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Poem of Apparitions in Boston, the 78th Year of These States.

22 — Poem of Apparitions in Boston, The 78th Year of These States.

CLEAR the way there, Jonathan! Way for the President's marshal! Way for  
 the government cannon!
Way for the federal foot and dragoons—and the  
 apparitions copiously tumbling.
I rose this morning early to get betimes in Boston  
Here's a good place at the corner, I must stand  
 and see the show.
I love to look on the stars and stripes, I hope the  
 fifes will play Yankee Doodle.
How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost  
Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff  
 through Boston town.
A fog follows, antiques of the same come  
  [ begin page 272 ]ppp.00237.280.jpg Some appear wooden-legged and some appear  
 bandaged and bloodless.
Why this is a show! It has called the dead out  
 of the earth!
The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to  
Uncountable phantoms gather by flank and rear  
 of it!
Cocked hats of mothy mould! crutches made of  
Arms in slings! old men leaning on young men's  
What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is  
 all this chattering of bare gums?
Does the ague convulse your limbs? Do you  
 mistake your crutches for fire-locks, and  
 level them?
If you blind your eyes with tears you will not see  
 the President's marshal,
If you groan such groans you might balk the  
 government cannon.
For shame, old maniacs! Bring down those  
 tossed arms and let your white hair be,
Here gape your smart grand-sons—their wives  
 gaze at them from the windows,
  [ begin page 273 ]ppp.00237.281.jpg See how well-dressed—see how orderly they  
 conduct themselves.
Worse and worse! Can't you stand it? Are you  
Is this hour with the living too dead for you?
Retreat then! Pell-mell! Back to the hills, old  
I do not think you belong here, anyhow.
But there is one thing that belongs here—shall I  
 tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston?
I will whisper it to the Mayor—he shall send a  
 committee to England,
They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go  
 with a cart to the royal vault,
Dig out King George's coffin—unwrap him quick  
 from the grave-clothes—box up his bones for  
 a journey,
Find a swift Yankee clipper—here is freight for  
 you, black-bellied clipper!
Up with your anchor! shake out your sails! steer  
 straight toward Boston bay.
Now call the President's marshal again, bring  
 out the government cannon,
12*   [ begin page 274 ]ppp.00237.282.jpg Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make  
 another procession, guard it with foot and  
This centre-piece for them: Look! all orderly citizens—look from the win- 
 dows, women!
The committee open the box, set up the regal  
 ribs, glue those that will not stay,
Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a  
 crown on top of the skull.
You have got your revenge, old buster! The  
 crown is come to its own, and more than its  
Stick your hands in your pockets Jonathan—you  
 are a made man from this day,
You are mighty cute, and here is one of your  
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