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Seite 377 - And so beside the Silent Sea I wait the muffled oar; No harm from Him can come to me On ocean or on shore. I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care.
Seite 322 - In her attic, window the staff she set, To show that one heart was loyal yet. Up the street came the rebel tread, Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. Under his slouched hat left and right He glanced; the old flag met his sight. "Halt!
Seite 326 - 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. Over Barbara Frietchie's grave, Flag of freedom and union, wave ! Peace and order and beauty draw Round thy symbol of light and law ; And ever the stars above look down On thy stars below in Frederick town ! JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER THE CAUSE OF THE SOUTH.
Seite 345 - We shared the fishing off Boar's Head, And round the rocky Isles of Shoals The hake-broil on the drift-wood coals ; The chowder on the sand-beach made, Dipped by the hungry, steaming hot, With spoons of clam-shell from the pot. We heard the tales of witchcraft old, And dream and sign and marvel told To sleepy listeners as they lay Stretched idly on the salted hay, Adrift along the winding shores, When favoring breezes deigned to blow The square sail of the gundelow And idle lay the useless oars.
Seite 229 - Pewter spoon and bowl of wood, On the door-stone, gray and rude! O'er me, like a regal tent, Cloudy-ribbed, the sunset bent, Purple-curtained, fringed with gold, Looped in many a wind-swung fold; While for music came the play Of the pied frogs' orchestra; And, to light the noisy choir, Lit the fly his lamp of fire.
Seite 278 - O playmate in the golden time ! Our mossy seat is green, Its fringing violets blossom yet, The old trees o'er it lean. The winds so sweet with birch and fern A sweeter memory blow ; And there in spring the veeries sing The song of long ago.
Seite 326 - 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.
Seite 72 - Gone, gone,—sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters,— Woe is me, my stolen daughters!