Virginia Free Press

POETRY.

From the Philadelphian.

SONG OF THE DRUNKARDS IN THE UNITED STATES.

We come, we come, with sad array,
And in procession long.
To join the array of the lost
Three hundred thousand strong,
Our banners beckon on to death,
Abroad we have unrolled :
And Famine, Care, and wan Despair,
Are borne upon their field.

Ye heard what music cheers us (ill
The mother's cry that rang
So wildly, and the babe that wailed
Above the rum-shop's clang,
We're taken spoil; and blighted joys
And ruined homes are here;
We're trampled on the throbbing heart
And dusked sorrow's tear.

We come: we come! we've searched the land,
The rich and poor are ours;
Enlisted from the shrines of God,
From hovels and from towers,
And who or what shall balk our brave
That sway to drink and die?
What boots to such man's muttered curse
Or his, that speaks to sky?

Onward: though stern on our march
Hangs Mercy's warning low :
Onward for hell:—from rank to rank
Pass we the cup again!
We come!—of the world's worshippers, who
Like us have overthrown;
What woe had e'er earth like woe
To our stern prowess known?

We come! we come! to fill our quota
On which shall chance to fall,
To ruin the world that never dies,
Hurrah! hurrah! hurrah!

W. B. T.