Dickison and His Men: Reminiscences of the War in Florida

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Courier-Journal Job Printing Company, 1890 - Florida - 265 pages
 

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Page 87 - Strike — till the last armed foe expires; Strike — for your altars and your fires; Strike — for the green graves of your sires, God — and your native land!
Page 146 - twill live in song and story, Though its folds are in the dust : For its fame on brightest pages, Penned by poets and by sages, Shall go sounding down the ages — Furl its folds though now we must. Furl that Banner, softly, slowly ! Treat it gently — it is holy — For it droops above the dead. Touch it not — unfold it never, Let it droop there, furled forever, For its people's hopes are dead...
Page 3 - Statesman, yet friend to truth! Of soul sincere; In action faithful, and in honor clear; Who broke no promise, served no private end; Who gained no title, and who lost no friend.
Page 74 - Frankfort, extolled the valour of the soldiers; and calling the officers in a circle around him, addressed them in terms of respect and admiration, and expressed his sympathy for the losses they had sustained. Davoust stepped forward and replied, "Sire, the soldiers of the third corps, will always be to you what the tenth Legion was to Caesar."* Brave words, which his after conduct, and that of his corps, on many a hard-fought field, verified.
Page 150 - tis weary; Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary: Furl it, fold it — it is best; For there's not a man to wave it, And there's not a sword to save it, And there's not one left to lave it In the blood which heroes gave it, And its foes now scorn and brave it: Furl it, hide it — let it rest!
Page 150 - tis drooping dreary; Furl it, fold it, it is best; For there's not a man to wave it, And there's not a sword to save it, And there's not one left to lave it In the blood which heroes gave it; And its foes now scorn and brave it; Furl it, hide it— let it rest! Take that Banner down! 'tis tattered; Broken is its staff and shattered; And the valiant hosts are scattered Over whom it floated high. Oh! 'tis hard for us to fold it; Hard to think there's none to hold it; Hard that those who once unrolled...
Page 151 - Furl it! for the hands that grasped it. And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low; And that Banner — it is trailing! While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe. For though conquered, they adore it! Love the cold dead hands that bore it! Weep for those who fell before it! Pardon those who trailed and tore it, But, Oh!
Page 152 - THE CONQUERED BANNER.' BY SIR H. HOUGHTON, Bart., England. GALLANT nation, foiled by numbers, Say not that your hopes are fled ; Keep that glorious flag that slumbers One day to avenge your dead. Keep it widowed, sonless mothers, Keep it sisters, mourning brothers — Furl it with an iron will ; Furl it now, but — keep it still. Think not that its work is done. Keep it till your children take it Once again to...
Page 151 - Broken is its staff and shattered; And the valiant hosts are scattered Over whom it floated high. Oh! 'tis hard for us to fold it; Hard to think there's none to hold it; Hard that those who once unrolled it Now must furl it with a sigh. Furl that Banner! furl it sadly! Once ten thousand hailed it gladly, And ten thousand wildly, madly, Swore it should forever wave...

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