To a new england poet

Though skilled in Latin and in Greek,And earning fifty cents a week,Such knowledge, and the income, too,Should teach you better what to do:The meanest drudges, kept in pay,Can pocket fifty cents a day.

Why stay in such a tasteless land,Where all must on a level stand,(Excepting people, at their ease,Who choose the level where they please:)See Irving gone to Britain’s courtTo people of another sort,He will return, with wealth and fame,While Yankees hardly know your name.

Lo! he has kissed a Monarch’s—hand!Before a prince I see him stand,And with the glittering nobles mix,Forgetting times of seventy-six,While you with terror meet the frownOf Bank Directors of the town,The home-made nobles of our times,Who hate the bard, and spurn his rhymes.

Why pause?—like Irving, haste away,To England your addresses pay;And England will reward you well,When you some pompous story tellOf British feats, and British arms,The maids of honor, and their charms.

Dear bard, I pray you, take the hint,In England what you write and print,Republished here in shop, or stall,Will perfectly enchant us all:It will assume a different face,And post your name at every place,From splendid domes of first degreeWhere ladies meet, to sip their tea;From marble halls, where lawyers plead,Or Congress-men talk loud, indeed,To huts, where evening clubs appear,And ‘squires resort—to guzzle Beer.

1823

l. 11. Irving: Washington Irving (1783-1859), the first American author to attain an international reputation.

l. 18. times of seventy-six: refers to the American War of Independence, which began in 1776.