Hard Cider.


[Composed by Dr. J. Kilbourne, and sung at the Log Cabin Raisin' Columbus.]

TUNE -- "Old Rosin the Bow."

Come ye who, whatever betide her,
To freedom have sworn to be true,
Prime up with a cup of hard cider,
And drink to old Tippecanoe, &c.

On top I've a cask of as good, sir,
As man from the tap ever drew;
No poison to cut up your blood, sir,
But liquor as pure as the dew, &c.

No foreign potation we puff, sir,
In free-land the apple tree grew;
Its juice is exactly the stuff, sir,
To quaff to brave Tippecanoe, &c.

Ye log cabin monarchs, who reign o'er
The West, in your hunting shirts blue;
A brimmer, you surely can drain to
Your neighbor of Tippecanoe, &c.


Ye yeoman, so hardy and noble,
Who'll sup on a moss of parch'd corn,
And then make but light of the trouble
To fight the wild Indian till morn, &c.

One cup to the men who fell round you,
The gallant, the brave and the true;
Another to him who inspir'd you
To conquer at Tippecanoe, &c.

At the Thames too, he spurn'd ev'ry danger
And planted the flag of the free,
The star-lighted flag, of the Ranger,
Were subjects had bended the knee, &c.

When war, with his battles was over,
With peace, he retir'd to his farm,
Where the culture of wheat, corn and clover,
For the Hero, had life-giving charms, &c.

And when with his toils growing weary,
He'll turn to his comrads and share
A cup of Old Cider, so cherry,
Dispeling both languor and care, &c.

Let Van sport his coach and out-riders,
In liveries flaunting and gay
And sneer at log cabins and cider,
But, woe, for the reckoning day! &c.

‘Parch'd corn’ men can't stand it much longer;
Enough, is as much as we'll bear:
With Tip at our head, in October,
We'll tumble him out of the Chair.


Then ho! -- for March 4th, forty-one, boys,
We'll shout, till the Heaven's arch, blue
Shall echo, Hard cider and fun, boys,
Drink, drink to old Tippecanoe.
We'll drink to old Tippecanoe,
We'll drink to brave Tippecanoe,
Shall echo, -- Hard cider and fun, boys,
Drink, -- drink, to Old Tippecanoe.