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THE FUGITIVES.

BY J. M. FLETCHER.

UNDER the cover of darkness,
Watching with lynx-like-eyes,
Parting the tangled brushwood,
Boldly they seek the prize.
Swift, for the boon is Freedom,
Urging them on to speed,

No matter how they suffer,
No matter how they bleed.

Far from the highways keeping,
Living as best they can,
Famine so grim and ghastly,
Fearing far less than man-
Into the swamps and marshes,
Fleeing from danger's track,
On to their goal they journey,
Never once turning back.

Hunted with guns and sabers,
Little their eyes can sleep;

Fainting and drooping and bleeding,
Steadily on they keep-

Watching the North Star glimmer,

Down through the gloom of night, Praying for strength to struggle On in their feeble flight.

Is there no sigh of sadness,
When from the slaver's lash

Into the wilds and thickets

Some of their victims dash

Braving the scourge and rifle,
Fleeing to swamps and caves,
Dwelling with poisonous reptiles,
Rather than live as slaves?

Oh! to the freedom-loving,
Oh! to the hearts that feel,
How in their simple sorrow
Stories like these appeal!
Is there no love of pity

Left in the Nation's breast,
That, for the love of Freedom,
Man should be so oppressed?

WE'LL SEND BUCHANAN HOME. Air-"Few Days."

OLD "Honest Abe" we will elect,

In a few days-few days;

The Loco-focos we'll eject,

And send Buchanan home.

For we will wait no longer,
Than a few days, a few days,
For we can wait no longer,
To send Buchanan home.

Buchanan is in great distress,
These few days-few days;
His grief he scarcely can express,
Because he's going home.

For we will wait no longer, etc.

Abe Lincoln will be President,
In a few days-few days;
To him the people will present,
Buchanan's present home.

For we will wait no longer, etc.

November it is near at hand,

In a few days-few days;

The people, then, throughout the land,
Will send "Old Jimmy" home.

For they will wait no longer, etc.

The people they are not afraid,
In a few days-few days,

To take for Vice, with "Honest Abe,"
A man from Maine, his home.

For they will wait no longer, etc.

Then shout for Abe of Illinois,
For a few days-few days;
For Hamlin too your lungs employ,
For they shan't stay at home.

For we will wait no longer, etc.

The fourth of March will soon be here,
In a few days-few days;

The time for "Honest Abe" is near,

To enter his new home.

For we will wait no longer, etc.

For Lincoln and for Hamlin, too,

For a few days-few days,

We'll work with hearts that's always true,

To those they love at home,

For we will wait no longer, etc.

And when the vict'ry has been won,
In a few days-few days,
And Abe is safe in Washington,

His Presidential home.

Then we need wait no longer,

Than a few days-few days,
Then we need wait no longer,
For happy times at home.

RALLYING SONG.

AWAKE and raise the battle shout,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

And shake the starry banner out,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

List, rallying braves, a scream is heard-
'Tis Freedom's eagle, dauntless bird;
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
He calls to victory-

Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!
He calls to victory-

From West to East the war-cry sweeps-Hurrah!
And echoes from our Northern steeps-Hurrah!
And proudly waves the flag we bear,

For every star is blazing there-Hurrah!
Each star is blazing there.

Our candidates are in the field-Hurran

And see! the awe-struck foemen yield-Hurrah!
"On to the White House," is the cry;
For Union and for Liberty-Hurrah!
For blood-bought Liberty.

Brave Lincoln leads the mighty host-Hurrah!
The people's pride-the people's boast-Hurrah!
And Illinois clasps hands with Maine,
And bids Oppression cease its reign-Hurrah!
Forever cease its reign.

Unconquerable as the waves-Hurrah!
We'll bury all the fed'ral knaves-Hurrah!
With "Honest Abe" to lead the van,
Bushwackers, stop us if you can-Hurrah !i
Yes, stop us-if you can.

Three hearty cheers, boys, for our cause-Hurrah! Three for the Union and the Laws-Hurrah!

Now forward! and the day is won,

For Illinois' undaunted son-Hurrah!

For Illinois' brave son.

LINCOLN.

He comes, he comes, the fearless man ;
Throw all your banners forth—
Chicago bids him lead the van
Of a united North.

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah!
Let shouts for Lincoln ring;
In Union rights let all unite
To hail our Prairie King.

A nations's hand has wreathed his brow
With stars her valor won;

To Union's quick-step, marching now,
Comes Freedom's Western Son.

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! etc.

Farewell to cliques that would disown
The people's high behest-

That people's waiting hand shall crown

The champion of the West.

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! etc.

The people's rights, the people's voice,

His battle-cry shall be

A nation, in Chicago's choice,

Hails Freedom's sovereignty.

Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! etc.

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