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Am.—"Here's to you, Harry Clay!"
Why, what a host of candidates
Did start to try their luck, To see who'd be next President;
There's Douglass, Pierce and Buck.
Chorus,—Here's to you, John Fremont Here's to you, my noble soul, Here's to you, with all my heart, And you shall be the people's choice, And that before we part'— Here's to you, John Fremont!
And the first upon the list
Was the giant Douglas—Steve ; His claims were canvassed by his friends,
And he was asked to leave. Chorus, &c.
The next was General Cass,
Once our Minister to France, He'd only do to Parlez vous—
He had'nt got a chance.
Chorus, &c.
How happy Franklin Pierce must be,
Since he's turned out so well, For he can leave off war, and soon
In peace and Concord dwell. Chorus, &c.
So they trotted out at last,
That Federalist, Buchanan, And then they made a platform black
For their candidate to stand on. Chorus, &c.
Young Iowa, far in the West,
Has fired the signal gun, She met the foe, and laid him low—
Her work was bravely done. Chorus, &c.
Hark ! a voice rings out from Vermont's hills, And sounds far o'er the plain, " We've rolled our twenty thousand up, Now, do ye likewise, Maine." Chorus, &c. |
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