ANNY was younger once than she is now, And prettier of course; I do not mean To say that there are wrinkles on her brow; Yet, to be candid, she is past eighteenPerhaps past twenty-but the girl is shy About her age, and Heaven forbid that I

II.

Should get myself in trouble by revealing
A secret of this sort; I have too long
Loved pretty women with a poet's feeling,

And when a boy, in day-dream and in song, Have knelt me down and worshipped them: alas! They never thanked me for't-but let that pass.

III.

I've felt full many a heartache in my day,
At the mere rustling of a muslin gown,
And caught some dreadful colds, I blush to say,
While shivering in the shade of beauty's frown.
They say her smiles are sunbeams-it may be-
But never a sunbeam would she throw on me.

IV.

But Fanny's is an eye that you may gaze on
For half an hour, without the slightest harm;
E'en when she wore her smiling summer face on

There was but little danger, and the charm

That youth and wealth once gave, has bade farewell: Hers is a sad, sad tale-'tis mine its woes to tell.

V.

Her father kept, some fifteen years ago,

A retail dry-good shop in Chatham Street,
And nursed his little carnings, sure though slow,
Till, having mustered wherewithal to meet

The gaze of the great world, he breathed the air
Of Pearl Street-and "set up" in Hanover Square.

VI.

Money is power, 'tis said-I never tried;
I'm but a poct-and bank-notes to me

Are curiosities, as closely eyed,

Whene'er I get them, as a stone would be,

Tossed from the moon on Doctor Mitchill's table,
Or classic brickbat from the tower of Babel.

VII.

But he I sing of well has known and felt
That money hath a power and a dominion;
For when in Chatham Street the good man dwelt,
No one would give a sous for his opinion.

And though his neighbors were extremely civil,
Yet, on the whole, they thought him—a poor devil.

VIII.

A decent kind of person; one whose head
Was not of brains particularly full;

It was not known that he had ever said

Any thing worth repeating-'twas a dull, Good, honest man-what Paulding's muse would call A "cabbage-head"-but he excelled them all

IX.

In that most noble of the sciences,

The art of making money; and he found
The zeal for quizzing him grew less and less,

As he grew richer; till upon the ground
Of Pearl Street, treading proudly in the might
And majesty of wealth, a sudden light

X.

Flashed like the midnight lightning on the eyes
Of all who knew him: brilliant traits of mind,
And genius, clear, and countless as the dyes

Upon the peacock's plumage; taste refined, Wisdom and wit, were his-perhaps much more'Twas strange they had not found it out before.

XI.

In this quick transformation, it is true

That cash had no small share; but there were still Some other causes, which then gave a new

Impulse to head and heart, and joined to fill His brain with knowledge; for there first he met The editor of the New York Gazette

XII.

The sapient Mr. LANG. The world of him

Knows much, yet not one-half so much as he

Knows of the world. Up to its very brim

The goblet of his mind is sparkling free

With lore and learning. Had proud Sheba's queen, In all her bloom and beauty, but have seen

XIII.

This modern Solomon, the Israelite,

Earth's monarch as he was, had never won her.

He would have hanged himself for very spite,

And she, blessed woman, might have had the honor Of some neat "paragraphs "-worth all the lays That Judah's minstrel warbled in her praise.

XIV.

Her star arose too soon; but that which swayed
Th' ascendant at our merchant's natal hour

Was bright with better destiny-its aid

Led him to pluck within the classic bower Of bulletins, the blossoms of true knowledge, And LANG supplied the loss of school and college.

XV.

For there he learned the news some minutes sooner
Than others could; and to distinguish well
The different signals, whether ship or schooner,
Hoisted at Staten Island; and to tell

The change of wind, and of his neighbor's fortunes,
And, best of all-he there learned self-importance.

XVI.

Nor were these all the advantages derived
From change of scene; for near his domicil
HE of the pair of polished lamps then lived,
And in my hero's promenades, at will,

Could he behold them burning-and their flame
Kindled within his breast the love of fame—