Arkansas State Gazette

For the Gazette.

TO THE ARKANSAS STAR.

Thou little orb. whose faint and struggling rays,

Scarce vie in brightness with a rush-light's blaze,

Thou try'st in vain to dazzle with thy pale

Flickering. as though thou wert a comet's tail,

That, with fierce burnings, comes the world to scare

Instead of thy weak penny-candle flare;

If aught about thee e'er has seemed bright,

Twas from some tiny twinkler's borrowed light;

And thou would'st make the few who see thee shine,

Believe those flashes, tho' so poor, are thine.

And yet, my puny Starlet, when the day

Rolls round each week for thee illume the way,

Thy patron Whigs are treading in the dark,

Gigantic swells thy soul, my little spark!

How must it brighten future hours of task,

To see great Whigs in thy dull beamings bask;

The mighty Fowler, studying some great hit,

And stealing from thy stolen scraps of wit,

Some passage for his next Club meeting speech,

The pith of which he ever fails to reach.

Tis well --his audience know nor care for more,

The dull crowd clap, and drunken Whiggies roar.

A well trained pack, obedient to the call,

The leading hound gives note, then follow all.

Again—how much thy spirit must rejoice

To hear the champion with the little voice,

Laud to the skies thy labor, talents, zeal,

So freely put forth for the party's weal;

Thou shouldst for this reflect his greatness too,

Nor give to Fowler what to him is due;

Nor his great genius quite forget to sing,

Because he takes the "Times" beneath his wing

Extol, as usual, all that famous band

Of Whig aspirants, climbing hand in hand.

Still, let me say, amid the motley crowd

There is one Whig of whom thou may'st be proud;

He stands a lonely one among the clan

Of Whig nobility, an honest man!

Kind, gifted Cocke! Too hard was the decree

Of Fate, indeed, that made a Whig of thee!

A true Republican in every part,

A Whig in politics, but Democrat in heart.

Once more I turn to thee, my little light,

To say one word of caution and good night.

Be modest cool, when darting wit about.

Flare not on those who 'll kick thy twinkling out

And when things touch not thee, always be mute,

Or else some time thou 'lt have to take a shoot.

Little Rock, Feb. 28.