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History of Brooklyn, Susquehanna Co., Penna: Its Homes and Its People
Edward a Weston
No preview available - 2015
2d wife acres Adams afterward Amos Amos Lawrence Andrew Rogers Andrew Tracy Bailey Betsey Bissell born bought Bridgewater Brooklyn brother built buried cabin Capt Caswell Catlin Charles Chas Crandall creek Daniel daugh daughter David deceased died Aug died Oct died Sept Dimock east Edward Paine Elisha Eliza Elizabeth Fanny farm father Garland George Gere Hannah Harford Henry Hewitt Hill Cemetery Hopbottom Isaac Jackson Jacob Tewksbury James James Noble John Joseph Chapman Joseph Jackson Joshua Jackson Joshua Miles Kent Lathrop lived Lucy Lydia Lyman Mack married Martin creek Mary Montrose Nancy Oakley occupied Old Cemetery Owego Packer Palmer Perigo Polly residence road Safford Sally Sally Tracy Samuel Sarah Saunders sister Smith soldier Springville Stephen Sterling Sutliff Thomas Garland Thos Tiffany township tree VanAuken warrantee Weston Williams Wright Yeomans
Page 199 - Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there. Oh say, does that star-spangled banner yet wave O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, what is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Page 129 - UP from the South at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste, to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar, Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away.
Page 198 - How sleep the brave who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairy hands their knell is rung, By forms unseen their dirge is sung; There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey, To bless the turf that wraps their clay; And Freedom shall awhile repair, To dwell a weeping hermit there!
Page 194 - Old Tubal Cain was a man of might, In the days when earth was young; By the fierce red light of his furnace bright, The strokes of his hammer rung ; And he lifted high his brawny hand On the iron glowing clear, Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers, As he fashioned the sword and spear. And he sang — " Hurrah for my handiwork ! Hurrah for the spear and sword ! Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well, For he shall be king and lord ! " To Tubal Cain came many a one.
Page 157 - For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn. Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke: How jocund did they drive their team afield! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke!
Page 199 - Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn's early light, What so proudly we hailed at the twilight's last gleaming. Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight, O'er the ramparts we watched were so gallantly streaming? And the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air, Gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.
Page 232 - Hey, diddle diddle, the cat and the fiddle, The cow jumped over the moon. The little dog laughed to see such sport, And the dish ran away with the spoon!
Page 229 - Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler's eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along.
Page 14 - Within her ice-rimmed bay, In common with the wild-wood flowers, The first sweet smiles of May ? Yet, "God be praised ! " the Pilgrim said, Who saw the blossoms peer Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, " Behold our Mayflower here ! " " God wills it : here our rest shall be, Our years of wandering o'er ; For us the Mayflower of the sea Shall spread her sails no more.
Page 198 - Tis the still water faileth ; Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth; Keep the watch wound, for the dark rust assaileth; Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. Labor is glory! — the flying cloud lightens; Only the waving wing changes and brightens ; Idle hearts only the dark future frightens : Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune!