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From Babel brickbats, and the Cashmere goat,
Down to the famous Knickerbocker boat,
Applause and wonder from the gazer seek,
Aided by martial music once a week)—
Long did he linger there, and but a few
Odd shillings his “Great Moral Picture” drew.

In vain the newspapers its beauties told,
In vain they swore ’twas worth its weight in gold,
In vain invoked each patriotic spirit,
And talked of native genius, power, and merit;
In vain the artist threatened to lay by
His innate hope of immortality,
Grow rich by painting merely human faces,
Nor longer stay and starve in public places—
All would not do—his work remained unseen,
Taste, Beauty, Fashion, talked of Mr. Kean;
But of the Moral Picture not a word
From lips of woman or of man was heard.

The scene has changed, thanks to the Corporation,
And Peale has now a city’s approbation.
“Resolved,” the Council Records say, “that we
Untie the purse-strings of the Treasury,
Take out just five-and-twenty cents a head,
And by the Mayor in grave procession led,
Visit the Academy of Arts, and then,
Preceded by the Mayor—walk back again.”