I HOLD a letter in my hand,-
A flattering letter, more's the pity,-
By some contriving junto planned,
And signed per order of Committee.
'T WAS on the famous trotting-ground,
The betting men were gathered round
From far and near; the 'cracks' were there
O Love Divine, that stooped to share
Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear,
On Thee we cast each earth-born care,
FRIEND, you seem thoughtful. I not wonder much
That he who sails the ocean should be sad.
I am myself reflective. When I think
THE folks, that on the first of May
Wore winter coats and hose,
Began to say, the first of June,
'Good Lord! how hot it grows!'
You 'll believe me, dear boys, 't is a pleasure to rise,
With a welcome like this in your darling old eyes;
THE land of sunshine and of song!
Her name your hearts divine;
To her the banquet's vows belong
The Comet! He is on his way,
And singing as he flies;
The whizzing planets shrink before
The spectre of the skies;
'T is sweet to fight our battles o'er,
And crown with honest praise
Now, men of the North! will you join in the strife
For country, for freedom, for honor, for life?
The giant grows blind in his fury and spite,--