“O where, Sir Page, has my lady fled?”

Hither and thither the birds fly home.

PETER STUYVESANT’S NEW YEAR’S CALL.
1 JAN. A. C. 1661.

Where nowadays the Battery lies,

New York had just begun,

A new-born babe, to rub its eyes,

In Sixteen Sixty-One.

They christened it Nieuw Amsterdam,

Those burghers grave and stately,

And so, with schnapps and smoke and psalm,