Four years more to mature his plans, To chain our feet and tie our hands, Four years more to plot and revel, And send us headlong to the devil, And Abe upset his glory. Though many a brave and valiant son Let those who're rebels in disguise, In 'seventy-six our fathers saw And Abe shall have the glory. BURN YOUR COTTON.* BY DR. S. SILSBEE. BURN your cotton-burn it, burn it— Let the flaming incense rise, Where man's freedom is denied. Burn your cotton-oh! 'tis noble ! On-who never owned a bale. Burn it, burn it, for the cotton Save the "niggers" and plantations, *See page 187, REBEL RHYMES. All the rest is yours by pillage, Yes, by all means, burn your cotton, Light the fires, explode the mine; Freedom never more will worship At your cotton monarch's shrine. Burn your cotton, crazy traitors; 'Tis your cue, without a doubt— In the coming retribution You'll be nearly all "played out." Burn your cotton, for the freemen Light it, light it! 'tis the battle Torch of freedom and the brave, That our patriot fathers gave. Fire your hearts, and burn the cotton- In the ashes shall expire. And upon the blazing pyre, too, Human slavery we'll fling, Until justice-human justiceAnd not Cotton, shall be King. Cincinnati, August 10, 1862. MY MARYLAND. THE rebel feet are on our shore, I smell 'em half a mile or more, Maryland! My Maryland! Their shockless hordes are at my door, Maryland! My Maryland! Hark to our noses' dire appeal, Maryland! My Maryland If you can't purchase soap, oh! steal Like scratching from the head to heel, You're covered thick with mud and dust, Remember, it is scarcely just, To have a filthy fellow thrust I see no blush upon thy cheek, It's not been washed for many a week, To get thee clean-'tis truth I speak-- July, 1862. |