South Songs: From the Lays of Later Days

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Thomas Cooper De Leon
Blelock & Company, 1866 - 153 pages

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Page 67 - Where the dead and dying lay, Wounded by bayonets, shells, and balls, 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...
Page 111 - tis the red dawn of the day, Maryland! Come with thy panoplied array, Maryland! With Ringgold's spirit for the fray, With Watson's blood at Monterey, With fearless Lowe and dashing May, Maryland, my Maryland ! Dear Mother, burst the tyrant's chain, Maryland! Virginia should not call in vain, Maryland! She meets her sisters on the plain,— "/Sic semper!
Page 144 - Banner — it is trailing, While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe. For, though conquered, they adore it, — Love the cold, dead hands that bore it, Weep for those who fell before it, Pardon those who trailed and tore it; And oh, wildly they deplore it, Now to furl and fold it so!
Page 68 - Was it a mother's soft and white? And have the lips of a sister fair Been baptized in their waves of light? God knows best ! he was somebody's love ; Somebody's heart enshrined him there; Somebody wafted his name above, Night and morn, on the wings of prayer. Somebody wept when he marched away, Looking so handsome, brave, and grand; Somebody's kiss on his forehead lay, Somebody clung to his parting hand.
Page 78 - Virginian hills Against embattled foes, And planted there, in valleys fair, The lily and the rose; Whose fragrance lives in many lands, Whose beauty stars the earth, And lights the hearths...
Page 112 - I see the blush upon thy cheek, Maryland ! For thou wast ever bravely meek, Maryland ! But lo! there surges forth a shriek. From hill to hill, from creek to creek, Potomac calls to Chesapeake, Maryland, my Maryland! Thou wilt not yield the Vandal toll, Maryland ! Thou wilt not crook to his control, Maryland ! Better the fire upon thee roll, Better the shot, the blade, the bowl, Than crucifixion of the soul, Maryland, my Maryland!
Page 144 - Banner — it is trailing! While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe. For though conquered, they adore it! Love the cold dead hands that bore it! Weep for those who fell before it! Pardon those who trailed and tore it, But, Oh! wildly they deplore it Now who furl and fold it so.
Page 127 - For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet. "But I snatched off the trinket, — this locket of gold; An inch from the centre my lead broke its way, Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, Of a beautiful lady in bridal array.
Page 27 - Twas in the dying of the day, The darkness grew so still; The drowsy pipe of evening birds Was hushed upon the hill; Athwart the shadows of the vale Slumbered the men of might, And one lone sentry paced his rounds, To watch the camp that night.

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