The New York herald. [volume] (New York [N.Y.]) 1840-1920, 1871-10-03

Not mine the thought that on your rowdy crew
Would nx the Delphic stain; yet not a few
There are in this corrupt Old Gothams town
Who circulate the tale with cantng frown
And say you've torn the temple portals down.
That then, fors0otn, you stole and stole
The golden candlestcks, the sacred bowl;
Melted the bronzes, pocketed the spoons,
And turned the mystic urns into spittoons.
The meaning OF the latter paradox Is
That you, In fact, have stuffed the ballot boxes.
They say they've pointed to the rined walls
And saw their treasures decorate your halls,
The temple diamonds on your shirt fronts glitter,
The cushion stuflings fashioned to litter;
AMI one rogue says he saw and holds 1t still,
The temple carpets upon Murray Hill.
Ha IA In honest rum filled self reliance,
You hurl back Phiomeus Tweed's defiance.
hear your cry, "Unstained our honors are;
We dtdft all to carry on the s0dr.
Well done bold Keyser. great contracting type;
You earned your paltry millions 'slaying pipe"
Hail, Ingersoll! now wave thy yard stick sword;
Full many o thousand tdollars) 1t has ''dOored."
Great Garvey, soother Of the braves disaster.
WHAT'S healed more wounds than thy Partisan
plaster
O, sweeping Brown, TO thee who'll hold candle
For charging foemen with street broom handle9
TRIUMPHANT Transcript, stamped with battle dint,
What hundred thousands hast thou killed-in print
Say 'this is magnificent, but 'tisn't war;"
The crowd have caught 1t and o, grief on grief
They're on your TRAIL their battlecry, "Stop, thief ~
Close up the ranks, heard the cry OF PRIDE
"Divide ana conquer; conquer AMI Divide"
"'Tis not for naught our willy chiefs have doled
This TO the poor, that to some easy -souled
Republicans, who didn't much care which
Side they served, they got only rich
uock gvnif thn MOhay hOv NJ AT
Takn home an ass.Ioad or the temple platesY
Is not Tom Stewart OF the pasted hair
Ours by ten thousand ties crisp. green and fairf
And though abroad we wouldn't have 1t known
Dare stout Rufe Andrews call his soul his own
But hope OF hopes among our bitter foes
The Demon Of Dissension discord sows.
See great AmbIon's fatal smile Is bent on
The tow'rlng form and gathered brow OF Fenton.
To him Rufe Andrews, to him Stewart, Smith
Wen use his master hope 10 scourge him with.
Your fatal friendship be his tempnng bait,
And yet wei hold our grip upon the State.
Ambitious, too, as he who failed at MOSCOW
Mark the snakes curled around the brow OF Roscoe
Jealous, usurping, pompous, iull OF can't
| who'd serve himself In serving Mr. Grant;
| Who holds his tools at government expense,
| And Fenton hates through every mood and tense
| o friends we yet shall have them In the tolls;
For, like ourselves they're going for the spolls.
| Is that New York contains o Custom House.
Against the radicals our game is sure;
1t wants but time to let our plans mature;
And yet-plague take all rotten party planks-
We've most to fear from those within ranks;
Cankered WITH honesty, they'd cut our throaM
by foolish virtue splitting hard-shell votes"
So spake that great but lately spawned boss
Whom We, o abect sachems name your "BosS"
With hoarse, rude cheers, the ow-browed tiger cubs
fhotr n climbs.
| Through every ward the noble watchword ran
| "stand by our friends; down with each honest
man %
| And then, o Tammanyl you sat and sniggered,
| Aud DER the syracuse Convention figured.
Now to that city way up in the State
| Well bend our footsteps at the beck OF Fate;
nor In our pilgrimage one moment halt
| Until we've stepped on OnOndaga SAT-.
| Fair county 'gainst whose little Jobs to sickle
| Our legislators oft have rods In pickle,
| Until with golden staws their palms you tickle.
| So great thy fame, mother OF all brine,
| IT'S gold, they say, not salt, Is In the mine.
Small wonder, then, that to thy county town
The radical pr0spectors should come down,
And 'mid Its meet surroundings plan and plot
Their next game for the States big golden 'pot"
So, though depression this sweet song retards
Let's DER their shoulders see what's on the cards
Stroking his beard, he thinks how he's demolished
HIS foes before, and now he never tires
OF pulling round his puppets on their wires.
Things have not gone with him OF late 80 well.
He hated Grant, from whose esteem he fell.
For that he wouldn't care, but swelled his rage
When grim Ulysses stopped his patronage;
Turned out his gray haired henchman, honest Noses
And left his followers, like vile Blue Noses.
Shlv'ring outside the snug-berthed party fold.
Fenton. In fact was left out in the cold.
He now essays to make his sad gang hearty,
The sore head leader OF the sore-head party.
"But llstn he cries. "my friends. tho should fall
oft,
II but the Cheese-Press heroes and the Hay.Loft
stand by me now, tomorrow may win, |
And then your chief shall not be out but in.'
Charge down on Conklings ranks and bust 'em,
And hurl out Shoddy Murphy from the Custom
House, carry, my boys, the Legislature;
AlbanIa's lobby suits my very nature.n
The farmer radicals appaaded this,
And Fenton's boot were ready straight to kiss
Because each corncob head and mouth so mealy
Was pledged to vote with turnip-pated Greeley
Greeley, the simple sage OF Chappaqua,
Whose veerlng mind some vague ambitions gnaw;
Honest enough, but easy to be played
BY every rogue, and then to be betrayed.
lie made President and thinks, poor man,
Unmake another he as surely can.
Bout "wnat he knows he's always IN the rabies
On squashes, tariffs, politics or babies.
He's not at Syracuse for votes to pump.
But like dead.broke Warwick on the stump.
A "one-termn man, he's down on Grant and Muir |
ply,
And ike founder in the Long Branch surf he
Didn't know where he was which way TO get"
And so fell into Fenton's really net.
Firuratively, next upon old Greeley's back
Come burly Andrews and the Tammnv pack,
Turning that famous white coat TO q cloak
To hide the price OF service in each POKE.
few stanch radicals count in as we'll
The manly Roberts and the gay GrInnel,