The Emancipation Car being an Original Composition of Anti-Slavery Ballads |
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[We come from the mountains fair] |
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 | The Emancipation Car |  |
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[We come from the mountains fair]
[_]
A song, illustrative of those persons who, as many say, cannot take care of themselves. But after a few years' trial in a land of equal rights, we find them, in many instances, at home, enjoying the benefits of industry, with a new song in their mouths. Air—Ho! Boys, Carry me Back.
We come from the mountains fair,
And valleys throughout our land;
We till the rich soil,
Our delight is to toil,
The earth is at our command;
Our barrels and barns are full,
Which makes us happy at home;
We have butter and cheese,
As much as we please,
And want for a living we've none.
And valleys throughout our land;
We till the rich soil,
Our delight is to toil,
The earth is at our command;
Our barrels and barns are full,
Which makes us happy at home;
We have butter and cheese,
As much as we please,
And want for a living we've none.
Hi, ho, we are the boys,
Who live in the forest and field
We plow and we mow,
We reap and we sow,
The axe and the mattock we wield.
Who live in the forest and field
We plow and we mow,
We reap and we sow,
The axe and the mattock we wield.
MECHANICS.
We come from the cities and towns,
Where men are all jovial and free.
Our trades they will yield
As much as your field,
And none are more happy than we.
We love to drive the plane,
And roll out the shavings so thin,
They bring us the dimes,
In cold winter times,
While farmers are roasting their shins.
Where men are all jovial and free.
Our trades they will yield
As much as your field,
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We love to drive the plane,
And roll out the shavings so thin,
They bring us the dimes,
In cold winter times,
While farmers are roasting their shins.
Hi, ho, we are the boys,
Who live in the highest of style,
The rain nor the snow,
Is never our foe,
And labor we have all the while.
Who live in the highest of style,
The rain nor the snow,
Is never our foe,
And labor we have all the while.
FARMERS.
When the cold winds howl and blow,
And the snow is falling so free,
We work if we choose,
And if not we refuse,
There is none more happy than we.
Our wheat all safe in the barns,
Our golden corn in the cribs,
Our hay in the mows,
Our horses and cows
Are rolling with fat on their ribs.
And the snow is falling so free,
We work if we choose,
And if not we refuse,
There is none more happy than we.
Our wheat all safe in the barns,
Our golden corn in the cribs,
Our hay in the mows,
Our horses and cows
Are rolling with fat on their ribs.
Hi, ho, we are the boys, &c.
MECHANICS.
Oh! What would the farmers do,
Was it not for mechanical arts,
Their hay and their grain;
Would rot in the rain,
And none would have wagons nor carts,
No mills to grind your corn,
No stables, no houses nor barns,
Your little log huts,
Would perish in smut,
And what would you do with your farms?
Was it not for mechanical arts,
Their hay and their grain;
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And none would have wagons nor carts,
No mills to grind your corn,
No stables, no houses nor barns,
Your little log huts,
Would perish in smut,
And what would you do with your farms?
Hi, ho, we are the boys, &c.
FARMERS.
O! what would the tradesman do,
Should the farmer lay by his old plow?
His bread and his meat,
Which are now very sweet,
Would no longer cherish his brow.
And what would we want of barns,
If we'd nothing to fill them when done?
Our houses and fence
Would be useless expense,
And mechanics would starve every one.
Should the farmer lay by his old plow?
His bread and his meat,
Which are now very sweet,
Would no longer cherish his brow.
And what would we want of barns,
If we'd nothing to fill them when done?
Our houses and fence
Would be useless expense,
And mechanics would starve every one.
Hi, ho, we are the boys, &c.
MECHANICS.
Oh! who would a farmer be,
And drive the lazy old ox,
With old linen shirts,
All varnished with dirt,
And stogies as red as a fox.
O! who would be bound to a farm,
And sweat through the long summer day?
While we work in the shade,
There is more to be made,
And there we can work every day.
And drive the lazy old ox,
With old linen shirts,
All varnished with dirt,
And stogies as red as a fox.
O! who would be bound to a farm,
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While we work in the shade,
There is more to be made,
And there we can work every day.
Hi, ho, we are the boys, &c.
We have all got plenty to do,
And plenty of money in hand;
We are happy and free,
As the bird and the bee,
We're brethren all joined in a band.
We will not fall out by the way,
But we'll help each other along—
We are free from the yoke,
Our fetters are broke,
And now we will join in our song.
And plenty of money in hand;
We are happy and free,
As the bird and the bee,
We're brethren all joined in a band.
We will not fall out by the way,
But we'll help each other along—
We are free from the yoke,
Our fetters are broke,
And now we will join in our song.
Hi, ho, we are the boys,
In union we'll live all the while.
Our hands we will use,
And will never refuse,
And Providence surely will smile.
In union we'll live all the while.
Our hands we will use,
And will never refuse,
And Providence surely will smile.
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