Classic Poem

Hail to the grandson better
Than the old grandsire's fetter
Of lands and station!
Hail to dependence done!
Hail to the Harrison
New as the nation!

Wide lands of Symmes may roll
In suck of Symmes's hole, —
The pole star winking;
But all the land is his
Whose victory Freedom's is,
And birthright, Thinking.

The anvils sound the gains
From melted slavery's chains, —
The Bourbon wonders,
While batteries of the mills
Speak out to all the hills.
The furnace thunders.

By God-forsaken farms
The market city swarms
And ends dejection,
Free ships the railways bear;
Free Trade is everywhere
And all's Protection.

Thy grandsire British fought,
Thy father toiled for naught
And died unnoted;
The music of the mills
Can never pierce the hills
Where slaves are voted .

The late taskmasters arm
And call their hate Reform,
And us their Neighbor;
None but wage-payers can
Feed the free artisan
And muster labor!

Roll on, old ball! once more,
My fathers rolled of yore, —
Roll mightier, wider!
May Henry's cup come back
In Benjamin's corn sack,
And all have cider!