wish, in phrase concise,
To beg you, Ma'am, and Mr. Price,
For God's sake, to have mercy on us!
Oh! wave again thy wand of power,
No more in melodramas whine,
Nor toil Aladdin's lamp to scour,
Nor dance fandangoes by the hour
To Morgiana's tambourine!
No more in melodramas whine,
Nor toil Aladdin's lamp to scour,
Nor dance fandangoes by the hour
To Morgiana's tambourine!
Think, Lady, what we're doomed to feel—
By Heaven! 'twould rouse the wrath of Stoics,
To see the queen of sorrows deal
In thundering “lofty-low” by Shiell,
Or mad Maturin's mock-heroics.
By Heaven! 'twould rouse the wrath of Stoics,
To see the queen of sorrows deal
301
Or mad Maturin's mock-heroics.
Away with passion's withering kiss,
A purer spell be thine to win us;
Unlock the fount of holiness
While gentle Pity weeps in bliss,
And hearts throb sweetly sad within us.
A purer spell be thine to win us;
Unlock the fount of holiness
While gentle Pity weeps in bliss,
And hearts throb sweetly sad within us.
Or call those smiles again to thee
That shone upon the lip that won them,
Like sun-drops on a summer-sea,
When waters ripple pleasantly
To wanton winds that flutter o'er them.
That shone upon the lip that won them,
Like sun-drops on a summer-sea,
When waters ripple pleasantly
To wanton winds that flutter o'er them.
When Pity wears her willow-wreath,
Let Desdemona's woes be seen;
Sweet Beverly's confiding faith,
Or Juliet, loving on in death,
Or uncomplaining Imogen.
Let Desdemona's woes be seen;
Sweet Beverly's confiding faith,
Or Juliet, loving on in death,
Or uncomplaining Imogen.
When wit and mirth their temples bind
With thistle-shafts o'erhung with flowers,
Then quaint and merry Rosalind,
Beatrice with her April mind
And Dinah's simple heart be ours.
With thistle-shafts o'erhung with flowers,
Then quaint and merry Rosalind,
Beatrice with her April mind
And Dinah's simple heart be ours.
For long thy modest orb has been
Eclipsed by heartless, cold parade;
So sinks the light of evening's queen
When the dull earth intrudes between,
Her beauties from the sun to shade.
Eclipsed by heartless, cold parade;
302
When the dull earth intrudes between,
Her beauties from the sun to shade.
Let Fashion's worthless plaudits rise
At the deep tone and practised start;
Be thine true feeling's stifled sighs,
Tears wrung from stern and stubborn eyes,
And smiles that sparkle from the heart.
At the deep tone and practised start;
Be thine true feeling's stifled sighs,
Tears wrung from stern and stubborn eyes,
And smiles that sparkle from the heart.
H and D.
303
TO SIMON,
THE OMNIPOTENT AND OMNIPRESENT CATERER FOR FASHIONABLE SUPPER-PARTIES.
Dear Simon! Prince of pastry-cooks,
Oysters, and ham, and cold neat's tongue,
Pupil of Mitchill's cookery-books,
And bosom friend of old and young!
Sure from some higher, brighter sphere
In showers of gravy thou wert hurled,
To aid our routs and parties here,
And grace the fashionable world!
Oysters, and ham, and cold neat's tongue,
Pupil of Mitchill's cookery-books,
And bosom friend of old and young!
Sure from some higher, brighter sphere
In showers of gravy thou wert hurled,
To aid our routs and parties here,
And grace the fashionable world!
Taught by thy art, we closely follow
And ape the English lords and misses;
For music, we've the Black Apollo,
And Mrs. Poppleton for kisses.
We borrow all the rest, you know,
Our glass from Christie for the time,
Plate from our friends to make a show,
And cash, to pay small bills from Prime.
And ape the English lords and misses;
For music, we've the Black Apollo,
And Mrs. Poppleton for kisses.
We borrow all the rest, you know,
Our glass from Christie for the time,
Plate from our friends to make a show,
And cash, to pay small bills from Prime.
What though old Squaretoes will not bless thee—
He fears your power and dreads your bill;
Mother and her dear girls caress thee,
And pat thy cheek, and praise thee still.
Oh, Simon! how we envy thee,
When belles that long have frowned on all,
Greet thee with smiles, and bend the knee,
To beg you'll help them “give a ball!”
He fears your power and dreads your bill;
Mother and her dear girls caress thee,
And pat thy cheek, and praise thee still.
304
When belles that long have frowned on all,
Greet thee with smiles, and bend the knee,
To beg you'll help them “give a ball!”
Though it is ungenteel to think,
For thought affects the nerves and brain!
Yet oft we think of thee, and drink
Thy health in Lynch's best champagne.
'Tis pity that thy signal merit
Should slumber in so low a station;
Act, Simon, like a lad of spirit,
And thou, in time, mayst rule the nation!
For thought affects the nerves and brain!
Yet oft we think of thee, and drink
Thy health in Lynch's best champagne.
'Tis pity that thy signal merit
Should slumber in so low a station;
Act, Simon, like a lad of spirit,
And thou, in time, mayst rule the nation!
Break up your Saturdays “at home,”
Cut Guinea and your sable clan,
Buy a new eye-glass and become
A dandy and a gentleman.
You must speak French, and make a bow,
Ten lessons are enough for that;
And Leavenworth will teach you how
To wear your corsets and cravat.
Cut Guinea and your sable clan,
Buy a new eye-glass and become
A dandy and a gentleman.
You must speak French, and make a bow,
Ten lessons are enough for that;
And Leavenworth will teach you how
To wear your corsets and cravat.
Knock all your chambers into one,
Hire fiddlers, glasses, Barons too,
And then invite the whole haut-ton;
Ask Hosack, he can tell you who.
The great that are, and—wish to be,
Within your brilliant rooms will meet,
And belles of high and low degree,
From Broadway up to Cherry Street.
Hire fiddlers, glasses, Barons too,
And then invite the whole haut-ton;
Ask Hosack, he can tell you who.
The great that are, and—wish to be,
Within your brilliant rooms will meet,
305
From Broadway up to Cherry Street.
This will insure you free admission
To all our routs, for years to come;
And when you die, a long procession
Of dandies shall surround your tomb.
We'll raise an almond statue where
In dust your honored head reposes;
Mothers shall lead their daughters there,
And bid them twine your bust with roses.
To all our routs, for years to come;
And when you die, a long procession
Of dandies shall surround your tomb.
We'll raise an almond statue where
In dust your honored head reposes;
Mothers shall lead their daughters there,
And bid them twine your bust with roses.
H. and D.
306
A LOVING EPISTLE
TO MR. WILLIAM COBBETT, OF NORTH HEMPSTEAD, LONG ISLAND.
“Beloved of Heaven! the smiling Muse shall shed
Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head!”
Campbell.
Her moonlight halo on thy beauteous head!”
Campbell.
Pride, boast, and glory of each hemisphere!
Well known and loved in both—great Cobbett, hail!
Hero of Botley there, and Hempstead here,
Of Newgate, and a Pennsylvanian jail!
Long shall this grateful nation bless the hour,
When, by the beadle and your debts pursued,
The victim, like famed Barrington, of power,
“You left your country for your country's good!”
Well known and loved in both—great Cobbett, hail!
Hero of Botley there, and Hempstead here,
Of Newgate, and a Pennsylvanian jail!
Long shall this grateful nation bless the hour,
When, by the beadle and your debts pursued,
The victim, like famed Barrington, of power,
“You left your country for your country's good!”
Terror of Borough-mongers, Banks, and Crowns,
Thorburn the seedsman, and Lord Castlereagh!
Potato-tops fall withering at your frowns,
Grand Ruta-Baga Turnip of your day!
Banish the memory of Lockhart's cane,
And Philadelphian pole-cats from your mind;
Let the world scoff,—still you and Hunt remain,
Yourselves a host—the envy of mankind!
Thorburn the seedsman, and Lord Castlereagh!
Potato-tops fall withering at your frowns,
Grand Ruta-Baga Turnip of your day!
Banish the memory of Lockhart's cane,
And Philadelphian pole-cats from your mind;
Let the world scoff,—still you and Hunt remain,
Yourselves a host—the envy of mankind!
307
Whether, as once in “Peter Porcupine,”
You curse the country whose free air you breathe,
Or, as plain William Cobbett, toil to twine
Around your brows Sedition's poisoned wreath,
Or, in your letter to Sir Francis, tear
All moral ties asunder with your pen,
We trace your gentle spirit everywhere,
And greet you prince of Slander's scribbling men.
You curse the country whose free air you breathe,
Or, as plain William Cobbett, toil to twine
Around your brows Sedition's poisoned wreath,
Or, in your letter to Sir Francis, tear
All moral ties asunder with your pen,
We trace your gentle spirit everywhere,
And greet you prince of Slander's scribbling men.
Well may our hearts with pride and pleasure swell,
To know that face to face we soon shall meet,
We'll gaze upon you as you stand and sell
Grammars and Garden Seeds in Fulton Street!
And praise your book that tells about the weather,
Our laws, religion, hogs, and things, to boot,
Where your unequalled talents teach together
Turnips and “young ideas how to shoot.”
To know that face to face we soon shall meet,
We'll gaze upon you as you stand and sell
Grammars and Garden Seeds in Fulton Street!
And praise your book that tells about the weather,
Our laws, religion, hogs, and things, to boot,
Where your unequalled talents teach together
Turnips and “young ideas how to shoot.”
In recompense, that you've designed to make
Choice of our soil above all other lands,
A purse we'll raise to pay your debts, and take
Your unsold Registers all off your hands.
For this, we ask that you, for once will show
Some gratitude—and, if you can, be civil;
Burn all your books, sell all your pigs, and go—
No matter where—to England, or the devil!
Choice of our soil above all other lands,
A purse we'll raise to pay your debts, and take
Your unsold Registers all off your hands.
For this, we ask that you, for once will show
Some gratitude—and, if you can, be civil;
Burn all your books, sell all your pigs, and go—
No matter where—to England, or the devil!
H.
308
THE FORUM.
'Tis o'er—the fatal hour has come,
The voice of eloquence is dumb,
Mute are the members of the Forum!
We've shed what tears we had to spare,
There now remains the pious care
Of chanting a sad requiem o'er 'em.
The voice of eloquence is dumb,
Mute are the members of the Forum!
We've shed what tears we had to spare,
There now remains the pious care
Of chanting a sad requiem o'er 'em.
The Roman drank the Tiber's wave,
Ilissus' stream its virtues gave
To bid the Grecian live forever;
Our Forum orators a draught
Of greater potency have quaffed,
Sparkling and pure from the North River!
Ilissus' stream its virtues gave
To bid the Grecian live forever;
Our Forum orators a draught
Of greater potency have quaffed,
Sparkling and pure from the North River!
Proudly our bosoms beat to claim
Communion with our country's fame
From Bunker's Hill to Chippewa.
All who on battle-field or wave,
Have met the death that waits the brave,
Or pealed, above their foeman's grave,
The victor's wild hurrah!
Communion with our country's fame
From Bunker's Hill to Chippewa.
All who on battle-field or wave,
Have met the death that waits the brave,
Or pealed, above their foeman's grave,
The victor's wild hurrah!
309
The one that quelled a tyrant king,
And he who “grasped the lightning's wing,”
Were nurtured in our country's bowers;
But now a brighter gem is set
Upon her star-wrought coronet,
The world's first orators are ours.
And he who “grasped the lightning's wing,”
Were nurtured in our country's bowers;
But now a brighter gem is set
Upon her star-wrought coronet,
The world's first orators are ours.
The name of every Forum chief
Shall gleam upon our history's leaf,
Circled with glory's quenchless fires;
And poet's pen and painter's pallet
Shall tell of William Paxson Hallett,
And Richard Varick Dey—Esquires!
Shall gleam upon our history's leaf,
Circled with glory's quenchless fires;
And poet's pen and painter's pallet
Shall tell of William Paxson Hallett,
And Richard Varick Dey—Esquires!
Resort of fashion, beauty, taste,
The Forum-hall was nightly graced
With all who blushed their hours to waste
At balls—and such ungodly places;
And Quaker girls were there allowed
To show, among the worldly crowd,
Their sweet blue eyes and pretty faces.
The Forum-hall was nightly graced
With all who blushed their hours to waste
At balls—and such ungodly places;
And Quaker girls were there allowed
To show, among the worldly crowd,
Their sweet blue eyes and pretty faces.
And thither all our wise ones went,
On charity and learning bent,
With open ears—and purses willing,
Where they could dry the mourner's tear,
And see the world, and speeches hear,
All, for “a matter of two shilling!”
On charity and learning bent,
With open ears—and purses willing,
Where they could dry the mourner's tear,
And see the world, and speeches hear,
All, for “a matter of two shilling!”
310
Let Envy drop her raven quill,
Let Slander's venomed lip be still,
And hushed Detraction's croaking song,
That dared, devoid of taste and sense,
To call these sons of Eloquence
A spouting, stammering, schoolboy throng.
Let Slander's venomed lip be still,
And hushed Detraction's croaking song,
That dared, devoid of taste and sense,
To call these sons of Eloquence
A spouting, stammering, schoolboy throng.
In vain, for they in grave debate
Weighed mighty themes of church and state
With words of power, and looks of sages;
While far diffused, their gracious smile
Soothed Bony in his prison-isle.
And Turkish wives in harem-cages!
Weighed mighty themes of church and state
With words of power, and looks of sages;
While far diffused, their gracious smile
Soothed Bony in his prison-isle.
And Turkish wives in harem-cages!
Heaven bless them! for their generous pity
Toiled hard to light our darkened city,
With that firm zeal that never flinches;
And long, to prove the love they bore us,
With “more last words” they lingered o'er us,
And died, like a tom-cat, by inches!
Toiled hard to light our darkened city,
With that firm zeal that never flinches;
And long, to prove the love they bore us,
With “more last words” they lingered o'er us,
And died, like a tom-cat, by inches!
H.
311
ODE TO FORTUNE.
Fair lady with the bandaged eye!
I'll pardon all thy scurvy tricks,
So thou wilt cut me, and deny
Alike thy kisses and thy kicks:
I'm quite contented as I am,
Have cash to keep my duns at bay,
Can choose between beefsteaks and ham,
And drink Madeira every day.
I'll pardon all thy scurvy tricks,
So thou wilt cut me, and deny
Alike thy kisses and thy kicks:
I'm quite contented as I am,
Have cash to keep my duns at bay,
Can choose between beefsteaks and ham,
And drink Madeira every day.
My station is the middle rank,
My fortune—just a competence—
Ten thousand in the Franklin Bank,
And twenty in the six per cents.;
No amorous chains my heart enthrall,
I neither borrow, lend, nor sell;
Fearless I roam the City Hall,
And “bite my thumb” at Sheriff Bell.
My fortune—just a competence—
Ten thousand in the Franklin Bank,
And twenty in the six per cents.;
No amorous chains my heart enthrall,
I neither borrow, lend, nor sell;
Fearless I roam the City Hall,
And “bite my thumb” at Sheriff Bell.
The horse that twice a week I ride,
At Mother Dawson's eats his fill;
My books at Goodrich's abide,
My country-seat is Weehawk hill;
My morning lounge is Eastburn's shop,
At Poppleton's I take my lunch,
Niblo prepares my mutton-chop,
And Jennings makes my whiskey-punch.
At Mother Dawson's eats his fill;
My books at Goodrich's abide,
My country-seat is Weehawk hill;
312
At Poppleton's I take my lunch,
Niblo prepares my mutton-chop,
And Jennings makes my whiskey-punch.
When merry, I the hours amuse
By squibbing Bucktails, Guards, and Balls,
And when I'm troubled with the blues,
Damn Clinton and abuse canals:
Then, Fortune! since I ask no prize,
At least preserve me from thy frown!
The man who don't attempt to rise,
'Twere cruelty to tumble down.
By squibbing Bucktails, Guards, and Balls,
And when I'm troubled with the blues,
Damn Clinton and abuse canals:
Then, Fortune! since I ask no prize,
At least preserve me from thy frown!
The man who don't attempt to rise,
'Twere cruelty to tumble down.
H. and D.
313
THE LOVE OF NOTORIETY.
There are laurels our temples throb warmly to claim,
Unwet by the blood-dripping fingers of War,
And as dear to the heart are the whispers of fame,
As the blasts of her bugle rang fiercely and far;
The death-dirge is sung o'er the warrior's tomb,
Ere the world to his valor its homage will give,
But the feathers that form Notoriety's plume,
Are plucked in the sunshine, and live while we live.
Unwet by the blood-dripping fingers of War,
And as dear to the heart are the whispers of fame,
As the blasts of her bugle rang fiercely and far;
The death-dirge is sung o'er the warrior's tomb,
Ere the world to his valor its homage will give,
But the feathers that form Notoriety's plume,
Are plucked in the sunshine, and live while we live.
There's a wonderful charm in that sort of renown
Which consists in becoming “the talk of the town;”
'Tis a pleasure which none but your “truly great” feels,
To be followed about by a mob at one's heels;
And to hear from the gazing and mouth-open throng,
The dear words “That's he,” as one trudges along;
While Beauty, all anxious, stands up on tip-toes,
Leans on her beau's shoulder, and lisps “There he goes.”
Which consists in becoming “the talk of the town;”
'Tis a pleasure which none but your “truly great” feels,
To be followed about by a mob at one's heels;
And to hear from the gazing and mouth-open throng,
The dear words “That's he,” as one trudges along;
While Beauty, all anxious, stands up on tip-toes,
Leans on her beau's shoulder, and lisps “There he goes.”
For this the young Dandy, half whalebone, half starch,
Parades through Broadway with the stiff Steuben march;
A new species of being, created, they say,
By nine London tailors, who ventured one day
To cabbage a spark of Promethean fire,
Which they placed in a German doll latticed with wire,
And formed of the scarecrow a Dandy divine,
But mum about tailors—I haven't paid mine.
Parades through Broadway with the stiff Steuben march;
A new species of being, created, they say,
By nine London tailors, who ventured one day
314
Which they placed in a German doll latticed with wire,
And formed of the scarecrow a Dandy divine,
But mum about tailors—I haven't paid mine.
And for this, little Brummagem mounts with a smile
His own hackney buggy, and dashes in style
From some livery stable to Cato's Hotel,
And though 'tis a desperate task to be striving
With these sons of John Bull in the science of driving,
We have still a few Jockies who do it as well.
His own hackney buggy, and dashes in style
From some livery stable to Cato's Hotel,
And though 'tis a desperate task to be striving
With these sons of John Bull in the science of driving,
We have still a few Jockies who do it as well.
There are two, “par example,” 'tis joy to behold,
With their Haytian grooms trotting graceful behind them,
In their livery jackets of blue, green, and gold,
Their bright varnished hats and the laces that bind them:
The one's an Adonis, who, since the sad day
That he shot at himself
has been courted no more;
The other's a name it were treason to say,
A very great man—with “two lamps at his door.”
With their Haytian grooms trotting graceful behind them,
In their livery jackets of blue, green, and gold,
Their bright varnished hats and the laces that bind them:
The one's an Adonis, who, since the sad day
That he shot at himself
The Baron Von Hoffman.—An adventurer styling himself a Dutch nobleman of high distinction, and by the fashionable circles courted and caressed accordingly, until detected as an impostor. “A fish can as vell live out of water as I can live out of de ladies,” was a favorite remark of the bogus baron, who came very near winning the hand of a noted New-York belle and heiress. Among his attempts at notoriety was that of shooting at himself with the wad of a pistol. He soon after disappeared from New York, and when last heard from was at Morrison's Hotel, Dublin, quietly luxuriating in the blaze of his fame.
The other's a name it were treason to say,
A very great man—with “two lamps at his door.”
H.
315
AN ODE TO SIMEON DE WITT, ESQ.,
SURVEYOR-GENERAL OF THE STATE OF NEW YORK.
[_]
When the Western District was surveyed, the power of naming its townships was intrusted to the Surveyor-General. Fancying the Indian appellations too sonorous and poetical, and conscious that his own ear was not altogether adapted for the musical combination of syllables, this gentleman hit upon a plan which for laughable absurdity has never been paralleled, except by the “Philosophy,” “Philanthropy,” and “Big Little Dry” system of Lewis and Clarke. It was no other than selecting from Lemprière and the “British Plutarch,” the great names which these works commemorate. This plan he executed with the most ridiculous fidelity, and reared for himself an everlasting monument of pedantry and folly.
If, on the deathless page of Fame,
The warrior's deeds are writ,
If that bright record bear the name
Of each whose hallowed brow might claim
The wreath of wisdom or of wit;
If even they, whose cash and care
Have nursed the infant arts, be there,
What place remains for thee,
Who, neither warrior, bard, nor sage,
Has poured on this benighted age
The blended light of all the three?
The warrior's deeds are writ,
If that bright record bear the name
Of each whose hallowed brow might claim
The wreath of wisdom or of wit;
If even they, whose cash and care
Have nursed the infant arts, be there,
What place remains for thee,
Who, neither warrior, bard, nor sage,
Has poured on this benighted age
The blended light of all the three?
Godfather of the christened West!
Thy wonder-working power
Has called from their eternal rest
The poets and the chiefs who blest
Old Europe in her happier hour:
Thou givest to the buried great
A citizen's certificate;
And, aliens now no more,
The children of each classic town
Shall emulate their sires' renown
In science, wisdom, or in war.
Thy wonder-working power
316
The poets and the chiefs who blest
Old Europe in her happier hour:
Thou givest to the buried great
A citizen's certificate;
And, aliens now no more,
The children of each classic town
Shall emulate their sires' renown
In science, wisdom, or in war.
The bard who treads on Homer's earth
Shall mount the epic throne,
And pour, like breezes of the north,
Such spirit-stirring stanzas forth
As Paulding would not blush to own.
And he, who casts around his eyes
Where Hampden's bright stone-fences rise,
Shall swear with thrilling joint,
As German did—“We yet are free,
And this accursed tax should be
Resisted at the bayonet's point!”
Shall mount the epic throne,
And pour, like breezes of the north,
Such spirit-stirring stanzas forth
As Paulding would not blush to own.
And he, who casts around his eyes
Where Hampden's bright stone-fences rise,
Shall swear with thrilling joint,
As German did—“We yet are free,
And this accursed tax should be
Resisted at the bayonet's point!”
What man, where Scipio's praises skip
From every rustling leaf,
But girds cold iron on his hip,
With “Shoulder firelock!” arms his lip
And struts a bold militia chief!
And who that breathes where Cato lies,
But feels the Censor spirit rise
At folly's idle pranks?
With voice that fills the Congress halls,
“Domestic manufactures” bawls,
And damns the Dandies and the Banks!
From every rustling leaf,
But girds cold iron on his hip,
With “Shoulder firelock!” arms his lip
And struts a bold militia chief!
And who that breathes where Cato lies,
317
At folly's idle pranks?
With voice that fills the Congress halls,
“Domestic manufactures” bawls,
And damns the Dandies and the Banks!
Behold! where Junius town is set,
A Brutus is the judge;
'Tis true he serves the Tarquin yet,
Still winds his limbs in folly's net,
And seems a very patient drudge.
But let the Despot fall, and bright
As morning from the shades of night,
Forth in his pride he'll stand,
The guard and glory of our soil,
A head for thought, a hand for toil,
A tongue to warn, persuade, command.
A Brutus is the judge;
'Tis true he serves the Tarquin yet,
Still winds his limbs in folly's net,
And seems a very patient drudge.
But let the Despot fall, and bright
As morning from the shades of night,
Forth in his pride he'll stand,
The guard and glory of our soil,
A head for thought, a hand for toil,
A tongue to warn, persuade, command.
Lo! Galen sends her Doctors round,
Proficients in their trade;
Historians are in Livy found,
Ulysses, from her teeming ground
Pours politicians ready made;
Fresh orators in Tully rise,
Nestor our counsellors supplies,
Wise, vigilant, and close;
Gracchus our tavern-statesmen rears,
And Milton finds us pamphleteers,
As well as poets, by the gross.
Proficients in their trade;
Historians are in Livy found,
Ulysses, from her teeming ground
Pours politicians ready made;
Fresh orators in Tully rise,
Nestor our counsellors supplies,
Wise, vigilant, and close;
Gracchus our tavern-statesmen rears,
And Milton finds us pamphleteers,
As well as poets, by the gross.
318
Surveyor of the Western plains!
The sapient work is thine;
Full-fledged, it sprang from out thy brains,—
One added touch alone remains
To consummate the grand design:
Select a town—and christen it
With thy unrivalled name De Witt!
Soon shall the glorious bantling bless us
With a fair progeny of Fools,
To fill our colleges and schools
With tutors, regents, and professors.
The sapient work is thine;
Full-fledged, it sprang from out thy brains,—
One added touch alone remains
To consummate the grand design:
Select a town—and christen it
With thy unrivalled name De Witt!
Soon shall the glorious bantling bless us
With a fair progeny of Fools,
To fill our colleges and schools
With tutors, regents, and professors.
H. and D.
319
TO E. SIMPSON, ESQ.,
MANAGER OF THE PARK THEATRE.
“Lines to Mr. Simpson.”—A twofold knowledge,
that of the then acted plays, and of the personal peculiarities of the political
gentlemen named, is requisite for the understanding and enjoying of these
verses. For many of the names, and for the existing Council of Appointment,
see previous notes. Among them, Peter R. Livingston was distinguished
for persuasive and genial oratory, Charles Christian and James
Warner were police justices, Pierre C. Van Wyck was City Recorder, and
Hugh Maxwell City Attorney. Barent Gardenier was a member of Congress.
He was renowned for a time as an eloquent speaker, and is noticed
for all time in that matchless specimen of the pleasantry of genius, the
“Knickerbocker” of Washington Irving.
The “Steamboat Bill.”—The members who had voted a tax on passengers
on board the North-River boats.
“Lines to Mr. Simpson.”—A twofold knowledge, that of the then acted plays, and of the personal peculiarities of the political gentlemen named, is requisite for the understanding and enjoying of these verses. For many of the names, and for the existing Council of Appointment, see previous notes. Among them, Peter R. Livingston was distinguished for persuasive and genial oratory, Charles Christian and James Warner were police justices, Pierre C. Van Wyck was City Recorder, and Hugh Maxwell City Attorney. Barent Gardenier was a member of Congress. He was renowned for a time as an eloquent speaker, and is noticed for all time in that matchless specimen of the pleasantry of genius, the “Knickerbocker” of Washington Irving.
The “Steamboat Bill.”—The members who had voted a tax on passengers on board the North-River boats.
Dear Simpson, since the day is near
Destined to close your late campaign,
'Tis well to greet the coming year,
And learn how best you may appear
Before the public eye again.
One thing, at least, whate'er you do,
For Heaven's sake give us something new!
For though your actors have not lost
One lightning-flash of Thespian fire,
Yet beauties that delight us most,
The wearied eye, in time, will tire.
'Tis thus the sated gaze of taste
Holland's drop-curtain heedless passes;
And thus the schoolboy loathes at last
His sugar-candy and molasses.
Destined to close your late campaign,
'Tis well to greet the coming year,
And learn how best you may appear
Before the public eye again.
One thing, at least, whate'er you do,
For Heaven's sake give us something new!
For though your actors have not lost
One lightning-flash of Thespian fire,
Yet beauties that delight us most,
The wearied eye, in time, will tire.
'Tis thus the sated gaze of taste
Holland's drop-curtain heedless passes;
And thus the schoolboy loathes at last
His sugar-candy and molasses.
Now, if you will but take advice,
Bank-notes shall fall like summer rain,
And next year you and Mr. Price
May cut your cider for champagne.
Just hand your present corps down-stairs,
Disband them all, and then create
Another army from the Players
That figure on the stage of State.
Bank-notes shall fall like summer rain,
And next year you and Mr. Price
May cut your cider for champagne.
Just hand your present corps down-stairs,
Disband them all, and then create
320
That figure on the stage of State.
A better set there cannot be
For clap-trap and stage trickery,
And they'll be well content to quit
Their present posts for higher pay;
For if they but good salaries get,
It matters not what parts they play.
You'll have no quarelling about
The characters you deal them out;
Their public acts too well have shown
They care but little for their own.
For clap-trap and stage trickery,
And they'll be well content to quit
Their present posts for higher pay;
For if they but good salaries get,
It matters not what parts they play.
You'll have no quarelling about
The characters you deal them out;
Their public acts too well have shown
They care but little for their own.
How nicely would Judge Spencer fit
For “Overreach” and “Bajazet;”
Van Buren, nimble, sly, and thin,
Would make a noble “Harlequin;”
Clinton would play “King Dick the Surly,”
The learned “Pangloss” and grave “Lord Burleigh;”
Woodworth (whose name the Muse shall hallow)
Is quite at home in “Justice Shallow;”
And slippery, smooth-faced Tallmadge stands
A “Joseph Surface” at your hands.
For “Overreach” and “Bajazet;”
Van Buren, nimble, sly, and thin,
Would make a noble “Harlequin;”
Clinton would play “King Dick the Surly,”
The learned “Pangloss” and grave “Lord Burleigh;”
Woodworth (whose name the Muse shall hallow)
Is quite at home in “Justice Shallow;”
And slippery, smooth-faced Tallmadge stands
A “Joseph Surface” at your hands.
Lo! where the acting Council sits,
A grand triumvirate of wits,
Cut out express by Nature's chisel
For “Noodle, Doodle, and Lord Grizzle;”
The Members who contrived to fill
The State purse from the steamboat-till,
Dressed out in turbans and white sleeves,
Would figure in the “Forty Thieves.”
A grand triumvirate of wits,
Cut out express by Nature's chisel
For “Noodle, Doodle, and Lord Grizzle;”
321
The State purse from the steamboat-till,
Dressed out in turbans and white sleeves,
Would figure in the “Forty Thieves.”
We'll linger with delighted grin
To see old Root in “Nipperkin,”
And gaze with reverential wonder
On Skinner's sapient face in “Ponder!”
While Peter R---, the jovial soul,
Will toss off Jobson's “brimming bowl,”
Fit for a Senator to swim in;
And bravos rung from half the town,
Would tell the fame of Walter Bowne,
In “Cacafogo” and old women.
To see old Root in “Nipperkin,”
And gaze with reverential wonder
On Skinner's sapient face in “Ponder!”
While Peter R---, the jovial soul,
Will toss off Jobson's “brimming bowl,”
Fit for a Senator to swim in;
And bravos rung from half the town,
Would tell the fame of Walter Bowne,
In “Cacafogo” and old women.
Our City Aldermen, you know,
Are conjurors, ex officio;
And, with the Mayor in his silk breeches,
Would do for “Hecate and the witches.”
Christian and Warner, long the scourges
Of Bucks and other “vagrom men,”
Would find in “Dogberry and Verges”
Their very selves restored again.
Are conjurors, ex officio;
And, with the Mayor in his silk breeches,
Would do for “Hecate and the witches.”
Christian and Warner, long the scourges
Of Bucks and other “vagrom men,”
Would find in “Dogberry and Verges”
Their very selves restored again.
Buckmaster, fat, and full of glee,
Might rival Cooke in “Jack Falstaff;”
“Pistol” and “Bobadil” would be
Revived once more in Captain Haff.
To classic Meigs, who soon, thank Heaven!
In Congress, will illume the age,
The brightest wages should be given,
To trim the lamps and light the stage.
Van Wyck will play the “Giant Wife,”
And “Death” in “Blue Beard” to the life;
And surly German do, at least,
For “Bear” in “Beauty and the Beast.”
Might rival Cooke in “Jack Falstaff;”
“Pistol” and “Bobadil” would be
Revived once more in Captain Haff.
322
In Congress, will illume the age,
The brightest wages should be given,
To trim the lamps and light the stage.
Van Wyck will play the “Giant Wife,”
And “Death” in “Blue Beard” to the life;
And surly German do, at least,
For “Bear” in “Beauty and the Beast.”
Maxwell and Gardenier, you'll fix
With strong indentures, by all means;
They're used to shifting politics,
And soon would learn to shift the scenes.
Bacon might bustle on in “Meddler,”
Gilbert play new tricks in “Diddler,”
Good honest Peter H. Wendover
In “Vortex” read his one speech over,
While Pell would strike the critics dumb,
A perfect miniature “Tom Thumb;”
And Mitchill, as in all the past,
Talk Science, and cut corns in “Last.”
With strong indentures, by all means;
They're used to shifting politics,
And soon would learn to shift the scenes.
Bacon might bustle on in “Meddler,”
Gilbert play new tricks in “Diddler,”
Good honest Peter H. Wendover
In “Vortex” read his one speech over,
While Pell would strike the critics dumb,
A perfect miniature “Tom Thumb;”
And Mitchill, as in all the past,
Talk Science, and cut corns in “Last.”
H. and D.
323
THE COUNCIL OF APPOINTMENT AT ALBANY.
There's magic in the robe of power,
Ennobling every thing beneath it;
Its spell is like the Upas bower,
Whose air will puff up all that breathe it.
Alike it charms the horse-hair tress
That Turkey's three-tailed Bashaws wear,
And hallows Clinton's levee-dress
Cut by the classic shears of Baehr.
Ennobling every thing beneath it;
Its spell is like the Upas bower,
Whose air will puff up all that breathe it.
Alike it charms the horse-hair tress
That Turkey's three-tailed Bashaws wear,
And hallows Clinton's levee-dress
Cut by the classic shears of Baehr.
Before its witchery, of late,
Our proudest politicians trembled,
When the five Heads that rule the State
Around the Council-board assembled.
There, arbiter of fates and fortunes,
Of brains it well supplied the loss,
Gave Bates and Rosencrantz importance,
And made a gentleman of Ross.
Our proudest politicians trembled,
When the five Heads that rule the State
Around the Council-board assembled.
There, arbiter of fates and fortunes,
Of brains it well supplied the loss,
Gave Bates and Rosencrantz importance,
And made a gentleman of Ross.
'Tis vain to win a great man's name
Without some proof of having been one;
And Killing's a sure path to fame,
Vide Jack Ketch and Mr. Clinton!
Our Council well this path have trod,
Honor's immortal wreath securing;
They've dipped their hatchets in the blood,
The patriot blood, of Mat Van Buren.
Without some proof of having been one;
324
Vide Jack Ketch and Mr. Clinton!
Our Council well this path have trod,
Honor's immortal wreath securing;
They've dipped their hatchets in the blood,
The patriot blood, of Mat Van Buren.
He bears, as every hero ought,
The mandate of the powers that rule
(He's higher game in view, 'tis thought,
All in good time; the man's no fool).
With him, some dozens prostrate fall,
No friend to mourn, nor foe to flout them,
They die unsung, unwept by all,
For no one cares a sou about them.
The mandate of the powers that rule
(He's higher game in view, 'tis thought,
All in good time; the man's no fool).
With him, some dozens prostrate fall,
No friend to mourn, nor foe to flout them,
They die unsung, unwept by all,
For no one cares a sou about them.
Wortman and Scott may grace the bar again,
For them, a blest exchange we make;
We've dignity in Ned McGareaghan,
And all, but that, in Jerry Drake.
And lo! the wreath of withered leaves
That lately twined Van Buren's brow,
Oakley's pure, spotless hand receives;
He's earned it—'tis no matter how.
For them, a blest exchange we make;
We've dignity in Ned McGareaghan,
And all, but that, in Jerry Drake.
And lo! the wreath of withered leaves
That lately twined Van Buren's brow,
Oakley's pure, spotless hand receives;
He's earned it—'tis no matter how.
Let office-holders cease to weep,
And put once more their gala-dress on;
The Council's closed, and they may sleep
In quiet, till the winter session.
Since all, or in or out of place,
Wear Knavery's cloak or Folly's feather,
'Tis ours their ups and downs to trace,
And laugh at ins and outs together.
And put once more their gala-dress on;
325
In quiet, till the winter session.
Since all, or in or out of place,
Wear Knavery's cloak or Folly's feather,
'Tis ours their ups and downs to trace,
And laugh at ins and outs together.
H.
326
THE MILITIA OF THE CITY.
Mr. CLINTON, whose worth we shall know when we've lost him,
Is delightfully free of his gifts, if they cost him
But little or nothing, like smiles and brevets;
With what wonderful tact he appreciates merit
In bestowing on all our grown lads of high spirit
His parchment commissions and gold epaulettes!
Is delightfully free of his gifts, if they cost him
But little or nothing, like smiles and brevets;
With what wonderful tact he appreciates merit
In bestowing on all our grown lads of high spirit
His parchment commissions and gold epaulettes!
'Tis amusing to see these young nurslings of fame,
With their sashes of crimson and collars of flame;
Their cocked hats enchanting—their buttons divine,
And even the cloth of their coats superfine!
Displaying, around us, their new tinsel riches,
As proud as a boy in his first pair of breeches.
With their sashes of crimson and collars of flame;
Their cocked hats enchanting—their buttons divine,
And even the cloth of their coats superfine!
Displaying, around us, their new tinsel riches,
As proud as a boy in his first pair of breeches.
Ah! who does not envy their steps of delight,
Through the streets to their battle-drums prancing,
While scared at their “chimney-sweep” badges so bright,
Cartmen, pigs, and old women, seek safety in flight,
As, in exquisite order, their lines are advancing!
Through the streets to their battle-drums prancing,
While scared at their “chimney-sweep” badges so bright,
Cartmen, pigs, and old women, seek safety in flight,
As, in exquisite order, their lines are advancing!
Long live the Militia! from sergeant to drummer
They've the true soldier-aspect, chivalric and wild,
In their clothes of more hues than the rainbow of summer,
Or the dress which the Patriarch wore when a child.
Unawed by court-martials, by fines or by fears,
They glow with the feelings of free Volunteers.
They've the true soldier-aspect, chivalric and wild,
327
Or the dress which the Patriarch wore when a child.
Unawed by court-martials, by fines or by fears,
They glow with the feelings of free Volunteers.
Yes! long live the Militia! that free school of glory
Where Mapes, Colden, and Steddiford took their degree;
Lives there a man who ne'er heard their proud story,
What an ignorant, unlettered cub he must be!
From the Battery flag-staff their fame has ascended
To the sand-hills of Greenwich and plains of Bellevue;
And the belles of Park Place for the palm have contended
Of rewarding the feats they have promised to do!
Let the poets of Europe still scribble as hard as
They please, of their Cæsars and Bonys to tell—
Be ours the bright names of Laight, Ward, and Bogardus,
And that promising genius, the bold Colonel Pell.
Where Mapes, Colden, and Steddiford took their degree;
Lives there a man who ne'er heard their proud story,
What an ignorant, unlettered cub he must be!
From the Battery flag-staff their fame has ascended
To the sand-hills of Greenwich and plains of Bellevue;
And the belles of Park Place for the palm have contended
Of rewarding the feats they have promised to do!
Let the poets of Europe still scribble as hard as
They please, of their Cæsars and Bonys to tell—
Be ours the bright names of Laight, Ward, and Bogardus,
And that promising genius, the bold Colonel Pell.
H.
328
AN ADDRESS
For the opening of the new Theatre, Sept. 1, 1821, to be spoken by Mr. Olliff.
Ladies AND GENTLEMEN:
Enlightened as you were, you all must know
Our playhouse was burnt down some time ago,
Without insurance. 'Twas a famous blaze,
Fine fun for firemen, but dull sport for plays;
The proudest of our whole dramatic corps
Such warm reception never met before.
It was a woeful night for us and ours,
Worse than dry weather to the fields and flowers.
The evening found us gay as summer's lark,
Happy as sturgeons in the Tappan Sea;
The morning, like the dove from Noah's ark,
As homeless, houseless, desolate as she.
Enlightened as you were, you all must know
Our playhouse was burnt down some time ago,
Without insurance. 'Twas a famous blaze,
Fine fun for firemen, but dull sport for plays;
The proudest of our whole dramatic corps
Such warm reception never met before.
It was a woeful night for us and ours,
Worse than dry weather to the fields and flowers.
The evening found us gay as summer's lark,
Happy as sturgeons in the Tappan Sea;
The morning, like the dove from Noah's ark,
As homeless, houseless, desolate as she.
But thanks to those who always have been known
To love the public interest, when their own—
Thanks to the men of talent and of trade,
Who joy in doing well when they're well paid—
Again our fireworn mansion is rebuilt,
Inside and outside, neatly carved and gilt,
With best of paint and canvas, lath and plaster,
The Lord bless Beekman and John Jacob Astor!
As an old coat, from Jenning's patent screw,
Comes out clean scoured and brighter than the new;
As an old head in Saunders' patent wig,
Looks wiser than when young, and twice as big;
As Mat Van Buren in the Senate-hall,
Repairs the loss we met in Spencer's fall;
As the new Constitution will (we're told)
Be worth, at least, a dozen of the old,
So is our new house better than its brother,
Its roof is painted yellower than the other,
It is insured at three per cent. 'gainst fire,
And cost three times as much, and is six inches higher.
To love the public interest, when their own—
Thanks to the men of talent and of trade,
Who joy in doing well when they're well paid—
Again our fireworn mansion is rebuilt,
Inside and outside, neatly carved and gilt,
329
The Lord bless Beekman and John Jacob Astor!
As an old coat, from Jenning's patent screw,
Comes out clean scoured and brighter than the new;
As an old head in Saunders' patent wig,
Looks wiser than when young, and twice as big;
As Mat Van Buren in the Senate-hall,
Repairs the loss we met in Spencer's fall;
As the new Constitution will (we're told)
Be worth, at least, a dozen of the old,
So is our new house better than its brother,
Its roof is painted yellower than the other,
It is insured at three per cent. 'gainst fire,
And cost three times as much, and is six inches higher.
'Tis not alone the house—the prompter's clothes
Are all quite new, so are the fiddlers' bows;
The supernumeraries are newly shaved,
New drilled, and all extremely well behaved
(They'll each one be allowed, I pause to mention,
The right of suffrage by the new Convention).
We've some new thunder, several new plays,
And a new splendid carpet of green baize.
So that there's naught remains to bid us reach
The topmost bough of favor, but a speech—
A speech, the prelude to each public meeting,
Whether for morals, charity, or eating—
A speech, the modern mode of winning hearts,
And power, and fame, in politics and arts.
Are all quite new, so are the fiddlers' bows;
The supernumeraries are newly shaved,
New drilled, and all extremely well behaved
(They'll each one be allowed, I pause to mention,
The right of suffrage by the new Convention).
We've some new thunder, several new plays,
And a new splendid carpet of green baize.
So that there's naught remains to bid us reach
The topmost bough of favor, but a speech—
A speech, the prelude to each public meeting,
Whether for morals, charity, or eating—
A speech, the modern mode of winning hearts,
And power, and fame, in politics and arts.
330
What made the good Monroe
our President?
'Twas that through all this blessed land he went
With his immortal cocked hat and short breeches,
Dining—wherever asked—and making speeches.
What, when Missouri stood on her last legs,
Revived her hopes? The speech of Henry Meigs.
What proves our country wise, learned, and happy?
Mitchill's address to the Phi Beta Kappa.
What has convinced the world that we have men,
First with the sword, the chisel, brush, and pen,
Shaming all English rivals, men or madams?
The “Fourth of July” speech of Mr. Adams.
Yes, if our managers grow great and rich,
And players prosper, let them thank my speech,
And let the name of Olliff proudly go
With Meigs and Adams, Mitchill and Monroe!
'Twas that through all this blessed land he went
With his immortal cocked hat and short breeches,
Dining—wherever asked—and making speeches.
What, when Missouri stood on her last legs,
Revived her hopes? The speech of Henry Meigs.
What proves our country wise, learned, and happy?
Mitchill's address to the Phi Beta Kappa.
What has convinced the world that we have men,
First with the sword, the chisel, brush, and pen,
Shaming all English rivals, men or madams?
The “Fourth of July” speech of Mr. Adams.
Yes, if our managers grow great and rich,
And players prosper, let them thank my speech,
And let the name of Olliff proudly go
With Meigs and Adams, Mitchill and Monroe!
H.
331
EPISTLE TO ROBERT HOGBIN, ESQ.,
Chairman of the Committee of Working-Men, etc., at the Westchester Hotel, Bowery, Nov., 1830.
Mr. HOGBIN,—I work as a weaver—of rhyme—
And therefore presume with a working-man's grace,
To address you as one I have liked for some time,
Though I know not (no doubt it's a fine one) your face.
And therefore presume with a working-man's grace,
To address you as one I have liked for some time,
Though I know not (no doubt it's a fine one) your face.
There is much in a name, and I'll lay you a wager
(Two ale-jugs from Reynolds' ), that Nature designed,
When she formed you, that you should become the drum-major
In that choice piece of music, the Grand March of Mind.
(Two ale-jugs from Reynolds' ), that Nature designed,
When she formed you, that you should become the drum-major
In that choice piece of music, the Grand March of Mind.
A Hogbin! a Hogbin! how cheering the shout
Of all that keep step to that beautiful air,
Which leads, like the treadmill, about and about,
And leaves us exactly, at last, where we were!
Of all that keep step to that beautiful air,
Which leads, like the treadmill, about and about,
And leaves us exactly, at last, where we were!
Yes, there's much in a name, and a Hogbin's so fit is
For that great moral purpose whose impulse divine
Bids men leave their own workshops to work in committees,
And their own wedded wives to protect yours and mine!
For that great moral purpose whose impulse divine
332
And their own wedded wives to protect yours and mine!
That we working-men prophets are sadly mistaken,
If yours is not, Hogbin, a durable fame,
As lasting as England's philosopher Bacon,
Whom your ancestors housed, if we judge by his name.
If yours is not, Hogbin, a durable fame,
As lasting as England's philosopher Bacon,
Whom your ancestors housed, if we judge by his name.
When the moment arrives that we've won the good fight,
And broken the chains of laws, churches, and marriages,
When no infants are born under six feet in height,
And our chimney-sweeps mount up a flue in their carriages—
And broken the chains of laws, churches, and marriages,
When no infants are born under six feet in height,
And our chimney-sweeps mount up a flue in their carriages—
That glorious time when our daughters and sons
Enjoy a blue Monday each day of the week,
And a clean shirt is classed with the mastodon's bones,
Or a mummy from Thebes, an undoubted antique—
Enjoy a blue Monday each day of the week,
And a clean shirt is classed with the mastodon's bones,
Or a mummy from Thebes, an undoubted antique—
Then, then, my dear Hogbin, your statue in straw,
By some modern Pigmalion delightfully wrought,
Shall embellish the Park, and our youths' only law
Shall be to be Hogbins in feeling and thought.
By some modern Pigmalion delightfully wrought,
Shall embellish the Park, and our youths' only law
Shall be to be Hogbins in feeling and thought.
H.
333
LAMENTINGS.
“I cannot but remember such things were,
And were most precious to me.”
Macduff.
And were most precious to me.”
Macduff.
Oh! where are now the lights that shed
A lustre o'er my darkened hours,
The priests of pleasure's fane, who spread,
Each night beneath my weary head,
Endymion's moonlight couch of flowers?
A lustre o'er my darkened hours,
The priests of pleasure's fane, who spread,
Each night beneath my weary head,
Endymion's moonlight couch of flowers?
No more in chains of music bound,
I listen to those airy reels,
When quavering Philipps cuts around
Fantastic pigeon-wings of sound,
Like Byrne, who, without touching ground,
Eleven times can cross his heels.
I listen to those airy reels,
When quavering Philipps cuts around
Fantastic pigeon-wings of sound,
Like Byrne, who, without touching ground,
Eleven times can cross his heels.
No longer Cooper's tongue of tongues,
Pumps thunder from his stormy lungs;
Turner has shut his classic pages,
Southward his face Magenis turns,
And for the halls of Congress spurns
The mansion of our civic sages.
Pumps thunder from his stormy lungs;
Turner has shut his classic pages,
Southward his face Magenis turns,
And for the halls of Congress spurns
The mansion of our civic sages.
334
And Wallack,
too, no longer dips
In bathos, for the tragic prize;
And Bartley, a melalogue that slips
Melodious from her honeyed lips,
No more in murmured music dies.
In bathos, for the tragic prize;
And Bartley, a melalogue that slips
Melodious from her honeyed lips,
No more in murmured music dies.
Yet, though fell Fortune has bereft
My heart of all, one mode is left
In slumber's vision to restore 'em;
Weekly I'll buy with pious pence,
A dose of opiate eloquence,
And sleep in quiet at the Forum.
My heart of all, one mode is left
In slumber's vision to restore 'em;
Weekly I'll buy with pious pence,
A dose of opiate eloquence,
And sleep in quiet at the Forum.
D.
335
TO QUACKERY.
Goddess! for such thou art, who rules
This honest and enlightened city;
True patroness of knaves and fools,
To thee we dedicate our ditty.
Whether in Barclay Street thou sittest,
Or, on papyrean pinions borne,
Dropping mercurial dews, thou flittest
Around thine own anointed Horne:
This honest and enlightened city;
True patroness of knaves and fools,
To thee we dedicate our ditty.
Whether in Barclay Street thou sittest,
Or, on papyrean pinions borne,
Dropping mercurial dews, thou flittest
Around thine own anointed Horne:
Whether, arrayed in gown and band,
Thy pious zeal distributes Bibles,
Or, perched on Spooner's classic hand,
Writes merry eulogistic libels;
Where'er we turn our raptured eyes,
We see this puffing generation,
Cheered by thy smile, propitious, rise
To profit, power, and reputation.
Thy pious zeal distributes Bibles,
Or, perched on Spooner's classic hand,
Writes merry eulogistic libels;
Where'er we turn our raptured eyes,
We see this puffing generation,
Cheered by thy smile, propitious, rise
To profit, power, and reputation.
Then come, ye Quacks! the anthem swell;
Come, Allen, with thy lottery bills;
Come, four-herbed Angelis, who fell
From heaven in a shower of pills;
Come, Geib, whose potent word creates
Prime analytical musicians;
And come, ye hosts that hold brevets
From Hosack's college of physicians.
Come, Allen, with thy lottery bills;
Come, four-herbed Angelis, who fell
From heaven in a shower of pills;
Come, Geib, whose potent word creates
Prime analytical musicians;
336
From Hosack's college of physicians.
And thou, botanic Hosack, bring
Thy poppy-breathing lips along;
Thy name in steeple-bells shall ring,
Thou monarch of the motley throng.
Yet Mitchill may the votes estrange,
Or Doctor Clinton, to confound ye,
Again produce some queer melange
Of scientific Salmagundi.
Thy poppy-breathing lips along;
Thy name in steeple-bells shall ring,
Thou monarch of the motley throng.
Yet Mitchill may the votes estrange,
Or Doctor Clinton, to confound ye,
Again produce some queer melange
Of scientific Salmagundi.
Clinton! the name my fancy fires,
I see him, with a sage's look,
Exhausting Nature, and whole quires
Of foolscap, in his wondrous book.
Columbia's genius hovers o'er him,
Fair Science, smiling, lingers near,
Encyclopædias lie before him,
And Mitchill whispers in his ear.
I see him, with a sage's look,
Exhausting Nature, and whole quires
Of foolscap, in his wondrous book.
Columbia's genius hovers o'er him,
Fair Science, smiling, lingers near,
Encyclopædias lie before him,
And Mitchill whispers in his ear.
Enough! the swelling wave has borne
Upon its bosom chiefs and kings—
From Mitchill, Clinton, Hosack, Horne,
One cannot stoop to meaner things.
Yet once again we'll raise the song,
And passing forums, banks, and brokers,
Join with the bubble-blowing throng,
Seize Quackery's pipe, and puff the Croakers.
Upon its bosom chiefs and kings—
From Mitchill, Clinton, Hosack, Horne,
One cannot stoop to meaner things.
Yet once again we'll raise the song,
And passing forums, banks, and brokers,
Join with the bubble-blowing throng,
Seize Quackery's pipe, and puff the Croakers.
D.
337
TO THE DIRECTORS OF THE ACADEMY OF ARTS.
Illustrious autocrats of taste!
Inspectors of the wonders traced
By pencil, brush, or chisel!
Accept a nameless poet's lay,
Who longs to twine a sprig of bay
Around his penny whistle.
Inspectors of the wonders traced
By pencil, brush, or chisel!
Accept a nameless poet's lay,
Who longs to twine a sprig of bay
Around his penny whistle.
Ye learned and enlightened few
Who keep the portal of virtu,
I pray you now unlock it,
And grant a peep, for all my pains,
Within your oil-bedaubed domains,
The Dome where now the poor in brains
Succeed the poor in pocket.
Who keep the portal of virtu,
I pray you now unlock it,
And grant a peep, for all my pains,
Within your oil-bedaubed domains,
The Dome where now the poor in brains
Succeed the poor in pocket.
All honored be the rich repast
At which the sage decree was past
Of pauper health so tender,
Which sent the beggars to Bellevue,
And left the classic fame to you
And Scudder's Witch of Endor.
At which the sage decree was past
Of pauper health so tender,
Which sent the beggars to Bellevue,
And left the classic fame to you
And Scudder's Witch of Endor.
338
Obliging all, you fear no harm
From Disappointment's angry arm,
No cudgels, sneers, or libels;
Alike you smile on worst and best,
From great Rubens and Quaker West,
To wooden cuts for Bibles.
From Disappointment's angry arm,
No cudgels, sneers, or libels;
Alike you smile on worst and best,
From great Rubens and Quaker West,
To wooden cuts for Bibles.
Lo! next the Gallic thunderbolt,
Some nameless, shapeless, ugly dolt,
His plastic phiz advances;
And vestal footsteps lightly tread,
And Cupids sport around the head
Of gentle Doctor Francis.
Some nameless, shapeless, ugly dolt,
His plastic phiz advances;
And vestal footsteps lightly tread,
And Cupids sport around the head
Of gentle Doctor Francis.
While placed on high exalted pegs,
Apollo blushes for his legs,
And mourns his severed fingers;
Some amorous wight, with passion drunk,
O'er Cytherea's headless trunk
Luxuriously lingers.
Apollo blushes for his legs,
And mourns his severed fingers;
Some amorous wight, with passion drunk,
O'er Cytherea's headless trunk
Luxuriously lingers.
Here Danaë rolls her humid eyes
To meet the ruler of the skies
In tricks that please old Satan;
And there our eyes delighted trace
The scarlet coat and lily face
Of gallant Captain Creighton.
To meet the ruler of the skies
In tricks that please old Satan;
And there our eyes delighted trace
The scarlet coat and lily face
Of gallant Captain Creighton.
339
Here West's creative pencil shines,
And paints, in tear-compelling lines,
Polony's frenzied daughter;
A hang-dog king, and sheepish queen,
And her, who looks as if she'd been
Just fished up from the water!
And paints, in tear-compelling lines,
Polony's frenzied daughter;
A hang-dog king, and sheepish queen,
And her, who looks as if she'd been
Just fished up from the water!
Thy glories, too, are blazoned there,
King Ben's first-born immortal heir—
Apparent to the pallet;
Orlando weighs his cons and pros,
Forgetting quite his heedless toes
Are in the Phoca's gullet.
King Ben's first-born immortal heir—
Apparent to the pallet;
Orlando weighs his cons and pros,
Forgetting quite his heedless toes
Are in the Phoca's gullet.
D.
340
CUTTING.
The world is not a perfect one,
All women are not wise or pretty,
All that are willing are not won—
More's the pity—more's the pity!
“Playing wall-flower's rather flat,”
L'Allegro or Penseroso—
Not that women care for that—
But oh! they hate the slighting beau so!
All women are not wise or pretty,
All that are willing are not won—
More's the pity—more's the pity!
“Playing wall-flower's rather flat,”
L'Allegro or Penseroso—
Not that women care for that—
But oh! they hate the slighting beau so!
Delia says my dancing's bad—
She's found it out since I have cut her;
She says wit I never had—
I said she “smelt of bread and butter.”
Mrs. Milton coldly bows—
I did not think her baby “cunning;”
Gertrude says I've little “NOUS”—
I tired of her atrocious punning.
She's found it out since I have cut her;
She says wit I never had—
I said she “smelt of bread and butter.”
Mrs. Milton coldly bows—
I did not think her baby “cunning;”
Gertrude says I've little “NOUS”—
I tired of her atrocious punning.
Tom's wife says my taste is vile—
I condemned her macarony;
Miss McLush, my flirt awhile,
Hates me—I preferred her crony;
Isabella, Sarah Anne,
Fat Estella, and one other,
Call me an immoral man—
I have cut their drinking brother.
I condemned her macarony;
Miss McLush, my flirt awhile,
Hates me—I preferred her crony;
341
Fat Estella, and one other,
Call me an immoral man—
I have cut their drinking brother.
Thus it is—be only civil—
Dance with stupid, short and tall—
Know no line 'twixt saint and devil—
Spend your wit on fools and all—
Simper with the milk-and-waters—
Suffer bores, and talk of caps—
Trot out people's awkward daughters—
You may scandal 'scape—perhaps!
Dance with stupid, short and tall—
Know no line 'twixt saint and devil—
Spend your wit on fools and all—
Simper with the milk-and-waters—
Suffer bores, and talk of caps—
Trot out people's awkward daughters—
You may scandal 'scape—perhaps!
But prefer the wise and pretty—
Pass Reserve to dance with Wit—
Let the slight be e'er so petty,
Pride will never pardon it.
Woman never yet refused
Virtues to a seeming wooer—
Woman never yet abused
Him who had been civil to her.
Pass Reserve to dance with Wit—
Let the slight be e'er so petty,
Pride will never pardon it.
Woman never yet refused
Virtues to a seeming wooer—
Woman never yet abused
Him who had been civil to her.
H.
342
THE DINNER-PARTY.
Johnny R---
gave a dinner last night,
The best I have tasted this season;
The wine and the wit sparkled bright,
'Twas a frolic of soul and of reason.
For the guests there was Cooper
and Kean;
Bishop Hobart and Alderman Brasher,
Buchanan, that foe to the Queen,
And Sherred the painter and glazier.
John R. Livingston.—A wealthy gentleman, who dispensed liberal hospitalities both at his city residence and at his country-seat on the Hudson. Among the notabilities whom he entertained at the latter place was the Prince of Saxe-Weimar, who visited the United States in 1825–'26. Mr. Livingston was a brother of the Chancellor, and at one time a member of the New-York Assembly.
The best I have tasted this season;
The wine and the wit sparkled bright,
'Twas a frolic of soul and of reason.
For the guests there was Cooper
The celebrated actor, and for a time manager of the Park Theatre. His daughter married a son of President Tyler, who gave him an appointment in the New-York Custom-House, which he held for several years.
Edmund Kean, who ranks among the greatest of modern actors, second only to Garrick and John Philip Kemble. He visited the United States in 1820 and again in 1825. His last appearance in public was at Covent Garden Theatre, London, in 1833, when he played Othello to the Iago of his son Charles, but, on repeating the words “Othello's occupation's gone,” he sank exhausted, and died soon after, in his forty-sixth year.
Bishop Hobart and Alderman Brasher,
Buchanan, that foe to the Queen,
And Sherred the painter and glazier.
The beef had been warm, it is true,
But when we sat down it was colder;
The wine when we entered was new;
When we drank it, 'twas six hours older.
Mr. Kean, by-the-way, he's no dunce;
His plate was so often repeating,
I thought he'd a genius at once
Not only for acting but eating.
But when we sat down it was colder;
The wine when we entered was new;
When we drank it, 'twas six hours older.
Mr. Kean, by-the-way, he's no dunce;
His plate was so often repeating,
I thought he'd a genius at once
Not only for acting but eating.
Mr. Cooper, a sensible man,
Talked much of his scheme of rebuilding
The theatre on a new plan,
With fantastical carving and gilding.
Said he, “I've a thought of my own:
Of the people, so stupid the taste is,
I could fill the new playhouse in June
If I only could furnish new faces.”
Talked much of his scheme of rebuilding
The theatre on a new plan,
With fantastical carving and gilding.
343
Of the people, so stupid the taste is,
I could fill the new playhouse in June
If I only could furnish new faces.”
In addition to those I have named,
Harry Cruger
was there in his glory,
That ci-devant jeune homme so famed
In Paris—but that's an old story.
And General Lewis,
by Jove!
With two vests, and a new fashioned eye-glass,
He looked like the young god of love
At distance beheld through a spy-glass.
Harry Cruger
Henry Cruger, a native of New York, was educated in England, where he became a successful merchant, and was, in 1774, elected to the British Parliament as the colleague of Edmund Burke. He returned to his native land on a visit in 1783, and seven years later became a permanent resident of this city. Upon the first senatorial election after his return, he was chosen to the State Senate. He died at his residence in Greenwich Street—then a fashionable locality—in 1827, in his eighty-eighth year.
That ci-devant jeune homme so famed
In Paris—but that's an old story.
And General Lewis,
Morgan Lewis held many honorable positions, among which were those of Chief-Justice of the State, Governor, and the command of the forces destined for the defence of New York, with the rank of Major-General. In 1835 he was elected President of the New-York Historical Society. He lived to the same age as Lord Brougham, of whom he was a great admirer.
With two vests, and a new fashioned eye-glass,
He looked like the young god of love
At distance beheld through a spy-glass.
I have read my first stanza again,
And find that for once I have erred:
For Robert and Mat were the men,
Instead of Buchanan and Sherred.
Two Frenchmen, the best I have met,
At home in bad English and flummery,
Were there—just to make up the set,
Together with Master Montgomery.
And find that for once I have erred:
For Robert and Mat were the men,
Instead of Buchanan and Sherred.
Two Frenchmen, the best I have met,
At home in bad English and flummery,
Were there—just to make up the set,
Together with Master Montgomery.
Jack Nicholson wanted to come
With his pea-jacket on, but the ladies
Compelled him to leave it at home;
So he wore, as becoming his trade is,
Two epaulets—one on each arm,
And a sword, once of laurels the winner,
Ever ready, in case of alarm,
At carving a foe or a dinner.
With his pea-jacket on, but the ladies
Compelled him to leave it at home;
So he wore, as becoming his trade is,
344
And a sword, once of laurels the winner,
Ever ready, in case of alarm,
At carving a foe or a dinner.
Bishop Hobart said grace with an air
'Twould have done your heart good to have seen him,
And Lewis so sweetly did swear,
You'd have thought that the devil was in him.
And Alderman Brasher began
A song, but he could not go through it.
When Johnny R--- asks me again
To a fête—by the Lord, I'll go to it!
'Twould have done your heart good to have seen him,
And Lewis so sweetly did swear,
You'd have thought that the devil was in him.
And Alderman Brasher began
A song, but he could not go through it.
When Johnny R--- asks me again
To a fête—by the Lord, I'll go to it!
H.
345
THE NIGHTMARE.
“Sure he was sent from heaven express to be the pillar of the State;
So terrible his name, ‘Clintonian’ nurses frightened children with it.”
Tom Thumb.
So terrible his name, ‘Clintonian’ nurses frightened children with it.”
Tom Thumb.
Dreaming, last night, of Pierre Van Wyck,
I felt the nightmare creeping o'er me;
In vain I strove to speak or strike,
The horrid form was still before me;
Till panting—struggling to be free,
I raised my weak but desperate head,
And faintly muttered “John Targee!”
When—with a howl—the goblin fled.
I felt the nightmare creeping o'er me;
In vain I strove to speak or strike,
The horrid form was still before me;
Till panting—struggling to be free,
I raised my weak but desperate head,
And faintly muttered “John Targee!”
When—with a howl—the goblin fled.
I waked and cried in glad surprise:
“The man is found ordained by Fate
To break our bonds, and exorcise
The nightmare of the sleeping State.
He'll chase the demons great and small;
They'll sink his withering gaze before.
Then rouse! ye Sachems at the Hall,
And nominate him Governor.
“The man is found ordained by Fate
To break our bonds, and exorcise
The nightmare of the sleeping State.
He'll chase the demons great and small;
They'll sink his withering gaze before.
Then rouse! ye Sachems at the Hall,
And nominate him Governor.
“Up with the name on Freedom's cause,
Inscribe it, Bucktails, on your banner;
Fame's pewter trump shall sound applause,
And blasts from party's furnace fan her.
Pledge high his health in mugs of beer,
And, roaring like the boisterous sea,
Thunder in Clinton's frightened ear,
The conquering name of John Targee!”
Inscribe it, Bucktails, on your banner;
346
And blasts from party's furnace fan her.
Pledge high his health in mugs of beer,
And, roaring like the boisterous sea,
Thunder in Clinton's frightened ear,
The conquering name of John Targee!”
D.
347
THE MODERN HYDRA.
There is a beast sublime and savage,
The Hydra by denomination;
Well doth he know his foes to ravage,
And barks and bites to admiration.
Fox—wolf—cat—dog—of each, at least, he
Has a full share, and never scants 'em;
But what is strangest in this beast, he
Can make new heads whene'er he wants 'em.
The Hydra by denomination;
Well doth he know his foes to ravage,
And barks and bites to admiration.
Fox—wolf—cat—dog—of each, at least, he
Has a full share, and never scants 'em;
But what is strangest in this beast, he
Can make new heads whene'er he wants 'em.
But when our Tammany Alcides
Had tomahawked his head political,
Straight from the bleeding trunk, out slid his
Well-filled noddle scientifical.
Another comes—another! see—
They rise in infinite variety;
One cries aloud, “Free-school trustee!”
The next exclaims, “Humane Society!”
Had tomahawked his head political,
Straight from the bleeding trunk, out slid his
Well-filled noddle scientifical.
Another comes—another! see—
They rise in infinite variety;
One cries aloud, “Free-school trustee!”
The next exclaims, “Humane Society!”
Behold the fourth—bewhiskered—big—
A warlike cocked hat frowns upon it;
The fifth uprears a doctor's wig,
The sixth displays the judgment-bonnet.
Herculean Noah! your strength you waste,
Reserve your furious cuts and slashes,
Till Satan stands beside the beast
With red-hot steel to sear the gashes.
A warlike cocked hat frowns upon it;
The fifth uprears a doctor's wig,
The sixth displays the judgment-bonnet.
348
Reserve your furious cuts and slashes,
Till Satan stands beside the beast
With red-hot steel to sear the gashes.
D.
349
THE TEA-PARTY.
The tea-urn is singing, the tea-cups are gay,
And the fire sparkles bright in the room of D. K.
For the first time these six months, a broom has been there,
And the housemaid has brushed every table and chair;
Drugs, minerals, books, are all hidden from view,
And the five shabby pictures are varnished anew;
There's a feast going on, there's the devil to pay
In the furnished apartments of Doctor D. K.
And the fire sparkles bright in the room of D. K.
For the first time these six months, a broom has been there,
And the housemaid has brushed every table and chair;
Drugs, minerals, books, are all hidden from view,
And the five shabby pictures are varnished anew;
There's a feast going on, there's the devil to pay
In the furnished apartments of Doctor D. K.
What magic has raised all this bustle and noise,
Disturbing the bachelor's still quiet joys;
A pair of young witches have doomed them to death,
They are distant relations to those in Macbeth.
Not as ugly, 'tis true, but as mischievous quite,
And like them in teasing and talking delight;
This morning they sent him a billet to say,
“To-night we take tea with you, Doctor D. K.”
Disturbing the bachelor's still quiet joys;
A pair of young witches have doomed them to death,
They are distant relations to those in Macbeth.
Not as ugly, 'tis true, but as mischievous quite,
And like them in teasing and talking delight;
This morning they sent him a billet to say,
“To-night we take tea with you, Doctor D. K.”
There is Mrs. J. D., in her high glee and glory,
And E. McC., with her song and her story;
There's a smile on each lip, and a leer on each brow,
And they both are determined to kick up a row.
They're mistaken for once, as they'll presently see,
For D. K.'s drinking whiskey with Langstaff and me:
They'll find the cage there, but the bird is away—
Catch a weasel asleep, and catch Doctor D. K.
And E. McC., with her song and her story;
350
And they both are determined to kick up a row.
They're mistaken for once, as they'll presently see,
For D. K.'s drinking whiskey with Langstaff and me:
They'll find the cage there, but the bird is away—
Catch a weasel asleep, and catch Doctor D. K.
H.
351
THE MEETING OF THE GROCERS.
The knights of the firkin are gathered around,
The rag-idols' rights to assert;
Each gatherer pricks up his ears at the sound,
Town rags are advancing a penny a pound,
While country rags sink in the dirt.
The rag-idols' rights to assert;
Each gatherer pricks up his ears at the sound,
Town rags are advancing a penny a pound,
While country rags sink in the dirt.
Aghast stand the brokers—the carrying-trade
Is lost if the butter-boys win—
The farmers are quaking, the worst is dismayed,
Omnipotent Fundable trembles afraid,
And Wall Street is all in a din.
Is lost if the butter-boys win—
The farmers are quaking, the worst is dismayed,
Omnipotent Fundable trembles afraid,
And Wall Street is all in a din.
'Twasn't so when the banks in a body prepared
To cut their own corporate throats;
And, biting their thumbs at the farmers, declared
To the thunderstruck dealers in butter and lard,
They would handle no more of their notes.
To cut their own corporate throats;
And, biting their thumbs at the farmers, declared
To the thunderstruck dealers in butter and lard,
They would handle no more of their notes.
Oh, Fundable! Fundable! look to thine own,
Now, now, let thy management shine;
I fear the young Franklin will worry thee down,
And if all the bad paper be kicked out of town,
Dear Fundable! where will be thine?
Now, now, let thy management shine;
I fear the young Franklin will worry thee down,
And if all the bad paper be kicked out of town,
Dear Fundable! where will be thine?
D.
352
THE KING OF THE DOCTORS.
How stately yon palace uplifts its proud head,
Where Broadway and Barclay Street meet;
Abhorring its old-fashioned tunic of red,
It shines in the lustre of chromate of lead,
And its doors open—into the street!
Where Broadway and Barclay Street meet;
Abhorring its old-fashioned tunic of red,
It shines in the lustre of chromate of lead,
And its doors open—into the street!
No longer it rings to the merry sleigh-bells,
The steeds' gallant neighings are o'er;
Instead of the pitchfork, we meet with scalpels,
And the throne of his medical majesty dwells
Where the horse-trough resided before.
The steeds' gallant neighings are o'er;
Instead of the pitchfork, we meet with scalpels,
And the throne of his medical majesty dwells
Where the horse-trough resided before.
Oh, David! how dreadful and dire was the note,
When Rebellion beleaguered the place,
When the bull-dog of discord unbolted his throat,
And the hot Digitalis unbuttoned his coat,
And doubled his fist in your face!
When Rebellion beleaguered the place,
When the bull-dog of discord unbolted his throat,
And the hot Digitalis unbuttoned his coat,
And doubled his fist in your face!
Then Syncope seized thee; all wild with affright
The Lord Chamberlain cried “God defend ye!”
Mac swung his shillelah in hopes of a fight,
While the brave Surgeon-General exclaimed in delight,
“Pugnatum est arte medendi.”
The Lord Chamberlain cried “God defend ye!”
Mac swung his shillelah in hopes of a fight,
While the brave Surgeon-General exclaimed in delight,
“Pugnatum est arte medendi.”
353
But your wars are all ended, you're now at your ease,
The Regents are bound for your debts;
You may fleece your poor students as much as you please,
Tax boldly, matriculate, double your fees,
You can pay off all scores in brevets.
The Regents are bound for your debts;
You may fleece your poor students as much as you please,
Tax boldly, matriculate, double your fees,
You can pay off all scores in brevets.
So a health to your highness, and long may you reign,
O'er subjects obedient and true;
If the snaffle won't hold them, apply the curb-rein;
And if ever they prance, or go backward again,
May you horsewhip them all black and blue!
O'er subjects obedient and true;
If the snaffle won't hold them, apply the curb-rein;
And if ever they prance, or go backward again,
May you horsewhip them all black and blue!
D.
354
TO THE BARON VON HOFFMAN,
Baron Von Hoffman. The New-York Evening Post, of June 12, 1823, says: “Baron Von Hoffman of Sirony, who used to serenade our ladies with the Tyrolese air so merrily, under their windows in Broadway, a year or two ago, and one day took French leave of them all, now shows away as one of the ‘nobility and persons of distinction in Dublin.’”—Vide also note to the Croakers, No. 53.
Baron Von Hoffman. The New-York Evening Post, of June 12, 1823, says: “Baron Von Hoffman of Sirony, who used to serenade our ladies with the Tyrolese air so merrily, under their windows in Broadway, a year or two ago, and one day took French leave of them all, now shows away as one of the ‘nobility and persons of distinction in Dublin.’”—Vide also note to the Croakers, No. 53.
Morrison's Hotel, Dublin, June 20, 1823.
Farewell, farewell to thee, Baron von Hoffman,
Thus warbled a creditor over his wine,
Of unmeaning faces I've gazed on enough, man,
But never on one half as stupid as thine.
Thus warbled a creditor over his wine,
Of unmeaning faces I've gazed on enough, man,
But never on one half as stupid as thine.
Oh, gay as the negro who trotted behind thee,
How light was thy heart till thy money was gone!
But when all was gone, 'twas the devil to find thee;
The nest still remained, but the eagle was flown.
How light was thy heart till thy money was gone!
But when all was gone, 'twas the devil to find thee;
The nest still remained, but the eagle was flown.
Yet long upon Harlem's gray rocks and green highlands
Shall Burnham and Cato remember the name
Of him who away in the far British Islands
Now lights his cigar at the blaze of his fame.
Shall Burnham and Cato remember the name
Of him who away in the far British Islands
Now lights his cigar at the blaze of his fame.
And still when the bell at the Coffee-House ringing
Assembles, of brokers, the young and the old,
The happiest there to his memory bringing
Thy frolics, shall swear when thy story is told.
Assembles, of brokers, the young and the old,
The happiest there to his memory bringing
Thy frolics, shall swear when thy story is told.
355
And Jacob, the tailor, as fondly he lingers
O'er the leaves of his ledger by night and by day,
Will count the sums due him from thee on his fingers,
And mournfully turn from their figures away.
O'er the leaves of his ledger by night and by day,
Will count the sums due him from thee on his fingers,
And mournfully turn from their figures away.
Nor shall Carlo,
beloved of thy bosom, forget thee,
In his merriest hour at thy name he will start;
By the side of his chaise and his horses he'll set thee,
Embalmed in the innermost shrine of his heart.
In his merriest hour at thy name he will start;
By the side of his chaise and his horses he'll set thee,
Embalmed in the innermost shrine of his heart.
Farewell, farewell, while the spirit of evil
Has power in a creditor's bosom, we swear
To be with thee on earth—if thou goest to the devil,
He is an old friend of ours, and will visit thee there.
Has power in a creditor's bosom, we swear
To be with thee on earth—if thou goest to the devil,
He is an old friend of ours, and will visit thee there.
Farewell, be it ours to embitter thy pillow
With thistles whose wounds are eternal and deep,
There are packets of letters afloat on the billow
That shall poison thy whiskey and torture thy sleep.
With thistles whose wounds are eternal and deep,
There are packets of letters afloat on the billow
That shall poison thy whiskey and torture thy sleep.
Around thee shall hover the constable gentry,
Those bloodhounds of law, ever thirsty and true—
Worse foes than the Frenchmen who saw you a sentry
In a platoon of Dutchmen at red Waterloo.
Those bloodhounds of law, ever thirsty and true—
Worse foes than the Frenchmen who saw you a sentry
In a platoon of Dutchmen at red Waterloo.
We'll dine where the bailiffs in Bow Street are drinking,
And bribe all their clubs to be aimed at thy head;
And when of thy snug German home thou art thinking,
Take out a ca. sa. and take thee out of bed.
And bribe all their clubs to be aimed at thy head;
And when of thy snug German home thou art thinking,
Take out a ca. sa. and take thee out of bed.
H.
356
A LAMENT FOR GREAT MEN DEPARTED.
“Hung be the heavens with black.”
Shakespeare.
Shakespeare.
There is a gloom on every brow,
A sadness in each face we see;
The City Hall is lonely now,
The Franklin Bank looks wearily.
A sadness in each face we see;
The City Hall is lonely now,
The Franklin Bank looks wearily.
The Surgeons' Hall in Barclay Street,
Wears to the eye a ghastlier hue!
And Staten Island's Summer-seat
Has lost its best attractions too!
Wears to the eye a ghastlier hue!
And Staten Island's Summer-seat
Has lost its best attractions too!
Well may we mourn a stage-and-four
(Our curse upon the rogue that drove it!)
From out our city lately bore
All that adorn, and grace, and love it.
(Our curse upon the rogue that drove it!)
From out our city lately bore
All that adorn, and grace, and love it.
Ah, little knew each scoundrel horse
How much they vexed, and grieved, and marred us;
They cared not sixpence for the loss
We feel in Colden and Bogardus.
How much they vexed, and grieved, and marred us;
They cared not sixpence for the loss
We feel in Colden and Bogardus.
357
And Doctor Mitchill, LL. D.,
And Tompkins, Lord of Staten Island!
Hushed be the strain of mirth and glee,
'Twere reason now to laugh or smile.
And Tompkins, Lord of Staten Island!
Hushed be the strain of mirth and glee,
'Twere reason now to laugh or smile.
Long has proud Albany, elate,
Reared her two steeples high in air,
And boasted that she ruled the State,
Because the Governor lives there.
Reared her two steeples high in air,
And boasted that she ruled the State,
Because the Governor lives there.
But loftier now will be her tone
To know, within her walls are met
The brightest gems that ever shone
Upon a city's coronet.
To know, within her walls are met
The brightest gems that ever shone
Upon a city's coronet.
Though heavy is our load of pain
To feel that Fate has so bereft us,
Some consolations yet remain,
For Dicky Riker still is left us!
To feel that Fate has so bereft us,
Some consolations yet remain,
For Dicky Riker still is left us!
And Hope, with smile and gesture proud,
Points to a day of triumph nigh,
When, like a sunbeam from the cloud,
That dims awhile an April sky,
Points to a day of triumph nigh,
When, like a sunbeam from the cloud,
That dims awhile an April sky,
Our champions shall again return,
Their pockets with new honors crowded,
That every heart may cease to mourn,
And hats no more in crape be shrouded.
Their pockets with new honors crowded,
358
And hats no more in crape be shrouded.
The Park shall throng with merry feet,
And boys and beauties hasten there,
To place the new Judge on his seat!
And hail the great Bogardus, Mayor!
And boys and beauties hasten there,
To place the new Judge on his seat!
And hail the great Bogardus, Mayor!
H.
359
THE GREAT MORAL PICTURE.
[_]
[“Resolved that this Board will visit the Academy of Arts, for the purpose of viewing a painting, now on exhibition there, from the pencil of Mr. Rembrandt Peale, and that it be recommended to our fellow-citizens generally to go also.”]
Extract from the Minutes of the Common Council, Dec. 26, 1820.
When the wild waters from the deluged earth
Retired, and Nature woke to second birth,
And the first rainbow met the patriarch's gaze,
In the blue west—a pledge of better days;
What crowded feelings of delight were his
In that bright hour of hope and happiness!
What tears of rapture glistened in his eye,
His early tears forgot—his life's long agony!
Retired, and Nature woke to second birth,
And the first rainbow met the patriarch's gaze,
In the blue west—a pledge of better days;
What crowded feelings of delight were his
In that bright hour of hope and happiness!
What tears of rapture glistened in his eye,
His early tears forgot—his life's long agony!
So did the heart of Mr. Rembrandt Peale,
The “moral picture-painter,” beat and feel,
When by the Mayor and Aldermen was passed
That vote which made his talent known at last,
And those wise arbiters of taste and fame
Pronounced him worthy of his Christian name.
The “moral picture-painter,” beat and feel,
When by the Mayor and Aldermen was passed
That vote which made his talent known at last,
And those wise arbiters of taste and fame
Pronounced him worthy of his Christian name.
Long did he linger anxiously, in vain,
Beside his painting in the classic fane
Of science (where, arranged by Scudder's hand,
The curiosities of every land,
From Babel brickbats, and the Cashmere goat,
Down to the famous Knickerbocker boat,
Applause and wonder from the gazer seek,
Aided by martial music once a week)—
Long did he linger there, and but a few
Odd shillings his “Great Moral Picture” drew.
Beside his painting in the classic fane
Of science (where, arranged by Scudder's hand,
The curiosities of every land,
360
Down to the famous Knickerbocker boat,
Applause and wonder from the gazer seek,
Aided by martial music once a week)—
Long did he linger there, and but a few
Odd shillings his “Great Moral Picture” drew.
In vain the newspapers its beauties told,
In vain they swore 'twas worth its weight in gold,
In vain invoked each patriotic spirit,
And talked of native genius, power, and merit;
In vain the artist threatened to lay by
His innate hope of immortality,
Grow rich by painting merely human faces,
Nor longer stay and starve in public places—
All would not do—his work remained unseen,
Taste, Beauty, Fashion, talked of Mr. Kean;
But of the Moral Picture not a word
From lips of woman or of man was heard.
In vain they swore 'twas worth its weight in gold,
In vain invoked each patriotic spirit,
And talked of native genius, power, and merit;
In vain the artist threatened to lay by
His innate hope of immortality,
Grow rich by painting merely human faces,
Nor longer stay and starve in public places—
All would not do—his work remained unseen,
Taste, Beauty, Fashion, talked of Mr. Kean;
But of the Moral Picture not a word
From lips of woman or of man was heard.
The scene has changed, thanks to the Corporation,
And Peale has now a city's approbation.
“Resolved,” the Council Records say, “that we
Untie the purse-strings of the Treasury,
Take out just five-and-twenty cents a head,
And by the Mayor in grave procession led,
Visit the Academy of Arts, and then,
Preceded by the Mayor—walk back again.”
Hide your diminished heads, ye sage Reviewers!
Thank Heaven, the day is o'er with you and yours;
No longer at your shrines will Genius bow,
For mayors and aldermen are critics now.
Alike to them the Crichtons of their age,
The painter's canvas, and the poet's page,
From high to low, from law to verse they stoop,
Judges of Sessions, Science, Arts, and Soup.
And Peale has now a city's approbation.
“Resolved,” the Council Records say, “that we
Untie the purse-strings of the Treasury,
Take out just five-and-twenty cents a head,
And by the Mayor in grave procession led,
Visit the Academy of Arts, and then,
Preceded by the Mayor—walk back again.”
361
Thank Heaven, the day is o'er with you and yours;
No longer at your shrines will Genius bow,
For mayors and aldermen are critics now.
Alike to them the Crichtons of their age,
The painter's canvas, and the poet's page,
From high to low, from law to verse they stoop,
Judges of Sessions, Science, Arts, and Soup.
Time was, when Dr. Mitchill's word was law,
When monkeys, monsters, whales, and Esquimaux,
Asked but a letter from his ready hand,
To be the theme and wonder of the land.
That time is past,—henceforth each showman's doom
Must be decided in the Council Room;
And there the city's guardians will decree
An artist's or an author's destiny,
Pronounce the fate of poem, song, or sonnet,
And shape the fashion of a lady's bonnet;
Gravely determine when, and how, and where,
Bristed shall write, and Saunders shall cut hair,
'Till even the very buttons of a coat
Be settled, like assessment laws, by vote.
When monkeys, monsters, whales, and Esquimaux,
Asked but a letter from his ready hand,
To be the theme and wonder of the land.
That time is past,—henceforth each showman's doom
Must be decided in the Council Room;
And there the city's guardians will decree
An artist's or an author's destiny,
Pronounce the fate of poem, song, or sonnet,
And shape the fashion of a lady's bonnet;
Gravely determine when, and how, and where,
Bristed shall write, and Saunders shall cut hair,
'Till even the very buttons of a coat
Be settled, like assessment laws, by vote.
H.
362
GOVERNOR CLINTON'S SPEECH
At the opening of the New-York Legislature in January, 1825.
To Tallmadge
of the Upper House,
And Crolius of the lower,
After “non nobis, Domine,”
Thus saith the Governor:
James Tallmadge, of Dutchess County, Lieutenant-Governor of the State, and president of the Senate, afterward appointed American Minister to Russia. “Veracity of history,” says Hammond, in his Political History of New-York, “compels me to state that in no part of New York were political bargains more common than among some of the politicians of Dutchess County, and that Mr. Livingston (Peter R.), and Mr. Tallmadge (James), were prominent party leaders in that county.”
And Crolius of the lower,
After “non nobis, Domine,”
Thus saith the Governor:
It seems by general admission,
That, as a nation, we are thriving;
Settled in excellent condition,
Bargaining, building, and beehiving;
That each one fearlessly reclines
Beneath his “fig-tree and his vines”
(The dream of philosophic man),
And all is quiet as a Sunday,
From Orleans to the Bay of Fundy,
From Beersheba to Dan.
That, as a nation, we are thriving;
Settled in excellent condition,
Bargaining, building, and beehiving;
That each one fearlessly reclines
Beneath his “fig-tree and his vines”
(The dream of philosophic man),
And all is quiet as a Sunday,
From Orleans to the Bay of Fundy,
From Beersheba to Dan.
I've climbed my country's loftiest tree,
And reached its highest bough, save one.
Why not the highest?—blame not me;
“What man dare” do, I've done.
And though thy city—Washington!
Still mocks my eagle wing and eye,
Yet is there joy upon a throne
Even here at Albany.
For though but second in command,
Far floats my banner in the breeze,
A Captain-General's on the land,
An Admiral on the seas.
And if Ambition can ask more,
My very title—Governor—
A princely pride creates,
Because it gives me kindred claims
To greatness with those glorious names
A Sancho and a Yates!
And reached its highest bough, save one.
Why not the highest?—blame not me;
“What man dare” do, I've done.
363
Still mocks my eagle wing and eye,
Yet is there joy upon a throne
Even here at Albany.
For though but second in command,
Far floats my banner in the breeze,
A Captain-General's on the land,
An Admiral on the seas.
And if Ambition can ask more,
My very title—Governor—
A princely pride creates,
Because it gives me kindred claims
To greatness with those glorious names
A Sancho and a Yates!
As party spirit has departed,
This life to breathe and blast no more,
The patriot and the honest-hearted
Shall form my diplomatic corps.
The wise, the wittiest, the good,
Selected from my band of yore,
My own devoted band, who've stood
Beside me, stemming faction's flood
Like rocks on Ocean's shore—
Men, who, if now the field were lost,
Again would buckle sword and mail on.
Followed by them, themselves a host,
Haines, Hurtell, Herring, Pell, and Post,
Judge Miller, Mumford, and Van Wyck,
'Tis said I look extremely like
A Highland chieftain with his tail on.
This life to breathe and blast no more,
The patriot and the honest-hearted
Shall form my diplomatic corps.
The wise, the wittiest, the good,
Selected from my band of yore,
My own devoted band, who've stood
Beside me, stemming faction's flood
Like rocks on Ocean's shore—
Men, who, if now the field were lost,
Again would buckle sword and mail on.
Followed by them, themselves a host,
Haines, Hurtell, Herring, Pell, and Post,
Judge Miller, Mumford, and Van Wyck,
364
A Highland chieftain with his tail on.
A clear and comprehensive view
Of every thing in art or nature,
In this, my opening speech, is due
To an enlightened Legislature.
I therefore have arranged with care,
In orderly classification,
The following subjects, which should share
Your most mature deliberation:
Of every thing in art or nature,
In this, my opening speech, is due
To an enlightened Legislature.
I therefore have arranged with care,
In orderly classification,
The following subjects, which should share
Your most mature deliberation:
Physicians, senators, and makers
Of patent medicines and machines,
The train-bands and the Shaking Quakers,
Forts, colleges, and quarantines;
Debts, cadets, coal-mines, and canals,
Salt—the Comptroller's next report,
Reform within our prison walls,
The customs and the Supreme Court;
Delinquents, juvenile and gray,
Schools, steamboats, justices of peace.
Republics of the present day,
And those of Italy and Greece;
Militia-officers, and they
Who serve in the police—
Madmen and laws, a great variety,
The horticultural society,
The rate of interests and of tolls,
The numbering of tax-worthy souls,
Roads—and a mail three times a week,
From where the gentle Erie rolls
To Conewango Creek.
Of patent medicines and machines,
The train-bands and the Shaking Quakers,
Forts, colleges, and quarantines;
Debts, cadets, coal-mines, and canals,
Salt—the Comptroller's next report,
Reform within our prison walls,
The customs and the Supreme Court;
Delinquents, juvenile and gray,
Schools, steamboats, justices of peace.
Republics of the present day,
And those of Italy and Greece;
Militia-officers, and they
Who serve in the police—
Madmen and laws, a great variety,
The horticultural society,
365
The numbering of tax-worthy souls,
Roads—and a mail three times a week,
From where the gentle Erie rolls
To Conewango Creek.
These are a few affairs of state
On which I ask your reasoning powers,
High themes for study and debate,
For closet and for caucus hours.
On which I ask your reasoning powers,
High themes for study and debate,
For closet and for caucus hours.
This is my longest speech, but those
Who feel, that, like a cable's strength
Its power increases with its length,
Will weep to hear its close.
Weep not, my next shall be as long,
And that, like this, enbalmed in song,
Will be, when two brief years are told,
Mine own no longer, but the Nation's,
With all my speeches, new and old,
And what is more, the place I hold,
Together with its pay and rations.
Who feel, that, like a cable's strength
Its power increases with its length,
Will weep to hear its close.
Weep not, my next shall be as long,
And that, like this, enbalmed in song,
Will be, when two brief years are told,
Mine own no longer, but the Nation's,
With all my speeches, new and old,
And what is more, the place I hold,
Together with its pay and rations.
H.
| The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake | |