Ballads of American Bravery

Priekinis viršelis
Clinton Scollard
Silver, Burdett, 1900 - 230 psl.
 

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86 psl. - 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!
134 psl. - mid a storm of huzzas. 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.
86 psl. - 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.
3 psl. - LISTEN, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five; Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year.
84 psl. - UP from the meadows rich with corn, Clear in the cool September morn, The clustered spires of Frederick stand Green-walled by the hills of Maryland.
212 psl. - Fold him in his country's stars, Roll the drum and fire the volley! What to him are all our wars, What but death — bemocking folly? Lay him low, lay him low, In the clover or the snow! What cares he? he cannot know: Lay him low ! Leave him to God's watching eye; Trust him to the hand that made him.
134 psl. - But there is a road from Winchester town, A good broad highway leading down; And there, through the flush of the morning light A steed as black as the steeds of night Was seen to pass as with eagle flight, As if he knew the terrible need; He stretched away with his utmost speed, Hills rose and fell, but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away.
120 psl. - There was news of the fight ; But none of Giffen. — He did not write. I sometimes fancy that, were I king Of the princely Knights of the Golden Ring, With the song of the minstrel in mine ear, And the tender legend that trembles here, I'd give the best on his bended knee, The whitest soul of my chivalry, For " Little Giffen,
133 psl. - And wider still those billows of war Thundered along the horizon's bar ; And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, With Sheridan twenty miles away.
34 psl. - OUR band is few but true and tried, Our leader frank and bold ; The British soldier trembles When Marion's name is told. Our fortress is the good greenwood, Our tent the cypress-tree ; We know the forest round us, As seamen know the sea. We know its walls of thorny vines, Its glades of reedy grass, Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass. Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near ! On them shall light at midnight A strange and sudden...

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