The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/To Ennui
TO ENNUI.
vaunt! arch-enemy of fun,
Grim nightmare of the wind;
Which way, great Momus! shall I run,
A refuge safe to find?
My puppy’s dead—Miss Rumor’s breath
Is stopped for lack of news,
And Fitz2 is almost hypped to death,
And Lang2 has got the blues.
I’ve read friend Noah’s book quite through,
Appendix, notes, and all;
I’ve swallowed Lady Morgan’s3 too,
And blundered through De Staël;3
The Edinburgh Review—I’ve seen’t
The last that has been shipped;
I’ve read, in short, all books in print,
And some in manuscript.
I’m sick of General Jackson’s toast,
Canals are naught to me:
Nor do I care who rules the roast,
Clinton—or John Targee:
No stock in any Bank I own,
I fear no Lottery shark,
And if the Battery were gone,
I’d ramble in the Park.
Let gilded Guardsmen4 shake their toes,
Let Altorf5 please the pit,
Let Mister Hawkins blow his nose
And Spooner6 publish it:
Insolvent laws let Marshall7 break,
Let dying Baldwin cavil;
And let Tenth-Ward Electors shake
Committees to the devil.
In vain—for like a cruel cat
That sucks a child to death,
Or like the Madagascar bat
Who poisons with his breath,
The fiend—the fiend is on me still;
Come, doctor, here’s your pay—
What potion, lotion, plaster, pill,
Will drive the beast away?