Rodman the Keeper: Southern Sketches

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D. Appleton, 1880 - Southern States - 339 pages
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Page 193 - So: Affable live-oak, leaning low, — Thus — with your favor — soft, with a reverent hand (Not lightly touching your person, Lord of the land!), Bending your beauty aside, with a step I stand On the firm-packed sand, Free By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea.
Page 31 - Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is but an empty dream! — For the soul is dead that slumbers, And things are not what they seem. Life is real! Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul.
Page 189 - LORD, thou hast been our refuge, from one generation to another. Before the mountains were brought forth, or ever the earth and the world were made, thou art GOD from everlasting, and world without end.
Page 339 - For sale by all booksellers; or sent by mail, post-paid^ on receipt of price. New York: D. APPLETON & CO., 1, 3, & 5 Bond Street.
Page 193 - GLOOMS of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven With intricate shades of the vines that myriad-cloven Clamber the forks of the multiform boughs, — Emerald twilights, — Virginal shy lights, Wrought of the leaves to allure to the whisper of vows, When lovers pace timidly down through the green colonnades Of the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods, Of the heavenly woods, and glades, That run to the radiant marginal sand-beach within The wide sea-marshes of Glynn...
Page 40 - They walked down to the gate together in silence. "Good-by," said John, holding out his hand; "you will give me yours or not as you choose, but I will not have it as a favor." She gave it. " I hope that life will grow brighter to you as the years pass. May God bless you ! " He dropped her hand; she turned, and passed through the gateway; then he sprang after her. " Nothing can change you, " he said ; " I know it, I have known it all along: you are part of your country, part of the time, part of the...
Page 216 - All the gain, all the good, of the elements' strife. Have you seen but a bright lily grow, Before rude hands have touched it ? Have you marked but the fall of the snow, Before the soil hath smutched it ? Have you felt the wool of the beaver, Or swan's down ever ? Or have smelt o...
Page 39 - She sat down on a stone by the wayside, not a hundred yards from home, and buried her face in her hands, and gave way to a passion of pent-up sorrow ; so terrible and full of agony were her low cries, that the idiot stood by her, aghast and silent. All his joy gone for the time, but not, like her joy, turned into ashes. Some thought struck him. Yes ! the sight of her woe made him think, great as the exertion was. He ran, and stumbled...
Page 12 - United States government has carefully surrounded those sad Southern cemeteries of hers — sad, not so much from the number of the mounds representing youth and strength cut off in their bloom, — for that is but the fortune of war, — as for the complete isolation which marks them. " Strangers in a strange land " is the thought of all who, coming and going to and from Florida, turn aside here and there to stand for a moment among the closely ranged graves which seem already a part of the past...
Page 22 - He's had noth'n but hard corn-cake for three days, an' he can't swaller it no more." The next morning saw Ward De Rosset lying on the white pallet in the keeper's cottage, and old Pomp, marveling at the cleanliness all around him, installed as nurse. A strange asylum for a Confederate soldier, was it not ? But he knew nothing of the change, which he would have fought with his last breath if consciousness had remained; returning fever, however, had absorbed his senses, and then it was that the keeper...

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