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TO DOMESTIC PEACE.
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


286

TO DOMESTIC PEACE.

“Malbrook s'en va-t-en guerre.”

Oh, Peace! ascend again thy throne,
Resume the spotless olive-leaf,
Display thy snowy muslin gown,
And wave o'er this distracted town
Thy cambric pocket-handkerchief!
Or, if thou dost not like the dress
(We own we have our doubts upon it),
Come like some pretty Quakeress,
And let thine orbs of quietness
Shine, dove-like, from a satin bonnet!
We need thee, row-abhorring maid!
The dogs of party bark alarms,
And e'er the Battery tax is laid,
And e'er the next election's made,
E'en Murray's Guards will rush to arms
Feds, Coodies, Bucktails,

The assumed or imputed titles of various party factions at war with each other.

all in flame,

With peals of nonsense frighten thee;

287

Sweet Peace! thou wert not much to blame,
If thou shouldst loathe the very name
Of Clinton, or of John Targee.
For us, enthroned in elbow-chair,
Thy foes alone with ink we sprinkle;
We love to smooth the cheek of care,
Until we leave no furrow there,
Save laughter's evanescent wrinkle.
With thee and mirth, we'll quit the throng—
Each hour shall see our pleasures vary;
Jarvis shall bring his Cats along,
And Lynch shall float in floods of song
Pure as his highest-priced Madeira!
D.