Campaign Song.

11

TUNE -- PICAYUNE BUTLER.

Say, have you heard the swelling sound
That rushes from our Northern bound?
Its mighty peal fills every blast,
The Loco-Focos stand aghast.
The Chippewa ball is a rolling, and a rolling,
And the Chippewa ball is a rolling on;
Hurra, hurra, hurra, hurra, hurra,
The Chippewa ball is a rolling, and a rolling,
And the Chippewa ball is a rolling on.

Fort George's standard breaks to smash,
Beneath old Winfield's sturdy slash;
And England's flag now drapes the ground,
Where it so lately flapped around.
The Chippewa ball is a rolling, &c.

12

Niagara's tide cannot outroar
The bursting thunders on her shore;
By cannon's flash the shining blade
Of Lundy's hero is displayed.
The Chippewa ball is a rolling, &c.

His lofty plume is bathed in light,
That dances in the awful fight;
He's in a fuss, with conquering eye,
And makes the British feathers fly.
The Chippewa ball is a rolling, &c.

He fought for thousands of us there,
Ere we could hurl the deadly spear;
We'll pay him for the blood he's lost,
Repelling the invading host.
The Chippewa ball is a rolling, &c.

Unnumbered thousands boldly say,
They'll give their votes for Chippewa;
Old Lundy wastes the Loco group,
They smell the powder in his soup.
The Chippewa ball is a rolling, &c.

Come on, and lag not be the way,
Ye merry friends of Chippewa;
There is no fight in Franky Pierce,
You'll make him faint by looking fierce.
The Chippewa ball is a rolling, &c.