I.
The Britons were at Yorktown
Low humbled in the dust.
It was their hardest knock-down;
It knocked heir taxing lust.
Their power to roar oppression
On Columbia’s free soil
The fathers put a stop to,
Their little game did spoil.
“Cornwallis, bring thy sword in
To Washington, the true!
Salute the Rebel’s banner,
The red, white, and blue!”
II.
The Britishers still flourish
And flaunt their “Union Jack,”
While we, their natural offspring,
No Saxon virtue lack;
So, like the dear old mother
We trashed in olden time,
While she is threshing Ireland,—
Oh! impudence sublime! —
We gather up our garments,
Swear force is no more “brute,”
And at consecrated Yorktown
Her sullied flag salute.
III.
The “gracious Queen” doth send us
Condolence for our loss;
Our Arthur o’er the ocean
Love messages doth toss.
A widower our chieftain,
Victoria’s widowed long,—
Why not combine the household,
And make one people strong?
Oh! what a glorious Union!
Pure Saxon blood would flow,
And round the world together
A-conquering we’d go!
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