Poems [37]
like bubbles that burst on the shore.
'Tis useless to speak of Broadway and the Bowery, Both are improving and growing so fast! Who would have thought that old Stuyvesant's dowery Would hold in its precincts a play-house [See Notes] at last? Well, wonder ne'er ceases, but daily increases, And pulling to pieces, the town to renew, So often engages the thoughts of our sages, That when the fit rages, what will they not do?
'Tis useless to speak of the want of propriety In forming our city so crooked and long; Our ancestors, bless them, were fond of variety-- 'Tis naughty to say that they ever were wrong! Tho' strangers may grumble, and thro' the streets and stumble, Take care they don't tumble through crevices small, For trap-doors we've plenty, on sidewalk and entry, And no one stands sentry to see they don't fall.
'Tis useless to speak of amusements so various, Of opera-singers [See Notes] that few understand; Of Kean's [See Notes] reputation, so sadly precarious When he arrived in this prosperous land. The public will hear him--and hark! how they cheer him! Though editors jeer him--we all must believe He pockets the dollars of sages and scholars: Of course then it follows--he laughs in his sleeve.
'Tis useless to speak--but just put on your spectacles, Read about Chatham, and Peale's [See Notes] splendid show: There's Scudder and Dunlap--they both have receptacles Which, I assure you, are now all the go. 'Tis here thought polite too, should giants delight you, And they should invite you, to look at their shapes; To visit their dwelling, where Indians are yelling, And handbills are telling of wonderful apes!
'Tis useless to speak of the din that so heavily Fell on our senses as midnight drew near; Trumpets and bugles and conch-shells, so cleverly Sounded the welkin with happy New Year! With jewsharps and timbrels, and musical thimbles, Tin-platters for cymbals, and frying-pans too; Dutch-ovens and brasses, and jingles and glasses, With reeds of all classes, together they blew! [See Notes]
Then since it is useless to speak about anything All have examined and laid on the shelf, Perhaps it is proper to say now and then a thing Touching the "Mirror"[See Notes]--the day--and myself. Our work's not devoted, as you may have noted, To articles quoted from books out of print; Instead of the latter, profusely we scatter Original matter that's fresh from the mint.
Patrons, I greet you with feelings of gratitude; Ladies, to please you is ever my care-- Nor wish I, on earth, for a sweeter beatitude, If I but bask in the smiles of the fair. Such bliss to a poet is precious--you know it-- And while you bestow it, the heart feels content: Your bounty has made us, and still you will aid us, But some have not paid us--we hope they'll repent!
For holyday pleasure, why these are the times for it; Pardon me, then, for so trifling a lay; This stanza shall end it, if I can find rhymes for it-- May you, dear patrons, be happy to-day! Tho' life is so fleeting, and pleasure so cheating, That we are oft meeting with accidents here, Should Fate seek to dish you, oh then may the issue Be what I now wish you--A HAPPY NEW YEAR!
The Hero's Legacy.
Upon the couch of death, The champion of the free, Gave, with his parting breath, This solemn legacy:-- "Sheathed be the battle-blade, "And hushed the cannons' thunder: "The glorious UNION GOD hath made, "Let no man put asunder! "War banish from the land, "Peace cultivate with all! "United you must stand, "Divided you will fall! "Cemented with our blood, "The UNION keep unriven!" While freemen heard this counsel good, His spirit soared to heaven.
What Can It Mean?
(Written for Miss Poole, and sung by her in the character of cowslip.)
I'm much too young to marry, For I am only seventeen; Why think I, then, of Harry? What can it mean--what can it mean?
Wherever Harry meets me, Beside the brook or on the green, How tenderly he greets me! What can it mean--what
'Tis useless to speak of Broadway and the Bowery, Both are improving and growing so fast! Who would have thought that old Stuyvesant's dowery Would hold in its precincts a play-house [See Notes] at last? Well, wonder ne'er ceases, but daily increases, And pulling to pieces, the town to renew, So often engages the thoughts of our sages, That when the fit rages, what will they not do?
'Tis useless to speak of the want of propriety In forming our city so crooked and long; Our ancestors, bless them, were fond of variety-- 'Tis naughty to say that they ever were wrong! Tho' strangers may grumble, and thro' the streets and stumble, Take care they don't tumble through crevices small, For trap-doors we've plenty, on sidewalk and entry, And no one stands sentry to see they don't fall.
'Tis useless to speak of amusements so various, Of opera-singers [See Notes] that few understand; Of Kean's [See Notes] reputation, so sadly precarious When he arrived in this prosperous land. The public will hear him--and hark! how they cheer him! Though editors jeer him--we all must believe He pockets the dollars of sages and scholars: Of course then it follows--he laughs in his sleeve.
'Tis useless to speak--but just put on your spectacles, Read about Chatham, and Peale's [See Notes] splendid show: There's Scudder and Dunlap--they both have receptacles Which, I assure you, are now all the go. 'Tis here thought polite too, should giants delight you, And they should invite you, to look at their shapes; To visit their dwelling, where Indians are yelling, And handbills are telling of wonderful apes!
'Tis useless to speak of the din that so heavily Fell on our senses as midnight drew near; Trumpets and bugles and conch-shells, so cleverly Sounded the welkin with happy New Year! With jewsharps and timbrels, and musical thimbles, Tin-platters for cymbals, and frying-pans too; Dutch-ovens and brasses, and jingles and glasses, With reeds of all classes, together they blew! [See Notes]
Then since it is useless to speak about anything All have examined and laid on the shelf, Perhaps it is proper to say now and then a thing Touching the "Mirror"[See Notes]--the day--and myself. Our work's not devoted, as you may have noted, To articles quoted from books out of print; Instead of the latter, profusely we scatter Original matter that's fresh from the mint.
Patrons, I greet you with feelings of gratitude; Ladies, to please you is ever my care-- Nor wish I, on earth, for a sweeter beatitude, If I but bask in the smiles of the fair. Such bliss to a poet is precious--you know it-- And while you bestow it, the heart feels content: Your bounty has made us, and still you will aid us, But some have not paid us--we hope they'll repent!
For holyday pleasure, why these are the times for it; Pardon me, then, for so trifling a lay; This stanza shall end it, if I can find rhymes for it-- May you, dear patrons, be happy to-day! Tho' life is so fleeting, and pleasure so cheating, That we are oft meeting with accidents here, Should Fate seek to dish you, oh then may the issue Be what I now wish you--A HAPPY NEW YEAR!
The Hero's Legacy.
Upon the couch of death, The champion of the free, Gave, with his parting breath, This solemn legacy:-- "Sheathed be the battle-blade, "And hushed the cannons' thunder: "The glorious UNION GOD hath made, "Let no man put asunder! "War banish from the land, "Peace cultivate with all! "United you must stand, "Divided you will fall! "Cemented with our blood, "The UNION keep unriven!" While freemen heard this counsel good, His spirit soared to heaven.
What Can It Mean?
(Written for Miss Poole, and sung by her in the character of cowslip.)
I'm much too young to marry, For I am only seventeen; Why think I, then, of Harry? What can it mean--what can it mean?
Wherever Harry meets me, Beside the brook or on the green, How tenderly he greets me! What can it mean--what