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Browsing named entities in a specific section of Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 4. (ed. Frank Moore). Search the whole document.

Found 9 total hits in 5 results.

Columbia (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 300
81. the Defenders. by Thomas Buchanan Read. Our flag on the land and our flag on the ocean, An angel of peace wheresoever it goes-- Nobly sustained by Columbia's devotion. The angel of death it shall be to our foes! True to its native sky Still shall the eagle fly, Casting his sentinel glances afar-- Though bearing the olive branch, Still in his talons staunch Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war! Hark to the sound! there's a foe on our border-- A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom-- Freemen are rising and marching in order, Leaving the plough, and the anvil and loom. Rust dims the harvest sheen Of scythe and sickle keen, The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar, Veteran and youth are out, Swelling the battle-shout, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war. Our brave mountain-eagles swoop from the eyrie, Our little panthers leap from forest and plain; Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie, Out of the East roll the waves of the main. Down from their
Niagara County (New York, United States) (search for this): chapter 300
arching in order, Leaving the plough, and the anvil and loom. Rust dims the harvest sheen Of scythe and sickle keen, The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar, Veteran and youth are out, Swelling the battle-shout, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war. Our brave mountain-eagles swoop from the eyrie, Our little panthers leap from forest and plain; Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie, Out of the East roll the waves of the main. Down from their Northern shores, Swift as Niagara pours, [its jar, They march, and their tread wakes the earth with Under the Stripes and Stars, Each with the soul of Mars, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war. Spite of the sword, or assassin's stiletto, While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave, The oak of the North or the Southern palmetto Shall shelter no foe, except in his grave. While the Gulf-billow breaks, Echoing the Northern lakes, And ocean replies unto ocean afar, Yield we no inch of land, While there's a patriot han
Rust (search for this): chapter 300
, An angel of peace wheresoever it goes-- Nobly sustained by Columbia's devotion. The angel of death it shall be to our foes! True to its native sky Still shall the eagle fly, Casting his sentinel glances afar-- Though bearing the olive branch, Still in his talons staunch Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war! Hark to the sound! there's a foe on our border-- A foe striding on to the gulf of his doom-- Freemen are rising and marching in order, Leaving the plough, and the anvil and loom. Rust dims the harvest sheen Of scythe and sickle keen, The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar, Veteran and youth are out, Swelling the battle-shout, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war. Our brave mountain-eagles swoop from the eyrie, Our little panthers leap from forest and plain; Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie, Out of the East roll the waves of the main. Down from their Northern shores, Swift as Niagara pours, [its jar, They march, and their tread wakes the earth
Swift (search for this): chapter 300
sing and marching in order, Leaving the plough, and the anvil and loom. Rust dims the harvest sheen Of scythe and sickle keen, The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar, Veteran and youth are out, Swelling the battle-shout, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war. Our brave mountain-eagles swoop from the eyrie, Our little panthers leap from forest and plain; Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie, Out of the East roll the waves of the main. Down from their Northern shores, Swift as Niagara pours, [its jar, They march, and their tread wakes the earth with Under the Stripes and Stars, Each with the soul of Mars, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war. Spite of the sword, or assassin's stiletto, While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave, The oak of the North or the Southern palmetto Shall shelter no foe, except in his grave. While the Gulf-billow breaks, Echoing the Northern lakes, And ocean replies unto ocean afar, Yield we no inch of land, While there's a p
Mars (search for this): chapter 300
he anvil and loom. Rust dims the harvest sheen Of scythe and sickle keen, The axe sleeps in peace by the tree it would mar, Veteran and youth are out, Swelling the battle-shout, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war. Our brave mountain-eagles swoop from the eyrie, Our little panthers leap from forest and plain; Out of the West flash the flames of the prairie, Out of the East roll the waves of the main. Down from their Northern shores, Swift as Niagara pours, [its jar, They march, and their tread wakes the earth with Under the Stripes and Stars, Each with the soul of Mars, Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war. Spite of the sword, or assassin's stiletto, While throbs a heart in the breast of the brave, The oak of the North or the Southern palmetto Shall shelter no foe, except in his grave. While the Gulf-billow breaks, Echoing the Northern lakes, And ocean replies unto ocean afar, Yield we no inch of land, While there's a patriot hand Grasping the bolts of the thunders of war