The Poetical Works of T. Buchanan Read

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Lippincott, 1890 - 346 pages
 

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Page 226 - mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the master compelled it to pause.
Page 226 - 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 ! " Thomas Buchanan Read, Poetical Works (Philadelphia, 1867), III, 265-267.
Page 76 - ... walls, Where swells and falls The bay's deep breast at intervals, At peace I lie, Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. The day so mild Is heaven's own child, With earth and ocean reconciled: The airs I feel Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail: A joy intense, The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence.
Page 225 - 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...
Page 256 - He spoke of wrongs too long endured, Of sacred rights to be secured; Then from his patriot tongue of flame The startling words for Freedom came. The stirring sentences he spake Compelled the heart to glow or quake, And, rising on his theme's broad wing, And grasping in his nervous hand...
Page 256 - God's temple is the house of peace !" The other shouted : "Nay, not so, When God is with our righteous cause, His holiest places then are ours, His temples are our forts and towers That frown upon the tyrant foe; In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, There is a time to fight and pray!
Page 256 - Then from his patriot tongue of flame The startling words for Freedom came. The stirring sentences he spake Compelled the heart to glow or quake, And, rising on his theme's broad wing, And grasping in his nervous hand The imaginary battle-brand, In face of death he dared to fling Defiance to a tyrant king.
Page 76 - My soul to-day Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian Bay; My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swims round the purple peaks remote: — Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Where high rocks throw, Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. Far, vague, and dim The mountains swim; While, on Vesuvius' misty brim, With outstretched hands, The gray smoke stands O'erlooking the volcanic lands.
Page 58 - Silent till some replying wanderer blew His alien horn, and then was heard no more. Where erst the jay, within the elm's tall crest, Made garrulous trouble round her...
Page 225 - 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.

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