Worcester daily spy. [volume] (Worcester [Mass.]) 1850-1888, 1858-08-02

Two MILLIONS The new poem by VIM. Al
len Butler author of Nothing to Wear has
been published by D. Appleton & Co. 1t was
read by the author before the Phi Beta Kappa
Society of Yale. 1t is longer poem, says the
Boston Journal, than the one which has become
so celebrated, and the author has exchanged
tripping dactyls and anapests for the heroic
rhyme. The manner and relief of the two poems
are much the same, alternating familiar pleas
sntry and weigbty sentiment, pursuing with ease
the old track OF the poet,
From grave to gay, from lively to severe"
A prelude to the poem is so clear an exposition
of the authors intent, and SO felicitous speci-
men Of his manner, that it may be accepted as a
fair criterion of the work:
''Fo0ln said my MHse to me, "lOok in thy heart end
lpriteP
30 sang in other days that gentle Koight,
jentlest and bravest, in undying song,
Like his temper, sweet. serene, aud strong.
''LoOk in thy heart and Vrite!" such was the word
In the wide woodlands, through the shadows, heard
By own Hous hold Bard, when on his ear
The Voices OF the Ni9ht fell soft and clear;
And such the high hehest which comes oft times
To the true Poet OF all wears and chimes,
The master Minstrel whose goldeu thought
The perfect types Of human song ave wrought,
To whom all nen give place. aud meaner Things
Not so my weekday muse; to me she ories,
Look through the world which all about you lies,
The noisy town, its common daily life,
Flushed with coarse passions hot with selfish strife,
The crowded srteet, the dens Of Vice and Want,
The giided halls where Pride and Fashion faunt
And from their mingled threads the grave, the gay,
Weave, il you will the Epic Of To Day.
'Forego," she cries, ''the boyish dream Of Fame,
speak you careless OF praise or blame.
Draw a. ventures it may be the point
OF your chance shaft shall pierce yielding joint
n nf scr
Or full armed folly, in its vantage strong.
Let but the word be honest and sincere,
For him alone whose inner sight is clear
From the mist of passion or of s=l6sh fear,
The Truth, whiterob d. shall, like a Vestal wait
Beside the shrin- and sacred fires Of Fate,
Whose touch ethei al gives the eye to see
Things as they are, not as they seem To be-"
The veteran wrong" is the ostentatious cslous dis
play of wealth. with its preliminary and attendant hard
heartedness.
FIRKrS worth Two MIL1IoSsi his Inventory
OF Real and Personal, told the pleasing storyj
Two solid Millions everybody said ii;
Was not his name luminous orb nj credit!
Was not his praise in every city Bank?
Was not he foremost in the foremost rank
OF MERCHANT PRINCES, that nvincible host,
The Expire City's proud, imperial boast
Her veteran Guard, whose brilliant ash advances,
Not with fixed bsyoueta and brstling lances,
Bat with sharp bargains and keen speculations,
Carry her eagles to Temotesi nations
Bolder than even Tempars CTusaders
They sweep the distant seas, these daring Traders
Than fabed Arg onauts or classic Cegars,
They grasp the World, these modern Golden F eecers
Think not, in this last verse, my Muse evinces
The slightest disrsspect to Merchant Princes;
There whose hearts large and frank and loyal
Whose human nature, like thsir wealth, 10 royal;
In whose tree hands the glitt, ring, dangerous dust
Is not mere money, hut sacred trust;
Long may we keep theh true, untanted line,
Such princes by right divine.
Such was not Firkin; in his principslity
Worse than high treason was all liberaity.
No ray of bounty, with unselfsh cheer,
Threw its bright beam across that dark frontier,
Where every friendly grace of heart or hand
Wa seized and forfeited contraban1.
You read it in his eye dull, dark and stern,
Which clutches the light, but grudged kind return,
In genial gauces, through the open day,
And with shrewd suspicion turned away.
His hard, square features, like an iron safe,
Locked in his thoughts; chanca unnotrd waif
VI fugitive feeling, unawsres betrayed
The inner man. or mental stock in trade.
The porty figure, with the solvent air,
PROCLAIMED TO all the world the Millionaire,
His purse and person both at fullest length,
And even the higher law which he obeyed,
With all his heart and soul and mind aud strength,
To love his maker for he was SELF MADEi
Self made, selttrained self willed, self sltshed,
He was, himself his daily boast and pride
His wealth was all his own; had he won It
With HE own cunning skill? There shome upon 1t
No grateful memories OF auother's TOLL
No flowers Of friendship gracei its sandy soil,
No tie ancestral linked it With the past.
As in his hard, close hands he held it fast.