222
KNICKERBOCKER GALLERY.
Unbounded liberty my aims embrace,
Without regard to nation, hue, or race:
And little boots it, when that goal we'd make,
With all respect, what vehicle we take."
"Hold!" quoth the god, "Thou dost defame the art
That knows the readiest access to the heart.
The blows of prose, like those by fists applied,
Do service in close contest, side to side;
While song throws arrows, feathered and sublime,
That range through widest space and farthest time!
Yet wouldst thou match them as of equal might;
And this from thee the muses' favorite?
And this from one that wears the laurel crown?
"With thy own weapons will I put thee down.
One lyric more from thy all-moving pen;
Another song like that of 'Marion's Men'
Would course the land, and wake in every part
More zealous freedom in the nation's heart
Than all the 'articles,' unplumed of rhyme,
The press has littered since the birth of time!"
Without regard to nation, hue, or race:
And little boots it, when that goal we'd make,
With all respect, what vehicle we take."
"Hold!" quoth the god, "Thou dost defame the art
That knows the readiest access to the heart.
The blows of prose, like those by fists applied,
Do service in close contest, side to side;
While song throws arrows, feathered and sublime,
That range through widest space and farthest time!
Yet wouldst thou match them as of equal might;
And this from thee the muses' favorite?
And this from one that wears the laurel crown?
"With thy own weapons will I put thee down.
One lyric more from thy all-moving pen;
Another song like that of 'Marion's Men'
Would course the land, and wake in every part
More zealous freedom in the nation's heart
Than all the 'articles,' unplumed of rhyme,
The press has littered since the birth of time!"
The court is moved; the muses shout applause
At this warm tribute to the sacred cause.
The bard is fairly gagged—'t is worthy note—
By cramming his own laurels down his throat.
"Retire!" bowed Phœbus! "this your warning be:
Stand by your order, and remember me!
And now, good Mercury!" the monarch cried,
"Go summon silent Halleck to our side!"
At this warm tribute to the sacred cause.
The bard is fairly gagged—'t is worthy note—
By cramming his own laurels down his throat.
"Retire!" bowed Phœbus! "this your warning be:
Stand by your order, and remember me!
And now, good Mercury!" the monarch cried,
"Go summon silent Halleck to our side!"
'T was long before the bard, prone on the ground,
Beneath a bay-tree, fast asleep, was found:
Nor would he wake, though Hermes tweaked his ear,
And Mars, less tender, pricked him with his spear.
"What! no response!" broke Phœbus. "Cut him short!
Fine the delinquent for contempt of court!"
"Pardon!" craves Pallas, while the muses weep.
"How few who can so well afford to sleep."
At length Melpomene, a frolic miss
Among the muses, woke him with a kiss.
Yawning, and stretching to the bar, he shies:
Beneath a bay-tree, fast asleep, was found:
Nor would he wake, though Hermes tweaked his ear,
And Mars, less tender, pricked him with his spear.
"What! no response!" broke Phœbus. "Cut him short!
Fine the delinquent for contempt of court!"
"Pardon!" craves Pallas, while the muses weep.
"How few who can so well afford to sleep."
At length Melpomene, a frolic miss
Among the muses, woke him with a kiss.
Yawning, and stretching to the bar, he shies:
