Posts Tagged ‘Frelinghuysen’

The Convert’s Experience

October 21, 2011

POLITICAL.

The following song was composed and sung by JOSEPH MORGRIDGE, Esp. of Sangerville, at the Mass Convention recently held in this city, to the great delight of all present.

—–
The Convert’s Experience.
A WHIG SONG.

To leave the dear Locos, and from them to part,
And risk their displeasure, affected my heart,
But yet I in truth, and all candor could say
‘Twas best to elect Frelinghuysen and Clay.

I followed my party through thick and through thin,
To the vortex of ruin, and almost fell in,
But now they no longer, shall lead me astray,
For I will support Frelinghuysen and Clay.

They promised me office, and offered me gold, –
And many a falsehood, to me, they have told,
To lead me along in their favorite way –
Afraid I would join Frelinghuysen and Clay. –

They told me Mechanics and Farmers would thrive
Free trade be extended, and commerce revive,
If they, awhile longer, in office could stay,
To put down the Whigs — Frelinghuysen and Clay.

They wished me to tarry, and not on them frown,
‘Till Polk was elected — the tariff put down;
But if, after that, I no longer would stay,
O, then I might join Frelinghuysen and Clay.

They promised the nation a currency sure,
To keep both together, the rich and the poor,
Down, down with the Banks, every Loco did say,
But never elect Frelinghuysen and Clay.

They told me their secret, I always must keep,
Or, like Morgan*, yet I, might have cause to weep,
But I heeded no threats, and turned from them away,
Resolved to support Frelinghuysen and Clay.

This promise, with others they gravely did make;
That I, of the spoils, should quite largely partake,
But I feared, they, like Tyler, their trust would betray,
So I left them, to join Frelinghuysen and Clay.

Thus all their exertions, my mind to deceive,
Were fruitless and vain; for I could but believe,
That I should have cause, to be proud of the day,
That I left them, to join Frelinghuysen and Clay.

Free trade, Polk and Dallas, I will not go for,
To pay debts for Texas, and buy our her war,
But I’ll work, and I’ll sing, and proudly I’ll say:
I helped to elect Frelinghuysen and Clay.

Let profligate Rulers, be swept by the board;
Our nation, once more, to good health be restored,
And I never will turn for one moment away
From freedom’s true friends — Frelinghuysen and Clay.

The sound of rejoicing is heard on the gale,
The Whigs are triumphant — the Locos look pale,
Their faces grow long, as the field they survey,
Nobly won by the Whigs, Frelinghuysen and Clay.

*The Anti-Mason.

Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Bangor, Maine) Aug 27, 1844


GREAT WHIG MASS CONVENTION AT CHERRY FIELD ON THE 22d INST. — ALL ‘DOWN EAST’ WIDE AWAKE! [excerpt]

The flag born by the Whigs from Bluehill had the following inscription.

BLUEHILL — ALWAYS READY.

Reverse:

Our country and our country’s cause
Our constitution and our laws
Fro these we hope, for these we pray
For these we’ll vote for Henry Clay.

Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Bangor, Maine) Aug 27, 1844

New Edition of “The House That Jack Built”

October 19, 2011

Image from the Elektratig blog

A NEW EDITION OF
THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT.
———

United States Treasury:
This is the house that Jack built.

Public Deposites:
This is the malt that lay in the house
That Jack built.

Nick Biddle:
This is the rat that eat the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.

Gen. Jackson:
This is the cat that caught the rat
That eat the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.

Federalism:
This is the dog that worried the cat
That caught the rat
That eat the malt
That lay in the house
That Jack built.

The People:
This is the cow with a crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That caught the rat
That eat the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.

Hard Cider and beef hurra in 1840:
This is the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with a crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That caught the rat
That eat the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.

Henry Clay:
This is the man all tattered and torn
That kissed the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with a crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That caught the rat
That eat the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.

Frelinghuysen:
This is the priest all shaven and shorn
That married the man all tattered and torn
Unto the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That caught the rat
That eat the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.

Democratic Triumph in 1844:
This is the Cock that crowed in the morn
That awoke the priest all shaven and shorn
That married the man all tattered and torn
Unto the maiden all forlorn
That milked the cow with the crumpled horn
That tossed the dog
That worried the cat
That caught the rat
That eat the malt
That lay in the house that Jack built.

The Republican Compiler (Gettysburg, Pennsylvania) Nov 18, 1844

Songs for Henry Clay

October 19, 2011

Image from Elektratig blog

The Workingmen’s Song.
Air — “WASHING DAY.”

Times won’t be right its plain to see,
Till Tyler runs his race,
But then we’ll have a better man
To put into his place;
For now we’ll rouse with might and main,
And work, and work, away;
We’ll work, and work, and work, and work,
And put in HENRY CLAY,

Chorus.

For now we’ll rouse with might and main,
And work, and work away;
We’ll work, and work, and work, and work,
and put in HENRY CLAY.

The Farmers want good times again
To sell their wheat and pork,
And so to put in HENRY CLAY,
They’re going right to work;
They’ll plough, and sow, and reap, and mow,
And thresh, and thresh away;
They’ll thresh, and thresh, and thresh, and thresh,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll plough and sow, etc., etc.

The Laboring Men they want more work
And higher wages too,
And so they’ll go for HENRY CLAY,
With better times in view;
They’ll saw, and chop, and grub, and dig,
And shovel, and shovel away;
And shovel, and shovel, and shovel, and shovel,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll saw, and chop, etc., etc.

The Weavers too will go to work,
For a TARIFF and HENRY CLAY;
They’ll make us all the Cloth we want,
If they can have fair play;
They’ll reel, and spool, and warp, and wind,
And weave, and weave away;
They’ll weave, and weave, and weave, and weave,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll reel and spool, etc., etc.

We want no Clothing Ready made,
From England or from France;
We’ve Tailors here who know their trade,
They ought to have a chance;
They’ll cut, and baste, and hem, and press,
And stitch, and stitch away;
They’ll stitch, and stitch, and stitch, and stitch,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll cut and baste, etc., etc.

The Coopers know  when Farmers thrive,
Their trade is always best,
And so they’ll go with one accord
For Harry of the West.
They’ll dress, and raise, and truss, and hoop,
And hoop, and hoop away;
They’ll hoop, and hoop, and hoop, and hoop,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll dress, and raise, etc., etc.

The Hatters do not want to see
Their kettles standing dry,
And so they’ll go for HENRY CLAY,
And then the Fur will fly,
They’ll nap, and block, and color, and bind,
And finish, and finish away;
They’ll finish, and finish, and finish, and finish,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll nap and block, etc., etc.

Shoemakers too, with a right good will,
Will join the working throng,
And what they do for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll do both neat and strong;
They’ll cut, and crimp, and last, and stitch,
And peg and ball away –
They’ll ball, and ball, and ball, and ball,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll cut and crimp, etc., etc.

The Blacksmiths too ‘ll roll up their sleeves,
Their sledges they wilt swing,
And at the name of HENRY CLAY,
They’ll make their anvils ring,
They’ll blow, and strike, and forge, and weld,
And hammer, and hammer away;
They’ll hammer, & hammer, & hammer & hammer,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll blow, and strike, etc., etc.

The Tanners too will lend a hand,
When skinning time begins;
They are a hardy noble band,
And live by tanning skins;
They’ll bait the Softs, and break the Hards,
And flesh and curry away;
They’ll curry, and curry, and curry, and curry,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll bait the softs, etc., etc.

The Potters too are all for CLAY,
For ’tis in CLAY they work;
And all they want is ready pay,
To buy their bread and pork;
They’ll glaze their pots and fire their kilns,
And burn, and burn away –
They’ll burn, and burn, and burn, and burn,
To vote for HENRY CLAY.

The Carpenters, a noble band,
Will then have work to do –
New Barns and Houses through the land,
They’ll raise both strong and new –
They’ll line and score, and scribe and bore,
And brace and build away –
And build, and build, and build, and build,
And vote for HENRY CLAY,
They’ll line and score, etc., etc.

And thus we’ll work, and thus we’ll sing,
Till Tyler’s race is run;
And then we’ll have to fill his place,
Kentucky’s favorite son;
For now we’ll rouse with might and main,
And work, and work away;
We’ll work, and work, and work, and work,
And put in HENRY CLAY,
For now we’ll rouse, etc., etc.

The Ohio Repository (Canton, Ohio) Mar 7, 1844

For the Ohio Repository.

Our Harry Is Coming.
Air — “The Campbels are Coming.

Our Harry is coming, oh Matty beware!
Our Harry is coming, oh Locos take care!
Our Harry is coming, the gallant and free,
He’s coming, he’s coming, oh Matty beware!

Columbia’s shout of ecstacy,
The glorious shouts ring far and free;
Thundering abroad — sublime if rude,
A Nation’s noble gratitude,
Our Harry is coming, &c.

He comes — but in pacific pride;
No battle-band begirts his side,
No hoarse war-drum booms on the wind –
But all is peace and love combined,
Our Harry is coming, &c.

He comes the sacred oath to swear,
Then seated in that awful chair;
Higher than throne, — like Washington –
The laurels on his brow he’s won,
Our Harry is coming, &c.

Our Country’s sav’d — new honors lent,
When CLAY, the People’s President,
Will then to right the helm of state,
And the Republic renovate.
Our Harry is coming, &c.

Canton, March, 1844.   AMELLS.

The Ohio Repository (Canton, Ohio) Mar 14, 1844

The Mill Boy of the Slashes.
Tune — ‘Washing Day,’ or ‘Lucy Long.’

Cheer up, my lads, we’re on the way,
Press onward for the prize;
For at the name of HENRY CLAY,
What glorious hopes arise.

Then hast the day, then clear the way,
As on our hero dashes;
Away! Away! for HARRY CLAY,
“The Mill Boy of the Slashes.”

From East to West — from North to South,
The mails bring cheering news;
The Softs are all down in the mouth;
The Hards have got the blues.

Then haste the day, etc.

Look out, my boys, the Locos know
That truth with  us is found;
and yet with lies they try to show,
That they are gaining ground;

Then hast the day, etc.

Our foes with wonder and with shame,
Now on their forces call;
Then spread abroad our leader’s fame,
Let cliques and cabals fall.

Then haste the day, etc.

The nation’s hope is on him set;
His name’s on every tongue;
Around the land in councils met,
His noble deeds are sung.

Then haste the day, etc.

These stubborn Lokies feel the rod;
Van Buren’s in a fright,
And poor Hard money crawfish To?,
Had rather run than fight.

Then haste the day, etc.

The Ohio Repository (Canton, Ohio) Apr 11, 1844

Ex-Speaker Polk of Tennessee.
TUNE — Dandy Jim of Caroline

Come listen Whigs and Locos all,
Your kind attention here I call,
And mark the burthen of the glee,
Ex-Speaker Polk of Tennessee –
But hark! the People rising say,
He’s not the man to conquer Clay,
This is the substance of their rhyme,
“Clay first, Clay last, Clay all the time.”

Polk’s choice occasioned some surprise,
Good Democrats rolled up their eyes,
Our Candidate, pary, who is he?
Why James *R. Polk of Tennessee –
But hark! &c.

But soon their vast excitement o’er,
They see, what ne’er was seen before,
The best selection that could be,
Ex-Speaker Polk of Tennessee –
But hark! &c.

And then commences nous verrons
To make enthusiasm strong,
Uphold; ye Loco clique, says he,
Ex-Speaker Polk of Tennessee –
But hark! &c.

Fall down before a better man
Than even little Matty Van,
Buchanan too must bow the knee
To Ex-Speaker Polk of Tennessee –
But hark! &c.

Now, not content with this display,
They steal John Tyler’s protege,
Annexing Texas, as you see,
To James K. Polk of Tennessee –
But hark! &c.

Though now a Champion of Free Trade,
Once pon a time a vote you made,
To tax our coffee and our tea,
Ex-Speaker Polk of Tennessee –
But hark! &c.

When last you took the field with Jones,
You heard the People’s angry tones,
A more indignant note you’ll hear,
Before November’s ides appear –
For hark! the People rising say,
Their highest hope is Harry Clay,
This is the substance of their rhyme,
“Clay first, Clay last, Clay all the time.”

_____

*So was the name blazoned on the Loco Foco banners when first announced.

Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Bangor, Maine) Jun 20, 1844

Something Rich — Truth by Accident.

Locofocoism does not seem to florish well in poetry, as the muses have been so long engaged in the worthy and truthful cause of the patriotic Whigs, that when compelled to do service for Locofocoism will indirectly sift in the truth. –

We were greatly amused last evening in looking over a song in the Democrat, that will be generally circulated this morning. We hope our friends will secure a copy as a poetical and political curiosity. It is decidedly rich, and we think the editor of the Democrat must have had no little grass in his boots to have admitted the truth telling little witch!

Here is the song and the reader will please read the italicised letters first.

For the Democrat.

YOUNG HICKORIES.
TUNE. – Old Rosin the Bow.

1
Come all ye young Hickories rally!
Let’s shoulder to shoulder unite,
Against the coon forces we’ll sally,
Young Hickory” leads in the fight.

CHORUS.

Young Hickory leads in the fight, (Repeat.)
Against the coon forces we’ll rally,
“Young Hickory” leads in the fight.

2
We’ll raise up our Hickory poles, hearties,
In Honor of Tennessee’s son,
Let us show him that firmly each heart is
Leagued together to use up the coon,

CHORUS.

Leagued together to use up the coon, (repeat)
Let us show him that each heart is
Leagued together to use up the coon.

3
The feds of their strength loud and bragging,
Renewing of ’40 the trash,
In November the coons we’ll be flogging,
Until he shall fly from the lash.

Chorus.

4
Mark his hide with each blow that you deal him
Place the licks on his carcase with skill,
Hurrah! then, e’en “Huysen” can’t heal him,
Amen, with a hearty good will.

Chorus.
5
Polk and Dallas inscribed on our banners,
Shall to victory marshal our way;
Be up then — let feds shout hozannas,
Defeated they’ll be with their Clay.

Chorus.

Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Bangor, Maine) Jun 25, 1844

Image from the National Archives website

From the Whig Standard.

SONG.

In the times of the Revolution;
While yet the land was young;
Heavy the lot of the hardy few,
But the will was stout and strong,
Of those who fought with Washington;
On their fields of fame they died,
All true men, like you men,
Remember them with pride.

At daybreak at old Trenton,
On Monmouth’s sandy plain,
In the swamp of the Yellow Santeo,
On the waves of old Champlain,
Fought the Whigs of the Resolution,
With hearts unchanging still,
And we men — if free men –
So must we fight — we will!

and some of these remain, boys!
Through all that sturdy storm,
Bent, and worn out, and aged,
But hearts still young and warm;
They should know what are true principles,
These men with locks of gray,
They are few men — but true men –
And they vote with us for Clay.

Honor unto the aged,
The old true-hearted brave!
Theirs be a free and pleasant death,
And a free and quiet grave;
And still we’ll protect the principles
For which they toiled so long,
The Whigs of the Revolution
Who fought when the land was young.
———

From the Whig Standard.

A NEW SONG.
TUNE — Yankee Doodle.

The Locos met at Baltimore,
To make their nominations,
With tempers sour’d, and feeling sore,
And humbled expectations.
But Locofocos keep it up,
Heed not the Whig’s rejoicing,
Don’t yield the day to HENRY CLAY
Nor yet to FRELINGHUYSEN.

They felt that VAN, was not the man,
To lead them on to glory,
And should they pass, to LEWIS CASS,
‘Twould end in the same story.
But Locofocos keep it up, &c., &c.

JOHNSON they knew, would never do,
BUCHANAN’s chance was small, sir,
They fear’d each vote, would but denote,
They’d make no choice at all, sir.
But Locofocos keep it up, &c., &c.

Though this they fear’d, they persevered,
Seven times the vote was taken!
On the eighth, for a joke, they started POLK,
Hoping to save their bacon;
Then Locofocos keep it up, &c., &c.

JOHNSON withdrew, BUCHANAN too,
VAN BUREN flew the track, sir,
All own they’re beat, POLK wins the heat,
Though a fourth rate party hack, sir,
But Locofocos keep it up &c.

The Loco’s now were run aground,
To find another man, as
Weak as POLK, but at last they found
His match in GEORGE M. DALLAS,
Then Locofocos keep it up, &c.

Then for POLK and DALLAS go it strong,
Each Locofoco hearty,
With guns, and drums, and noise, and song,
Let’s cheer our drooping party,
Ye Locofocos keep it up, &c.

We’ve done our best pray be content,
We’ve made a nomination,
And POLK and DALLAS we present
For the people’s acceptation.
Then Locofocos keep it up, &c.

John Jones says TYLER was by law
The “second: nominated,
That POLK, being third, he must ‘withdraw,’
‘Or the party’ll be defeated.’
John Jones and Tyler keep it up, &c.

The people thank you, gentlemen,
But its far from their intentions,
To vote for the third and fourth rate men
You’ve named in your conventions!
For loud and long, like thunder strong,
The people’s voice is rising,
And ’twill be given before High Heaven,
For CLAY AND FRELINGHUYSEN.

South Port American (South Port, Wisconsin) Jun 29, 1844

From the New York Tribune.

HENRY CLAY.

He wears no crown upon that brow which gleams in Freedom’s van,
Where every god has set his seal to show the world a man;
Nor bears he in his trusty hand the warrior’s spear and glaive,
Whose harvests are the falling ranks that burden ruin’s grave.

But prouder than the proudest king, whose million vassals bow,
He wears the wreath a Nation’s hand has twined upon his brow;
And peerless o’er his fallen foes with flaming plume and crest,
He shines among a Nation’s stars the brightest and the best.

His name is not a sculptured thing, where old Renown has reared
Her marble in the wilderness, by smoke of battle seared;
But graven on life-leaping hearts where Freedom’s banners wave,
It gleams to bid the tyrant back, and loose the fettered slave.

His deeds are not of blood and wrong, where ruth, with iron hand,
Has yoked the stormy steeds of War, to desolate the land –
But ever in the hour of need, when Danger’s summons came,
He lent the thunder of his word, the halo of his name!

Around the hearths and altars where his country’s gods are shrined,
His heart has yearned for Freedom’s weal, with Freedom’s toil his mind;
And when from other lands oppressed the captive’s wail has rung,
His soul went forth in Freedom’s strength, with Freedom’s fire his tongue.

Above the altar’s of the Greek, and o’er Bolivia’s fane,
His name, “Deliverer,” is stampt upon the broken chain.
And from those old and glorious isles that gem the AEgean sea,
The sons of Spartans hail in song the Champion of the Free.

And now, when age in on his heart, and dimness in his eye,
He wanes not with the fitful lights that darken in the sky,
But prouder still in name and fame, with flaming plume and crest,
He shines among a Nation’s stars the brightest and the best!

O.D.S.

Huron Reflector ( Norwalk, Ohio) Sep 4, 1849


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