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"Who carries the gun?"
A lad from London town.
We'll let him go, for well we know
The stuff that never backs down!
He has learned to joke at the powder smoke,
For he is the fog-smoke's son,
And his heart is light and his pluck is right,
The lad who carries the gun.
...Into the woods my Master went,
Clean forspent, forspent.
Into the woods my Master came,
Forspent with love and shame.
But the olives they were not blind to Him,
The little gray leaves were kind to Him:
The thorn-tree had a mind to Him
...I am weary of lying within the chase
When the knights are meeting in market-place.
Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town
Lest the hooves of the war-horse tread thee down.
But I would not go where the Squires ride,
I would only walk by my Lady's side.
Alack! and alack! thou art...Bambino in his cradle slept;
And by his side his grandam grim
Bent down and smiled upon the child,
And sung this lullaby to him,---
This "ninna and anninia":
"When thou art older, thou shalt mind
To traverse countries far and wide,
And thou shalt go where roses...Banish Air from Air —
Divide Light if you dare —
They'll meet
While Cubes in a Drop
Or Pellets of Shape
Fit
Films cannot annul
Odors return whole
Force Flame
And with a Blonde push
Over your impotence
Flits Steam.A Bard's Epitaph
1786
Is there a whim-inspired fool,
Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule,
Owre blate to seek, owre proud to snool,
Let him draw near;
And owre this grassy heap sing dool,
And drap a tear.
Is there a bard of rustic song,
Who...Ye martial gods of ancient date
Grant me assistance to relate
A battle, such as ne'er before,
Was witnessed in the days of yore.
'Twas on a summer's eve there stood,
Upon a bridge that crossed a flood,
Dark Groups of wild mysterious forms
Like thunder clouds portending storms,
...'Twas in James River, not long ago,
When the tide was falling, sluggish and slow,
That from Newport News and Fortress Monroe
A Nondescript vessel was seen:
A thing like a house-roof, iron clad,
That, saucily waving over it, had
The flag of the country gone to the bad…
The...THERE are countless fields the green earth o'er,
Where the verdant turf has been dyed with gore;
Where hostile ranks in their grim array,
With the battle's smoke have obscured the day;
Where hate has stamped on each rigid face
As foe met foe in the death embrace;...