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American Literary Society, 1901

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PÓgina 4507 - twas a dream they'd dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea But I shall name you the fishermen three : Wynken, Blynken, And Nod. Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed.
PÓgina 4555 - Under the roses, the Blue, Under the lilies, the Gray. So, with an equal splendor, The morning sun-rays fall, With a touch impartially tender, On the blossoms blooming for all : — Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day ; Broidered with gold, the Blue, Mellowed with gold, the Gray.
PÓgina 4329 - Sacrament the chapel was surrounded with soldiers, and all the communicants and assembly surprised and kept prisoners by them, some in the house, others carried away. It fell to my share to be...
PÓgina 4555 - Under the one, the Blue, Under the other, the Gray. These in the robings of glory, Those in the gloom of defeat, All with the battle-blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet : Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the...
PÓgina 4507 - WYNKEN, Blynken, and Nod one night Sailed off in a wooden shoe — Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew. "Where are you going, and what do you wish ? " The old moon asked the three. "We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea; Nets of silver and gold have we!
PÓgina 4332 - God grant mine eyes may never behold the like, who now saw above 10,000 houses all in one flame ! The noise and cracking and thunder of the impetuous flames, the shrieking of women and children, the hurry of people, the fall of towers, houses, and churches, was like a hideous storm; and the air all about so hot and inflamed, that at the last one was not able to approach it...
PÓgina 4473 - tis at a white heat now: The bellows ceased, the flames decreased though on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound, And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare: Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there.
PÓgina 4474 - tis blasting bright — the high sun shines not so ! The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful show ; The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe. As, quivering thro' his fleece of flame, the sailing monster, slow Sinks on the anvil — all about the faces fiery grow. "Hurrah!
PÓgina 4474 - leap out, leap out!" Bang, bang ! the sledges go ; Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low ; A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow ; The leathern mail rebounds the hail ; the rattling cinders strow The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow ; And, thick and loud, the swinking crowd at every stroke pant " ho !
PÓgina 4555 - Wet with the rain, the Gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding The generous deed was done ; In the storm of the years that are fading, No braver battle was won ; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day ; Under the blossoms, the Blue ; Under the garlands, the Gray. No more shall the war-cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red ; They banish our anger forever, When they laurel the graves of our dead. Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day ; Love and tears for the Blue ; Tears and...

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