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You’ve driven from the cash and cares
Of office, heedless of our prayers,
Men who have been for many a year
To us and to our purses dear,
And will be to our heirs forever.
Our tears, thanks to the snow and rain,
Have swelled the brook in Maiden Lane
Into a mountain river;
And when you visit us again,
Leaning at Tammany on your cane,
Like warrior on his battle-blade,
You’ll mourn the havoc you have made.

There is a silence and a sadness
Within the marble mansion now;
Some have wild eyes that threaten madness,
Some think of “kicking up a row.”
Judge Miller will not yet believe
That you have ventured to bereave
The city and its hall of him:
He has in his own fine way stated,
“The fact must be substantiated,”
Before he’ll move a single limb.
He deems it cursed hard to yield
The laurel won in every field
Through sixteen years of party war,
And to be seen at noon no more,
Enjoying at his office door
The luxury of a tenth segar.