Contents -BIBLIOGRAPHIC RECORD

William McCarty, comp. The American National Song Book. 1842.

A New Bow Wow

THE SEASON was approaching when we hoped to gain the better,

To guard against the savage dogs, and clear the British litter;

Our dogs of war were wakeful, and attentive to the matter,

And not a puss was stirring but a full-fed dog was at her,

Bow, wow, wow; all Florida shall echo to the bow, wow, wow.

Despondency prevailed around, from artifice of tories,

And faith was nearly run aground by floods of lying stories,

But Harrison, a wily cur, near the Miami Rapids,

Pursued the game, and saved the fur, and gave their dogs the vapids;

Bow, wow, wow, the Canadas re-echo with the bow, wow, wow.

Then Wilkinson, a dog of worth, for Florida was started,

He led his dogs of terror forth, full fed and noble-hearted,

The kennel of Mobile he seized, a pretty spot to lie on,

The Spanish curs bore off their fleas to plague the British lion.

Bow, wow, wow, hark! Canada and Florida cry bow, wow, wow.

Then Dearborne started on the chase, a revolution pointer,

With Pike, an active cur, to start the puss at York, and joint her,

But fearful of his bold pursuit, to check his rapid motion,

They thought of flight, and buckled to’t, amidst a dire explosion.

Bow, wow, wow, and Canada re-echoes with the bow, wow, wow.

Thus Pike and Nicholson attain’d a fate replete with glory,

While Sheaffe, with tail between his legs, a dog, a whelp, a tory!

Obtain’d by flight a short reprieve, but justice will o’ertake him,

Will check his base attempts to thieve, and through the kennel shake him.

Bow, wow, wow, and Canada shall echo with the bow, wow, wow.

Thus York reduced, against Fort George the huntsmen sent the pack, sir,

And Lewis led the chasers on, while Chauncey kept the track, sir,

A better dog there doesn’t swing, as Yeo’s pups will find, sir,

He safely guards the huntsmen in, and keeps all clean behind, sir.

Bow, wow, wow, Ontario re-echoes with his bow, wow, wow.

To Sacket’s Harbour Yeo steer’d, with Provost’s chosen blood-hounds,

But Brown his dogs of valour cheer’d, militia blood, but good hounds,

He chased them from the bloody track, and Yeo’s bull-dogs slighting,

Though Chauncey was not there, he show’d Sir James the art of fighting.

Bow, wow, wow, fresh water dogs can tutor them with bow, wow, wow.

On Niagara’s banks, along to Queenstown and Fort Erie,

The British kennels wide and strong display a strange vagary,

They blaze and burst with horrid crash, as Yankee dogs push on, sir,

While Indian dogs retire abash’d, and far, far west are gone, sir.

Bow, wow, wow, the tomahawk is banish’d by our bow, wow, wow.

Prepare to hear from Maiden next, where Harrison and Clay are,

The British dogs are sorely vex’d, our southern dogs will play fair,

But soon the forest they will range and chase the British legions,

Give Proctor and his host their change, and cleanse our western regions,

Bow, wow, wow, the scalping knife shall rust amidst our bow, wow, wow.