Classic Poem

Now in a pint of " native grape " —
(My blessing on the sender!)
Whose blush is not the kind that owns
The fixing of the vender —
To hardy old Connecticut,
A hearty health I render —
May despots ever fear her name,
And patriot arms defend her!

Howe'er the wrangling factions rage,
Still true as steel we hail her,
Still find on Fame's historic page,
A record to avail her.
Till Freedom dies she shall not want
True hearts that will not fail her,
To vindicate her majesty,
And silence her assailer!

Shall pumpkin-pie be e'er forgot,
Or those Thanksgiving dinners —
Where marshaling a household host,
Of hungry saints and sinners,
Attacking Turkey long and strong,
At last we ended winners,
Or only beat retreat to make
More room for new beginners?

Can we forget the good old days,
Ere homespun bowed to satin —
When girls were taught the spinning-wheel,
Instead of doubtful Latin?
The deacon's drone, the parson's queu,
The square box pews we sat in?
The good old State, and golden time,
We saw and did all that in?

Then here's to old Connecticut —
God's benizon upon her!
Who shows so fair a register,
However we may con her;
Long may she live! and long enjoy
The fame her worth has won her —
Long live to rear her gallent sons
For posts of trust and honor!