New-York daily tribune. [volume] (New-York [N.Y.]) 1842-1866, 1843-01-21

"Coaz., said bachelor Bob, as he hitchod his
chair closer 70 the table, iouite alone, halfPast
twelve, and two tumslers Of toddy for heari-open-
ers, what say you to little friendly inquisition
into your mortal felicity You were the gsyest
man Of my acquaintance ten years ago; you are
the gravest now We. you swear BY your Lares
and Penates, that, up to the lips as you are ia
caro- and trouble,) you never were SO happy as in
these latter days. Do you swear this to me
from way you have of hanging out trap for
the world, sr are you under little innocent deiu-
sion 2"
Bob's hobby is the theory of happiness. Riches
and poverty rnatrimeny and celibacy, youth and
age, are objects of contemplation 10 Bob, solely
with reference to their comparative capacity for
bliss. He spcculates and talks about little else,
indeed, and his intercourse with his friends seems
TO have no other end or aim than to collect evil
dence as to their happiness and its causes. On
this occasion he was addressing friend OF mice,
Smith, who had been gay man in his youth, Ia
merry man, truth to say, for he was in perpetual
breeze of high spirits, but who had married, and
fallen behind -hand in his worldly affairs, and so
grown care.worn and thoughtful. Smith was ra-
Their poet, in quiet way, though he only used
poetry as sort of longer plummet when bis heart
got off soundings. l am indebted to Bob for the
specimens of his verse making which am about
to give, as we'll as for the conversation which
brought them to light.
"Why," said Smith, you have stated diem
ma with two such inevitable horns, that argu-
nent would scarcely help me out OF It, Let me
see, what proof can give you that am hap
pier man than used to be, spite of my chaptallen
visage9"
Smith unused moment and reaching over TO
desk near his elbow, drew from its private drawer
book with locked covers. 1t was well-hlled
manuscript volume, and seemed COLLECTION OF
prose and verse intermixed. The last page was
still covered with blotting paper, aud seemed re-
Gently written.
/" / am no poet,p said Smith, coloring slightly,
stbut it has been habit of mine, ever since my
callow days, to record in verse ali feelings that
were TOO warm for prose; sometimes in the fashion
of soliloeuy, (scrtpto verba,) sometimes in yer
SEES TO the damo or damsel to whom was indebted
for my ignition. Let me see, beb we met In
Florence, ] think T.
49,. For the FIRST time abroad, yes -
aWell, perhaps chat was the gayest time GER
tainly | do not remember to have been any where
more CAV or reckless. Florence, 1882, um-here
are some lines written that summer; do you re-
member the beautiful Irish widow you saw at one
OF the casino balls addre ssed to her. flirt that
she was But she began all her firtations with
talking of her sorrows and if she tried you on, at
all"
.tShe didn't" interrupted Bob.
"Welf If she had, you would have been num-
bugged with her tender melancholy, as was
Here are the verses, aud if ever turned out my
lining TO the moon, they true to my inner soul
in tbese duye of ffofic. Read these, and then
turn TO the las. page and you will find as true
dagueneotypc of the inner light of my mopng
days. written only yesterday.
IT'S late--San Marc s beating three
As l look forth upon the night;
The stars are shining TRANQUILITY,
And heaven is full Of silver light;
The air blows freshly my brow
Yet why should I be waking now!
I've listened, lady, to thy tone.
Till in my ear it will not die;
I've felt Cor SORROWS not my own.
Till now cannot put them by
And those sad words and thoughts of thine
Have breashed their sadness into mine.
IT'S lons-thoagh reckoned not by years
Since, with affections chilled and shocked,
dried boys impassioned tears.
And frem the world my feelings locked
The work of but one bitter day,
In which were crowded years OF pam;
And then was as gay, again.
And thought that should be, for aye!
The world lay open wide and bright,
And became its lgh,est minon,
And few the wordling's giddy hight
With reckless and impetuous pinion---
Lies tide, with me- had turned from shore
Ere yet my summers told a score
And years have passed and have seemed
Happy TO every eye but thine,
And they whom mos, loved have deemed
There was no lighter heart than nine
And save when some wild pasSion-tonc
Ofmusic reached the sleeping nerve,
Or when in illness and clone.
Ny spirit from It's bent would swerve,
My hear. soas light, my Thoughts icere free,
! pas the thing seemed TO be.
came TO this bright land, and here,
Where had thought TO nerve my wings
To soar TO more lofty sphere,
And train myself for s;erner things
The land where had thought TO find
No spell but beauty brcathed in stone
To learn idoiauies of mind,
And leave the heart to slumber on
Here find one whose voice swakes
The sad, dumb angel of nay breast;
And. as the long long silence breaks
OF q streng inward lip suppressed,
It seems TO me il a madness
Had been upon my brain alway-
AS if 'twere frenzy to be gay,
And life were only swee, in sadness!
Words from my lips tonight have come
That have feryears been sealed and dumb
I,was but yesterday we met
We part tomorrow would fam
With thy departing voice forget
Its low, deep tone, and seal again
My feelings from The light Of day
TO be tomorrow only gay!
But days viii pass, and nights viii creep,
And shall hees tina, voice Of sadness
With dreams, as now, untouched by Sleep
And spirits eut OF tune with gladness;
And time must wear, and fame spur on,
Before that victory is re,won!
And so farewell would not be
Forgotten by the only heart
To which my own bseashes calm and free.
And Lex rs NOT as strangers past.