Shenandoah herald. [volume] (Woodstock, Va.) 1865-1974, 1871-05-11
POLITICAL.
Eor the HERALD.
THE POOR MANS HARP.

Eor the HERALD.
THE POOR MANS HARP.
Virginians ell who work and toll;
Who pillow and cultivate the soil,
Or at the anvil blow and smite,
From early morn till late at night;
Or work in forest, mine, or field,
10 make the earth her treasure yield.
Mechanics too, or artisan,
And every other working man,
One who has labored from his youth,
Himself would like TO introduce
Te each Of you, as friend and brother,
Then let us talk with one another.
To you gladly would make known,
A new invention all my own,
Which, when hung ont upon the trees,
Is operated by the breeze.
1t lives in air, and walks, lis said,
And sometimes eats beth meat and bread
Fearful aud wonderfully made,
Yet folks, of it seem not afraid.
It's notes are harsh and loud and sharp,
And it is called the Poor Mans Harp.
Now friend, if you attention pay,
I'll tell you what this harp doth say
It talks of lore and politics,
Of legislators and their tricks,
Of swindlers and of scalawags,
And all who tote the carpetbags,
Expe0iency and policy,
And every other heresy.
Conservatism it doth despise,
And pulls the wool from peoples eyes;
But loves democracy and truth,
Which were instilled in early youth;
And treasured up long in its heart,
From them when old it don't depart.
'Mengst other things it teaches that
Republican and democrat
In politics do al embrace
The white man and the negro race.
1t advocates good wholesome laws,
And always pleads for labor's cause,
And of with fury it attacks
The Pettifoggers, pimps and quacks.
And having finished one of these,
hung it out among the trees
And put the thing in perfect tx:
I screwed ii up TO politics;
And then with. pencifin my hand,
Upon the lawn, took my stand,
Thinking, per chance, some passing gale
Might bring some news or tell q tale.
And soon heard Southern breeze,
Come rustling in among the trees,
And then my harp began to play,
And thus il said or seemed to say,
What think you of cur legislators?
Are they notcussed small potatoes? q
Who spend their time Of legislation,
In folly, vice and dlssipat ion..
They build deep railroads under ground,
Where bonss Of murdered. men are found,
Not hung OF shot or stoned to death,
But worked and taxed till out of breath.
Like bullocks, they are bought and sold
For place, for greenbacks and for gold.
Hyena like, they rob the dead,
WAile hungry children cry for bread.
Like vampires, they suck out the lives
Ofyou, your children, and your wives.
While Office drones do grow and thrive,
And fatten on induetry's hive,
Horse lsches, who on labor live,
And all the while, their cry is give
They with your toll their pockets stuff,
And never say it is enough.
I would not make a sweeping clause,
Against the men who franc the laws,
But honor give where honor's due,
It don't cost much, they are but few
But he majority at least,
Bow to the image of the beast,
And on their foreheads bear with shame,
The mark and number of his name.
l need not recapitulate
The means, by which they rob the state,
All you who work and taxes pay
Will soon endorse all that l say.
Then for the sake of your loved ones,
Your wives, your daughters, and your sons
0 working men rise ii your might, i.
And put the scoundrels all to fight.
Yes, up and at them, working men,
Drive these hyenas to their den
Expel. them from lifes nobler walks,
And let them browse on cabbage stalks.
Then seek ye men who're good and wise,
Men who with labor sympathise;
Men who will make no great pretence,
But men Of good, sound, common sense;
And then elect them in tkeir place,
And save the state from such disgrace.
They need not spout, or puff, nor blow,
But wisely vote their yes or no.
Thus spoke my harp, and. would go on,
Until stepp ed out from the lawn;
And said: my harp. you're rather rough
I'll take you down, you've said enough.
But then my harp to me replied -
Tae latitude is monstrous wide,
The subject did barely touch,
But since you think it is too much,
I've only one request to make,
Please grant me this for labor's sake
II any lazy, rotten cuss
Should kick up dirt, or make fuss,
Please hang me out upon the trees,
And let me have stronger breeze
Then charge me with electric fire,
And screw me up little higher.
Then quacks and swindlers must stand back
And pettifoggers clear the track.
Wo to the rotten scalawag
And al who tote the carpetbag!
I'll clean corruption from creation,
No matter what Its avocation
And I'll unmask each biped brute.
So spoke my harp, and then, was mute.
Now working men do ponder we'll