THE LOVE OF NOTORIETY.
here are laurels our temples throb warmly to claim,
Unwet by the blood-dripping fingers of War,
And as dear to the heart are the whispers of fame,
As the blasts of her bugle rang fiercely and far;
The death-dirge is sung o’er the warrior’s tomb,
Ere the world to his valor its homage will give,
But the feathers that form Notoriety’s plume,
Are plucked in the sunshine, and live while we live.
There’s a wonderful charm in that sort of renown
Which consists in becoming “the talk of the town;”
’Tis a pleasure which none but your “truly great” feels,
To be followed about by a mob at one’s heels;
And to hear from the gazing and mouth-open throng,
The dear words “That’s he,” as one trudges along;
While Beauty, all anxious, stands up on tip-toes,
Leans on her beau’s shoulder, and lisps “There he goes.”
For this the young Dandy, half whalebone, half starch,
Parades through Broadway with the stiff Steuben march;
A new species of being, created, they say,
By nine London tailors, who ventured one day
