Fitz-Greene Halleck

“ Mine pass'd in low-roof'd leafy bower,
Yours in high halls of pomp and power,
Yet are we, be the moral told,
Alike in one thing—growing old,
Ripen'd like summer's cradled sheaf,
Faded like autumn's falling leaf—
And nearing, sail and signal spread,
The quiet anchorage of the dead.
For such is human life, wherever
The voyage of its bark may be,
On home's green-bank'd and gentle river
Or the world's shoreless, sleepless sea. ”

“ With the brown hues of summer on cheek and on brow,
The few "gens comme il faut" who are lingering here,
Are, like fruits out of season, more welcome and dear.
Like "the last rose of summer, left blooming alone,"
Or the last snows of winter, pure ice of haut ton,
Unmelted, undimm'd by the sun's brightest ray,
And, like diamonds, making night's darkness seem day.
One meets them in groups, that Canova might fancy,
At our new lounge at evening, the Opera Français,
In nines like the Muses, in threes like the Graces,
Green spots in a desert of commonplace faces. ”

“ XLVII.
'Twas their misfortune to be born too soon
By centuries, and in the wrong place too;
They never saw a steamboat, or balloon,
Velocipede, or Quarterly Review;
Or wore a pair of Baehr's black satin breeches,
Or read an Almanac, or Clinton's Speeches.
XLVIII.
In short, in every thing we far outshine them,—
Art, science, taste, and talent; and a stroll
Through this enlighten'd city would refine them
More than ten years hard study of the whole
Their genius has produced of rich and rare—
God bless the Corporation and the Mayor! ”

“ Ocean, and earth, and heaven, burst before him;
Clouds slumbering at his feet, and the clear blue
Of summer's sky in beauty bending o'er him—
The city bright below; and far away,
Sparkling in golden light, his own romantic bay.
XCVIII.
Tall spire, and glittering roof, and battlement,
And banners floating in the sunny air;
And white sails o'er the calm blue waters bent,
Green isle, and circling shore, are blended there
In wild reality. When life is old,
And many a scene forgot, the heart will hold
XCIX.
Its memory of this ”

“ And while memory lingers I'll fondly believe thee
A being with life and its best feelings warm;
And freely the wild song of gratitude weave thee,
Bless'd spirit! that bore me and mine from the storm.
CIV.
But where is Fanny? She has long been thrown
Where cheeks and roses wither—in the shade.
The age of chivalry, you know, is gone;
And although, as I once before have said,
I love a pretty face to adoration,
Yet, still, I must preserve my reputation,
CV.
As a true dandy of the modern schools. ”

“ Away—o'er the wave to the home we are seeking,
Bark of my hope! ere the evening be gone;
There's a wild, wild note in the curlew's shrieking;
There's a whisper of death in the wind's low moan.
2
Though blue and bright are the heavens above me,
And the stars are asleep on the quiet sea;
And hearts I love, and hearts that love me,
[Pg 43] Are beating beside me merrily,
3
Yet, far in the west, where the day's faded roses,
Touch'd by the moonbeam, are withering fast ”

“ No more on the river's bosom,
When sky and wave are calm,
And the clouds are in summer quietness,
And the cool night-breath is balm,
Will she glide in the swan-like stillness
Of the moon in the blue above,
A messenger from other lands,
A beacon to hope and love.
No more, in the midnight tempest,
Will she mock the mounting sea,
Strong in her oaken timbers,
[Pg 123] And her white sail's bravery.
She hath borne, in days departed,
Warm hearts upon her deck ”

“ He fancied 'twas the music of the spheres.
CLXXV.
He was mistaken, it was no such thing,
'Twas Yankee Doodle play'd by Scudder's band;
He mutter'd, as he linger'd listening,
Something of freedom and our happy land;
Then sketch'd, as to his home he hurried fast,
This sentimental song—his saddest, and his last.
I.
Young thoughts have music in them, love
And happiness their theme;
And music wanders in the wind
That lulls a morning dream.
And there are angel voices heard,
In childhood's frolic hours,
When life is but an April day
Of sunshine and of showers. ”

“ Whether dancing on Sundays, at Lebanon Springs,
With those Madame Hutins of religion, the Shakers;
Or, on Tuesdays, with maidens who seek wedding rings
At Ballston, as taught by mammas and match-makers;
Whether sailing St. Lawrence, with unbroken neck,
From her thousand green isles to her castled Quebec;
Or sketching Niagara, pencil on knee
(The giant of waters, our country's pet lion) ,
Or dipp'd at Long Branch, in the real salt sea,
With a cork for a dolphin, a Cockney Arion;
Whether roaming earth, ocean, or even the air,
Like Dan O'Rourke's eagle—good luck to you there. ”

“ Champagne will bathe the heart a while in bliss,
And keep the head a little time from thinking
Of cares or creditors—the best wine in town
You'll get from Lynch—the cash must be paid down.
XXIV.
But if you are a bachelor, like me,
And spurn all chains, even though made of roses,
I'd recommend segars—there is a free
And happy spirit, that, unseen, reposes
On the dim shadowy clouds that hover o'er you,
When smoking quietly with a warm fire before you. ”

“ There, where the ocean-wave sparkles at meeting
(As sunset dreams tell us) the kiss of the sky,
On his dim, dark cloud is the infant storm sitting,
And beneath the horizon his lightnings are nigh.
5
Another hour—and the death-word is given,
Another hour—and his lightnings are here;
Speed! speed thee, my bark; ere the breeze of even
Is lost in the tempest, our home will be near.
6
Then away o'er the wave, while thy pennant is streaming
In the shadowy light, like a shooting star;
Be swift as the thought of the wanderer, dreaming,
[Pg 44] In a stranger land, of his fireside afar. ”

“ And low he whisper'd in Low Dutch,
"It tells our doom is nigh.
"Death is the lot of mortals,
But we are young and strong,
And hoped, not boldly, for a life
Of happy years and long.
[Pg 126] "Yet 'tis a thought consoling,
That, till our latest breath,
We loved in life, and shall not be
Divided in our death.
"Alas, for those that wait us
On their couch of dreams at home,
The morn will hear the funeral cry
Around their daughter's tomb.
"They hoped" ('twas a strange moment
In Dutch to quote Shakspeare)
"Thy bride-bed to have deck'd, sweet maid,
And not have strew'd thy bier." ”

“ Alas! for Paulding—I regret to see
In such a stanza one whose giant powers,
Seen in their native element, will be
Known to a future age, the pride of ours.
There is none breathing who can better wield
[Pg 26] The battle-axe of satire. On its field
LXII.
The wreath he fought for he has bravely won,
Long be its laurel green around his brow!
It is too true, I'm somewhat fond of fun
And jesting; but for once I'm serious now.
Why is he sipping weak Castalian dews?
The muse has damn'd him—let him damn the muse
LXIII.
But to return once more: the ancients fought
Some tolerable battles. ”

“ Save a grocer's, who lost his proof-glass and bung-starter,
And a chimney sweep's, robb'd of his scraper and brush.
They linger'd till sunset and twilight had come,
Then, wearied in limb, but much polish'd in manners,
The sovereign people moved gracefully home,
In the beauty and pride of "an army with banners."
As to politics—Adams and Clinton yet live,
And reign, we presume, as we never have miss'd 'em,
And woollens and Webster continue to thrive
[Pg 106] Under something they call the American System. ”

“ The desolate relief of free complaining
Came with the morn, and with it came bad weather;
The wind was east-northeast, and it was raining
Throughout that day, which, take it altogether,
Was one whose memory clings to us through life,
[Pg 64] Just like a suit in Chancery, or a wife. ”

“ Naming the shells, and hard to put in verse 'twas,
"Testaceous coverings of bivalve moluscas."
CXLVI.
He was a trustee of a Savings Bank,
And lectured soundly every evil doer,
Gave dinners daily to wealth, power, and rank,
And sixpence every Sunday to the poor;
He was a wit, in the pun-making line—
Past fifty years of age, and five feet nine. ”

“ And he seem'd happy as a summer bird,
Careering on wet wing to meet the morn.
Some said there was a cloud upon his brow;
It might be—but we'll not discuss that now.
[Pg 55]
CXXXVI.
I left him making rhymes while crossing o'er
The broad and perilous wave of the North River.
He bade adieu, when safely on the shore,
To poetry—and, as he thought, for ever.
That night his dream (if after deeds make known
Our plans in sleep) was an enchanting one. ”

“ He thank'd them, as no doubt they kindly meant it,
And made this speech, when they had left the room:
"Of all the curses upon mortals sent,
One's creditors are the most impudent;
CL.
"Now I am one who knows what he is doing,
And suits exactly to his means his ends;
How can a man be in the path to ruin,
When all the brokers are his bosom friends? ”

“ Where pain might smooth his brow, and grief her smiles recall.
CLV.
But Fortune, like some others of her sex,
Delights in tantalizing and tormenting;
One day we feed upon their smiles—the next
Is spent in swearing, sorrowing, and repenting.
(If in the last four lines the author lies,
He's always ready to apologize.)
CLVI.
Eve never walk'd in Paradise more pure
Than on that morn when Satan play'd the devil
With her and all her race. ”

“ Manners have changed as well as moons; and he
Would fret himself once more into a passion,
Should he return (which heaven forbid!) , and see,
How strangely from his standard dictionary,
The meaning of some words is made to vary.
XLII.
For instance, an undress at present means
The wearing a pelisse, a shawl, or so;
Or any thing you please, in short, that screens
The face, and hides the form from top to toe;
Of power to brave a quizzing-glass, or storm—
'Tis worn in summer, when the weather's warm.
XLIII.
But a full dress is for a winter's night. ”

“ In a beautiful bonnet, all golden and flowery:
While the King, Mr. Bonaparte, smiles on Celeste,
Heloise, and Hutin, from his box at the Bowery.
For news, Parry still the North Sea is exploring,
And the Grand Turk has taken, they say, the Acropolis,
And we, in Swamp Place, have discover'd, in boring,
[Pg 105] A mineral spring to refine the metropolis. ”

“ To say that there are wrinkles on her brow;
Yet, to be candid, she is past eighteen—
Perhaps past twenty—but the girl is shy
[Pg 6] About her age, and Heaven forbid that I
II.
Should get myself in trouble by revealing
A secret of this sort; I have too long
Loved pretty women with a poet's feeling,
And when a boy, in day dream and in song,
Have knelt me down and worshipp'd them: alas!
They never thank'd me for't—but let that pass. ”

“ For he had been, it seems, the bosom friend
Of England's prettiest bard, Anacreon Moore.
They met when he, the bard, came here to lend
His mirth and music to this favourite shore;
For, as the proverb saith, "birds of a feather
Instinctively will flock and fly together."
LXXV.
The winds that wave thy cedar boughs are breathing,
"Lake of the Dismal Swamp!" that poet's name ”

“ Has rang; and Clinton's "order" told afar
He never led a better corps to war.
LXVI.
What, Egypt, was thy magic, to the tricks
Of Mr. Charles, Judge Spencer, or Van Buren?
The first with cards, the last in politics,
A conjuror's fame for years have been securing. ”

“ Any thing worth repeating—'twas a dull,
Good, honest man—what Paulding's muse would call
A "cabbage head"—but he excelled them all
IX.
In that most noble of the sciences,
The art of making money; and he found
The zeal for quizzing him grew less and less,
As he grew richer ”

“ His shop is a grocer's—a snug, genteel place,
Near the corner of Oak-street and Pearl;
He can dress, dance, and bow to the ladies with grace
[Pg 108] And ties his cravat with a curl.
He's ask'd to all parties—north, south, east, and west,
That take place between Chatham and Cherry,
And when he's been absent full oft has the "best
Society" ceased to be merry. ”

“ And Miss Fleece, who's a hosier, and not quite as young,
But is wealthier far than Miss Flounce,
She "entertains" also to-night with cold tongue,
Smoked herring, and cherry-bounce.
In praise of cold water the Theban bard spoke,
He of Teos sang sweetly of wine;
Miss Flounce is a Pindar in cashmere and cloak,
Miss Fleece an Anacreon divine.
The Montagues carry the day in Swamp Place;
In Pike-street the Capulets reign;
A limonadière is the badge of one race,
[Pg 110] Of the other a flask of Champagne. ”

“ For 'tis vain to deny (though the city o'erflows
[Pg 103] With well-dressed men and women, whom nobody knows)
That one rarely sees persons whose nod is an honour,
A lady with fashion's own impress upon her ”