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Jonatban to jobn


We own the ocean, tu, John,

You mus' n' take it hard,
Ef we can't think with you, John,

It 's just your own back yard,
Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess

Ef thet's his claim," sez he,
“The fencin' stuff 'll cost enough

To bust up friend J. B.
Ez wal ez you an' me!”

Why talk so dreffile big, John,

Of honor when it meant
You did n't care a fig, John,

But jest for ten per cent ?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess

He's like the rest,” sez he ;
“When all is done, it's number one

Thet’s nearest to J. B.,
Ez wal ez t you an' me!”

We give the critters back, John,

Cos Abram thought ’t was right;
It warn't your bullyin' clack, John,

Provokin' us to fight.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess

We've a hard row," sez he,
To hoe just now; but thet, somehow,

May happen to J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!”

We ain't so weak an' poor, John,

With twenty million people, An' close to every door, John,

A school house an' a steeple. Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess

It is a fact,” sez he,
“The surest plan to make a Man

Is, think him so, J. B.,
Ez much ez you or me!”

Our folks believe in Law, John ;

An' it's fer her sake, now,
They've left the axe an’ saw, John,

The anvil an' the plow.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess,

Ef 't warn’t fer law,” sez he, “There 'd be one shindy from here to Indy;

An' thet don't suit J. B.
(When 't ain't ’twixt you an' me !)”

We know we've got a cause, John,

Thet 's honest, just, an' true;
We thought 't would win applause, John,

Ef nowhere else, from you,
Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess

His love of right,” sez he,
“Hangs by a rotten fibre o' cotton;

There 's natur' in J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an' me!”

Jonatban to jobn


The South says,

Poor folks down !John, An' All men up! say we, — White, yaller, black, an' brown, John;

Now which is your idee? Ole Uncle S., sez he, “ I guess

John preaches wal,” sez he;
“But, sermon thru, an' come to du,

Why there's the old J. B.
A-crowdin' you an' me!"

Shall it be love or hate, John ?

It 's you thet 's to decide ;
Ain't your bonds held by Fate, John,

Like all the world's beside ?
Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess

Wise men fergive," sez he,
"But not ferget; an’ some time yet
Thet truth may strike J. B.,
Ez wal ez you an’ me !”

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God means to make this laud, John,

Clear thru, from sea to sea,
Believe an' understand, John,

The wuth o' bein' free.
Ole Uncle S., sez he, “I guess

God's price is high,” sez he;
“ But nothin' else than wut he sells

Wears long, an' thet J. B.
May larn, like you an' me!”



[First printed in the Richmond Examiner. Written while the author was in prison.]

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Y the blue Patapsco's billowy dash

The tyrant's war-shout comes,
Along with cymbal's fitful clash,

And the growl of his sullen drums.
We hear it, we heed it with vengeful thrills,

And we shall not forgive or forget ;
There's faith in the streams, there's hope in the hills,

There 's life in the old land yet!

Minions! we sleep but we are not dead ;

We are crushed, we are scourged, we are scarred; We crouch-t to welcome the triumph tread

Of the peerless Beauregard.
Then woe to your vile, polluting horde,

When the Southern braves are met ;
There's faith in the victor's stainless sword,
There 's life in the old land yet!

Tbere's Life in the Old Land Vet


Bigots ! ye quell not the valiant mind

With the clank of an iron chain ;
The spirit of freedom sings in the wind,

O’er Merriman, Thomas, and Kane;
And we, though we smile not, are not thralls, -
Are piling a gory debt;

While down by McHenry's dungeon walls
There's life in the old land yet !

Our women have hung their harps away,

And they scowl on your brutal bands,
While the nimble poniard dares the day,

In their dear, defiant hands.
They will strip their tresses to string our bows,

Ere the Northern sun is set;
There's faith in their unrelenting woes,

There's life iu the old land yet!

There's life, though it throbbeth in silent veins,

'Tis vocal without noise ; It gushed o’er Manassas' solemn plains,

From the blood of the MARYLAND Boys! That blood shall cry aloud, and rise

With an everlasting threat ; By the death of the brave, by the God in the skies,

There's life in the old land yet! [Southern.]

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