At the journal report of some Tory stump squeal.
Quick, quick, stoke her fires, and come calm or come wind,
I will warrant we’ll soon leave land worries behind.
Up, up with my flag, let it wave o’er the sea,
I’m afloat! I’m afloat! and the Old Man is free.
Though that growler should carp, and this snarler be heard,
The steamer, unheeding, skims on like a bird.
What to us is the shout of Conservative pain?
As we’re well out of hearing, it’s uttered in vain.
The enemy’s strokes ineffectively fall,