New Oregon Plaindealer

A Ballad
Of all the flights that ever were flown,
By several persons, or one alone—
Of Science, or Dr. Franklin's kite:
Of Minard's Raymond, away from the fight
Or the flight of Professor Lowe's balloon
From here to England, one day at noon,
The funnicst flight—of the dreariest bore—
Was Abraham's flight through Baltimore!
Weary and worn, like a hunted moose,
Limbs like the windmill, hanging loose;
Quaking at heart and flighty at head.
The old Rail-Splitter—he went to bed
But scarce in his blankets enveloped was he
When he cried. 'I am struck with a bright idee,
Procure me hither—and don't be long—
A hot rum-toddy, and make it strong!'
Now various dreams are like to come
From brimming beaker of good old rum;
And some of them, too, are just as bad
As any that Tom O'Shaughnessy had
And so, when Abraham laid him down,
To dream of doing the southerners brown,
It chanced that a phantasy, bloody and grim.
Came sailing over and lit on him
Dead men tossed about like stones;
Broken bridges; blood and bones;
Grinning death's heads, such as grace
Every antique burial place;
Daggers, pistols, bludgeons, guns,
Thunder showers of red-hot buns;—
These he saw, or seemed to see,
All because of the 'bright idee!'
Then suddenly, in from the murky night
There came a messenger, wild with fright
And he cried to Abraham, where he lay.
'Get up, old fellow, and scurry away!'
So the dismal phantoms of sleep gave place
To a very practical view of the case;
And the Rail-Splitter said, as he looked at him,-
'John,
Just wait till I get my trowsers on!'
So he swore an oath, by the Kingdom come,
That Satan was in that glass of rum!
And he said, may I never split rails again
If I don't run off by a special train!
Then, shrouded closely, up to the eyes,
With a cloak and a Scottish cap likewise,
He left his people dissolved in brine,
And ran away as the clock struck nine.
Swiftly along the Central road
Went the fiery horse with his precious load;
And at every snort he seemed to say,
''Tis a Western gentleman, running away
The greatest hegira under the sun!
See if it isn't a glorious run!'
Thus Honest Abram, safe and sound
Stood at last on Capitol ground.
Ah, very noble it seems to be
This modern standard of chivalry!
And very noble and very grand
Is the chiefest magistrate in the land,
Abraham Lincoln, stalwart and tall.
Who ran away quaking from nothing at all!
The Honest Uncle,' in 61,
Who skulked in the night to Washington!