And though on Thames's tide again
His progress Proctor sought to stay,
Dismay'd he fled, and left the plain
To Harrison and Liberty!

Now honour'd be his hoary age,
Who glory for his country won :-
Shout for the hero, patriot, sage,

For William Henry Harrison:
Of all our chiefs he oftenest fought,
But never lost a victory,

And peace was gain'd, and plenty brought
By Harrison and Liberty!

150

OLD FORT MEIGS.

By a soldier who fought there.

Air-"O! lonely is the forest shade."

O! lonely is our old green fort,
Where oft, in days of old,
Our gallant soldiers bravely fought
'Gainst savage allies bold;

But with the change of years have pass'd

That unrelenting foe,

Since we fought here with Harrison,

A long time ago.

It seems but yesterday I heard,
From yonder thicket nigh,
The unerring rifle's sharp report,
The Indian's startling cry.
Yon brooklet flowing at our feet,
With crimson gore did flow,

m

When we fought here with Harrison,
A long time ago.

The river rolls between its banks,
As when of old we came,

Each grassy path, each shady nook,
Seems to me still the same;
But we are scatter'd now, whose faith
Pledged here, through weal or wo,
With Harrison our soil to guard,
A long time ago.

But many a soldier's lip is mute,
And clouded many a brow,
And hearts that beat for honour then,
Have ceased their throbbing now.
We ne'er shall meet again in life
As then we met, I trow,

When we fought here with Harrison,
A long time ago.

151

OLD TIPPECANOE.

HURRAH for the father of all the green west,
For the Buckeye who follows the plough!
The foemen in terror his valour confess'd,
And we'll honour the conqueror now.

His country assail'd in the darkest of days,
To her rescue impatient he flew!

The war-whoop's fell blast, and the rifle's red blaze,
But awaken'd old Tippecanoe.

On Maumee's dark waters, along with brave Wayne, Green laurels he glean'd with his sword:

But when peace on the country came smiling again,
His steel to the scabbard restored.

But wise in the council, as brave in the field,
His country still ask'd for his aid;

And the birth of young empires his wisdom reveal'd,
The sage and the statesman display'd.

But the red torch of war, the tomahawk's gleam,
To the battle again call'd the true;

And there, where the stars and the stripes brightly stream,

Rush'd the hero of Tippecanoe.

Now, hark! from the far frozen wilds of the north,
What battle-shouts burden the gale?

The hosts of old England ride gallantly forth,
And the captive and conquer'd bewail.

His country recalls the bold chieftain she loves,
The sword of old Tip she reclaims;
And Victory heralds, wherever he moves,
The path of the hero of Thames!

Hurrah for the hero of Tippecanoe

The farmer who ploughs at North Bend!
A soldier so brave, and a patriot so true,
Will find in each freeman a friend.

Hurrah for the Log Cabin Chief of our choice!
For the old Indian fighter, hurrah!

Hurrah! and from mountain to valley the voice
Of the people re-echoes—hurrah!

Then come to the ballot box-boys, come along,
He never lost battle for you:

Let us down with oppression and tyranny's throng,
And up with old Tippecanoe.

152

TIPPECANOE.

A PARODY ON HOHENLINDEN.

ON Wabash, when the sun withdrew,
And chill November's tempest blew,
Dark roll'd thy waves, Tippecanoe,
Amidst that lonely solitude.

Where all was silence, save the howl
Of wintry blast or boding owl,
Or savage yell, as they would prowl
In that unbroken wilderness.

But Wabash saw another sight;
A martial host, in armour bright,
Encamp'd upon the shore that night,
And lighted up her scenery !

A favour'd spot that chieftain chose,
For weary soldiers to repose,
But not to sleep, lest wily foes

Should creep upon them stealthily.

But ere the rays of morning light
Dispell'd the shades of ebon night,
The silent arrow sped the flight
Of death, to every sentinel.

Then rang the shores with savage yell :
Then echo'd every hill and dell,

And, furious as the fiends of hell,

Rush'd forth the savage enemy.

To arms they flew, and, quick array'd,
Each warrior drew his battle-blade,
While clamorous drum and trumpet bray'd,

To wake the dreadful revelry.

Come on, their chieftain cried, ye brave,
We fight for victory or a grave!

Wave, Freedom! thy proud banners wave!
And charge with all thy chivalry!

Then shook the earth with cannons' roar;
Then freemen roll'd in freemen's gore;
While hungry Havoc cried for more,
And waved his plume o'er massacre.

Brave Owens there and Daviess fell;
The war-whoop was their funeral knell,
They need no monument to tell

Their unexampled bravery.

"Tis morn! the dreadful strife is done!
Hail to the gallant Harrison!

Who often fought and ever won

The glorious wreath of victory.

153

IMMORTAL WASHINGTON.

Tune-"Bunch of Rushes."

COLUMBIA's greatest glory

Was her loved chief, fair Freedom's friend;
Whose fame, renown'd in story,
Shall last till time itself shall end.
Ye muses, bring

Your harps, and sing

Sweet lays that in smooth numbers run,
In praise of our loved hero,

The great, the god-like Washington.