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‘"Give up that Sword."’

By request, we publish the following, which originally appeared in the Richmond Whig:

I hear that a deputation of the ladies of Virginia intend waiting on General Sco't and demanding the sword he received from his native State. As I cannot go in person, I send you the following lines to the old gentleman, hoping they may act as a persuader to ‘"Fuss and Feathers "’ to give up the sword. If you think them worthy of publication, insert them in the Weekly Whig, as I take that paper. A Virginia Mother.

‘ Give up that sword, old trailor.
To the State of the gallant and free;
Who blushes with shame to know she hath found
The first base trailor in thee.

Freedom or death was the cry
First heard on thy native pisins,
As it came from Henry's imprisoned lips
More thrilling than martial strains!

To that war-cry our freemen railied
And clamored to meet the foc.
And drive the invaders from their sacred home,
Or nobly in death lie low.

Scott I will thy blood not tingle
And burn like the lava's flood.
When leagued with the treacherous usurper you come
To deluge your country in blood?

Will not the sword she gave you
Gleam with ill-omened fires.
When you lead your invading thousands
To the homes and the graves of your alres!

The degger of Macbeth was nothing
To what that sword shall be;
Sleeping or waking, its phantom shall still
Forever be present to thee.

And when with assassins and traitors,
Who disgrace their country's name.
Thon shall sneak to they grave with terror and fear,
It will prove a sword of fiame:

A sword, whose lurid lishining
Shall rival the place of the lost;
Then shrieking, despairing, too late thou'll find.
What that treacherous blade hath cost.

Its point shall force thee an entrance,
Even thro' the gates of hell,
And gain thee a full and free admission
To the traitors then hast loved so well.

Arneld will meet thee all smirking,
But only to hide the tear;
He known his pre-eminence now is gone,
For a greater than Arnold is here.

Then the Prince of Darkness shall say,
"Do come up higher, my son;
"Since the fall of man no darker deed
"Than thine hath ever been done.

"Now, Arnold, cease that growling,
"Scott's is the greater name;
"His sword he hath pinuged in his mother's heart.
"Thon did'st only plan the same."

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