Poems by George Pope Morris - LightNovelsOnl.com
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Nature's n.o.bleman
A Fragment.
When winter's cold and summer's heat Shall come and go again, A hundred years will be complete Since Marion crossed the main, And brought unto this wild retreat His dark-eyed wife of Spain.
He was the founder of a free And independent band, Who lit the fires of liberty The revolution fanned:-- His patent of n.o.bility Read in the ransomed land!
Around his deeds a l.u.s.tre throngs, A heritage designed To teach the world to spurn the wrongs Once threatened all mankind:-- To his posterity belongs The peerage of the mind.
A Wall-Street Lyric.
John was thought both rich and great-- d.i.c.k so-so, but comfortable: John lived at a splendid rate-- Coach and horses in his stable.
John could ride when d.i.c.k should walk-- (This excited people's talk!)-- For John's wealth, d.i.c.k's rugged health Few would exchange if they were able!
d.i.c.k was friendly years ago-- With ingrat.i.tude John paid him: d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, 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!
King Cotton.
Old Cotton is king, boys--aha!
With his locks so fleecy and white!
He s.h.i.+nes among kings like a star!
And his is the sceptre of right, Boys, of right, And his is the sceptre of right!
Old Cotton, the king, has no care, No queen, and no heir to his throne, No courtiers, his triumphs to share, He rules his dominions alone, Boys, alone!
He rules his dominions alone!
Old Cotton, the merry old boy!-- Like smoke from the pipe in his mouth His years glide away in their joy, At home, in the warm sunny south, Boys, the south, At home, in the warm sunny south!
Old Cotton will pleasantly reign When other kings painfully fall, And ever and ever remain The mightiest monarch of all, Boys, of all, The mightiest monarch of all!
Then here's to old Cotton, the king!
His true loyal subjects are we: We'll laugh and we'll quaff and we'll sing, A jolly old fellow is he, Boys, is he, A jolly old fellow is he!
Words
Adapted to a Spanish Melody.
My lady hath as soft a hand As any queen in fairy-land; And, hidden in her tiny boot, As dainty and as light a foot.
Her foot!
Her little hand and foot!
No star that kindles in the sky Burns brighter than my lady's eye; And ne'er before did beauty grace So fair a form, so sweet a face!
Her face!
Her gentle form and face!
My lady hath a golden heart, Free from the dross of worldly art; Which, in the sight of heaven above, Is mine with all its h.o.a.rded love!
Her love!
Her boundless wealth of love!
Love in Exile.
Adapted to a Hungarian melody.
My heart I gave you with my hand, In brighter days than these, In that down-trodden father-land Beyond the distant seas, Where you were all the world to me, Devoted, fond, and true, And I, in our prosperity, Was all the world to you!
Robbed by a tyrant's iron sway, We're banished from that land away!
Sad wanderers from our native home!
A ruler in a foe!
An exiled caravan we roam; But hand in hand WE go!
And thus whatever fate betide We bless our lot in life, Since no misfortunes may divide The husband and the wife!
