Chapter IV: Front Matter (4)

Georgie, come home!--Thy gentle look can banish The gathering gloom round this once cheerful hearth; In thy sweet presence all our care will vanish, And sorrow soften into mellow mirth. Return, my darling, never more to roam: Heart of the Highlands!--Georgie, dear, come home!

Song of the Sewing-Machine

I'm the Iron Needle-Woman!
Wrought of sterner stuff than clay;
And, unlike the drudges human,
Never weary night or day;
Never shedding tears of sorrow,
Never mourning friends untrue,
Never caring for the morrow,
Never begging work to do.

Poverty brings no disaster!
Merrily I glide along,
For no thankless, sordid master,
Ever seeks to do me wrong:
No extortioners oppress me,
No insulting words I dread--
I've no children to distress me
With unceasing cries for bread.

I'm of hardy form and feature,
For endurance framed aright;
I'm not pale misfortune's creature,
Doomed life's battle here to fight:
Mine's a song of cheerful measure,
And no under-currents flow
To destroy the throb of pleasure
Which the poor so seldom know.

In the hall I hold my station,
With the wealthy ones of earth,
Who commend me to the nation
For economy and worth,
While unpaid the female labor,
In the attic-chamber lone,
Where the smile of friend or neighbor
Never for a moment shone.

My creation is a blessing
To the indigent secured,
Banishing the cares distressing
Which so many have endured:
Mine are sinews superhuman,
Ribs of oak and nerves of steel--
I'm the Iron Needle-Woman
Born to toil and not to feel.

My Lady Waits for Me.

Suggested by a popular German melody.

My lady waits!--'Tis now the hour When morn unbars her gates!-- My vessel glides beneath the tower Where now my lady waits. Her signal flutters from the wall, Above the friendly sea! I life but to obey her call! My lady waits for me. My lady waits--for me she waits, While morning opes her golden gates.

My lady waits!--No fairer flower E'er deck'd the floral grove, Than she, the pride of hall and bower, The lady of my love! The eastern hills are flecked with light, The land-breeze curls the sea! By love and truth sustained, for flight, My lady waits for me. My lady waits--for me she waits, While morning opes her golden gates.

Music.

The wind-harp has music it moans to the tree, And so has the shell that complains to the sea, The lark that sings merrily over the lea, The reed of the rude shepherd boy! We revel in music when day has begun, When rock-fountains gush into glee as they run, And stars of the morn sing their hymns to the sun, Who brightens the hill-tops with joy!

The spirit of melody floats in the air, Her instruments tuning to harmony there, Our senses beguiling from sorrow and care, In blessings sent down from above! But Nature has music far more to my choice-- And all in her exquisite changes rejoice! No tones thrill my heart like the dear human voice When breathed by the being I love!

The Millionaire.

In the upper circles
Moves a famous man
Who has had no equal
Since the world began.
He was once a broker
Down by the exchange;
He is now a nabob--
Don't you think it strange?

In his low back office,
Near the Bowling Green,
With his brother brokers
He was often seen;--
Shaving and discounting,
Dabbling in the stocks,
He achieved a fortune
Of a million ROCKS!'

Next he formed a marriage
With a lady fair,
And his splendid carriage
Bowled about THE square,
Where his spacious mansion
Like a palace stood,
Envied and admired
By the multitude.

Then he took the tour
Of the continent,
Bearer of dispatches
From the President:
A legation button
By permission wore,
And became that worthy,
An official bore.

Charmed with foreign countries,
Lots of coin to spend,
He a house in London
Took a the West End,
Where he dwelt a season,
And in grandeur shone,
But to all the beau monde
Utterly unknown.

England then was "foggy,
And society
Too aristocratic"
For his--pedigree:
So he crossed the channel
To escape the BLUES,
And became the idol
Of the parvenues.

"Dear, delightful Paris!"
He would often say:
"Every earthly pleasure
One can have for--pay.
Wealth gives high position;
But when money's tight,
Man is at a discount,
And it serves him right."

After years of study
How to cut a dash,
He came home embellished
With a huge--moustache!
Now he is a lion,
All the rage up town,
And gives gorgeous parties
Supervised by--Brown!

The almighty dollar
Is, no doubt, divine,
And he worships daily
At that noble shrine;
Fashion is his idol,
Money is his god,
And they both together
Rule him like a rod.

Books, and busts, and pictures,
Are with him a card--
While abroad he bought them
Cheaply--by the yard!
But his sumptuous dinners,
To a turn quite right,
With his boon companions,
Are his chief delight.

Thee his wit and wassail,
Like twin-currents flow
In his newest stories,
Published--long ago.
His enchanted hearers
Giggle till they weep,
As it is their duty
Till they--fall asleep.

* * * *

On his carriage panel
Is a blazoned crest,
With a Latin motto
Given him--in jest.
His black coach and footman,
Dressed in livery,
Every day at Stewart's
Many crowd to see.

* * * *

Well--in upper-ten-dom
Let him rest in peace,
And may his investments
Cent, per cent, increase:
Though on earth for no one
Cares the millionaire,
So does NOT exactly
His devoted--heir!

* * * *

There's a useful moral
Woven with my rhyme,
Which may be considered
At--some other time:
Crockery is not porcelain--
It is merely delf--
And the kind most common
Is the man himself.

In Memory of Charles H. Sandford.

He died, as he had lived, beloved,
Without an enemy on earth;
In word and deed he breathed and moved
The soul of honor and of worth:
His hand was open as the day,
His bearing high, his nature brave;
And, when from life he passed away,
Our hearts went with him to the grave.

What desolation filled our home
When death from us our treasure bore!--
Oh! for the better world to come
Where we shall meet to part no more!
The hope of THAT sustains us now,
In THAT we trust on bended knee,
While thus around his faded brow
We twine the wreath of memory.

Seventy-Six.

Before the Battle.

The clarion call of liberty
Rings on the startled gales!
The rising hills reverberate
The rising of the vales!
Through all the land the thrilling shout
Swift as an arrow goes!
Columbia's champions arm and out
To battle with her foes!

After the Battle

The bugle-song of victory
Is vocal in the air!
The strains, by warrior-voices breathed,
Are echoed by the fair!
The eagle, with the wreath, blood-bought,
Soars proudly to the sun,
Proclaiming the "good fight is fought,
And the great victory won!"

A Parody.

On old Long Island's sea-girt shore
We caught a cod the other day;
He never had been there before,
And wished that he had stayed away.
We laid him on the beach to dry,
Then served him frizzled on a dish,
A warning to the smaller fry,
As well as all the larger fish.
O--o--o--o--o!
On old Long Island's sea-girt shore
We caught a cod the other day;
He never had been there before,
And wished that he had stayed away.

Oh, 'twas a scaly thing to haul
This tom-cod from his native spray,
And thus to frighten, one and all,
The finny tribe from Rockaway!
They shun the fisher's hook and line,
And never venture near his net,
So, when at Rockaway you dine,
Now not a thing but clams you get!
O--o--o--o--o!
On old Long Island's sea-girt shore
We caught a cod the other day;
He never had been there before,
And wished that he had stayed away!

Should critics at my ballad carp,
To them this simple truth I'll say,
The grammar's quite as good as Sharp
Wrote on the beach of Rockaway:
The tune's the same that Russell cribbed
With the addition of his O,
Which makes it, or the singer fibbed,
Original and all the go--
O--o--o--o--o!
On old Long Island's sea-girt shore
We caught a cod the other day;
He never had been there before,
And wished that he had stayed away!

The Stag-Hunt.

The morning is breaking--
The stag is away!
The hounds and the hunters
The signal obey!
The horn bids the echoes
Awake as we go,
And nature is jocund
With hark!--tally-ho!
Hark away!
Tally-ho!

Hark forward!--Tantivy!--
The woodland resounds
With shouts of the sportsmen
To cheer on the hounds!
The horse and his rider,
The deer and his foe,
Dash by to the music
Of hark!--tally-ho!
(He's at bay!)
Tally-ho!

Deliver Us From Evil.

Deliver us from evil, Heavenly Father!
It still besets us wheresoe'er we go!
Bid the bright rays of revelation gather
To light the darkness in our way of wo!
Remove the sin that stains our souls--for ever!
Out doubts dispel--our confidence restore!
Write thy forgiveness on our hearts, and never
Let us in vain petition for it more.

Release us from the sorrows that attend us!
Our nerves are torn--at every vein we bleed!
Almighty Parent! with thy strength befriend us!
Else we are helpless in our time of need!
Sustain us, Lord, with thy pure Holy Spirit--
New vigor give to Nature's faltering frame;
And, at life's close, permit us to inherit
The hope that's promised in the Saviour's name.

Union.

This word beyond all others,
Makes us love our country most,
Makes us feel that we are brothers,
And a heart-united host!--
With hosanna let our banner
From the house-tops be unfurled,
While the nation holds her station
With the mightiest of the world!
Take your harps from silent willows,
Shout the chorus of the free;
"States are all distinct as billows,
Union one--as is the sea!"

From the land of groves that bore us
He's a traitor who would swerve!
By the flag now waving o'er us
We the compact will preserve!
Those who gained it and sustained it,
Were unto each other true,
And the fable well is able
To instruct us what to do!
Take your harps from silent willows,
Shout the chorus of the free;
"States are all distinct as billows,
Union one--as is the sea!"

We Part For Ever

Fare thee well--we part for ever!
All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Other skies may bend above thee,
Other hearts may seek thy shrine,
But no other e'er will love thee
With the constancy of mine.
Yet farewell--we part for ever!
All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Fare thee well!

Like the shadow on the dial
Lingers still our parting kiss!
Life has no severer trial,
Death no pang to equal this.
All the world is now before thee,
Every clime to roam at will,
But within the land that bore thee,
One fond heart will love thee still.
Yet farewell--we part for ever!
All regrets are now in vain!
Fate decrees that we must sever,
Ne'er to meet on earth again.
Fare thee well!

Come to Me in Cherry-time.

Come to me in cherry-time,
And, as twilight closes,
We will have a merry time,
Here among the roses!
When the breezes crisp the tide,
And the lindens quiver,
In our bark we'll safely glide
Down the rocky river!

When the stars, with quiet ray,
All the hill-tops brighten,
Cherry-ripe we'll sing and play
Where the cherries ripen!
Then come to me in cherry-time,
And, as twilight closes,
We will have a merry time
Here among the roses.

On the Death of Mrs. Jessie Willis.

After life's eventful mission,
In her truthfulness and worth,
Like a calm and gentle vision
She has passed away from earth.

Lovely she in frame and feature!
Blended purity and grace!--
The Creator in the creature
Glowed in her expressive face!

Angel of a nature human!
Essence of a celestial love!
Heart and soul of trusting woman,
Gone to her reward above!

Mourners, dry your tears of sorrow--
Read the golden promise o'er;
There will dawn a cheerful morrow
When we meet to part no more.

Thank God for Pleasant Weather.

Thank God for pleasant weather!
Chant it, merry rills!
And clap your hands together,
Ye exulting hills!
Thank Him, teeming valley!
Thank Him, fruitful plain!
For the golden sunshine,
And the silver rain.

Thank God, of good the giver!
Shout it, sportive breeze!
Respond, oh, tuneful river!
To the nodding tees.
Thank Him, bud and birdling!
As ye grow and sing!
Mingle in thanksgiving
Every living thing!

Thank God, with cheerful spirit,
In a glow of love,
For what we here inherit,
And our hopes above!--
Universal Nature
Revels in her birth,
When God, in pleasant weather,
Smiles upon the earth!

The Master's Song.

Written for the freemasons of St. John's Lodge No. 1, New York.

Members of an order
Ancient as the earth;
All within our border
Realize its worth.
Genial is the greeting
That awaits us there,
On the level meeting,
Parting on the square.
Like the workmen olden,
Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
Ever bear in mind.

Masons never falter,
We each other know,
As around the altar
Hand in hand we go;
Loud hosannas singing
To our Source above,
And heart-offerings bringing
To the God of Love.
Like the workmen olden,
Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
Ever bear in mind.

There's a mystic beauty
In our working plan,
Teaching man his duty
To his fellow man:
As a band of brothers,
Ever just and true,
Do we unto others
As we'd have them do.
Like the workmen olden,
Who our craft designed,
We the precept golden
Ever bear in mind.

The Missing Ship.

She left the port in gallant style,
With sails and streamers full and free!
I watched her course for many a mile
Far out upon the distant sea!
At dusk she lessened to a speck,
And then I could not trace her more!
Sad hearts were beating on her deck,
Sad hearts were beating on the shore.

Two of the outward bound I knew,
One beautiful, the other brave--
The master worthy, and the crew
Born to contend with wind and wave:
For travel some, and some for gain,
And some for health had gone abroad;
Our prayers were with them on the main,
God-speed the ship and all on board!

That vessel never reached the land!
No tidings of her ever came!
Those who beheld her leave the strand,
For years in anguish heard her name!
And even now in vain they try
To breathe it with a tranquil lip,
Or hide the moisture of the eye
While speaking of that missing ship.

Jeannie Marsh.

Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley, At whose call the muses rally; Of all the nine none so divine As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley. She minds me of her native scenes, Where she was born among the cherries; Of peaches, plums, and nectarines, Pears, apricots, and ripe strawberries.

Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley, In whose name the muses rally; Of all the nine none so divine As Jeannie Marsh of Cherry Valley. A sylvan nymph of queenly grace, A goddess she in form and feature; The sweet expression of the place, A dimple in the smile of nature.

Lucy.

Thanks for your stanzas, Lucy,
My sister dear in song!
How many pleasant fancies
With these sweet numbers throng,
Which, like spring's tuneful brooklets,
Trip merrily along.

Sometimes, my sportive Lucy,
Your words will whirl around,
Like foam-beads on the water,
Or rose-leaves on the ground,
Or waltzers in the ball-room,
To music's airy sound.

There is, my gentle Lucy,
In all you say or do,
A bright poetic impulse,
Original and true,
Which Art can not acquire,
And Nature gave to you.

The olden fable, Lucy,
My muse to you would bring:
The bird that can but will not,
Should be compelled to sing!
The story and its moral
To modern memories cling.

Awake the harp, dear Lucy!
Like the electric wire
It will convey to millions
The heart-absorbing fire!
And those who lean to listen
Will linger to admire.

Epitaph.

All that's beautiful in woman,
All we in her nature love,
All that's good in all that's human,
Passed this gate to courts above.

In Memory of John W. Francis, Jr.

He was the pulse-beat of true hearts,
The love-light of fond eyes:
When such a man from earth departs,
'Tis the survivor dies.

Nature's Nobleman

A Fragment.

When winter's cold and summer's heat Shall come and go again, A hundred years will be complete Since Marion crossed the main, And brought unto this wild retreat His dark-eyed wife of Spain.

He was the founder of a free And independent band, Who lit the fires of liberty The revolution fanned:-- His patent of nobility Read in the ransomed land!

Around his deeds a lustre throngs, A heritage designed To teach the world to spurn the wrongs Once threatened all mankind:-- To his posterity belongs The peerage of the mind.

A Wall-Street Lyric.

John was thought both rich and great-- Dick so-so, but comfortable: John lived at a splendid rate-- Coach and horses in his stable. John could ride when Dick should walk-- (This excited people's talk!)-- For John's wealth, Dick's rugged health Few would exchange if they were able!

Dick was friendly years ago-- With ingratitude John paid him: Dick found this was always so When John had a chance to aid him. John still cut a brilliant dash, While he could command the cash, But for Dick, whom John would kick, At last a change of luck has made him!

John, 'tis said, is "bound" to lose Lots by rail, and 'bus, and cable! And the banks his notes refuse, Now they think his state unstable. This may be a story strange Of the bulls and bears on 'change, Where the truth, in age and youth, Is often a poetic fable!

King Cotton.

Old Cotton is king, boys--aha!
With his locks so fleecy and white!
He shines among kings like a star!
And his is the sceptre of right,
Boys, of right,
And his is the sceptre of right!

Old Cotton, the king, has no care,
No queen, and no heir to his throne,
No courtiers, his triumphs to share,
He rules his dominions alone,
Boys, alone!
He rules his dominions alone!

Old Cotton, the merry old boy!--
Like smoke from the pipe in his mouth
His years glide away in their joy,
At home, in the warm sunny south,
Boys, the south,
At home, in the warm sunny south!

Old Cotton will pleasantly reign
When other kings painfully fall,
And ever and ever remain
The mightiest monarch of all,
Boys, of all,
The mightiest monarch of all!

Then here's to old Cotton, the king!
His true loyal subjects are we:
We'll laugh and we'll quaff and we'll sing,
A jolly old fellow is he,
Boys, is he,
A jolly old fellow is he!

Words

Adapted to a Spanish Melody.

My lady hath as soft a hand As any queen in fairy-land; And, hidden in her tiny boot, As dainty and as light a foot. Her foot! Her little hand and foot!

No star that kindles in the sky Burns brighter than my lady's eye; And ne'er before did beauty grace So fair a form, so sweet a face! Her face! Her gentle form and face!

My lady hath a golden heart, Free from the dross of worldly art; Which, in the sight of heaven above, Is mine with all its hoarded love! Her love! Her boundless wealth of love!

Love in Exile.

Adapted to a Hungarian melody.

My heart I gave you with my hand, In brighter days than these, In that down-trodden father-land Beyond the distant seas, Where you were all the world to me, Devoted, fond, and true, And I, in our prosperity, Was all the world to you! Robbed by a tyrant's iron sway, We're banished from that land away!

Sad wanderers from our native home! A ruler in a foe! An exiled caravan we roam; But hand in hand WE go! And thus whatever fate betide We bless our lot in life, Since no misfortunes may divide The husband and the wife! Here we defy the tyrant's will, We're happy in each other still!

To The Evening Star.

The woods waved welcome in the breeze,
When, many years ago,
Lured by the songs of birds and bees,
I sought the dell below;
And there, in that secluded spot,
Where silver streamlets roved,
Twined the green ivy round the cot
Of her I fondly loved.

In dreams still near that porch I stand
To listen to her vow!
Still feel the pressure of her hand
Upon my burning brow!
And here, as in the days gone by,
With joy I meet her yet,
And mark the love-light of her eyes,
Fringed with its lash of jet.

O fleeting vision of the past!
From memory glide away!
Ye were too beautiful to last,
Too good to longer stay!
But why, attesting evening star,
This sermon sad recall:
"THAN LOVE AND LOSE 'TIS BETTER FAR
TO NEVER LOVE AT ALL!"

Welcome Home.

My Mary's voice!--It is the hour She promised to be here: Taught by love's mysterious power, I know that she is near. I hear the melody she sings Beneath our happy dome, And now the woodland cheerly rings With Mary's welcome home.

My Mary's voice!--I hear it thrill In rapture on the gale, As she comes gliding down the hill To meet me in the vale. In all the world, on land or sea, Where'er I chance to roam, No music is so sweet to me As Mary's welcome home.

The Sycamore Shade.

I knew a sweet girl, with a bonny blue eye,
Who was born in the shade
The wild sycamore made,
Where the brook sang its song
All the summer-day long,
And the moments went merrily by,
Like the birdlings the moments flew by.

I knew a fair maid, soul-enchanting in grace,
Who replied to my vow,
'Neath the sycamore bough,
"Like the brook to the sea,
Oh, I yearn, love, for thee!"
And she hid in my bosom her face--
In my bosom, her beautiful face.

I have a dear wife, who is ever my guide!
Wooed and won in the shade
The wild sycamore made,
Where the brook sings it song
All the summer-day long,
And the moments in harmony glide,
Like our lives they in harmony glide.

Up the Hudson.

Song and Chorus.

Up the Hudson!--Fleetly gliding
To our haunts among the trees!
Joy the gallant vessel guiding
With a fresh and cheerful breeze!
Wives and dear ones yearn to meet us--
(Hearts that love us to the core!)
And with fond expressions greet us
As we near the welcome shore!

Chorus.

Ho! ye inland seas and islands!--
(Echo follows where we go!)
Ho! ye headlands, hills, and highlands!
Ho! ye Undercliffeans, ho!

Up the Hudson!--Rock and river,
Grove and glen pronounce His praise,
Who, of every "Good the Giver,"
Leads us through these pleasant ways!--
Care recedes like water-traces
Of our bark, as on we glide,
Where the hand of nature graces
Homesteads on the Hudson side!

Chorus.

Ho! ye inland seas and islands!--
(Echo follows where we go!)
Ho! ye headlands, hills, and highlands!
Ho! ye Undercliffeans, ho!

Only Thine.

I know that thou art mine, my love,
I know that thou art fair;
And lovelier than the orange-flowers
That bind thy glossy hair:
That thou hast every gentle grace
Which nature can design--
I know that thou art mine, my love,
I know that I am thine:
Yes, thine, my love,
I'm thine, my love,
Thine, thine, and only thine.

I know that thou art true, my love,
And welcome as the breeze
Which comes, with healing on its wings,
Across the summer seas:
That thou hast every winning charm
Which culture may refine--
I know that thou art mine, my love,
I know that I am thine.
Yes, thine, my love,
I'm thine, my love,
Thine, thine, and only thine.

Epigrams.

On Reading Grim's Attack Upon Clinton.

'Tis the opinion of the town
That Grim's a silly elf:
In trying to write Clinton down,
He went RIGHT DOWN HIMSELF.

On Hearing that Morse Did Not "Invent" the Telegraph

First they said it would not do; But, when he got through it, Then they vowed they always knew That he didn't do it! Lies are rolling stones, of course, But they can't adhere to MORSE.

Address

For the benefit of William Dunlap.

(Spoken by Mrs. Sharpe)

What gay assemblage greets my wondering sight! What scene of splendor--conjured here to-night! What voices murmur, and what glances gleam! Sure 'tis some flattering unsubstantial dream. The house is crowded--everybody's here For beauty famous, or to science dear; Doctors and lawyers, judges, belles, and beaux, Poets and painters--and Heaven only knows Whom else beside!--And see, gay ladies sit Lighting with smiles that fearful place, the pit-- (A fairy change--ah, pray continue it.) Gray heads are here too, listening to my rhymes, Full of the spirit of departed times; Grave men and studious, strangers to my sight, All gather round me on this brilliant night. And welcome are ye all. Not now ye come To speak some trembling poet's awful doom; With frowning eyes a "want of mind" to trace In some new actor's inexperienced face, Or e'en us old ones (oh, for shame!) to rate "With study good--in time--but--never great:" Not like you travelled native, just to say "Folks in this country can act a play-- The can't 'pon honor!" How the creature starts! His wit and whiskers came from foreign parts! Nay, madam, spare your blushes--you I mean-- There--close beside him--oh, you're full nineteen-- You need not shake your flowing locks at me-- The man, your sweetheart--then I'm dumb you see; I'll let him off--you'll punish him in time, Or I've no skill in prophecy or rhyme! A nobler motive fills your bosoms now, To wreathe the laurel round the silvered brow Of one who merits it--if any can-- The artist, author, and the honest man. With equal charms his pen and pencil drew Bright scenes, to nature and to virtue true. Full oft upon these boards hath youth appeared, And oft your smiles his faltering footsteps cheered; But not alone on budding genius smile, Leaving the ripened sheaf unowned the while; To boyish hope not every bounty give And only youth and beauty bid to live. Will you forget the services long past-- Turn the old war-horse out to die at last?-- When, his proud strength and noble fleetness o'er, His faithful bosom dares the charge no more! Ah, no!--The sun that loves his beams to shed Round every opening floweret's tender head, With smiles as kind his genial radiance throws To cheer the sadness of the fading rose: Thus he, whose merit claims this dazzling crowd, Points to the past, and has his claims allowed; Looks brightly forth, his faithful journey done, And rests in triumph--like the setting sun.

Address.

For the benefit of James Sheridan Knowles.

(Spoken by Mrs. Chapman.)

Nay, Mr. Simpson!--'Tis not kind--polite-- To shut me out, sir?--I'm in such a fright!-- I can not speak the lines, I'm sure!--Oh, fie! To say I must!--but if I must--I'll try!

From him I turn to these more generous souls The drama's patrons and the friends of KNOWLES. Why, what a brilliant galaxy is here! What stars adorn this mimic hemisphere! Names that shine brightest on our country's page! The props of science--literature--the stage! Above--below--around me--woman smiles, The fairest floweret of these western wilds-- All come to pay the tribute of their praise To the first dramatist of modern days: And welcome, to the green home of the free, With heart and hand, the bard of liberty!

His is a wizard-wand. Its potent spell Broke the deep slumber of the patriot Tell, And placed him on his native hills again, The pride and glory of his fellow-men! The poet speaks--for Rome Virginia bleeds! Bold Caius Gracclius in the forum pleads! Alfred--the Great, because the good and wise, Bids prostrate England burst her bonds and rise! Sweet Bess, the Beggar's Daughter, beauty's queen, Walks forth the joy and wonder of the scene! The Hunchback enters--kindly--fond--severe-- And last, behold the glorious Wife appear!

These are the bright creations of a mind Glowing with genius, chastened and refined. In all he's written, be this praise his lot: "Not one word, dying, would he wish to blot!"

Upon my life 'tis no such easy thing To land the bard, unless an eagle's wing My muse would take; and, fixing on the sun Her burning eye, soar as his own has done!

Did you speak, sir?--What, madam, did he say? Wrangling!--for shame!--before your wedding-day! Nay, gentle lady, by thine eyes of blue, And vermeil blushes, I did not mean you! Bless me, what friends at every glance I see! Artists and authors--men of high degree; Grave politicians, who have weighed each chance, The next election, and the war with France; Doctors, just come from curing half a score-- And belles, from killing twice as many more; Judges, recorders, aldermen, and mayors, Seated, like true republicans, down stairs! All wear a glow of sunshine in their faces Might well become Apollo and the graces, Except one yonder, with a look infernal, Like a blurred page from Fanny Kemble's Journal!

But to my task. The muse, when I began, Spoke of the writer--welcome ye the man. Genius, at best, acts but an humble part, Unless obedient to an honest heart. And such a one is his, for whom, to-night, These walls are crowded with this cheering sight Ye love the poet--oft have conned him o'er, Knew ye the man, ye'd love him ten times more. Ye critics, spare him from your tongue and quill, Ye gods, applaud him; and ye fops--be still!

Address

For the Benefit of Henry Placide.

(Spoken by Mrs. Hilson.)

The music's done. Be quiet, Mr. Durie! Your bell and whistle put me in a fury! Don't ring up yet, sir--I've a word to say Before the curtain rises for the play!

Your pardon, gentlefolks, nor think me bold, Because I thus our worthy promoter scold: 'Twas all feigned anger. This enlightened age Requires a RUSE to bring one on the stage!

Well, here I am, quite dazzled with the sight Presented on this brilliant festal night! Where'er I turn, whole rows of patrons sit-- The house is full--box, gallery, and pit! Who says the New-York public are unkind? I know them well, and plainly speak my mind-- "It is our right," the ancient poet sung-- He knew the value of a woman's tongue! With this I will defend ye--and rehearse FIVE glorious ACTS of yours--in modern verse; Each one concluding with a generous deed For Dunlap, Cooper, Woodworth, Knowles, Placide! 'Twas nobly done, ye patriots and scholars! Besides--they netted twenty thousand dollars! "A good round sum," in these degenerate times-- "This bank-note world," so called in Halleck's rhymes; And proof conclusive, you will frankly own, In liberal actions New-York stands alone.

Though roams he oft 'mong green poetic bowers, The actor's path is seldom strewn with flowers. His is a silent, secret, patient toil-- While others sleep, he burns the midnight oil-- Pores o'er his books--thence inspiration draws, And waste's his life to merit your applause! O ye, who come the laggard hours to while, And with the laugh-provoking muse to smile, Remember this: the mirth that cheers you so, Shows but the surface--not the depths below! Then judge not lightly of the actor's art, Who smiles to please you, with a breaking heart! Neglect him not in his hill-climbing course, Nor treat him with less kindness than your horse: Up hill, indulge him--down the steep descent, Spare--and don't urge him when his strength is spent; Impel him briskly o'er the level earth, But in the stable don't forget his worth! So with the actor--while you work him hard, Be mindful of his claims to your regard.

But hold!--methinks some carping cynic here Will greet my homely image with a sneer. Well--let us see--I would the monster view: Man with umbrageous whiskers, is it you? Ah, no--I was mistaken: every brow Beams with benevolence and kindness now; Beauty and fashion all the circles grace-- And scowling Envy here were out of place! On every side the wise and good appear-- The very pillars of the State are here! There sit the doctors of the legal clan; There all the city's rulers, to a man; Critics and editors, and learned M.D.'s, Buzzing and busy, like a hive of bees; And there, as if to keep us all in order, Our worthy friends the Mayor and the Recorder!

Well, peace be with you! Friends of native worth, Yours is the power to call it into birth; Yours is the genial influence that smiles upon The budding flowerets opening to the sun. they all around us court your fostering hand-- Rear them with care, in beauty they'll expand-- With grateful odors well repay your toil, Equal to those sprung from a foreign soil; and more Placides bask in your sunshine then, The first of actors and the best of men.

The Maid of Saxony; or, Who's the Traitor? An Opera in Three Acts.

Founded upon historical events in the life of Frederick the Second of Prussia, related by Miss Edgeworth, Zimmermann, Latrobe, and other writers.

The Music With the exception of three German Melodies, and the characteristic Introduction Composed by Charles E. Horn.

The Libretto by George P. Morris.

The Scenery by..........Messrs. Hillyard, Wheatley, and Assistants. The Costumes by...........................................M. Louis. The Properties and Decorations by.......................M. Dejonge. The Machinery by........................................M. Speyers. The Orchestra increased, and the Choruses full and effective. Leader of the Orchestra and Chorus-Master.................M. Chubb. The Music produced under the direction of...........Mr. C. E. Horn. Stage Manager............................................Mr. Barry.

Dramatis Personae.

Frederick II. (King of Prussia)....................Mr. Chippendale. Count Laniska (his Aid-de-Camp, a Pole)................Mr. Manvers. Albert ( a young Saxon student-at-law)..............Mr. Fredericks. Karl (a Hungarian, Packer to the Royal Factory).....Mr. C. E. Horn. Wedgewood (an English Merchant)........................Mr. Placide. Baron Altenburg (Attorney-General).......................Mr. Barry. Judge of the Court.......................................Mr. Clark. Hans (an Innkeeper)....................................Mr. Andrews. Harold (an old Sergeant of Grenadiers)..................Mr. Seguin. Corporal of Grenadiers (old man)........................Mr. Fisher. Burgomaster..............................................Mr. Povey. Jailor of the Castle Spandau...........................Mr. Bellamy. Herald..................................................Mr. Nelson. First General.............................................Mr. King. Second General..........................................Mr. Gallot.

Staff-Officers, Officers of State, Workmen of the Factory, Citizens,
Advocates, Jurymen, Grenadiers, Peasants, Travellers, Servants,
etc.

Countess Laniska.......................................Mrs. Barry. Frederica (her daughter)..............................Mrs. Knight. Sophia Mansfield (the Saxon Maid).................Mrs. C. E. Horn. Gertrude.........................................Miss Mary Taylor.

Ladies of the Court, Factory Gils, Peasants, etc.

Scene -- Berlin and Potsdam. Time -- Latter part of the reign of Frederick the Great.

The Maid of Saxony. [See Notes]