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Rh :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,