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THE POST OF HONOR.

7

Sits like a spectre at the soldier's board,
Adds Spartan steps to many a broken sword ; 5
For thee and thine combining squadrons form
To sweep the world with Glory's awful storm ;
The intrepid warrior shouts thy deathless name,
And plucks new valor from thy torch of fame;

For him the bell shall wake its loudest song,

For him the cannon's thunder echo long,

For him a nation weave the unfading crown,

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And swell the triumph of his sweet renown.
So Nelson watched, long ere Trafalgar's days,
Thy radiant orb, prophetic Glory, blaze, -
Saw Victory wait, to weep his bleeding scars,
And plant his breast with Honor's burning stars.
So the young hero, with expiring breath,

Bequeathes fresh courage in the hour of death,

Bids his brave comrades hear the inspiring blast,

And nail their colors, dauntless, to the mast;

Then dies, like Lawrence, trembling on his lip
That cry of Honor, “Don't give up the ship!”

Pageant of light, dissolving into air,Thou glittering folly, seeming only fair, What myriad insects, crowding to the flame, Die in the arena, cheated of thy name !

Go mark its influence o'er each scene of life,

Your neighbor feels it, and your neighbor's wife ;

He o’er Columbia's District sees it shine,

While she, more modest, thinks a coach divine. "Be rich, and ride," the buxom lady cries, “ Be famous, John,” his answering heart replies ; “ The golden portals of the Chamber wait To give thee entrance at the next debate; Get votes, get station, and the goal is won,

Shine in the Senate, and eclipse the sun ;

Quadrennial glory shall compensate toil,
The feast of office, and the flow of spoil.”

Poor child of Fancy, party's candidate,

Born of a caucus, what shall be thy fate ! Nursed by a clique, perplexed I see thee stand, Holding a letter in thy doubtful hand;

THE POST OF HONOR.

9

It comes with questions that demand replies,

Important, weighty, relevant, and wise.

Respected Sir,” the sheet of queries runs, In solid phalanx, like election buns, “Respected Sir, we humbly beg to know

Your mind on matters that we name below;

Be firm, consistent, that is, if you can;

The country rocks, and we must know our man.

And first, What think you of the Northern Lights,

And is it fatal when a mad dog bites ?

Do you allow your corn to mix with peas,

And can you doubt the moon is one with cheese?
If all your young potatoes should decease,

What neighbor's patch would you incline to fleece ?

When Lot's slow help-meet made that foolish halt,

Was she half rock, or only table salt ?

And had the ark run thumping on the stumps,

Would you, if there, have aided at the pumps ?
Do you approve of men who stick to pills,
Or aqueous pilgrims to Vermont's broad hills ?

Do you

mark Friday darkest of the seven?

Do you

believe that white folks go to Heaven?

Do you imbibe brown sugar in your tea?

Do you spell Congress with a K or C?
Will you eat oysters in the month of June,

And soup and sherbet with a fork or spoon ? Towards what amusement does your fancy lean ?

Do you believe in France or Lamartine ?

Shall you at church eight times a month be found,

Or only absent when the box goes round ?

Should Mr. Speaker ask you out to dine,

Will you accept, or how would you decline ?

In case a comet should our earth impale,

Have you the proper tongs to seize his tail ?

For early answers we would make request,

Weigh well the topics, calmly act your best,

Show us your platform, how you mean to tread,

Plump on your feet, or flat upon your head;
If your opinions coincide with ours,

We delegate to you the proper powers.

THE POST OF HONOR.

11

N. B.- No bribes; the postage you must pay
From this to Boston, and the other way.

A Postscript, private. - If we all agree,

The undersigned expect the usual fee;
And if you publish in the Western Bull,
Pray do n't forget to print our names in full."

The ambitious guardian of the errant swine, (Sometimes named hog-reeve by the sacred Nine,)

Think you no sighs his anxious breast denote,

Should chance divest him of his party's vote ?
Alas ! he cries, with Wolsey in the play,
“Farewell, my greatness ! Honor swept away!”
And feels, beneath that recreant party's frown,

А

pang as great as when a king goes down.

The country curate, quoting Greek for gold,

Sees it resplendent o'er some distant fold;
His reverend locks, just turned of twenty-two,
Need other perfumes than a Cape Ann dew; -

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