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angel Apennine ART PILGRIM banner bard beautiful Ralph behold beneath billows bless the wine boughs boys breast breath bright brim brow celestial Chamois Cherbourg cloud Constellation CONTENTS OF VOL cormorant deck delicate dome Dropt dust eagle eyes feet fiery flag flame flash flowers Freedom glorious glory glowing gold golden hand hark hear heart Heaven hymeneal Hyperion Italy kneel land light look mellow wine mingled morn night noble ocean odors patriot perchance plain POEMS Ralph and Rosalie realm REAPER'S DREAM rocks Roll of Honor Rome round sails seabird shadow sheaves Sheridan SHERIDAN'S RIDE shrine silver sing sits smile soldiers song soul sphynx spray stands stars steed SUMMER STORY Swear sweet swift swing sword tambourine tear thee THOMAS BUCHANAN THOMAS BUCHANAN READ thou thunders toil traitor Treaty Elm Viva Italia waves WESTERN VINE whirl wild wind wings wonder
Page 86 - Sheridan twenty miles away. But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down ; And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed as black as the steeds of night Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight, As if he knew the terrible need ; He stretched away with his utmost speed ; Hills rose and fell ; but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
Page 87 - Under his spurning feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind, And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. But lo, he is nearing his heart's desire; He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away.
Page 87 - Then striking his spurs with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas. And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, He seemed to the whole great army to say: " I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester down to save the day.
Page 134 - The barge she sat in, like a burnished throne, Burned on the water. The poop was beaten gold; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were lovesick with them. The oars were silver, Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke and made The water which they beat to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Page 105 - By the tombs of your sires and brothers, The host which the traitors have slain, By the tears of your sisters and mothers, In secret concealing their pain, The grief which the heroine smothers Consuming the heart and the brain, — By the sigh of the penniless widow, By the sob of her orphans' despair Where they sit in their sorrowful shadow, Kneel, kneel every freeman and swear.
Page 85 - 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 86 - Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle-field calls ; Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away. Under his spurning feet the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind Like an ocean flying before the wind; And the steed, like a...
Page 87 - Hurrah ! hurrah for Sheridan ! Hurrah ! hurrah for horse and man ! And when their statues are placed on high, Under the dome of the Union sky, The American soldier's Temple of Fame, — There with the glorious General's name, Be it said, in letters both bold and bright, " Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester, twenty miles away...
Page 55 - THE REAPER'S DREAM. THE road was lone ; the grass was dank With night-dews on the briery bank Whereon a weary reaper sank. His garb was old, — his visage tanned; The rusty sickle in his hand Could find no work in all the land. He saw the evening's chilly star Above his native vale afar ; A moment on the horizon's bar It hung, — then sank as with a sigh : And there the crescent moon went by, An empty sickle down the sky.
Page 86 - Still sprung from those swift hoofs, thundering South, The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth; Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster. Foreboding to traitors the doom of disaster, The heart of the steed and the heart of the master Were beating like prisoners assaulting...