Riddle 93

My first grows by the riverside,
And in the fields it has been seen;
’T is raised on poles, the country’s pride,
Dear to the peasant and the queen.

The men had many battles braved,
And on my last I saw them sit,
Beside the General, who waved
My last, and read aloud a writ.

Beside a river flowing free,
The spot marked by a grassy mound,
My whole, nicknamed “Old Hickory,”
Was long ago put in the ground.