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Browsing named entities in a specific section of Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 7. (ed. Frank Moore). Search the whole document.

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Alice Key Pendleton (search for this): chapter 2
Liberty not dead. Written in reply to a poem, Liberty — dead, which appeared in the Cincinnati Enquirer, by Mrs. Alice Key Pendleton, daughter of the author of The Star-Spangled Banner. What though the daughter of a sire Who gave the noblest song To grace a nation's poetry That echo shall prolong, Whose matchless words and trumpet tones Make dying soldiers strong; What though she sing in cadenced verse That Liberty is dead, And softly chides the gathered crowd By whom no tears are shed, Though powerless seems the snowy hand, And marble-like the head-- She wrongs the men who, fearless, stood By dark Antietam's side, And those whose patriot-blood, outpoured, The plain of Shiloh dyed, And those who braved the iron hail On Mississippi's tide. She wrongs the fathers, mothers, who Their children send to war; For them great Liberty still lives-- Still shineth as a star, Which passing clouds a moment hide, Without the power to mar. What though a moment pallid now, And lustreless her
Kenton (Kentucky, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
the snowy hand, And marble-like the head-- She wrongs the men who, fearless, stood By dark Antietam's side, And those whose patriot-blood, outpoured, The plain of Shiloh dyed, And those who braved the iron hail On Mississippi's tide. She wrongs the fathers, mothers, who Their children send to war; For them great Liberty still lives-- Still shineth as a star, Which passing clouds a moment hide, Without the power to mar. What though a moment pallid now, And lustreless her eye, The people's will her mighty breath, She cannot, dare not die; In homes like ours, her glorious lot Is Immortality. Thus living, and to live for aye, On mountain or in hall, In vain will rhythmic verse essay To spread her funeral pall, And tell her children Liberty, Alas! is dead to all Ah! no, her march o'er mountain-tops Shall be from sea to sea, Her music as she sweeps along, The glorious song of Key! The patriot statesman's stirring song, The Anthem of the Free! L. A. C. Gatewood Farm, Kenton Co., Ky.
Shiloh, Tenn. (Tennessee, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
What though the daughter of a sire Who gave the noblest song To grace a nation's poetry That echo shall prolong, Whose matchless words and trumpet tones Make dying soldiers strong; What though she sing in cadenced verse That Liberty is dead, And softly chides the gathered crowd By whom no tears are shed, Though powerless seems the snowy hand, And marble-like the head-- She wrongs the men who, fearless, stood By dark Antietam's side, And those whose patriot-blood, outpoured, The plain of Shiloh dyed, And those who braved the iron hail On Mississippi's tide. She wrongs the fathers, mothers, who Their children send to war; For them great Liberty still lives-- Still shineth as a star, Which passing clouds a moment hide, Without the power to mar. What though a moment pallid now, And lustreless her eye, The people's will her mighty breath, She cannot, dare not die; In homes like ours, her glorious lot Is Immortality. Thus living, and to live for aye, On mountain or in hall, In vain w
Mississippi (Mississippi, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
lest song To grace a nation's poetry That echo shall prolong, Whose matchless words and trumpet tones Make dying soldiers strong; What though she sing in cadenced verse That Liberty is dead, And softly chides the gathered crowd By whom no tears are shed, Though powerless seems the snowy hand, And marble-like the head-- She wrongs the men who, fearless, stood By dark Antietam's side, And those whose patriot-blood, outpoured, The plain of Shiloh dyed, And those who braved the iron hail On Mississippi's tide. She wrongs the fathers, mothers, who Their children send to war; For them great Liberty still lives-- Still shineth as a star, Which passing clouds a moment hide, Without the power to mar. What though a moment pallid now, And lustreless her eye, The people's will her mighty breath, She cannot, dare not die; In homes like ours, her glorious lot Is Immortality. Thus living, and to live for aye, On mountain or in hall, In vain will rhythmic verse essay To spread her funeral pall,