When shiners with an iron hand
Reigned here the terror of the land!
Few were the victims of the strife--
If any--and the loss of life,
Was fanciful much more than real
In that blood-letting old ordeal.
Among the medico's of old,
Doctor Stratford I behold,
Who foolishly I thought deemed best
To emigrate towards the West,
And leave behind a work which few
Could with a single lancet do
When venesection--old idea,
Combined with the Phamacopeiæ
Was patent as a panacea
For almost every mortal ill,
Like calomel jalap, or blue pill.
He disappeared from healing fame,
And young Edward Vancortlandt came;
For he was young and active, too,
When first he met the minstrel's view,
And striding rapidly did go
Along full forty years ago!
VanCortlandt's had a long career
Since first he bled and blistered here;
His own hand hath his fortune made--
His own hand the foundation laid--
And if success, with hoards of wealth
He has not now--the public health
Has never suffered at his hand;