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Old Tippecanoe.


Hurrah for the father of all the green West,
For the Buckeye who follows the plough,
The foeman in terror his valor confess'd,
And, we'll honor the conqueror now.

His country assailed in the darkest of days,
To her rescue impatient he flew;
The war-whoop's fell blast, and the rifle's red blaze,
But awakened Old Tippecanoe.

On Maumee's dark waters, along with brave Wayne,
Green laurels he gleaned with his sword;
But when peace on the country came smiling again,
His steel to the scabbard restored.


Yet wise in the council, as brave in the field,
His country still asked for his aid;
And the birth of young Empires his wisdom revealed,
The Sage and the Statesman displayed.

But the red torch of war, and the tomahawk's gleam,
To the battle again called the true;
And there where the stars and the stripes brightly stream,
Rushed the Hero of Tippecanoe.

Now hark! from, the far frozen wilds of the North,
What battle shouts burthen the gale?
The hosts of old England ride gallantly forth,
And the captive and conquered bewail.

His Country recalls the bolden chieftain she loves,
The sword of "Old Tip" she reclaims:
And Victory heralds wherever he moves,
The path of the Hero of Thames.

Hurrah for the Hero of Tippecanoe —
The Farmer who ploughs at North Bend;
A Soldier so brave and a Patriot so true,
Will find in each freeman a friend.

Hurrah for the Log-cabin Chief of our choice!
For the Old Indian Fighter hurrah!
Hurrah! and from mountain and valley, the voice
Of the people re-echoes — hurrah!

Then come to the ballot-box — boys, come along;
He never lost a battle for you;
Let us down with oppression and tyranny's throng,
And up with Old Tippecanoe!