 | The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake |  |
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.
| The poetical writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck, with extracts from those of Joseph Rodman Drake | |