American Citizen

A fearful whisper comes from the East,

Of a raging monster, gaunt and grim,

Making of men a vampire-feast,

Highest and lowest, greatest and least—

And all he finds are food for him!

And ever westward he holds his way,

Marching with slow, insidious tread;

His victims struggle, and weep, and pray

And naught can his terrible hunger stay

Till his path is strewn with a thousand dead

Squalor he loves, and filth and crime;

What shall we do to avert his wrath?

Can we not purge our city in time,

With charcoal, water, and sprinkled lime,

And leave no place for his hideous path?

Or, will our rulers no danger know,

Till at our door King Cholera halts,

While dead-carts hither and thither go,

And the thick air shudders with cries of woe,

And everywhere gape the burial-vaults?

Take heed of the warning now—take heed,

While still there is time our homes to save!

For everywhere ripens the poisonous seed

On which King Cholera loves to feed,

That our city may be but a mighty grave

Cleanse, O, Fathers! these gutters and alleys'

Festering kennels and filthy slums,

Reeking under the dog-day skies;

For—if their stench must still arise—

What shall we do when King Cholera comes?

[Louisville Gazette.]