[Poems by Cranch in] The spirit of the fair Tuesday, April 19, 1864. No. 13 |
 |
[Oak, did I write? Say rather upas tree!] |
 | [Poems by Cranch in] The spirit of the fair |  |
[Oak, did I write? Say rather upas tree!]
Oak, did I write? Say rather upas tree!The root is poison, poisonous is the crown
Of leaves and blossoms, blighting all that's free,
South, north, east, west, with sickness. Cut it down!
Why cumbers it the earth? From field and town
The cry comes thicker, louder—we will see
The end. The axe is sharp. No threat or frown
Of slave-lords or of copperheads heed we.
On with the work! Strike at the root, nor fear;
White men and black men! Now while shrinks the foe;
Now while with desperate strength one dying thrust
He aims at all that makes our country dear,
Band we together, till we overthrow
And trample down Rebellion in the dust!
| [Poems by Cranch in] The spirit of the fair | |