Remunerative Rhymes

[In the new History of American Literature it is stated that ROBERT TREAT PAINE, the Boston poet (1773-1811), enjoyed such a reputation “that he could command five dollars a line for his verse, a price never before approached in America, and perhaps never since equalled.”]

Say, is it true, O priceless ELLA WHEELER, That you, the blameless Sappho of the West, Stricken humanity’s most potent healer, Consoler of the doubting and distressed, Passion’s intense, impeccable revealer, Of all best-sellers quite the very best, Than TUPPER’S self far sweeter and sublimer, Were equalled by an early Boston rhymer?

It cannot be that such ecstatic yearning, Such pure domestic raptures uncontrolled, Such lavish use of old proverbial learning Of ancient saws cast in a modern mould, When measured by the crucial test of earning, By market value, reckoned up in gold, Never secured you, prophetess benign, More than a bare five dollars to the line.

Tried by this test, I own, scant was the gleaning Of MILTON—just five “jingling tingling quid” Paid for his Paradise; but then his meaning Was wilfully from artless readers hid. Besides, he wrote blank verse and from a leaning To heresy was never wholly rid; Your creed is crystal clear and orthodox, Your rhymes salute us like a postman’s knocks.

Five dollars for a line! Oh, no, great ELLA, That clearly cannot mark your maximum; The market-price of your celestia mella Must far surpass that negligible sum. Let some obscure American Apella Believe it, I am sure it cannot come To half the rate a high-browed journal pays For one of your incomparable lays.