The Living Writers of the SouthCarleton, 1869 - 619 páginas |
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American appeared beautiful believe born bright called character Charleston close College comes dark death deep dream early earth entire entitled eyes face fair fall father feeling field flowers French genius Georgia give given grace hand heart hope illustrative interest known lady land less letters light literary literature lived look mind Miss native nature never North novel o'er once Orleans passed passion periodicals person poem poet position practice present published reader received resident returned seems sketches society song soul South Carolina Southern spirit stands story style success sweet tears thee things thou thought true truth University verse Virginia voice volume writer written wrote York young
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Página 492 - Furl it! for the hands that grasped it. And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low; And that Banner — it is trailing! While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe. For though conquered, they adore it!
Página 264 - Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Página 491 - tis weary; Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary; Furl it, fold it, it is best; For there's not a man to wave it, And there's not a sword to save it, And there's not one left to lave it In the blood which heroes gave it; And its foes now scorn and brave it; Furl it, hide it— let it rest!
Página 198 - 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.
Página 198 - Far away in the cot on the mountain. His musket falls slack — his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep — For their mother — may Heaven defend her...
Página 151 - But thus to see, from day to day, Thy brightening eye and cheek, And watch thy life-sands waste away, Unnumbered, slowly, meek ; — To meet thy smiles of tenderness, And catch the feeble tone Of kindness, ever breathed to bless, And feel, I'll be " alone ;" — To mark thy strength each hour decay, And yet thy hopes grow stronger, As, filled with heaven-ward trust, they say, " Earth may not claim thee longer...
Página 199 - For their mother — may Heaven defend her! The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then, That night, when the love yet unspoken Leaped up to his lips — when low-murmured vows Were pledged to be ever unbroken. Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes, He dashes off tears that are welling, And gathers his gun closer up to its place As if to keep down the heart-swelling.
Página 492 - tis drooping dreary; Furl it, fold it, it is best; For there's not a man to wave it, And there's not a sword to save it, And there's not one left to lave it In the blood which heroes gave it: And its foes now scorn and brave it: Furl it, hide it— let it rest. Take that Banner down! 'tis tattered; Broken is its staff and shattered; And the valiant hosts are scattered Over whom it floated high.
Página 418 - Over a ringing lake ; it wraps the soul With a bright harmony of happiness — Even as a gem is wrapped, when round it roll Their waves of brilliant flame — till we become, Ev'n with the excess of our deep pleasure, dumb, And pant like some swift runner clinging to the goal.
Página 198 - ALL quiet along the 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.