Let Fame Put Her Trump.

60

Let fame put her trump to the lip of the morn,
And rouse up the slumbering clay;
On the wings of the wind be the blast onward borne,
Till it dies in the ether away;
But on the broad hills let it lay,
And echo the green valley o'er,
That a chieftain exists, who, though aged and gray,
Shall his country's lost lustre restore.

61

From the north to the south, from the east to the west,
"From the centre all round to the sea,"
On the pinions of time, that are ever at rest,
It is borne to the ears of the free!
Then tremble the tyrants that be;
For the moments of reckoning come,
More appalling than tempests that scourge the dark sea,
Or the war notes of trumpet and drum.

From the long dreary night of misrule and dismay,
A whole people awake to the light,
While the dark clouds of error are breaking away,
And the morning of truth dawning bright;
Again in her splendor and might,
Fair freedom unveils to the view,
And points to the chief, whose integrity bright
Shall the stars of her glory renew.

He was tried in the battle, and ne'er known to yield,
Lang syne, in the days of our pride;
A sage in the senate, a chief in the field,
On whom sages and warriors relied;
They will rally again to his side,
As they did when the war-arrows flew;
And he'll lead them to conquest and glory beside,
As he led them at Tippecanoe.

At the sound of the blast cheering onward amain,
Prosperity lifts her pale head
And looks, as her eye brightens up once again,
Like a vestal arose from the dead;
Toward the chieftain her arms are outspread,
Who her beauty and strength shall restore,
And robe her anew in the white, blue and red,
That so gracefully veiled her before.

Then pour a libation, and bear it on high,
And let fame give the word of command,
While the eagle of victory stoops from the sky,
And hovers above the green land;

62

Round the altar of freedom we stand,
With the wounds of our country in view,
And armed for the battle, we pledge heart and pledge hand
"OR THE HERO OF TIPPECANOE."