SONG ON GENERAL SCOTT.

BY N. B. I.

TUNE--Poor Old Horse, let him die.

VIRGINIA had a son

He

Who gathered up some fame, many battles won,

And thereby won a name;
But now he is growing old,

And nature doth decay,
Virginia she does scold,
And all can hear her say,

Poor old Scott, let him die.

He is old and very mean, sir;
He is dull and very slow,
And it can now be seen, sir,

He still does meaner grow;

He is not fit to fight,

Nor will he ever pray— Then kick him out of sight, And let Virginia say,

Poor old Scott, let him die.

The sound of his war-whoop

No one again will hear;
In dread laps he his hasty soup,
With hell-fire in his rear;
I had rather be a hog

And wallow in the mud,
Than be old Lincoln's dog,
Or be his warrior stud.

Poor old Scott, let him die.

I had rather be a dog,

And bay the stars and moon; I had sooner be a frog,

With a dungeon for my doom, Than to be poor old Scott,

To fill a traitor's grave, And there in silence rot, Without a soul to save.

Poor old Scott, let him die.

JEFFERSON D.

BY H. S. CORNWELL.

YOU'RE a traitor convicted, you know very

well!

Jefferson D., Jefferson D.!

You thought it a capital thing to rebel,
Jefferson D.!

But there's one thing I'll say:

You'll discover, some day,

When you see a stout cotton cord hang from a tree, There's an accident happened you didn't foresee, Jefferson D.!

What shall be found upon history's page ?
Jefferson D., Jefferson D.!

When the student explores the republican age!
Jefferson D.!

He will find, as is meet,

That at Judas's feet

You sit in your shame, with the impotent plea, That you hated the land and the law of the free, Jefferson D.!

What do you see in your visions at night,
Jefferson D., Jefferson D.?

Does the spectacle furnish you any delight,

Jefferson D.?

Do you feel, in disgrace,

The black cap o'er your face,

While the tremor creeps down from your heart to your knee.

And freedom, insulted, approves the decree,

Jefferson D.?

Oh! long have we pleaded, till pleading is vain, Jefferson D., Jefferson D.!

Your hands are imbued with the blood of the slain, Jefferson D.!

And at last, for the right,

We arise in our might,

A people united, resistless, and free,

And declare that rebellion no longer shall be!
Jefferson D.!

HURRAH FOR THE UNION!

BY A. FULKERSON, JR.

HURRAH! for the Union! the hope and the

pride

Of millions of hearts that are happy and free;

No shock can destroy and no faction divide
A work that was destined for ever to be.

'Twas formed by the hands of those patriot sires Who fought on the field, in the Cabinet thought; And not till each vestige of freedom expires

Shall perish the temple their wisdom has wrought.

Majestic it sprang from the regions of light,

The marvel of time and the wonder of men; And, founded in truth and supported in right, The blessing still lingers that hallowed it then.

The world shall behold, in its onward career, The triumph of reason, the progress of mind; And man shall arise, and resuming his sphere, Leave tyranny, sorrow, and darkness behind.

Go talk of disunion, go murmur "secede ;"
'Tis the dream of a madman, the song of a fool;
For the soul of America laughs at the deed,
And the star of the Union for ever shall rule.

Hurrah for the Union! the hope and the pride
Of millions of hearts that are happy and free;
No shock can destroy and no faction divide
A work that was destined for ever to be.