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The Locofoco Exit, on the Fourth of March, 1841.

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TUNE — "I see them on their winding way."

I see them on their doleful way,
No beams of hope around them play;
Each promise broke, each printed lie
Seems now to stare them in the eye;
They're marching out, their step is slow,
Their faces marked with rage and woe.

Before the squadron lifted high,
As banners borne to flout the sky,
Sub-treasury notes their leaders bear,
Without a single mint drop there;
High above all, the Globe appears,
Which Amos carries bathed in tears.

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The Extra Globe in Blair's own hands,
All admiration now commands;
Here gross abuse of honest men
Drawn by a defunct postboy's pen,
Here speeches such as Duncan makes,
Here venom as of rattlesnakes —
Such is the banner of the clan,
The flag of locofoco Van.

But hark! loud music now I hear,
'Tis the Rogues' March that strikes my ear,
How readily their practiced feet
Responsive to the measure beat;
So well they march, the tune seems made
Expressly for their own parade.
Now at the sound they quickly start,
As though its music touched each heart.

They're gone, they're gone, they wind along,
And soon are lost the woods among.
All honest men at once implore,
That we may see their like no more.
Could every green tree get its due,
Into the wood would venture few,
Else trees a heavy fruit would bear
Of Locofocos hanging there.

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