The news & observer. [volume] (Raleigh, N.C.) 1894-current, 1904-08-21
CAMPAIGN POETS AT WORK.
Samples OF Output at This Stage OF
the Contest.
(New York Sun.)


the Contest.
(New York Sum-
We brought it on ourselves this
flood of campaign song, mainly un-
sngable, that is inundating this SHOP.
"The convoIutions of the campaign
poets are beginning to convolve," we
said innocently and gayly, not sus-
pecting trouble. Then, with cfaSh
like thundrer, fell ream on mighty
ream. The typeWriterS clicked plank
verse; The dispatches began TO come
in rhyme or rhythm. The stairs Were
vented with the feet of poets full OF
feet And election day more lnln
two months and Il half away! Stlll'
the poets are happy. They nave
cIeansed their bOsomS of the perllous
stuff. They are relieved They are
contributing generously to the postal
revenues. Why should IL be any
trouble for us to show goods?
out of thousands of samples only
a few can be given. In justice to
Judge Parker, whom the Democratic
uoets have been a little slow in hymn
ing, not wishing, perhaps, to compete
with the Enrantured MuoWump of the
Evening Post. we shall give more
Parker psalms than Roosevelt psalms
Yet the best number on the pro-
to the Hon Tom Watson, ot Thomson,
Ga, with incidental mention of his
compaign in glory.
Right Tom, bright Tom, always Nlll of
fight Tom
True Tom Watson OK the big bronze
noll;
Bite Tom. smite Tom, bully for the
right Tom!
The people are with you, you can
bet your soul;
For Watson and TibbIes, you can
stage your soul.
JOHN JOHNSON.
Sleepy Eye, MINI.
Mr. Tudor Thorndike. of Boston, an
anti-imperialist of some local dis
tinction in Kilby street. we believe,
has built this lofty rhyme:
There's joy in the soft brown faces
In the islands of the seas,
No more they are subject faces,
To cover at a deSpotS knees;
SO rise. my brothers. rise with your
bolos and snickersnees;
Rights once more ascendant;
You shall be independent,
You shall have iuries and law reports
and costs and counsel fees.
FROM the BdCk bdy 10 I1GIlIDll IloiC'
Mon. is a good long jump, but II
we'll TO make it. Mr.. Tudor Thorn
dixie has good blood in his veins. no
doubt, but not in his poetic vein. Here
blows a breeze from Jim Malone:
American. German. Italian, Celt,
All the Westerners, you bet your pelt,
| Are going red-hot for Roosevelt.
'B. p" of Brooklyn. a conscientious
wrestler with verbal difficulties, is the
next subject:
Up and away. boys; play, boys; play,
boys;
For Parker and Davis work and shout
all day. boys;
Parker. the jurist
is our safest and surest
SO, huZza and hooray for him and
Gassafaw.
DIR. Swallow gets single song. Are
the campaign poets so conViVfal?
Now, come and at King Alcohol put in
deadly lick
Cut him out!
OF Bishops keeping groggerieS were
getting very sick.
Cut 'en out!
Down with the cursed heIl-drug, down
with the ICeiHOH I(uHls
Cut it outi
Down with old Satan's gin mills and
put them on the bum,
Cut 'em out!
For Swallow and Temperance, arise,
We millions, rise;
Perish the Rum Power and long live
the DryS;
Away with Rum, put it on the bum,
Cut it out; vote it outi
This anonymous song, sent from
Pork, Pa. has more merit of a rough
sort than its brethren. The most
curious piece in the collection is sent
from Elmira and signed plain Deal
err:
You foul calumnators. assail him if
ye Will
Spit out your venom at him, insult
him to your fill.
He is our honored chieftain, our real
leader. still;
Our Warwick, President-maker, long
headed David Hill.
Is this writ ,sarcastical?