The National Clay melodist, a collection of popular and patriotic songs . ds,Who the National Ship is secure in ? Egad, we must muster all hands,And toss him as we did Van Buren, Then we have only to bend a new sail,And alter her trim so unlucky, And I warrant shell weather the gale,With a pilot like Hal of Kentucky,Rum te te turn,Three cheers for old Hal, &c. You all heard of Hal the last war,When John Bull was for pressing our sailors; Says he, now just take off that paw,Or youll find yourselves done over tailors. And when the old Dons at the South,Gainst the tyrants of Spain set up parties,
The National Clay melodist, a collection of popular and patriotic songs . ds,Who the National Ship is secure in ? Egad, we must muster all hands,And toss him as we did Van Buren, Then we have only to bend a new sail,And alter her trim so unlucky, And I warrant shell weather the gale,With a pilot like Hal of Kentucky,Rum te te turn,Three cheers for old Hal, &c. You all heard of Hal the last war,When John Bull was for pressing our sailors; Says he, now just take off that paw,Or youll find yourselves done over tailors. And when the old Dons at the South,Gainst the tyrants of Spain set up parties, Twas Hal that first opened his mouth,Crying, Give us your flipper, my hearties!*Rum te te turn,Three cheers for old Hal, &e. The friend and companion of Tip,Would be firm in all changes of weather; And never would give up the ship,While two of her planks held together. Then stand to your guns, every Whig,Whether Yankee, or Hoosier, or Buckeye; Loco Foco manoeuvres well twig,In the flag ship of Hal of te te turn,Three cheers for old Hal, &c. 46. COOITCONOERT- [ Written for the Clay Melodist] AT LINDEN, WHEN VANS SUN WAS LOW [Hoenlinden.] At Linden,* when Vans sun was low,All bloodless lay the untrodden foe,And dark as thunder was the browOf Matty, swearing awfully. He rubbed his eyes; could it be so?Five coons were singing in a row,And playing on a new banjo, To soothe him, a Clay melody. * Liudenwold. 47 And Linden saw, another sight,When the drum beat from morn to night,Commanding Whigs, in all their might,To march to the ballot boxes. By song and trumpet fast arrayed,Each Whig he drew his Clay-more blade;And furious every Loco neighed,At being whipped so horribly. Then Linden shook, with thunder riven;Then Locos fell to battle driven,And louder than the bolts of heaven,They tore each others toggery. And redder yet Matts face did glow,At Linden, as his sun sunk low,And darker yet became the browOf Matty, swearing awfully. He rubbed his eyes; could it be so?Those
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Keywords: ., bookcentury1800, bookdecade1840, bookidnationalclay, bookyear1844
