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And Doctor Mitchill, Ll. D.,
And Tompkins, Lord of Staten Island!
Hushed be the strain of mirth and glee,
’Twere reason now to laugh or smile.

Long has proud Albany, elate,
Reared her two steeples⁹³ high in air,
And boasted that she ruled the State,
Because the Governor lives there.

But loftier now will be her tone
To know, within her walls are met
The brightest gems that ever shone
Upon a city’s coronet.

Though heavy is our load of pain
To feel that Fate has so bereft us,
Some consolations yet remain,
For Dicky Riker still is left us!

And Hope, with smile and gesture proud,
Points to a day of triumph nigh,
When, like a sunbeam from the cloud,
That dims awhile an April sky,

Our champions shall again return,
Their pockets with new honors crowded,