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Oh Daniel come to the judgment hall,
And for and against the Tariff, bawl-

Come to the Congress, come.
Star of the South! McDuffie! come,
Shed us some light on the “Puzzling sum,”
Tell not in Gath, that it struck thee dumb,
But cudjel thy brains and thy noddle strum-

Come to the Congress, come. Men of Georgia! ho all ye Who sigh for the land of the Cherokee, Wirt threatens you, sirs, with a writ, we see, But Gilmer dares him to “Snick and Snee"

Come to the Congress, come, Come old Tristram Shandy, come, Hotter than hot New England rum; Burgess thou art, and a burgess grum, Lather away as you have done, some

Come to the Congress, come. Hero of East Room memory! haste By bloodhound Barton no longer chased, Come with your bills of the Western Waste, There, your affections seem wholly placed

Come to the Congress, com Sons of the old Dominion! run, The Rights of the States are all undone, Fire your brutum fulmen gun, "Twill make of us a figure of fun

Come to the Congress, come. Tariff and Anti-tariff too! Ye who the living Morgan slew; Anti-masons and Workies! you With every color and every hue

Come to the Congress, come. Time would fail to summon you all From Passamaquoddy to Anthony's fall, From Mexico's bay to the grand canalSed genus omne! the great and the small

Come to the Congress, come.

Bring with you, gentlemen, endless plans
To get our money and get our lands;
The giants must lend you a hundred of hands
And Pactolus roll for you gold on the sands

Come to the Congress, come.
To meet them, Old Hickory! stand to your arms
Rock of our strength! the thought of you charms
A Veto on all which would bring on us harms !!
And a National heart which with love of thee warms!!

Look to the Congress, look.

CANZONET TO JOHNNY.
Imitation of Canzonet to Sally.-By J. Q. ADAMS.
You, John, who have been President,

Of these, our states United,
Should, with that glory, be content,

Nor let your fame be blighted,
By showing still your "frosty pow,"

'Which wants a place serener,
In Congress Hall, where many a row

Disgraces that arena.
What, though you fling your firebrand,

By solar light or candle,
And grasp petitions in your hand,

And many hatfuls handle,
You can but gain the poor renown,
If

you should out-debate us;
Of burning Dian's temple down,

Like felon Erostratus.
In Abolition's fearful path,

You're treading on gunpowder,
And rousing up a storm, whose wrath,

Than thunder, will be louder-
A man, more wild, was never seen

Upon the banks of Niger,
Nor cub, more savage, bred, I ween,

Of fierce Hyrcanian tiger.

Else wherefore was it, as they tell

Of late, in Boston city,
That like hyena, or as fell,

You had no tear of pity,
For Chinese folks in ing and ong,

Eschewing opium-chewing,
But vow'd they did old England wrong

By custom of Koutouing ?
Old Massachusetts never bred

An animal more rabid,
Nor one more crack'd about the head,

Nor doing things more crabbed-
No man can tell for what you pant,

Amid your noise and racket,
I
guess there's one thing yet you "want,

Tight-lacing in straight jacket.
Oh, place me in great Washington,

That town, denied to houses, *
Where many a mighty Congress-mon

drunk, when he carouses.
Still shall my Muse, an humble Miss,

Of John be always chanting,
And still the madman, Johnny, hiss,

While raving and while ranting.

MR. EDITOR. I have felt so forcibly the moral sublimity of the scene of the Presentation of the Sword of Washington, and the Cane of Franklin, that I have made an attempt to exhibit that soene in verse. I submit it to your judgment.

THE PRESENTATION.
Say, why, in lengthen'd line,

Hath rush'd this thronging crowd,
Up to our Hill Capitoline,

Where flags are waving proud ?

* Pone sub curru nimium propinqui,

Solis in terra, "domibus negata.-Hor.

Is it in this high hall

Some pageant to survey? Or is some glorious festival,

Of Freedom held to-day? Lo! every seat is fill d—

Doorway and stairs are block’d, And, now, that sea of heads is stillid,

Which late with motion rock'd,
Why gather thus the free,

With one consentient will ?
In breathless awe, they seem to be,

Hush'd as in death, and still.
I see an old man rise,

And with a sword in hand,
And, glancing are a thousand eyes,

Upon that gleaming brand. “This is the sword” he cries,

“Which made our people free; No spot, nor stain, upon it lies,

'Twas yielded but to ye. “This sword, historians tell,

One hundred years ago,
Saved Braddock's army, when he fell,

Before a savage foe.
This is the sword, whose shine,

Our Fathers led, like star ;
It is the sword of Brandywine,

Of frozen Delaware.
“In Monmouth's sultry air,

It did its gallant work,
And saw, amidst the cannon's glare,

Old England yield at York.
'Twas thine, great Washington!

And in thy valiant hand, Like sword of God and Gideon,

Swept Midian from our land.A shout bursts from the throng,

Which shakes this white-capp'd hillBut hush! - we hear again that tongue

Be still!--warm hearts! be still !

“This staff to you I bring,

The staff of that lov'd sage,
Who snatch'd the sceptre from a king,

And calm’d the lightning's rage.
“On it our Franklin lean'd,

Whom countless thousands bless-
The great Philosopher—the Friend

Of Ploughshare and of Press.
Franklin and Washington !!!

What mighty names are here !
Will ye accept?” _-'tis done, 'tis done,

With one tremendous cheer.
Where should we place this sword ?

This staff of one so wise?
A flaming sword, by God's high word,

Was placed in Paradise
It famed there, night and day,

To guard, of life the Tree,
So, let these Relics guard alway,

Our Tree of Liberty.

Lines Written in a Young Lady's Album. The Prætors of Rome were accustom'd to write,

Their edicts of old on a table of white; They called it in Latin, an album, dear miss,

And my Anna shall issue her edicts in thisI grant her the power of life and of death,

I promise to serve her as long as I've breath ; The oath of allegiance, I take as her slave,

And vow I'll be hers till I sink in the graveWhat will she decree ? let it merciful be

The prize to be won, lovely Anna, be thee ! Go then, she replies—write a line in my book,

On which I may venture with patience to look ; Ah me! what a task for a taste so refined ! Where shall I the steps of true Poetry find ?

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