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!

George Pope Morris

George Pope Morris was an American editor, poet, and songwriter. Born on October 10, 1802, he made significant contributions to American literature and music. Morris co-founded and edited the New York Evening Mirror, where he published works by Edgar Allan Poe and others. He is perhaps best known for his song "Woodman, Spare That Tree!" and his role in the early 19th-century literary scene. Morris died on July 6, 1864, leaving behind a legacy of editorial and creative work that influenced many American writers and musicians.

George Pope Morris

The Master's Song.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

O'er the Mountains.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Lucy.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

Temperance Song.

George Pope Morris, Simple Poetry

English

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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 but...

George Pope Morris

The Cobbler And The Financier.

A cobbler sang from morn till night;
'Twas sweet and marvellous to hear,
His trills and quavers told the ear
Of more contentment and delight,
Enjoy'd by that laborious wight
Than e'er enjoy'd the sages seven,
Or any mortals short of heaven.
His neighbour, on the other hand,
With gold in plenty at command,
But little sang, and slumber'd less -
A financier of great success.
If e'er he dozed, at break of day,
The cobbler's song drove sleep away;
And much he wish'd that Heaven had made
Sleep a commodity of trade,
In market sold, like food and drink,
So much an hour, so much a wink.
At last, our songster did he call
To meet him in his princely hall.
Said he, 'Now, honest Gregory,
What may your yearly earnings be?'
'My yearly earnings! faith...

Jean de La Fontaine

The Dog-Star Rages.

Unseal the city fountains,
    And let the waters flow
In coolness from the mountains
    Unto the plains below.
My brain is parched and erring,
    The pavement hot and dry,
And not a breath is stirring
    Beneath the burning sky.

The belles have all departed--
    There does not linger one!
Of course the mart's deserted
    By every mother's son,
Except the street musician
    And men of lesser note,
Whose only earthly mission
    Seems but to toil and vote!

A woman--blessings on her!--
    Beneath my window see;
She's singing--what an honor!--
    Oh! "Woodman, spare that tree!"
Her "man" the air is killing--
    His organ's out of tune--
They're gone, with my last shilling, [See Notes (1)]
    To Florence's s...

George Pope Morris

Memorabilia Of Last Week.

MONDAY, MARCH 13, 1826.


The Budget--quite charming and witty--no hearing,
For plaudits and laughs, the good things that were in it;--
Great comfort to find, tho' the speech isn't cheering,
    That all its gay auditors were every minute.

What, still more prosperity!--mercy upon us,
    "This boy'll be the death of me"--oft as, already,
Such smooth Budgeteers have genteelly undone us,
    For Ruin made easy there's no one like Freddy.

TUESDAY.

Much grave apprehension exprest by the Peers,
    Lest--calling to life the old Peachums and Lockitts--
The large stock of gold we're to have in three years,
    Should all find its way into highwaymen's pockets!^[1]

WEDNESDAY.

Little doing--for sa...

Thomas Moore

Our Banker

Old time, in whose bank we deposit our notes,
Is a miser who always wants guineas for groats;
He keeps all his customers still in arrears
By lending them minutes and charging them years.

The twelvemonth rolls round and we never forget
On the counter before us to pay him our debt.
We reckon the marks he has chalked on the door,
Pay up and shake hands and begin a new score.

How long he will lend us, how much we may owe,
No angel will tell us, no mortal may know.
At fivescore, at fourscore, at threescore and ten,
He may close the account with a stroke of his pen.

This only we know, - amid sorrows and joys
Old Time has been easy and kind with "The Boys."
Though he must have and will have and does have his pay,
We have found him good-natured enough in ...

Oliver Wendell Holmes

Farmer Stebbins On The Bowery.

DEAR COUSIN JOHN:

    We got here safe - my worthy wife an' me,
    An' then I looked the village through to see what I could see:
    I rode upon the cur'us track with stations all up-stairs;
    I walked through Wall Street all its length, an' saw no bulls or bears;
    I patronized a red-nosed chap with manners very queer,
    Who hadn't had a thing to eat for somethin' like a year;

    I saw the road commissioners to work upon a bridge
    A million times as large as that we built at Tompkins' Ridge -
    (I'm told that they are makin' it, though maybe that's all fun,
    To use the coming century, an' hope to get it done) -
    When who should up an' grasp my hand, with face of genuine joy,
    But Cousin Jeroboam Jones, my cousin's oldest boy!

    I h...

William McKendree Carleton