The Cecil Whig. [volume] (Elkton, Md.) 1841-current, 1860-01-07
poetrp.
ADDRESS Of the Carrier

AGREES OF the Carrier
Of The Cecil Whtg, TO his Patrons, Januar,
Isl, 1860.
The light of the jocund New Year,
Has flown afar and away;
Spreading DER plain and woodland,
The joys Of its tlrst-born day.
1t diHereth not from another,
In any natural power;
Ills like the last of the Old year,
Or tomorrow's opening hour.
Bat mortals have made it way-mark,
10 note the course of a II life;
Ot Earth, and of Sun, and of Planet,
And the wild Elements strife.
AT the fire-side, dear and social
They sit and con over the Past,
AS the joys and woes of tn twelve-month,
All into the scales they cast.
And few there be can determine
How the balances stand;
But all know that gracious Ruler
Hath given with generous hand.
Peace flleth our borders with plenty,
And rocks us to sleep at night,
Till we dream of blisses and roses
Or the great Virginia fight
mi ands far over the ocean,
In the Old Year ear ey day,
There we're wars and woes and slaughter;
But the carnage has passed away.
Peace has regained her sceptre--
Stillcd is the lannon's roar
And, at least, for the passing hour,
The devastations are DER.
In this, the great land of our Boosting,
The boastcd land of the free,
Instead OF good fee ling, mad chickering's,
Are spread from lake to sea.
Secession is preached to the Southwark,
BY men of less brains than hair;
Disunion is yelled to the Northward,
BY the noisy fanatics there.
And thus they seek to spread terror,
And agitation and fear,
Among the millions of people,
Who dream Of no danger near.
Disunion s unknown in the work shops,
Where the hammer rings loud and shrill
Where the plane is showed by the elbow,
And the chisel displays its skill.
'Tis unknown in the mills by tn stream-sidcs,
Where the iron is melted ag!ow;
Unknown where the shuttlcs are driving
Their webs as fair as the snow.
IT'S unknown with the stalwart woodman,
Who dwells with the oak and pine,
Whose axe fills the forest with thunder
AS he 1ells down 50 the giants supine. -
IT'S unknown in the green lanes and valies ;
lis unknown in the country homes;
Where the farmer sits on his door-sill,
AS the shade Of evening comes.
Where at the crow of the cock in morning.
TO work like men of true WORTH
Who the glorious wealth OF the cereals,
Win from the bounteous Earth.
Whose children sing in the meadows
And gather the blooms by the stream;
And smile at their faces in tn water,
Aud lie in the shade to dream.
Mid this great right arm of the people,
Disunion has nowhere home;
They are true as their plowshares or sickles,
And are ready if troubles come.
IT'S not in the marts of the cities
The great thoronghfares Of trade;
IT'S not in the heart of the sailor;
OF 50 true blue" nc only is made
Who then is the nurse of this darger9
Who holds it, leashed. inshis hand?
'Tis the small. horse politician
The curse and the pest of the land.
The man who harangues at tn 4-corners,
The idle and drunken crowd;
Who gabbles at the bar of the tavern
The loudcst among the loud.
'Tis too, a weak set Of DULLES,
Who fatten on " Democrats spoils;
Who fear the disgrace of exposure
These are raising &c Disunion " broils.
And thus when we look at the terror;
We find the great people in peace;
SO let MS betake to our cangs,
And let the connections cease.
And to this end the Carrier bids you
bright and happy New Year;
And trusts for the sake of his ditty,
Your bounty his pocket will cheer.
eSahaef zs.sa-EsEa