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Page 478 - 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.
Page 65 - The despot's heel is on thy shore, Maryland ! His torch is at thy temple door, Maryland ! Avenge the patriotic gore That flecked the streets of Baltimore, And be the battle-queen of yore, Maryland, my Maryland ! Hark to an exiled son's appeal, Maryland! My Mother State, to thee I kneel, Maryland ! For life and death, for woe and weal, Thy peerless chivalry reveal, And gird thy beauteous limbs with steel, Maryland, my Maryland ! Thou wilt not cower in the dust...
Page 331 - SPRING, with that nameless pathos in the air Which dwells with all things fair, Spring, with her golden suns and silver rain, Is with us once again. Out in the lonely woods the jasmine burns Its fragrant lamps, and turns Into a royal court with green festoons The banks of dark lagoons. In the deep heart of every forest tree The blood is all aglee, And there's a look about the leafless bowers As if they dreamed of flowers.
Page 333 - Still there's a sense of blossoms yet unborn In the sweet airs of morn; One almost looks to see the very street Grow purple at his feet. At times a fragrant breeze comes floating by, And brings, you know not why, A feeling as when eager crowds await Before a palace gate Some wondrous pageant; and you scarce would start, If from a beech's heart, A blue-eyed Dryad, stepping forth, should say,
Page 332 - As yet the turf is dark, although you know That, not a span below, A thousand germs are groping through the gloom, And soon will burst their tomb.
Page 317 - To the mean channels of no selfish mart, Goes out to every shore Of this broad earth, and throngs the sea with ships That bear no thunders ; hushes hungry lips In alien lands ; Joins with a delicate web remotest strands ; And gladdening rich and poor, Doth gild Parisian domes, Or feed the cottage-smoke of English homes, And only bounds its blessings by mankind...
Page 236 - JUST as the spring came laughing through the strife, With all its gorgeous cheer, In the bright April of historic life Fell the great cannoneer. The wondrous lulling of a -hero's breath His bleeding country weeps; Hushed in the alabaster arms of Death, Our young Marcellus sleeps.
Page 370 - Matted and damp are the curls of gold Kissing the snow of that fair young brow ; Pale are the lips of delicate mould — Somebody's darling is dying now. Back from his beautiful blue-veined brow Brush all the wandering waves of gold, Cross his hands on his bosom now — Somebody's darling is still and cold.
Page 92 - To arms, in Dixie ! Advance the flag of Dixie ! Hurrah ! hurrah ! For Dixie's land we take our stand, And live or die for Dixie ! To arms ! To arms ! And conquer peace for Dixie...
Page 370 - Somebody's darling was borne one day ; Somebody's darling, so young and so brave, Wearing yet, on his pale sweet face — Soon to be hid by the dust of the grave — The lingering light of his boyhood's grace. Matted and damp are the curls of gold, Kissing the snow of that fair young brow ; Pale are the lips of delicate mould — Somebody's darling is dying now.

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