Plays and Poems, Volumes 1-2

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Ticknor and Fields, 1857
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Page 168 - Close his eyes; his work is done! What to him is friend or foeman, Rise of moon, or set of sun, Hand of man, or kiss of woman? Lay him low, lay him low. In the clover or the snow I What cares he? he cannot know: Lay him low...
Page 100 - All the dread mass, and drifts Tempest and falling brand Over a ruined land ; So still and orderly, Arm to arm, knee to knee, Waiting the great event, Stands the black regiment. Down the long dusky line Teeth gleam and eyeballs shine ; And the bright bayonet, Bristling and firmly set, Flashed with a purpose grand, Long ere the sharp command Of the fierce rolling drum Told them their time had come, Told them what work was sent For the black regiment. "Now...
Page 54 - And round her leaped and danced ; Or when against her dusky hull We struck a fair, full blow, The mighty, solid iron globes Were crumbled up like snow. On, on, with fast increasing speed, The silent monster came, Though all our starboard battery Was one long line of flame. She heeded not ; no...
Page 339 - Yield up thy banner, gallant knight ! Thy lord lies on the plain ; Thy duty has been nobly done ; I would not see thee slain." " Spare pity, king of Aragon ; I would not hear thee lie : My lord is looking down from heaven To see his standard fly." "Yield, madman, yield ! Thy horse is down; Thou hast nor lance nor shield. Fly ! I will grant thee time."—" This flag Can neither fly nor yield.
Page 424 - Sing, then, sing! And if you equal Homer in your song, Why, roll I must, by sheer compulsion. PEPE. Nay, You lack the temper of the fine-eared Greek. You will not roll; but that shall not disgrace My gallant ballad, fallen on evil times.
Page 354 - May this spot stand till Guido's dearest blood Be mingled with thy own!" The soldiers say, In the close battle, when my wrath is up, The dead man's blood flames on my vengeful brow Like a red planet; and when war is o'er, It shrinks into my brain...
Page 432 - Please yourself. And you will please me better. You are sad: I marked it ever since you saw the Count. I fear the splendor of his victories, And his sweet grace of manner — for, in faith, His is the gentlest, grandest character, Despite his — FRAN. Well? RIT. Despite his — FRAN. Ritta, what?
Page 80 - Then in her triumph sank grandly away. Five of the rebels, like satellites round her, Burned in her orbit of splendor and fear ; One, like the Pleiad of mystical story, . Shot, terror-stricken, beyond her dread sphere. We who are waiting with crowns for the victors, Though we should offer the wealth of our store, Load the Varuna from deck down to kelson, Still would be niggard, such tribute to pour On courage so boundless. It beggars possession, It knocks for just payment at heaven's bright door.
Page 367 - And move your heart to anything like love, Wed her yourself. The peace would stand as firm By such a match.
Page 102 - Leaping with open hands, Down they tear man and horse, Down in their awful course ; Trampling with bloody heel Over the crashing steel, All their eyes forward bent, Rushed the black regiment. "Freedom...

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