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A LAMENT FOR GREAT MEN DEPARTED.
“Hung be the heavens with black.”
here is a gloom on every brow,
A sadness in each face we see;
The City Hall is lonely now,
The Franklin Bank looks wearily.
The Surgeons’ Hall in Barclay Street,
Wears to the eye a ghastlier hue!
And Staten Island’s Summer-seat
Has lost its best attractions too!
Well may we mourn a stage-and-four
(Our curse upon the rogue that drove it!)
From out our city lately bore
All that adorn, and grace, and love it.
Ah, little knew each scoundrel horse
How much they vexed, and grieved, and marred us;
They cared not sixpence for the loss
We feel in Colden and Bogardus.
