poured,

From the cup of his fury, on Temple and Nation

And Moloch rejoiced in the horrid oblation.

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Of American breed, and the purest extraction,

She roamed o'er the pasture, and cared not a fraction

What Cow, beside her, cropped the rich, flowery mead,

Or drank of the stream which her thirst had relieved;

'Twas nothing to her how many, beside her,

Partook of the good Heaven had not denied her!

Sheep, Horses and Oxen—nay, even the Ass,

Though Southern, was welcome to crop the sweet grass.

With such a fine temper her coat was like silk,

And she yielded the richest abundance of milk.

Now it happened, one day, that the ill-favored hound

Was worrying pussy, who refuge had found

Near the Cow, who good-naturedly looked up, to view

What was passing—as cows very naturally do—

When she saw at a glance the true state of the case,

And she told the Dog plainly he'd soon end his race

Unless he desisted to torture and plot

The ruin of each beast in the National Lot.

But the Dog was transformed! and a demon was there,

Incarnate and hidden, beneath the whelp's hair;

Divinity issued its fiat of Fate,

And the dog-fiend stood ready to launch forth its hate.

With demoniac rage, and a terrible roar,

That none but a fiend ever uttered before,

He sprung to his work of destruction and death,

Intending to finish it up with a breath!

But the Cow made a bow at the game he was trying,

Put her horns to his ribs, and then—sent him up-flying!

Original Size

No marvel that sorrow and sadness oppress her—

That the loss of her loved ones should grieve and distress her;

Or that, like Rachel of old, with her desolate lot,

She refuses all comfort because they are not:

She weeps for the thousands led out to the slaughter,

Whose life-blood hath flowed as a fountain of water.

"What tho' the base cohorts of treason are routed?

"What tho' the false claims of disunion are scouted?

"My brothers, my kinsmen, oh, where have they fled?"

Thus the maiden forlorn vents her grief for the dead.

Lift thy head, thou fair Goddess of Liberty! See!

The Temple is saved by the blood of the Free!

And sanctified over, a thousand times more,

With the blood-sprinkled Seal on the posts of the door—

A sweet-smelling savor of incense divine,

For the Holy of Holies, the Patriot's shrine.

Now draw the rich nourishment freely, sweet maid!

Immense as the cost is, do not be afraid;

The stream inexhaustible, now, at thy will,

Shall flow like a river, the Temple to fill,

And the world shall acknowledge that Freemen can keep,

With dignified firmness, the harvest they reap!

Original Size

The wonder is, not that he's tattered and