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Comte de Paris, History of the Civil War in America. Vol. 4. (ed. Henry Coppee , LL.D.) 4 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 2 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 24. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 2 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 21. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Irene E. Jerome., In a fair country 2 0 Browse Search
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1 2 0 Browse Search
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life 2 0 Browse Search
Knight's Mechanical Encyclopedia (ed. Knight) 2 0 Browse Search
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 1. (ed. Frank Moore) 2 0 Browse Search
Varina Davis, Jefferson Davis: Ex-President of the Confederate States of America, A Memoir by his Wife, Volume 2 2 0 Browse Search
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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Army Life in a Black Regiment, Chapter 5: out on picket. (search)
hern spring, that burst of life and joy, those days of heaven that even April brings; and this absence of childhood in the year creates a feeling of hardness in the season, like that I have suggested in the melody of the Southern birds. It seemed to me also that the woods had not those pure, clean, innocent odors which so abound in the New England forest in early spring; but there was something luscious, voluptuous, almost oppressively fragrant about the magnolias, as if they belonged not to Hebe, but to Magdalen. Such immense and lustrous butterflies I had never seen but in dreams; and not even dreams had prepared me for sand-flies. Almost too small to be seen, they inflicted a bite which appeared larger than themselves,--a positive wound, more torturing than that of a mosquito, and leaving more annoyance behind. These tormentors elevated dress-parade into the dignity of a military engagement. I had to stand motionless, with my head a mere nebula of winged atoms, while tears
Varina Davis, Jefferson Davis: Ex-President of the Confederate States of America, A Memoir by his Wife, Volume 2, Chapter 20: the Executive mansion-the hospitals. (search)
ther self-appointed peacemaker, came back without having accomplished anything except an exhausting walk. The house is very large, but the rooms are comparatively few, as some of them are over forty feet square. The ceilings are high, the windows wide, and the well-staircases turn in easy curves toward the airy rooms above. The Carrara marble mantels were the delight of our children. One was a special favorite with them, on which the whole pilaster was covered by two lovely figures of Hebe and Diana, one on either side in bold relief, which, with commendatory taste, were not caryatides. The little boys, Jefferson and Joe, climbed up to the lips of these pretty ladies and showered kisses on them. The entablature was Apollo in his chariot, in basso relievo. Another was a charming conception of Cupid and Psyche, with Guido's Aurora for the entablature. A lady more in love with art than learned in pronouncing gazetteers, said, with pleasure shining through her eyes, I do so lo
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 1. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 411 (search)
g; Bright is the wreath of our fame; glory awaits us for aye-- Glory that never is dim, shining on with light never-ending-- Glory that never shall fade, never, 0 never, away! Oh! it is sweet for our country to die! How softly reposes Warrior youth on his bier, wet by the tears of his love, Wet by a mother's warm tears; they crown him with garlands of roses, Weep, and then joyously turn, bright where he triumphs above. Not to the shades shall the youth descend who for country hath perished; Hebe awaits him in heaven, welcomes him there with her smile; There at the banquet divine, the patriot spirit is cherished; Gods love the young who ascend pure from the funeral pile. Not to Elysian fields, by the still, oblivious river; Not to the isles of the blest, over the blue, rolling sea; But on Olympian heights shall dwell the devoted forever; There shall assemble the good, there the wise, valiant, and free. Oh! then how great for our country to die — in the front rank to perish, Firm with
Knight's Mechanical Encyclopedia (ed. Knight), O. (search)
s upturned by the rake. See also dredge. In olden times, the edible oyster was dived for, as the pearl-oysters now are. Oysters lie at the bottom of the sea, and one cannot get at them by any other means, except by diving to the bottom. — ATHENAeUS; Epit., B. I. 22. He also quotes Homer as saying, — An active man is he, and dives with ease （Iliad, XVI. 745), in reference to a man who gathered them fast enough to keep several persons supplied. Epicharmus, in the Marriage of Hebe, says: — Bring oysters with closed shells, Which are very difficult to open, but very easy to eat. The pearl-oyster of the Indian Ocean is mentioned by Theophrastus and Athenaeus, who speak of it as a precious stone resembling a large fish's eye, and that expensive necklaces are made of them for the Persians, Medes, and all Asiatics. Theophrastus says: — They are engendered in the flesh of the oyster, just as measles are in pork. The oysters of Britain were highly esteeme
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life, Bibliography (search)
me. (In Longfellow. Estray. 1846.) 1845 (Cambridge） Lay of the Humble. [Poem.] (In New York Tribune, Oct. I.) Tyrtaeus. [Poem.] (In Harbinger, Nov. I.) Same. (In Liberator, Nov. 7.) Articles. (In Christian World, Jan., Feb.) Signed H. 1846 (Cambridge） Four hymns. (In Longfellow and Johnson. Book of Hymns.) The Railroad. [Poem.] (In Harbinger, April 4.) Holiness unto the Lord. [Sonnet.] (In Harbinger, June 20.) Hymn of Humanity. (In Harbinger, June 27.) Hebe. [Poem.] (In Harbinger, July 4.) A Word of Hope. [Poem.] (In National Anti-Slavery Standard, Sept. 3.) Sonnet to William Lloyd Garrison. (In Liberty Bell.) (Tr.) A Cradle Song, from the German of Ruckert. (In Harbinger, July 4.) Same, entitled Nature's Cradle Song. Def. VI. Two articles on licentiousness. (In Chronotype.) 1847 (Cambridge—Newburyport) Hymn. (In University of Cambridge Exercises at the Thirty-first Annual Visitation of the [Harvard] Divinity School, July 1<
Laura E. Richards, Maud Howe, Florence Howe Hall, Julia Ward Howe, 1819-1910, in two volumes, with portraits and other illustrations: volume 1, Chapter 7: passion flowers 1852-1858; aet. 33-39 (search)
regard, R. W. Emerson. Oliver Wendell Holmes, always generous in his welcome to younger writers, sent the following poem, never before printed:-- If I were one, O Minstrel wild, That held “the golden cup” Not unto thee, Art's stolen child, My hand should yield it up; Why should I waste its gold on one That holds a guerdon bright-- A chalice, flashing in the sun Of perfect chrysolite. And shaped on such a swelling sphere As if some God had pressed Its flowing crystal, soft and clear On Hebe's virgin breast? What though the bitter grapes of earth Have mingled in its wine? The stolen fruits of heavenly birth Have made its hue divine. Oh, Lady, there are charms that win Their way to magic bowers, And they that weave them enter in In spite of mortal powers; And hearts that seek the chapel's floor Will throb the long aisle through, Though none are waiting at the door To sprinkle holy dew! I, sitting in the portal gray Of Art's cathedral dim, Can see thee, passing in to pray And
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Irene E. Jerome., In a fair country, Water-Lilies (search)
ancy can scarcely trust it, fearing some disastrous change; and your fancy is too true a prophet. Come again, after the second day's opening, and you start at the transformation which one hour has secretly produced. Can this be the virgin Victoria,— this thing of crimson passion, this pile of pink and yellow, relaxed, expanding, voluptuous, lolling languidly upon the water, never to rise again? In this short time every tint of every petal is transformed; it is gorgeous in beauty, but it is Hebe turned to Magdalen. Such is the Victoria Regia. But our rustic water-lily, our innocent Nymphaea, never claiming such a hot-house glory, never drooping into such a blush, blooms on placidly in the quiet waters, till she modestly folds her leaves for the last time, and bows her head beneath the surface forever. Next year she lives for us only in her children, fair and pure as herself. Nay, not alone in them, but also in memory. The fair vision will not fade from us, though the paddle
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 21. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), chapter 1.19 (search)
ar in daylight of the powder-laden Cornubia, in 1862, and the A. D. Vance, with a party of ladies and Dr. Hoge, of Richmond, with Bibles for the soldiers, in 1864 (the latter steamer rescued by a timely shot from a ten-inch Columbiad in the fort), were incidents never to be forgotten. The recapture of the Kate of London and the Nighthawk, the wreck of the Condor under the guns of the fort, and the sad drowning of Mrs. Greenhough, the famous Confederate spy, the fights over the Venus and the Hebe on the beach of Masonboro Sound, where one of the garrison was killed and a Whitworth gun captured from a detachment of men guarding the wrecks August 23, 1863, by the United States frigate Minnesota, carrying forty-four guns, which came close to shore and rendered a retreat with the guns impossible, were thrilling events in our camp life. We had a visit from President Davis; he landed at the end of the point and rode on horseback with General Whiting to the mound. As soon as he reached t
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 24. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), chapter 1.23 (search)
place, The flood may bear me far; I hope to see my pilot face to face, When I have crossed the bar. Along the coast may still be seen the storm-beaten hulls of some of the unfortunate ships, which, after weathering many a gale at sea, came to grief within sight of a friendly port. The Beauregard and the Venus lie stranded on Carolina Beach; the Modern Greece near New Inlet; the Antonica on Frying Pan Shoals; the Ella on Bald Head; the Spunkey and the Georgiana McCall on Caswell Beach; the Hebe and the Dee between Wrightsville and Masonboro. Two others lie near Lockswood's Folly Bar, and others whose names are also forgotten, lie half buried in the sands, where they may remain for centuries. John N. Maffitt. Among that devoted band of United States navy officers whose home and kindred were in the South at the outbreak of the war, and who resigned their commissions rather than aid in subjugating their native State, there were none braver nor truer than our own Captain John N.
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 3. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Songs of Labour and Reform (search)
s your annals. Thy songs, Hans Sachs, are living yet, In strong and hearty German; And Bloomfield's lay, and Gifford's wit, And patriot fame of Sherman; Still from his book, a mystic seer, The soul of Behmen teaches, And England's priest craft shakes to hear Of Fox's leathern breeches. The foot is yours; where'er it falls, It treads your well-wrought leather, On earthen floor, in marble halls, On carpet, or on heather. Still there the sweetest charm is found Of matron grace or vestal's, As Hebe's foot bore nectar round Among the old celestials! Rap, rap!—your stout and bluff brogan, With footsteps slow and weary, May wander where the sky's blue span Shuts down upon the prairie. On Beauty's foot your slippers glance, By Saratoga's fountains, Or twinkle down the summer dance Beneath the Crystal Mountains! The red brick to the mason's hand, The brown earth to the tiller's, The shoe in yours shall wealth command, Like fairy Cinderella's! As they who shunned the household maid Beheld t
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