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A BOSTON BALLAD,

The 78th Year of These States.

1.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.

2.I rose this morning early, to get betimes in Boston
town,
Here's a good place at the corner, I must stand and
see the show.
 
3.I love to look on the stars and stripes, I hope the fifes
will play Yankee Doodle.

4.How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops!
 Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through
Boston town.

5.A fog follows—antiques of the same come limping,
Some appear wooden-legged, and some appear bandaged
and bloodless.