The great Moguls of Gotham! their proud purses Grow with the rich man's spoil and poor man's curses; With a firm grasp on ev'ry pocket, they Build fanes for which the servile people pay. The Rich and Poor they plunder as they will— The more the people howl the more they steal; Millions on millions to their minions fling, And make all rich who battle for the Ring. As on a foe upon New York they forage, Whose people stand it patiently—with courage. Meanwhile the City debt by millions grows, And what it is no human being knows, Nor will, till Tweed lets Connolly declare The mighty load the patient people bear. The money which at Albany does work— Comes from the tax-afflicted of New York; The feather ravished from that well-plucked mart, Wings the sharp arrow to her bleeding heart! A bold Triumvirate now masters all,— Chief consuls, Sweeney, Tweed, and Oakey Hall,— The World's Emporium, soon to be, Sleeps in the throttles of this ruthless Three. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MNEMOSYNE by TRUMBULL STICKNEY SMILE AND NEVER HEED ME by CHARLES SWAIN HYMN ON SOLITUDE by JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748) PASSAGE TO INDIA by WALT WHITMAN THE SPIRIT AND THE CUP by A. E. ANDERSON TO JOHN DRYDEN, ESQ.; POET LAUREATE AND HISTOGRAPHER ROYAL by PHILIP AYRES |