The Rough Log Cabin.
I love the rough Log Cabin,
It tells of olden time,
When a hardy and an honest class,
Of freemen in their prime,
First left their fathers' peaceful home
Where all was joy, and rest,
With their axes on their shoulders,
And sallied for the West.
Of logs they built a sturdy pile,
With slabs they roofed it o'er;
With wooden latch and hinges rude
They hung the clumsy door.
And for the little window lights,
In size two feet by two,
They used such sash as could be got
In regions that were new.
The chimney was composed of slats
Well interlaid with clay,
Forming a sight we seldom see
In this a later day;
And here, on stones for fire-dogs,
A rousing fire was made;
While round it sat a hardy crew
"With none to make afraid."
I love the old Log Cabin, --
For here, in early days,
Long dwelt the honest Harrison,
As every Loco says; --
And when he is our President,
Which one year more will see,
In good ‘hard cider’ we will toast
And cheer him three times three.