AIR -- AULD LANG SYNE.
Ye lovers of good Hasty Soup,
Well spiced with Graham Bread,
See how the startled Locos droop,
Before the war-horse tread.
Already now they hear their doom,
In tones of old Whig thunder;
While Cherubusco's cannons boom,
Farewell to Pierce and plunder.
Our foes for once mistake their game;
Loud let the welkin ring,
From Maine to Georgia's sunny plain,
Our freemen want no King.
Old Cerro Gordo's on the track,
With mien erect and fierce,
While frightened Locos looking back,
Exclaim, alas for Pierce!
But still our hero pushes on,
The race is getting hot,
While Pierce and King in anguish groan --
Then clear the way for Scott.
Deep in the ditch they seek to lodge
Old Cerro Gordo's balls;
From morn to night they're seen to dodge
Old Cerro Gordo's balls.
Then when emerging from the fight,
Our foes in full retreat,
Salt River's cooling shades invite
Their weary wandering feet.
Then here's three cheers for Hasty Soup,
Three more for Graham Bread,
For with this motto brave Whig troops
To victory are led.