Зображення сторінки
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We love the soil, and will protect

Or make that soil our graves,
Nor e'er this sacred truth neglect-

We never will be slaves.
Then, let us raise our bumpers high

With foaming liquor bright,
And ev'ry effort still defy

'Gainst God, our land and right!
Join hand and heart with one accord,

And waft it o'er the waves;
By land and sea be this the word-

We never will be slaves.

THE HUNTERS OF KENTUCKY, As sung by Mr. Ludlow, in the New Orleans and Wes

tern Country Theatres.
YE gentlemen and ladies fair,

Who grace this famous city,
Just listen, if you've time to spare,

While I rehearse a ditty; .
And for an opportunity,

Conceive yourselves quite lucky,
For 'tis not often here you see

A hunter from Kentucky.
Oh, Kentucky! the hunters of Kentucky.

The hunters of Kentucky,
We are a hardy free-born race,

Each man to fear a stranger;
Whate'er the game, we join in chase

Despising toil and danger;
And if a daring foe annoys,

Whate'er his strength and forces,
We'll show him that Kentucky boys
Are - alligator horses."

Oh, Kentucky, &c.

I s'pose you've read it in the prints,

How Packenham attempted
To make old Hickory Jackson wince,

But soon his schemes repented;
For we with rifles ready cock’d,

Thought such occasion lucky,
And soon around the general flock'd
The hunters of Kentucky.

Oh, Kentucky, &c.
You've heard, I s'pose, how New Orleans

Is fam'd for wealth and beauty-
There's girls of every hue it seems,

From snowy white to sooty.
So Packenham he made his brags,

If he in fight was lucky,
He'd have the girls and cotton bags,
In spite of old Kentucky,

Oh, Kentucky, &c.
But Jackson he was wide awake,

And was’nt scar'd at trifles,
For well he knew what aim we take

With our Kentucky rifles;
So he led us down to Cypress swamp,

The ground was low and mucky, . There stood John Bull in martial pomp, . And here was old Kentucky.

Oh, Kentucky, &c.
A bank was raised to hide our breast,

Not that we thought of dying,
But that we always like to rest,

Unless the game is flying: Behind it stood our little force

None wish'd it to be greater, For every man was half a horse, And half an alligator.

Oh, Kentucky, &c.

They did not let our patience tire,

Before they show'd their faces
We did not choose to waste our fire,

So snugly kept our places;
But when so near to see them wink,

We thought it time to stop 'em;
And 'twould have done you good í think
To see Kentuckians drop 'em.

Oh, Kentucky, &c.
They found at last 'twas vain to fight

Where lead was all their booty;
And so they wisely took to flight,

And left us all our beauty. And now if danger e'er annoys,

Remember what our trade is; Just send for.us Kentucky boys, And we'll protect you, ladies.

Oh, Kentncky, &c..

THE PATRICT’S FRIEND.

CEASE, tempest, cease! allay thy power
Nor bid the clouds of darkness lour,
Or let the vivid lightning play,
To cheer a pilgrim on his way;
For thus o'er barren plains I've sped,
To seek the mansions of the dead,
And kiss the clay where he may be,
Who sought his grave through liberty.
Cease, wind, to blow, 'twixt earth and heaven!

Unless your moans for him are given,
* Then I unison will sigh
Until the night has lingered by!
Still I'll proceed, unawed by fear,
And warm thy blast with friendship’s tear;

For I must know the hero's doom,
To breathe my blessings o'er his tomb.
Cease, hail and rain, to drench my vest!
Or slumbering Sorrow sooth to rest,
While I pace many a darkened field,
To seek, though dead, his country's shield.
For, though no more he lives to fight,
But only lives in memory's night,
I at his tomb my vow will seal, .
And o'er his honored marble kneel.
Cease, Pleasure, cease! and think of him
Who ne'er could Freedom's laurel dim!
Nor shall this pause for him be vain,
For he expir'd our rights to gain!
And, though he lies in yon cold earth,
There Freedom's fire shall take new birth,
To seek the clay where he may be,
Who sought his grave through liberty.

WASHINGTON. Oh ne'er to man did bounteous heaven impart A purer spirit or more generous heart; And in that heart did nature sweetly blend The patriot hero, and the faithful friend.

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HAIL TO THE CHIEF.

WORDS BY SIR WALTER SCOTT. Hail to the chief who in triumph advances!

Honor'd and bless'd be the evergreen Pine! Long may the Tree in his banner that glances, Flourish the shelter and grace of our line!

Heaven send it happy dew,

Earth lend it sap anew,
Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow,

While every Highland glen

Sends our shout back again, • Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!' Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,

Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;
When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the

mountain,
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade.

Moor'd in the rifted rock,

Proof to the tempest's shock,
Firmer he roots him, the ruder it blow;

Menteith and Breadalbane, then,

Echo his praise agen, • Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!' Proudly our Pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin, • And Banochar's groans to our slogan replied; Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin, And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side.

Widow and Saxon maid
Long shall lament our raid,

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