THE FUGITIVES. BY J. M. FLETCHER. UNDER the cover of darkness, No matter how they suffer, Far from the highways keeping, Hunted with guns and sabers, Fainting and drooping and bleeding, 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, Into the wilds and thickets Some of their victims dash Braving the scourge and rifle, Oh! to the freedom-loving, Left in the Nation's breast, 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, Buchanan is in great distress, For we will wait no longer, etc. Abe Lincoln will be President, 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, For they will wait no longer, etc. The people they are not afraid, To take for Vice, with "Honest Abe," For they will wait no longer, etc. Then shout for Abe of Illinois, For we will wait no longer, etc. The fourth of March will soon be here, 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, His Presidential home. Then we need wait no longer, Than a few days-few days, RALLYING SONG. AWAKE and raise the battle shout, And shake the starry banner out, List, rallying braves, a scream is heard- Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! hurrah! From West to East the war-cry sweeps-Hurrah! For every star is blazing there-Hurrah! Our candidates are in the field-Hurran And see! the awe-struck foemen yield-Hurrah! Brave Lincoln leads the mighty host-Hurrah! Unconquerable as the waves-Hurrah! 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 ; Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! A nations's hand has wreathed his brow To Union's quick-step, marching now, Hurrah, hurrah, hurrah! etc. Farewell to cliques that would disown 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. |