Classic Poem

The Congress met, the day was wet, Van Buren took the chair;
On either side, the statesman pride of far Kentuck was there.
With moody frown, there sat Calhoun, and slowly in his cheek
His quid he thrust, and slaked the dust, as Webster rose to speak.

Upon that day, near gifted Clay, a youthful member sat,
And like a free American upon the floor he spat;
Then turning round to Clay, he said, and wiped his manly chin,
“What kind of Locofoco's that, as wears the painter's skin?”

“Young man,” quoth Clay, “avoid the way of Slick of Tennessee;
Of gougers fierce, the eyes that pierce, the fiercest gouger he;
He chews and spits, as there he sits, and whittles at the chairs,
And in his hand, for deadly strife, a bowie-knife he bears.

“Avoid that knife. In frequent strife its blade, so long and thin,
Has found itself a resting-place his rivals' ribs within.”
But coward fear came never near young Jabez Dollar's heart,—
“Were he an alligator, I would rile him pretty smart!”

Then up he rose, and cleared his nose, and looked toward the chair;
He saw the stately stripes and stars,—our country's flag was there!
His heart beat high, with eldritch cry upon the floor he sprang,
Then raised his wrist, and shook his fist, and spoke his first harangue.

“Who sold the nutmegs made of wood—the clocks that wouldn't figure?
Who grinned the bark off gum-trees dark—the everlasting nigger?
For twenty cents, ye Congress gents, through 'tarnity I'll kick
That man, I guess, though nothing less than 'coon-faced Colonel Slick!”

The Colonel smiled—with frenzy wild,—his very beard waxed blue,—
His shirt it could not hold him, so wrathy riled he grew;
He foams and frets, his knife he whets upon his seat below—
He sharpens it on either side, and whittles at his toe,—

“Oh! waken snakes, and walk your chalks!” he cried, with ire elate;
“Darn my old mother, but I will in wild cats whip my weight!
Oh! 'tarnal death, I'll spoil your breath, young Dollar, and your chaffing,—
Look to your ribs, for here is that will tickle them without laughing!”

His knife he raised—with fury crazed, he sprang across the hall;
He cut a caper in the air—he stood before them all:
He never stopped to look or think if he the deed should do,
But spinning sent the President, and on young Dollar flew.

They met—they closed—they sank—they rose,—in vain young Dollar strove—
For, like a streak of lightning greased, the infuriate Colonel drove
His bowie-blade deep in his side, and to the ground they rolled,
And, drenched in gore, wheeled o'er and o'er, locked in each other's hold.

With fury dumb—with nail and thumb—they struggled and they thrust,—
The blood ran red from Dollar's side, like rain, upon the dust;
He nerved his might for one last spring, and as he sank and died,
Reft of an eye, his enemy fell groaning by his side.

Thus did he fall within the hall of Congress, that brave youth;
The bowie-knife has quenched his life of valour and of truth;
And still among the statesmen throng at Washington they tell
How nobly Dollar gouged his man—how gallantly he fell.