Etchings in Verse (Underhill)/To E. H. S.

by Andrew Findlay Underhill

TO E. H. S.

Upon the publication of "A Lone Star Bo-Peep."

YOU'VE made the fatal plunge at last;
 Your book is out, by Bacchus.
Before the public it has passed,
 Where critics score and whack us.

The "Literary World" has praised;
 You've "caught" the "Brooklyn Eagle";
While other sheets their voice have raised
 To give you honors regal.

For you "James Wily" pours the drinks,
 And things are "smart" at Brady,
And in your purse the money chinks,
 But my sad muse is shady.

And Sheriff Mosely 's run again,
 They say, and been elected;
But I plod on with weary pen
 And fancy sore dejected.

You've "struck" the Texan road to fame;
 Unknown no more you grovel;
In morning prints we read your name,
 And wait your coming novel.

But let me say in closing here,
 If you e'er turn reviewer,
And my rough verses should appear,
 Don't slay me with your skewer.

But fill the bowl with "Temperance Mead,"
 And let me drink your health, sir;—
Success to all who buy and read—
 To you both fame and wealth, sir.