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Page 328 - She leaned far out on the window-sill And shook it forth with a royal will. "Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag,
Page 353 - Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play ! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever lord of Death, And Love can never lose its own...
Page 351 - So all night long the storm roared on : The morning broke without a sun; In tiny spherule traced with lines Of Nature's geometric signs, In starry flake, and pellicle, All day the hoary meteor fell ; And, when the second morning shone, We looked upon a world unknown, On nothing we could call our own. Around the glistening wonder bent The blue walls of the firmament, No cloud above, no earth below, — A universe of sky and snow...
Page 328 - Over the mountains, winding down, Horse and foot into Frederick town. Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Page 247 - He would dress me up in silks so fine, And praise and toast me at his wine. "My father should wear a broadcloth coat...
Page 329 - But spare your country's flag," she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came; The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word: "Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!
Page 184 - The riches of the Commonwealth Are free, strong minds, and hearts of health ; And more to her than gold or grain, The cunning hand and cultured brain.
Page 237 - For my taste the blackberry cone Purpled over hedge and stone; Laughed the brook for my delight Through the day and through the night, Whispering at the garden wall, Talked with me from fall to fall; Mine the sand-rimmed pickerel pond, Mine the walnut slopes beyond, Mine, on bending orchard trees, Apples of Hesperides!
Page 429 - Because," — the brown eyes lower fell, — "Because, you see, I love you!" Still memory to a gray-haired man That sweet child-face is showing. Dear girl! the grasses on her grave Have forty years been growing! He lives to learn, in life's hard school, How few who pass above him Lament their triumph and his loss, Like her, — because they love him.