Adieu ye western woods! Adieu ye scattered stumps.
To sight & feeling known too well, — by knocks & thumps
That breaks the horse's gait, — the fretted rider's back,
& stretch the weary eye, on an eternal rack.
Adieu ye lakes of mud, — adieu ye rows of logs,
Where none can safely step, but acorn hunting hogs,
That living grunt at you, and dead will strive again,
In everlasting chops, their empire to maintain.
Adieu ye country colts, tobacco chewing race,
That know but every thing, except their proper place,
Who greet the blazing hearth, with vacant stare & spit
The never failing sign of some approaching wit.
Who ease a full blown nose of all its juicy load
By sending the contents the narrow finger road.
Adieu! Forever then! Where nature's charms are wood
And hogs are made alike Man's company & food.
Where every vagabond your very couch may share
Improve your appetite by belching o'er your fare, —
Where breeding may be shown, by shaking dirty hands,
And wisdom at full length, by talk of dirty Lands
There I can't pitch my tent, enduring long enough
Your mongrel Gentlemen whose Mighty heap of stuff
For sense is made to pass, where patriots win the day
By cursing poor John Pope, & doting upon clay
I bid you long farewell, & giving good for evil
I leave you to your pork, your whiskey, & the Devil.