a foll'wer,
Every scroll of fame, a column.
Cicero Price became a seaman,
Went to cruise upon the waters,
Rose to Commodore in service,
And sustained his proud position,
Through the shifts of fickle fortune.
Let each heart enshrine a volume
Of our honest, upright brothers;
Let the story of Lancaster,
Brush aside the dust and ashes,
Clear away the clogs and brake-wheels,
Come forth as the sun at noonday,
With her hearts and hands unsullied,
With her banner folds untarnished.

CANTO VI.
1833.
CHOLERA.

We have sung the hillside city
In the wilds of old Kentucky,
In the fruitful, blue-grass region,
In its central rich location.
We have sung its days of beauty,
From the hands of the Creator;
Of its innocence and quiet,
Ere the foot of man had pressed it;
We have sung its days of progress
Since the first rude cot was fashioned;
We have sung its days of pleasure
'Mid its households and its people;
We have sung its days of profit
In the gain of cents and dollars;
Days of rustic simple manners,
Days of industry and labor,
Days of glory and of triumph,
Days of pride and exultation.
Now, there came a fatal era,
When the busy hum of traffic
Filled no more the stirring places;
When the noisy roll of carriage
Ceased to sound along the pavements,
And the death cart's slow procession
Told of woe and desolation,
Told of pestilence and danger,
Told of cottages all empty,
And of mansions grim and silent,
Of the hearthstones all deserted,
All the happy, quiet hearthstones.
In this sad and fearful era,
In the year of eighteen hundred
Three and thirty, came a despot,
More oppressive in his power
Than the hosts of foreign armies,
More insatiate in his passion
Than the simoon of the desert.
Came a despot whose invasion
Struck the heart all dumb with terror,
Drove the people, panic-stricken,
From the homes so neat and tasteful,
From the places dear and sacred,
To the refuge of the country,
To the refuge of the mountain,
To the refuge of the valley,--
Anywhere for life and safety
From the grim, pursuing monster.
'Twas the cholera of Asia,
Laying hands upon the city.
'Twas this skeleton so ghastly,
With its breath of foul miasma,
With its desolating vengeance,
With its greedy