Campaign song of John E. Beaver, who ran for Governor of
Ohio in 1840
Strike, strike the harp - come, sweep the lire.
Kindle and blaze, Promethean fire;
Tune up your sweetest dulcet notes,
My ponderour theme is Beaver’s Boots.
bull – a bull whose hide
Grew thick and tough, took sick and died.
Its soul went with all the other brutes,
His hide went into Beaver’s Boots.
Millions of creeping things lie dead,
Mangled and crushed beneath his tread.
Two insect smashers, death recruits
His ranks in following Beaver’s Boots.
When first they thundered up the aisle,
Filled inside – outside with free soil,
The Senate hushed their fierce disputes,
And speechless grazed at Beaver’s Boots.
The tangled hair of Whitman rose.
And pale with fear grew Graham’s nose;
Even Cunningham’s white head salutes
The high-soled man in Beaver’s Boots.
That well filled vest with pride displays
The guard chain red of other days.
That unsaved honest face denotes,
A Governor stands in Beaver’s Boots.
John F. Beaver, son of Henry & Sarah (Story) Beaver,
grandson of Johannes Beaver