Tucker, Mary E.
Loew's Bridge A Broadway Idle
Hide, like the pixies,
Underneath the petals of some bright flower,
Whose clear celestial hue
My darlings shame, with their bright eyes of
They crown each other with the garlands fair,
The "grey-beard!" mingles with their silken
Like cords of silver, with the jet and gold,
Soft tiny hands are resting on my brow,
I too am crowned:
"I would have made your wreath of white,"
46The eldest says, "you are so good,
But, mother, sister said that you were true,
And so we added all these violets blue."
My good machine partaking of my pride
Sang one sweet song, and made the stitches fine,
Making the children hers as well as mine.
'Tis half-past one, and now is seen
In countless numbers eager "limbs of law"
Wending their way to "Courtlandt" from "Nassau,"
To while away an hour with "Smith and
47Their minds to fortify, with meat and drink,
Ex necessitate rei, to enable them to think.
Law! say, what is the law but power?
The strongest mind will rule the hour.
Right, justice, mercy, ah! where are they now?
Not in this land, or, if here, bound in chains,
And only loosed by the command of law,
To whose decree, howe'er unjust we bow,
In meek submission low.
This science intricate we trace
E'en to the dwelling place
Of our first parents;
48Children of nature, and of God,
They knew not there was sin
'Till Satan, in a lawyer's garb,
Their Eden entered, and with him the light
Or Power of knowing wrong from the right.
But, like his children of the present day,
By statements colored in a
And well instilled into his client's mind
By the rare subtleties of lore profound,
Sowing his seed into prolific ground,
He made the white black, and the darkness
Changed Adam's day into the eternal night
49By causing wrong appear to be the right:
And ever thus, as serpents charm they, when
They cast their glamour on the eyes of men,
And their each word's a snare,--
Of Lawyers then, ye innocent, beware!
This world's a stage, each mortal acts a part
Of life's deep tragedy. A breaking heart
Is often hid beneath a smiling face.
Ye, over righteous, if this world's a stage,
Why scorn the mimic copy of life's page?
Sermons are preached to touch the hearts of men:
No sermon ever moved my heart, as when
50I heard sweet "Fanchon," on her bended
Sending above to the kind Deity
A maiden's holy prayer;
And then and there
I too prayed that the ray divine
Within my sinful heart should shine.
Oft have I seen the eye of age grow dim
At the mere attitude of homeless "Rip."(
No temperance lecturer could call the vow
Which once burst forth in passionate impulsiveness,
51From one who heard the play.
"Never, oh never, shall e'en the smallest sip,
So help me God, again pollute my lip
Of ought that will intoxicate!"
Surety the spirits which surround us rise
And register such vows above the skies.
Now comes a spirit brave, I ween,
Who on the theater's board is queen,
But on this tragic stageof life,
When kinsmen were at war and strife,
An angel ministering became. (
In sable robes she stood by beds of death,
52Wiped the death dews, and caught the latest
Of the brave boys in blue,
Who are sleeping now in the silent grave,
That o'er all the land one flag might wave.
It waves--but its folds are dyed with the
Of the murdered martyrs, the brave, the true,
Who wore the
, and who wore the
"Physician, heal thyself!" I fain would cry
To those devoted to the healing art,
who in vast numbers now are passing by:
53Is there one wise enough to heal
A wound in his own heart?
Can healing potions which the Doctors give
Imbue the fainting with a wish to live?
Can one relieve the sleepless nights of pain,
Ambition's meed, the torture of the brain
That ever grasps beyond, above, so high,
That all its efforts prove, alas! in vain,
And weary, sinking to the earth,
It curses hour that gave it birth,
Dies, or becomes insane?
There comes an old, well known slouch hat,
54Which hides no slouching soul beneath its
But one whose greatest power lies
In curing body by first healing mind.
Did they not know when the immortal Davis lay
Within his prison cell,
That the Leach's skill was not in drugs,
Who healed and made him well?
They knew not, who the power of speech denied,
Of histories in touch of hands;
Of volumes in a glance.
How could they know? formed of earth's common
55Of the magnetic cords which bind
The thoughts of those whose natures are refined,
Whose bodies are subservient to the mind.
Strange, how a mortal by the power of will
And genius, tho' untutored can exalt
Himself, until he will appear
A being from another sphere.
As unlike to the common throng
As rhyming jingle to a stately song.
Few days ago, I heard kind blessings showered
Upon his head who now draws near:(
56Who had opened the once closed portals
Of a soul's doors.
A mother, with a fearful heart,
Without one ray of hope,
Placed in this Doctor's hands her only child,
Whose beauty needed naught, save sight,
To make it seem an angel bright.
One stifled cry! "Oh, mother, is this light,?
'Twas black before, and, mother, now 'tis
I see you, mother, and I see God too!'
The little child, with its pure instinct rare,
Felt that God's spirit surely must be there,