Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. The Book of New York Verse. 1917.
On a Forgotten By-wayAndrew E. Watrous
T
Where modish coach-wheels rolled and ran,
And back here from the roaring Row
That leads from Beekman Street to Ann,
And quiz our New World belles and beaux,
Her feet tripped o’er these very stones—
Fair Kemble. And thy magic toes,
Twinkled adown the pavement drear,
While (for thy lissome sake defamed)
Followed—with wraps—thy Chevalier.
Footsteps unused that trembling pause!
’Tis Garcia, frightened by the storm
Of this, her début night’s applause.
Oh, blue and brass with ruffles dight!
A decorous mob of worthy cits—
The ball to “Boz” is at its height.
They’ve spared. A squalid place by day,
Where wrangling boys for coppers game,
Where sottish vagrants snooze or stray.
O’er Trinity’s subduing vane,
Vanish these sordid shapes, and so
The alley grows itself again.
Is whelmed, and o’er the flag-stones damp,
As if the old stage-door to ’lume,
Glimmers that lonely, midway lamp.
The gay world of the “old Park’s” time,
Are with me, and—a vow fulfilled—
To their sweet manes this light rhyme.