Henry Livingston Jr.

Rating: 4.67
Rating: 4.67

Henry Livingston Jr. Poems

Children

Pray dearest mother if you please
Cut up your double-curded cheese,
...

'Twas summer, when softly the breezes were blowing,
And Hudson majestic so sweetly was flowing,
The groves rang with music & accents of pleasure
And nature in rapture beat time to the measure,
...

Hail sov'reign love that first began,
The scheme to rescue fallen man;
Hail matchless, free, eternal grace,
That gave my soul a Hiding-Place.
...

Take the name of the swain, a forlorn witless elf
Who was chang'd to a flow'r for admiring himself.
A part deem'd essential in each lady's dress
With what maidens cry when they wish to say yes.
...

To his charming black-eyed niece
Uncle Harry wishest peace!
Wishes roses over strow'd
O'er her sublunary road!
...

In long gone years a fox and crane
Were bound in friendship's golden chain;
Whene'er they met, the fox would bow
And madame Crane would curtsie low-
...

With the ladies' permission, most humbly I'd mention
How much we're obliged by all their attention;
We sink with the weight of the huge obligation
Too long & too broad to admit compensation.
...

Her little bark on Life's wide Ocean tossed,
In the unequal struggle soon was lost,
Severe its conflict! Much alas it bore,
Then sunk beneath the storm and rose no more.
...

To my little niece Sally Livingston, on the death of a little serenading wren she admired.


Hasty pilgrim stop thy pace
...

'Twas the night before Christmas, when all thro' the house,
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
...

E v'ry grace in her combine,
L ove and truth and friendship join,
I n one source without reserve,
Z ealous all her friends to serve,
...

A vine from noblest lineage sprung
And with the choicest clusters hung,
In purple rob'd, reclining lay,
And catch'd the noontide's fervid ray;
...

The legislators pass along
A solemn, self-important throng!
Just raised from the common mass,
They feel themselves another class.
...

I rise when I please, when I please I lie down,
Nor seek, what I care not a rush for, renown;
The rattle called wealth I have learnt to despise,
Nor aim to be either important or wise.
...

HORACE.

While I was pleasing to your arms,
Nor any youth, of happier charms,
...

A gentle spirit now above
Once animated what lies here
Till heav'n announc'd in tenderest love
"Ascend Immortal to yon sphere."
...

An elegy on the death of MONTGOMERY TAPPEN who dies at Poughkeepsie on the 20th of Nov. 1784 in the ninth year of his age.


The sweetest, gentlest, of the youthful train,
...

Of RISPAH. (who had been the concubine of King SAUL) when DAVID hanged her children, because their father had done amiss.


From morn to eve from eve to rosy morn,
...

On this thy natal day permit a friend -
A brother - with thy joys his own to blend:
In all gladness he would wish to share
As willing in thy griefs a part to bear.
...

Tombstone


I fondly nursed an opening rose,
...

Henry Livingston Jr. Biography

Henry Livingston, Jr. (October 13, 1748 - February 29, 1828) has been proposed as being the uncredited author of the poem "A Visit from St. Nicholas", more popularly known (after its first line) as "The Night Before Christmas." The poem has always been attributed to Clement Clarke Moore, and the Livingston claim is hotly disputed. He was born on October 13, 1748 in Poughkeepsie, New York, to Henry Livingston, Sr. and Susannah Conklin. In 1774, Livingston married Sarah Welles, the daughter of Reverend Noah Welles, the minister of the Stamford, Connecticut Congregational Church. Their daughter Catherine was born shortly before Livingston joined the army on a six months' enlistment. In 1776, their son Henry Welles Livingston was born; the child was fatally burned at the age of fourteen months and, when another son was born, he was given the same name, according to the common practice of necronyms. Livingston farmed. Sarah died in 1783, and the children were boarded out. During this period Livingston began writing poetry. Over the next ten years, Livingston was occupied with poetry and drawings for his friends and family, some of which ended up in the pages of New York Magazine and the Poughkeepsie Journal. Although he signed his drawings, his poetry was usually anonymous or signed simply, "R". Ten years to the day after Sarah's death, Livingston remarried. Jane Patterson, at 24, was 21 years younger than her husband. Their first baby arrived nine months after the wedding. After that, the couple bore seven more children. It was for this second family that Henry Livingston is believed by some to have written the famous poem known as "A Visit from St. Nicholas" or "The Night Before Christmas". This famous Christmas poem first appeared in the Troy Sentinel on December 23, 1823. There seems to be no question that the poem came out of the home of Clement Moore, and the person giving the poem to the newspaper, without Moore's knowledge, certainly believed the poem had been written by Moore. However, several of Livingston's children remembered their father reading that very same poem to them fifteen years earlier. As early as 1837, Charles Fenno Hoffman, a friend of Moore's, put Moore's name on the poem. In 1844, Moore published the poem in his own book, Poems. At multiple times in his later life, Moore wrote out the now famous poem in longhand for his friends.)

The Best Poem Of Henry Livingston Jr.

Dialogue

Children

Pray dearest mother if you please
Cut up your double-curded cheese,
The oldest of the brotherhood.
It's ripe, no doubt and nicely good!
Your reputation will rise treble
As we the lucious morsel nibble.
Praise will flow from each partaker
Both on the morsel and the maker!


Madame

Your suit is vain,--upon my word,
You taste not yet my double-curd;
I know the hour,--the very minute
In which I'll plunge my cutteau in it;
Am I to learn of witless bairns
How I must manage my concerns?
As yet the fervid dog-star reigns
And gloomy Virgo holds the reigns.
Be quiet chicks, sedate and sober
And house your stomachs till October;
Then for a feast! Upon my word,
I'll really cut my double curd.

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