American War Ballads and Lyrics: A Collection of the Songs and Ballads of the Colonial Wars, the Revolution, the War of 1812-15, the War with Mexico, and the Civil War, 2. köide

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George Cary Eggleston
G. P. Putnam's sons, 1889
 

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Page 98 - Over the heads of the rebel host. Ever its torn folds rose and fell On the loyal winds that loved it well; And through the hill-gaps sunset light Shone over it with a warm good-night. Barbara Frietchie's work is o'er, And the Rebel rides on his raids no more. Honor to her! and let a tear Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall's bier.
Page 97 - Shoot, if you must, this old gray head, But spare your country's flag," she said. A shade of sadness, a blush of shame, Over the face of the leader came; The nobler nature within him stirred To life at that woman's deed and word: "Who touches a hair of yon gray head Dies like a dog! March on!
Page 12 - Potomac," they say. Except now and then a stray picket Is shot as he walks on his beat, to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. "Tis nothing; a private or two now and then Will not count in the news of the battle. Not an officer lost — only one of the men Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle. All quiet along the Potomac...
Page 96 - Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind: the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Page 10 - Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored; He hath loosed the fatal lightning of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on.
Page 212 - Then fastened the meadow bars again. Under the willows, and over the hill, He patiently followed their sober pace ; The merry whistle for once was still, And something shadowed the sunny face. Only a boy ! and his father had said He never could let his youngest go ; Two already were lying dead Under the feet of the trampling foe.
Page 230 - By the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron have fled, Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the one, the Blue; Under the other, the Gray.
Page 8 - ... 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 74 - 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 !' "Hurrah ! Hurrah, for Sheridan ! Hurrah ! Hurrah for horse and man!
Page 161 - We' dare not look behind us, but steadfastly before: We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more! If you look across the hilltops that meet the northern sky, Long moving lines of rising dust your vision may descry ; And now the wind, an instant, tears the cloudy veil aside, And floats aloft our spangled flag in glory and in pride, And bayonets in the sunlight gleam, and bands brave music pour: We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more ! If you look all up our valleys...

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