[Original Size] -- [Medium-Size]
As he stalked—tramp! tramp!
Stamp! stamp! stamp! stamp!
Coming on like the statue in "Don Giovanni."
"Oh my!" they would cry,
"Here he comes; let us fly!
Did you ever behold such a horrid old brawny? —
A—h!" and off they would run
Like "blazes," or "fun,"
Followed, pell-mell, by man and master;
While the grisly old fellow
Would after them bellow,
To make them scamper away the faster.
II.
When this mountain bugaboo
Had filled his belly, what would he do?
He'd shoulder his club with an ox or two,
Stick pigs and sheep in his belt a few,—
There were two or three in it, and two or three under
(I hope ye have all the "organ of wonder");
Then back again to his mountain cave
He would stump o'er the dry land and stride through the wave.
III.
What was to be done?
For this was no fun;
And it must be clear to every one,
The new Tariff itself would assuredly not
Have supplied much longer the monstrous pot
Of this beef-eating, bull-headed, "son-of-a-gun."
IV.