Poems

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Williams & Wilkins, 1898 - American poetry - 76 pages
 

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Page 30 - Oh, I'ma good old Rebel, Now that's just what I am; For this "fair Land of Freedom" I do not care a dam. I'm glad I fit against it— I only wish we'd won, And I don't want no pardon For anything I've done. I hates the Constitution, This great Republic, too; I hates the Freedmen's
Page 30 - Euro, In uniforms of blue. I hates the nasty eagle, With all his brag and fuss; The lyin', thievin' Yankees, I hates 'em wuss and wuss. I hate the Yankee Nation And everything they do; I hate the Declaration Of Independence, too. I hates the glorious Union, 'Tis dripping with our blood; I hates the striped banner— I fit it all I could.
Page 57 - days; How he'll stop us on our ways With its praise! And the people, oh! the people, That don't live up in the steeple, But inhabit Christian parlors Where he visiteth and plays Where he plays, plays, plays In the crudest of ways, And thinks we ought to listen, And expects us to
Page 58 - of ways, And thinks we ought to listen, And expects us to be mute, Who would rather have the ear-ache Than the music of his flute— Of his flute, flute, flute, And the tootings of its toot— Of the toots wherewith he tootleth, its agonizing
Page 57 - On the maddened air of night! And defieth all endeavors To escape the sound or sight Of the flute, flute, flute, With its tootle, tootle, toot— With reiterated tootings of exasperating toots, The
Page 52 - The log was borne on shoulders strong Of men who marked their cadence steps With music as they came along; And Ned, with air of high command, Came marching at the head of all, As he had done for "thirty year," On Christmas eve at Thornton Hall. He led the chorus as they marched, The voices
Page 57 - tootlings of agonizing toots Of the flute, flute, flute, flute, Flute, flute, flute, And the wheezings and the spittings of its toot. Should he get that other
Page 38 - Longstreet, Fly to the Fields with me; Trip o'er the Heth, with flying feet, And skip along the Lee; There Ewell find the flowers that be Along the Stonewall still, And pluck the buds of flowering pea That grow on AP Hill. Across the
Page 52 - loud and clear From lusty throats and happy hearts: For Christmas comes but once a year. Though briskly blazed at Christmas eve That fire with flames and embers bright, Until the antique fireplace lit The
Page 57 - flute! O what a world of wailing is awakened by its toot! How it demi-semi-quavers On the maddened air of night! And defieth all endeavors To escape the sound or

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