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The loud applauding echoes peal,
Of his “où pent on être mieux
Qu’au sien de sa famille?”⁴

Oh, for a herald’s skill to rank
Your titles in their due degrees!
At Sing Sing—at the Tradesman’s Bank,
In Courts, Committees, Caucuses:
At Albany, where those who knew
The last year’s secrets of the great,
Call you the golden handle to
The earthen Pitcher of the State.⁵
(Poor Pitcher! that Van Buren ceases
To want its service gives me pain,
’Twill break into as many pieces
As Kitty’s of Coleraine.)
At Bellevue, on her banquet-night,
Where Burgundy and business⁶ meet,
On others, at the heart’s delight,
The Pewter Mug⁷ in Frankfort Street;
From Harlem bridge to Whitehall dock,
From Bloomingdale to Blackwell’s Isles,
Forming, including road and rock,
A city of some twelve square miles,
O’er street and alley, square and block,
Towers, temples, telegraphs, and tiles,
O’er wharves whose stone and timbers mock
The ocean’s and its navies’ shock,
O’er all the fleets that float before her,