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The Weigher's Tear.


AIR — "Upon the hill he turned."

Upon the steps he turned,
And heaved a heart-felt sigh,
For news from old Connecticut
Swept like a whirlwind by.
He thought upon his office fat,
Two thousand full a year,
And the Weigher leaned against the wall,
And wiped away a tear.

Within the Custom House
The locos stood in bands;
The Extra Globe and Morning Post
Were in their trembling hands.
But as they read the oft told lies,
The stronger grew their fear,
And the Weigher groaned in sympathy,
And wiped away a tear.

He turned and left the spot,
Oh do not deem him weak,
For dauntless was the Weigher's heart,
And brazen was his cheek;
Yet both were blenched with fear —
Both felt his tottering cause,
And tried to drown the echo from
The State of Old Blue Laws.

But ah! all will not do!
Should Weathersfield he spoil,
Of every onion that e'er grew
Upon its good Whig soil,
It would not cause the tears to flow
All down the Weigher's cheek,
One half so fast as they do now
At this first Whig Day Break.