Classic Poem

I
Fanny 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 eighteen--
Perhaps 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.
V

Her father kept, some fifteen years ago,
A retail dry-goods shop in Chatham Street,
And nursed his little earnings, 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.
XLI

Since that wise pedant, Johnson, was in fashion,
Manners have changed as well as moons; and he
Would fret himself once more into a passion,
Should he return (which Heaven forbid!) and see,
How strangely from his standard dictionary
The meaning of some words is made to vary.
XLII

For instance, an undress at present means
The wearing a pelisse, a shawl, or so;
Or anything you please, in short, that screens
The face, and hides the form from top to toe;
Of power to brave a quizzing-glass, or storm--
'Tis worn in summer, when the weather's warm.
XLIII

But a full dress is for a winter's night.
The most genteel is made of "woven air";
That kind of classic cobweb, soft and light,
Which Lady Morgan's Ida used to wear.
And ladies, this airial manner dressed in,
Look Eve-like, angel-like, and interesting.
CXIV

She had been noticed at some public places
(The Battery, and the balls of Mr. Whale),
For hers was one of those attractive faces,
That when you gaze upon them, never fail
To bid you look again; there was a beam,
A lustre in her eye, that oft would seem
CXV

A little like effrontery; and yet
The lady meant no harm; her only aim
Was but to be admired by all she met,
And the free homage of the heart to claim;
And if she showed too plainly this intention,
Others have done the same--'twas not of her invention.
--talked as loudly too
CXVII

As any beauty of the highest grade,
To the gay circle in the box beside her;
And when the pit--half vexed and half afraid,
With looks of smothered indignation eyed her,
She calmly met their gaze, and stood before 'em
Smiling at vulgar taste and mock decorum.
CXLVI

He was a trustee of a Savings Bank,
And lectured soundly every evil-doer,
Gave dinners daily to wealth, power, and rank,
And sixpence every Sunday to the poor;
He was a wit, in the pun-making line--
Past fifty years of age, and five feet nine.
CLXXII

Her father sent to Albany a prayer
For office, told how fortune had abused him,
And modestly requested to be Mayor--
The Council very civilly refused him;
Because, however much they might desire it,
The "public good," it seems, did not require it.