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103. the Yard-arm Tree.

     O! the trees on the land that grow, that grow,
And the fruits that they produce,
     Demand to be sung with vigor, I know,
For each of them has its use.
     To the oak and the beech much credit is due;
To the birch we have all dropped a tear;
     And, as for the pine, what teachings divine
To its gum-clogged knots adhere!
     But now that treason stalks the shore,
And sails upon the main,
     The tree that most is worth a toast
From all of loyal grain,
     Is the taper Yard-Arm Tree,
That grows on a ship in the sea.

     Up from the Isthmus we steam, we steam,
With treasure in our hold;
     Bars and dust that take no rust,
And nuggets of yellow gold.
     Down on our quarter sweeps a bark
Flaunting the Cotton Flag;
     A rebel bark, with a letter of marque,
And they strive to get our swag;
     But they reckoned without one skipper brave,
And grand it was to see,
     The bloated Cotton blossoms wave
Upon our yard-arm tree.
     So here's to the Yard-Arm Tree,
That grows on a ship in the sea!

--Vanity Fair,

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