Browsing named entities in Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore). You can also browse the collection for Old John Brown or search for Old John Brown in all documents.

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rs in the prologue to the tragic national drama, the different acts of which the whole country has been watching with such exciting interest for the past three years. It is, nevertheless, the fact, however. Let me tell you about it briefly. Old John Brown had not only worked at the arsenal at Harper's Ferry, but was intimately acquainted with all the details of the works, and knew, besides, what building among the ruins of some fifty now remaining was the strongest for defence. This was the eeholders of the Shenandoah Valley, he moved back to the Ferry, and ensconced himself with his twenty followers in this engine-house. The alarm throughout Harper's Ferry that night was terrible, and during the whole of the following live-long day Brown held his position, and having made portholes through the brick walls, shot several citizens who had the temerity to show themselves about the building. The lookers — on were terror-stricken, and the two thousand Virginia militiamen, with their c
But now, to the long, long night They pass, as they ne'er had been-- A stranger and sadder sight Than ever the sun hath seen. For his waning beams illume A vast and a sullen train Going down to the gloom-- One wretched and drear refrain The only line on their tomb-- “They died-and they died in vain!” Gone — ah me!--to the grave, And never one note of song! The Muse would weep for the brave, But how shall she chant the wrong? For a wayward wench is she-- One that rather would wait With Old John Brown at the tree Than Stonewall dying in state. When, for the wrongs that were, Hath she lilted a single stave? Know, proud hearts, that, with her, 'Tis not enough to be brave By the injured, with loving glance, Aye hath she lingered of old, And eyed the evil askance, Be it never so haughty and bold. With Homer, alms gift in hand, With Dante, exile and free, With Milton, blind in the Strand, With Hugo, lone by the sea! In the attic, with Beranger, She could carol, how blithe and free! Of the <