Southern Argus. [volume] (Columbus, Miss.) 1834-1842, 1840-05-19
From the Albany Evening Journal.


Should brave old soldiers be forgot?
Should patriots fail to Irvine
Wreaths, glorious wreaths, for those who fought
In days of old lang syne?
No! long as life endures viii we
Deep in our hearts enshrine
The name of those who made US free
In days of old lang syne.
Proud England gloating DER her Crown.
And King, and "Rights Diulne''
Sent forth her slaves to chain US down,
In days of old lang syne:
But Freedoms champions ayer'd
They'd make her "lion" whine:
And nobly did they keep their ward,
In days of old lang syne.
They drew Charter, strong and full
Nor did they fear to sign
The bulletin that pricked John Bull,
And cut in every line.
Among those Hearts of Flint, whose fire
Lit up the fame benign,
Was HdrriS0n-TP's SGanted SireI-
A Wing of old lang syne.
But not the Fathers fame alone
Exalts the soldier Son
He has bright laurels of his own,
In hard-fought battles won't.
The Wabash hanks--F Fort Meigs--theT Thames;
Their tributes all combine
To rank him high with those whose names
Were dear IN old lang syne.
And who's VAN buren,, rohere and sohen
Did he lead on the brave;
Or raise his voice, or WELD his pen,
Or ope his purse, to Sdue1
While TIP gave fight he styled the War
G"DiSaStrOuS and Malign,''
And richly earned a coat of tar,
AS Tories did lang syne.
Let those who love ub-Treasury charms
1"Hard aoork and little pau
Closed ioorking shops and naortgaged farms
Extol King Martins sway.
But WE have solemnly affirmd
We will not rest supine
TillVAN shall squirB, as CRosswEI.L Sq1irm'd
And loriggPd-NoT lang syne.
The knapSack pillow'd HENRY's head,
The hard ground eas'd his tolls;
While MARTIN on his downy bed
Could dream of naught but "spoils.
And shall the Blue-ight rule the Free?
Shall Freedoms Star decline?
Forbid it Heaven! forbid it We
Who bled in old lang syne.
Is HARRISON one whit the worse,
Because he'd not secure,
As Martin did, long full purse
OBut acent from office poor!
And does the low ''log cabin hearth
Unfit OLD TIP to shine!
Did no log-homes give MOBILES birth
In days of old lang syne.
" hat though the Hero's hard "huge-paws,
Were wont to plough and saw!
Does that disgrace our sacred cause
Does that degrade him! NO!
Wing farmers are our nations nerve,
Its bone its uery spine!
They'll 'lerer Sacerre-they did not swerve
In days of old lang syne.
No ruffled shirt, no silken hose
No airs does TIP display;
But like "the pith of WORTH" he goes
In homespun "hoddin grey"
Upon his board there ne'er appeared
The costly "sparkling tcirae,"
But plain "Hard- Cider!" such az cheer'd
In days of old lang syne.
Connecticut has raised the heel
TIP's tory foes to bruise;
And keenly do their vitals feel
The tread of "Jersey blues"
November's ideS will give the stroke
Hard, final and condign-
A blow like that which snapped the yoIe
In days of old lang syne.
Yes, TIP must grace the big "White House!
(Alas for groom and cookD
And VAN on Kabbitch-stalks must brouse,
At home, sweet home-the hook!
Thrice hail. Old TIP! "Log-Cabin" TIP!
"Hard-Cider" Tip!-To YOU
The Helm we give!--hail noble ship!
"Land ho!' the Ports in view!
Huzza huzza! Kind Heaven be praised
The Star, the Star benign,
Shines bright!-'tis Freedoms Star that blaze
In days of old lang syne!
OLD SCHOHARIE.