TO THE PORTRAIT OF "A LADY"

In the Athenæum Gallery

Well, Miss, I wonder where you live,
I wonder what's your name,

I wonder how you came to be
In such a stylish frame;

Perhaps you were a favorite child,
Perhaps an only one;

Perhaps your friends were not aware
You had your portrait done!

Yet you must be a harmless soul; I cannot think that Sin

Would care to throw his loaded dice,
With such a stake to win;

I cannot think you would provoke
The poet's wicked pen,

Or make young women bite their lips,
Or ruin fine young men.

Pray, did you ever hear, my love,
Of boys that go about,
Who, for a very trifling sum,

Will snip one's picture out?
I'm not averse to red and white,
But all things have their place,
I think a profile cut in black
Would suit your style of face!

I love sweet features; I will own
That I should like myself

To see my portrait on a wall,
Or bust upon a shelf;

But nature sometimes makes one up
Of such sad odds and ends,

It really might be quite as well Hushed up among one's friends!

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The Amateur, June 15, 1830.

THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN

It was a tall young oysterman lived by the river-side,

His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;

Alas for those two loving ones! she waked not from her swound,

And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned;

But Fate has metamorphosed them, in pity of their woe,

And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below.

The Amateur, July 17, 1830.

THE MUSIC-GRINDERS

There are three ways in which men take One's money from his purse,

And very hard it is to tell

Which of the three is worse;

But all of them are bad enough
To make a body curse.

You 're riding out some pleasant day,
And counting up your gains;

A fellow jumps from out a bush,
And takes your horse's reins,
Another hints some words about
A bullet in your brains.

It's hard to meet such pressing friends
In such a lonely spot;
It's very hard to lose your cash,
But harder to be shot;

And so you take your wallet out,
Though you would rather not.

Perhaps you 're going out to dine,

Some odious creature begs
You'll hear about the cannon-ball
That carried off his pegs,
And says it is a dreadful thing
For men to lose their legs.

He tells you of his starving wife,
His children to be fed,

Poor little, lovely innocents,
All clamorous for bread,-

And so you kindly help to put
A bachelor to bed.

You 're sitting on your window-seat,
Beneath a cloudless moon;

You hear a sound, that seems to wear
The semblance of a tune,

As if a broken fife should strive
To drown a cracked bassoon.

And nearer, nearer still, the tide

Of music seems to come,

There's something like a human voice, And something like a drum;

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You sit in speechless agony,

Until your ear is numb.

Poor "home, sweet home" should seem to be

A very dismal place;

Your "auld acquaintance" all at once
Is altered in the face;

Their discords sting through Burns and
Moore,

Like hedgehogs dressed in lace.
You think they are crusaders, sent
From some infernal clime,
To pluck the eyes of Sentiment,
And dock the tail of Rhyme,
To crack the voice of Melody,
And break the legs of Time.

But hark! the air again is still,
The music all is ground,

And silence, like a poultice, comes
To heal the blows of sound;

It cannot be,-it is,-it is,

A hat is going round!

No! Pay the dentist when he leaves
A fracture in your jaw,

And pay the owner of the bear

That stunned you with his paw,
And buy the lobster that has had
Your knuckles in his claw;

But if you are a portly man,
Put on your fiercest frown,
And talk about a constable

To turn them out of town;
Then close your sentence with an oath,
And shut the window down!

And if you are a slender man,
Not big enough for that,
Or, if you cannot make a speech,
Because you are a flat,

Go very quietly and drop
A button in the hat!

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New England Galaxy, 1830.

OLD IRONSIDES 1

Ay, tear her tattered ensign down!
Long has it waved on high,
And many an eye has danced to see
That banner in the sky;

1 The "Constitution" was launched in 1797, served against the pirates in the Mediterranean, and became famous for her exploits in the War of 1812. She was almost entirely rebuilt in 1834 and continued in commission until 1881. See Freneau's "Ode on the Frigate Constitution," p. 115.

On, on by whistling spheres of light
He flashes and he flames;
He turns not to the left nor right,
He asks them not their names;
One spurn from his demoniac heel,-
Away, away they fly,

Where darkness might be bottled up
And sold for "Tyrian dye."

And what would happen to the land, And how would look the sea,

If in the bearded devil's path

Our earth should chance to be?
Full hot and high the sea would boil,
Full red the forests gleam;
Methought I saw and heard it all
In a dyspeptic dream!

I saw a tutor take his tube
The Comet's course to spy;

I heard a scream,-the gathered rays
Had stewed the tutor's eye;

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I saw a fort, the soldiers all
Were armed with goggles green;
Pop cracked the guns! whiz flew the balls!
Bang went the magazine!

I saw a poet dip a scroll
Each moment in a tub,

I read upon the warping back,
"The Dream of Beelzebub";
He could not see his verses burn,
Although his brain was fried,
And ever and anon he bent
To wet them as they dried.