The Baltimore County union. [volume] (Towsontown, Md.) 1865-1909, 1878-09-14
POETRY.
For the Union.
AN OLD POEM.

Massrs. Editors Many of the fugitive verses
one encounters in the columns of our better class
Of newspapers and magazines possess rare merit,
but ire suffered to pass into oblivion, whilst hun
drSds of inferior efforts of some ambitious author
an objected and embamed in git-covered vol
un.es. Here is one exhumed from the dust-cOver-
edpages of the y. s. Magazine, that, to my fancy,
iswprthy of preservation. 1t is from the pen of
The Lite Nicholas Biddle, famed as the President
of the Bank of the United States, who fought so
hard ami SO successfully to save his bank from
aeI. Jackson. 1t was written in response to
request from young lady to write something in
album. ew persons would ever have sus-
sse gzssEe.o!a- Gnarksr Of bowing at the
: rine of the MUSES..
Time was when to see thee, fair lady, alone
Could warm into verse this cold bosom of stone,
But now thy command, all unchanged as thou art,
Cannot kindle the fancy soften the heart.
Sounequal our fates since that scythe bearing Time
Appeased by thy beauty, provoked by my rhyme,
Though he folded his wings and muffled his tread,
And passed without touching hair of your head,
As he came to my farm, cut me down to a cit
and dispersed my small stock of MerinOes and wit
If you think this some pretext madeup for my wife,
Only think of my dwelling and think OF my life.
Not mummy wrapped up in his pyramid hall,
Nor the toads that live on for whole years in WALL
No1 the famed iron mask, breathe more dullness
and gloom
Than 1 when enclosed in my vast marble tomb,
Must vaults of damp stone and large chests OF
dark iron
That would quell all the fancy of Shakespeare or
Byron.
Yet prefer my last letter from Barring or Hope
To the finest epistle of Pliny or Pope;
And my "much esteemed favors" from Paris, to
those
Which brought on fair Helen an Iliad of woes;
And one lot of bills from Prime, Bell, or the Bid
dies,
To whole volumes of pastorals, satires or idyls;
Nay, two lines of bad prose with good name
upon it,
I To the tenderest fourteen" e'er squeezed in a
sonnet.
No. would not accept not for Hebes account,
The very best draught, though from Helicon's
fount;
Nor give (this it grieves to say to their faces)
More than three days Of grace to all the three
Graces
Talk of music of spheres! what more soul thrilling
sound
Than kegs of new dollars all rolling around?
And Cecilia herself, though her Tyre was divine,
Never gave the world notes that were equal to mine,
My fair friend shall be judge, and if she deny it,
I'll 60 down to the fish market, with her. and try it.
But in peace have parted, | never will quarrel
Because my Bank branches can furnish no laurel,
And, awaked from illusion, I'm humbly content
With exchanges, and discount, and quarter per
cent,
While the Bank is my Goddess, its desks are my
altars,
And all my cline phrenzy" is spent on dcfautters.
So unless, like the sculptor of old, on this stone
You can breathe inspiration as true as your own,
Let me hope, while no scribbling your tablet de-
faces,
To keep out of your books, but keep in your good
graces.
Why have not some of your numerous CORES
pondents written up the "Outside industries" of
slsis4 ,areg Avide field is here offered, the tiing
whereof would be pleasant and profitable. The
people are satiated with politics and would fain
have something practical If you would hear
from me again, print this, and I'll write more an
other time. Yours, OCCASIONAL.
BALTIMORE, September, 1878.