Coney Island, the Mole - 1851

Poem doesn't do much for me, but OK...

A Babylonish Ditty.
[From the Knickerbocker.]

If any of our readers should fancy that the following "Babylonish Ditty," which we derive from the facile pen of a contributor, belongs to an "easy style of thing to write," let them "do" a similar kind of thing themselves, and let us see how they'll "rhyme it," preserving in the meantime the requisite sense and melody.

More than several years have faded
Since my heart was first invaded
By a brown-skinned, grey eyed siren
On the merry old "South Side;"
Where the mill flume cataracts glisten,
And the agile blue fish listen,
To the fleet of phantom schooners
Floating on the weedy tide…

Oft we saw the dim blue highlands,
Coney, Oak and other Islands
(Moles that dot the dimpled bosom
Of the sunny summer sea) ;
Or mid polished leaves of lotus,
Whereso'er our skiff would float us,
Anywhere, where none could notice,
There we sought alone to be…

So is woman, evanescent ;
Shifting with the shifting present ;
Changing like the changing tide,
And faithless as the fickle sea ;
Lighter than the wind-blown thistle ;
Falser than the fowler's whistle,
Was that coaxing piece of hoaxing--
Amy Milton's love to me!…


--Brooklyn Daily Eagle, Tuesday, January 14, 1851