Page:Halleck.djvu/141

 Into their heads to give the rich in brains The worn-out mansion of the poor in pocket, Once "the old almshouse," now a school of wisdom, Sacred to Scudder's shells and Dr. Griscom.

But whither am I wandering? The esteem I bear "this fair city of the heart," To me a dear enthusiastic theme, Has forced me, all unconsciously, to part Too long from him, the hero of my story. Where was he?—waking from his dream of glory.

And she, the lady of his dream, had fled, And left him somewhat puzzled and confused. He understood, however, half she said; And that is quite as much as we are used To comprehend, or fancy worth repeating, In speeches heard at any public meeting.

And the next evening found him at the Hall; There he was welcomed by the cordial hand, And met the warm and friendly grasp of all Who take, like watchmen, there, their nightly stand, A ring, as in a boxing-match, procuring, To bet on Clinton, Tompkins, or Van Buren.