“To fall on the battle-field fighting for my dear country,—that would not be hard.”—The Neighbors.
O NO, no,—let me lie
Not on a field of battle when I die!
Let not the iron tread
Of the mad war-horse crush my helmèd head;
Nor let the...
STAND! 1 the ground ’s your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?
What ’s the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle-peal!
Read it on yon bristling steel!
Ask it...
Was it the chime of a tiny bell
That came so sweet to my dreaming ear,
Like the silvery tones of a fairy’s shell
That he winds, on the beach, so mellow and clear,
When the winds and the waves lie together asleep,
And the Moon and the Fairy are watching...
I Cannot make him dead!
His fair sunshiny head
Is ever bounding round my study chair;
Yet when my eyes, now dim
With tears, I turn to him,
The vision vanishes,—he is not there!
I walk my parlor floor,
And, through...
A National Portrait
THE YANKEE boy, before he ’s sent to school,
Well knows the mysteries of that magic tool,
The pocket-knife. To that his wistful eye
Turns, while he hears his mother’s lullaby;
His hoarded cents he gladly gives to get it,
Then...
i cannot make him dead!
His fair sunshiny head
Is ever bounding round my study-chair;
Yet, when my eyes, now dim
With tears, I turn to him,
The vision vanishes—he is not there!
I walk my parlor floor,
And through...
The pilgrim FATHERS,—where are they?
The waves that brought them o’er
Still roll in the bay, and throw their spray
As they break along the shore;
Still roll in the bay, as they rolled that day
When the Mayflower moored below,
When the sea...
His falchion flashed along the Nile;
His hosts he led through Alpine snows;
O’er Moscow’s towers, that shook the while,
His eagle flag unrolled,—and froze.
Here sleeps he now, alone;—not one
Of all the kings whose crowns he gave,
Nor sire,...
A weapon that comes down as still
As snowflakes fall upon the sod;
But executes a freeman’s will,
As lightning does the will of God.
Stand! the ground’s your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?
What ’s the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle-peal!
Read it on yon bristling steel!
Ask it,—ye who...
