Classic Poem

( WITH ORIGINAL DRAWINGS BY G. H. BOUGHTON .)

Shade of Herrick, Muse of Locker,
Help me sing of Knickerbocker!

B OUGHTON , had you bid me chant
Hymns to Peter Stuyvesant!
Had you bid me sing of Wouter,
(He! the Onion-head! the Doubter!)
But to rhyme of this one, — Mocker!
Who shall rhyme to Knickerbocker?

Nay, but where my hand must fail
There the more shall yours avail;
You shall take your brush and paint
All that ring of figures quaint, —
All those Rip-van-Winkle jokers, —
All those solid-looking smokers,
Pulling at their pipes of amber
In the dark-beamed Council-Chamber.

Only art like yours can touch
Shapes so dignified . . . and Dutch;
Only art like yours can show
How the pine-logs gleam and glow,
Till the fire-light laughs and passes
'Twixt the tankards and the glasses,
Touching with responsive graces
All those grave Batavian faces, —
Making bland and beatific
All that session soporific.

Then I come and write beneath,
B OUGHTON , he deserves the wreath;
He can give us form and hue —
This the Muse can never do!