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Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore). You can also browse the collection for 1861 AD or search for 1861 AD in all documents.
Your search returned 5 results in 5 document sections:
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 66 (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 121 (search)
53.
down-trodden Maryland. by B.
air--Tom Bowling. Down-trodden, despised, see brave Maryland lie, The noblest of all States; Up and to ransom her let each one try, To hasten the plans of the Fates. Her land is of the greatest beauty That e'er the eye gazed on; Fearless she roused her to her duty, Nor paused she till ‘twas done. From her, her Old Line has departed, With leaders true and brave; She's been of all the truest hearted-- Why suffer her to be a slave? She's waited long with murmurs deep, Aye calling on ye oft; Still traitors on her insults heap, Still lies her hope aloft. But yet she hopes for better things, When Jeff, who all commands, This wanton war to an end quick brings, With peace to our Southern lands. And when the South is free once more, 'Twill be her proudest boast, That forth the first her men did pour, To curb the invading host.
Baltimore, Nov. 18. 1861.
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 158 (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 187 (search)
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 280 (search)
93. at Port Royal--1861.
by J. G. Whittier. The tent-lights glimmer on the land, The ship-lights on the sea; The night-wind smooths with drifting sand Our track on lone Tybee. At last our grating keels outslide, Our good boats forward swing; And while we ride the land-locked tide, Our negroes row and sing. For dear the bondman holds his gifts Of music and of song: The gold that kindly Nature sifts Among his sands of wrong; The power to make his toiling days And poor home-comforts please; The quaint relief of mirth that plays With sorrow's minor keys. Another glow than sunset's fire Has filled the West with light, Where field and garner, barn and byre, Are blazing through the night. The land is wild with fear and hate, The rout runs mad and fast; From hand to hand, from gate to gate, The flaming brand is passed. The lurid glow falls strong across Dark faces broad with smiles; Not theirs the terror, hate, and loss, That fire yon blazing piles. With oar-strokes timing to their song,