Why Despise the Name of Polk


Ah, why despise the name of Polk! —
A name that rhymes so well with folk,
That crowds may rally round this name,
and trust to Polk their country’s fame.
‘Tis a plant used by dames and swains,
To cure their fierce rheumatic pains;
If Uncle Sam is sore beset
Writhing with anguish, pain and debt,
(Worse than disease of joint or limb,)
Surely ’twill health restore to him.

‘Tis said the juice with care preserved,
To flush the cheek with bloom has served,
Since oft in pleasures idle maze,
Nature’s fresh bloom too soon decays.
Ye fair who wish the cheek’s bright glow,
On POLK your favor then bestow.
Surely such halcyon scenes ’twill raise,
As vieing with those fabled days —
The golden age — which poets sing,
New bloom to every cheek will bring.

A simple viand for the poor,
Is this same POLK, who asks for more?
If beauty, health, and food it give,
Let POLK in fame forever live.
When soaring high our eagle proud
Cleaves with its wing the thunder cloud,
In the same talon, bright and keen,
Where the green olive branch is seen,
The imperial bird the POLK shall bear,
High, through the azure field of air.

The Experiment (Norwalk, Ohio) Jul 31, 1844


I would, if I possessed the most valuable things in this world, and was about to give them away — I would give

Truth, to whig editors.
Merit, to whig candidates.
Common sense, to whig orators.
Justice, to Henry Clay.
Peace, to John Tyler.
The Presidency, to James K. Polk.
Infamy, to the Judge who sentenced Dorr.
Victory, to Democracy.
The spoils, to the victorious.
Salt River, to the Native Whigs.

The Experiment (Norwalk, Ohio) Jul 31, 1844

From the Globe.

Proud chieftain of democracy —
Lov’d leader of her faithful band! —
Oh! shall no harp resound for thee,
While through this wide-spread land,
From morn till night, a venal crowd, —
By hope of lucre basely won, —
Are worshipping with paeans loud,
A far less worthy son?

Yes! the proud duty shall be mine
To wake my humble harp, and raise
A tribute to a heart like thine;
For whom can camly gaze
Upon thee as thou truly art —
Thine every word and action scan —
And then not own thee, in his heart,
A good and honest man?

THINE eyes ne’er took the murderer’s aim,
As o’er the pistol’s tube they roll’d; —
THY hands ne’er plied the cunning game
To win thy neighbor’s gold; —
THY lips ne’er spake to ask God’s curse
Upon they fellow’s head to fall,
Nor o’pd with revellers to rehearse
Their tales of midnight brawl.

But pure in soul, and bright in mind,
With fearless front and step upright,
Thous standest forth amidst they kind,
A bright and shining light! —
And while one heart is left to fan
The flame on freedom’s altar rear’d,
Stern warrior for the rights of man,
Thy name will be rever’d!

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

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