IN letters large upon the frame, That visitors might see, The painter placed his humble name: @3O'Callaghan McGee.@1 And from Beersheba unto Dan, The critics with a nod Exclaimed: "This painting Irishman Adores his native sod. "His stout heart's patriotic flame There's naught on earth can quell; He takes no wild romantic name To make his pictures sell!" Then poets praise in sonnets neat His stroke so bold and free; No parlour wall was thought complete That hadn't a McGee. All patriots before McGee Threw lavishly their gold; His works in the Academy Were very quickly sold. His "Digging Clams at Barnegat," His "When the Morning smiled," His "Seven Miles from Ararat," His "Portrait of a Child," Were purchased in a single day And lauded as divine. -- . . . . . . That night as in his @3atelier@1 The artist sipped his wine, And looked upon his gilded frames, He grinned from ear to ear: -- "They little think my @3real@1 name's V. Stuyvesant De Vere!" | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HASTY PUDDING by JOEL BARLOW COMIN' THRO' THE RYE by ROBERT BURNS TO E. L., ON HIS TRAVELS IN GREECE by ALFRED TENNYSON PASSAGE TO INDIA by WALT WHITMAN AMY WENTWORTH; FOR WILLIAM BRADFORD by JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER SPANISH WINGS: A LEAF FROM A LOG BOOK by H. BABCOCK ON THE BACKWARDNESS OF THE SPRING 1771 by ANNA LETITIA BARBAULD |