We owe you a grudge, we confess it, John Bull,
Nor will ever deny what we've said,

And when each instalment in turn becomes due,
You will get it in powder and lead.
Mundy, February, 1862

MCCLELLAN.

MASTER Genius! on whose shoulders rest Burdens, such as the kingliest only bear, Thou standest now, to thy large work addressed, With soul so calm, in patience so possessed, 'Mong all our living, great beyond compare! Only the great are patient, they can wait: Fools ever fret, and chafe at wise delay; And now when flippant tongues unloose their hate, Stand firm! to thy just purpose consecrate, And let the envious Cascas have their day, And die and be forgotten! They-of old So slandered him whose glories manifold Halo the nation. Thy work is well begun

When some now speak of thee, as they of WASH

INGTON.

New-York, Feb. 24, 1862.

A. D. F. RANDOLPH.

JEFF DAVIS,

ON HIS ELECTION AS PRESIDENT FOR SIX YEARS.

BY SIGMA."

ATAN was chained a thousand years,

SATAN

We learn from Revelation

That he might not, as it appears,

Longer "deceive the nation."
'Tis hard to say, between the two,
Which is the greater evil,
Six years of liberty, for you-
A thousand for the devil!

'Tis passing strange, if you've no fears
Of being hanged within six years!

A hundred thousand rebels' ears
Would not one half repay
The widows' and the orphans' tears,
Shed for the slain to-day :

The blood of all those gallant braves,
Whom Southern traitors slew,
Cries sternly, from their loyal graves,
For vengeance upon you;

And if you're not prepared to die
The death of Haman, fly, Jeff, fly!

Fly, traitor, to some lonely niche,
Far, far beyond the billow;
Thy grave an ill-constructed ditch—
Thy sexton General Pillow.
There may you turn to rottenness,
By mortal unannoyed,

Your ashes undisturbed, unless
Your grave is known by Floyd.

He'll surely trouble your repose,
And come to steal your burial-clothes.

EPITAPH.

Pause for an instant, loyal reader.
Here lies Jeff, the great seceder.
Above, he always lied, you know,
And now the traitor lies below.

His bow was furnished with two strings,
He flattered crowds, and fawned on kings;
Repaid his country's care with evil,

And prayed to God, and served the devil.
The South could whip the Yankee nation,
So he proposed humiliation!

289

Their blessings were so everlasting,
'Twas just the time for prayer and fasting!
The record may be searched in vain,
From West-Point Benedict to Cain,

To find a more atrocious knave,
Unless in Cæsar Borgia's grave.

YE MOURNFUL SKEDADDLE

OF KING ISHAM AND HIS GODLY PARSONS FROM YE GOODLY CITY OF NASHVILLE, WITH YE KING'S GREAT VISION, AND ARMAGEDDON'S INTERPRETATION THEREOF, AND YE SPIRIT-RAPPER'S FLIGHT, AND YE GRAND CONGREGATION ON YE PUBLIC SQUARE, WITH DIVERS OTHER MATTERS LAMENTABLE TO RECORD. A VERY MOURNFUL BALLAD, WRITTEN BY JOHANNES GILPINUS, JR., O.K.; WITH SUNDRY PITHY AND EXCELLENT NOTES EXPLANATORY.

THE better part of valor is-discretion; in the which latter part I have saved my life.-SIR JOHN FALSTAFF.

Eheu, Postume, fugaces anus labuntur !-HORACE.
Alas! Postumus, these nimble old women run away!

KING ISHAM was a mighty man,

Of valor and renown;

The rebel train-bands eke he led
In Nashville's famous town.

He walked the stately halls which crown

Her Capitolian hill,

Begirt with a Prætorian band,

The vassals of his will.

In midnight caucus they had met,
Himself and courtiers three,*

And, like their slaves, had bound and sold
The men of Tennessee.

Conquered the lovely city lay;
The flag which JACKSON bore
Waved proudly o'er her paradise
Of groves and flowers no more.

The tattered banner CAMPBELL brought
From Montezuma's clime,†

Waved like a troubled ghost, and mourned
The parricidal crime.

There came a messenger one morn,
As white as Holland sheet,

* Henry, Barrow, and Totten, the triad of traitors, who sold Tennessee to the Confederacy and their names to eternal infamy.

The flag of Governor Campbell's "Bloody First," riddled at Monterey and Buena Vista, now hanging in the Capitol.