Part 9 (2/2)

I hate your tragedies, both long and short ones (Except Tom Thumb, and Juan's Pantomime); And stories woven of sorrows and misfortunes Are bad enough in prose, and worse in rhyme; Mine, therefore, must be brief. Under protest His notes remain--the wise can guess the rest.

CLXV.

CLXVI.

For two whole days they were the common talk; The party, and the failure, and all that, The theme of loungers in their morning walk, Porter-house reasoning, and tea-table chat.

The third, some newer wonder came to blot them, And on the fourth, the ”meddling world” forgot them.

CLXVII.

Anxious, however, something to discover, I pa.s.s'd their house--the shutters were all closed; The song of knocker and of bell was over; Upon the steps two chimney sweeps reposed; And on the door my dazzled eyebeam met These cabalistic words--”this house to let.”

CLXVIII.

They live now, like chameleons, upon air And hope, and such cold, unsubstantial dishes; That they removed, is clear, but when or where None knew. The curious reader, if he wishes, May ask them, but in vain. Where grandeur dwells, The marble dome--the popular rumour tells;

CLXIX.

But of the dwelling of the proud and poor From their own lips the world will never know When better days are gone--it is secure Beyond all other mysteries here below, Except, perhaps, a maiden lady's age, When past the noonday of life's pilgrimage.

CLXX.

f.a.n.n.y! 'twas with her name my song began; 'Tis proper and polite her name should end it; If in my story of her woes, or plan Or moral can be traced, 'twas not intended; And if I've wrong'd her, I can only tell her I'm sorry for it--so is my bookseller.

CLXXI.

I met her yesterday--her eyes were wet-- She faintly smiled, and said she had been reading The Treasurer's Report in the Gazette, M'Intyre's speech, and Campbell's ”Love lies bleeding;”

She had a shawl on, 'twas not a Cashmere one, And if it cost five dollars, 'twas a dear one.

CLXXII.

Her father sent to Albany a prayer For office, told how fortune had abused him, And modestly requested to be Mayor-- The Council very civilly refused him; Because, however much they might desire it, The ”public good,” it seems, did not require it.

CLXXIII.

Some evenings since, he took a lonely stroll Along Broadway, scene of past joys and evils; He felt that withering bitterness of soul, Quaintly denominated the ”blue devils;”

And thought of Bonaparte and Belisarius, Pompey, and Colonel Burr, and Caius Marius,

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