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

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Missouri (Missouri, United States) (search for this): chapter 7
plead and plead in vain, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! The precious blood of all thy slain Arises fhis foul, disloyal stain, Belle Missouri I my Missouri! Recall the field of Lexington, Belle Missoull thy freedom yet unwon, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! They called the craven to the trust, Belle id the glory in the dust, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! The helpless prey of treason's lust, The helhy sword in scabbard rust Belle Missouri! my Missouri! She thrills! her blood begins to burn, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! She's bruised and weak, but she can turn, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! Shy wounds a swift return, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! Stretch out thy thousand loyal hands, Belleeacon unto distant lands, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! Up with the loyal Stripes and Stars, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! Down with the traitor stars and bars, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! Now by rs, And liberty's appealing scars, We'll lay the demon of these wars, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! [8 more...]
Springfield, Mo. (Missouri, United States) (search for this): chapter 7
Belle Missouri Arise and join the patriot train, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! They shall not plead and plead in vain, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! The precious blood of all thy slain Arises from each reeking plain; Wipe out this foul, disloyal stain, Belle Missouri I my Missouri! Recall the field of Lexington, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! How Springfield blushed beneath'the sun, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! And noble Lyon, all undone, His race of glory but begun, And all thy freedom yet unwon, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! They called the craven to the trust, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! They laid the glory in the dust, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! The helpless prey of treason's lust, The helpless mark of treason's thrust, Now shall thy sword in scabbard rust Belle Missouri! my Missouri! She thrills! her blood begins to burn, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! She's bruised and weak, but she can turn, Belle Missouri! my Missouri! So, on her forehead pale and stern, A sign t
G. W. M. Baltimore (search for this): chapter 8
of death, home, honor was their theme, For these they dared the thickest of the fight. How gloriously did they their cause maintain, And trample under foot a despot's reign! Slumbers there not in veins of every son The zeal that nerved their sires to noblest deeds? Along our border booms the foeman's gun! And precious blood for vengeance loudly pleads! Out from the noisy mart! desert the field! Nor rest until the foe is made to yield! Our glorious banner, bathed in patriot's blood, Apostate legions ruthlessly assail; By vengeful raid, by fiery ‘whelming flood, They would o'er all our liberties prevail. Shall freemen pause, ignobly, basely wait, While perfidy adjusts the nation's fate? What though the ties of kindred claim your stay, The stronger ties of country loudly call! Brush off the trembling tear and haste away! Better that friends should grieve than honor fall; Urge back the foe!-defend our dear domains Till victory hovers o'er the embattled plains! G. W. M. Baltimore
Mary Clemmer Ames (search for this): chapter 9
Left behind. by Mary Clemmer Ames. Oh! hear the music-coming, coming up the street! Oh! hear the muffled marching of swift on-coming feet! Oh! hear the choral drum beat — the bugle piercing sweet! Our volunteers are coming, coming up the street; Throw open wide the windows, beloved ones to greet-- We're ready waiting, eager, our bonny boy to meet. Our volunteers are coming! They've lived through every fray-- Through marching, through fighting, through fever's cruel prey-- To be mustered out of service, the gallant boys today! Your tattered battle-banner, unfurl it in the air! I'm seeking one beneath it — I'll know him, bronzed or fair: Oh! glad returning faces, our darling is not there! The trumpets clash exultant, the bayonets flash me blind, And still my eyes are seeking the one I cannot find; Oh! tell me true, his comrades, have you left our boy behind? Say, soldiers, did you leave him upon the battle-plain, Where fiendish shell and canister pour fierce their fiery r
A. H. Sands (search for this): chapter 10
Mother, can I go? by A. H. Sands. I am writing to you, mother, knowing well what you will say, When you read with tearful fondness all I write to you to-day, Knowing well the flame of ardor on a loyal mother's part, That will kindle with each impulse, with each throbbing of your heart. I have heard my country calling for her sons that still are true; I have loved that country, mother, only next to God and you, And my soul is springing forward to resist her bitter foe: Can I go, my dearest mother? tell me, mother, can I go? From the battered walls of Sumter, from the wild waves of the sea, I have heard her cry for succor, as the voice of God to me. In prosperity I loved her — in her days of dark distress With your spirit in me, mother, could I love that country less? They have pierced her heart with treason, they have caused her sons to bleed, They have robbed her in her kindness, they have triumphed in her need; They have trampled on her standard, and she calls me in her woe: Ca
Sumterville (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 10
r, knowing well what you will say, When you read with tearful fondness all I write to you to-day, Knowing well the flame of ardor on a loyal mother's part, That will kindle with each impulse, with each throbbing of your heart. I have heard my country calling for her sons that still are true; I have loved that country, mother, only next to God and you, And my soul is springing forward to resist her bitter foe: Can I go, my dearest mother? tell me, mother, can I go? From the battered walls of Sumter, from the wild waves of the sea, I have heard her cry for succor, as the voice of God to me. In prosperity I loved her — in her days of dark distress With your spirit in me, mother, could I love that country less? They have pierced her heart with treason, they have caused her sons to bleed, They have robbed her in her kindness, they have triumphed in her need; They have trampled on her standard, and she calls me in her woe: Can I go, my dearest mother? tell me, mother, can I go? I am youn
June 21st, 1863 AD (search for this): chapter 12
g their line, And many a gleaming, hissing track athwart the heavens shine; 'Tis all in vain; their shot and shell fall short of every mark; Or, wildly erring, sullen plunge beneath the waters dark. 'Tis all in vain; our marksmen true, with an unerring aim, Behind their very ramparts lie, and bathe them red in flame; No foeman bold above those works may show his daring form; Down sentry, gunner, soldier, go beneath that leaden storm! Thou frowning battlement, Rebellion's only, fondest trust, With all their hopes, thy stubborn strength must topple to the dust; These waters, mingling from afar, as they sweep to the sea, Proclaim that they must still unite, that they must still be free! The time shall come when these proud hills no more shall quake with dread; Beneath their peaceful breast shall lie the heaps of gory dead; Redeemed from slavery's blighting curse, the battle's war shall cease, And all Columbia's broad domain shall smile in golden peace. Vicksburgh, Miss., June 21, 1863.
Horace B. Durant (search for this): chapter 12
A midnight scene at Vicksburgh. by Horace B. Durant, Company A, One Hundredth Regiment Penn. V., First Division Ninth Army Corps. By Mississippi's mighty tide, our camp-fires flick'ring glow, O'er weary, tented, slumb'ring men, are burning dim and low; Calm be their rest beneath the shade of bending forest bough, And soft the night-wind as it creeps across the dreamer's brow; The hot glare that to-morrow shines Within this Southern land May drink its draught of crimson life that stains the burning sand; And some, alas! of this brave band their mortal course shall run, And be but ghastly, mould'ring clay ere sets another sun. 'Tis midnight lone. The moon has climbed high up the eastern steeps, While in her holy, pensive gaze the trembling dewdrop weeps; Across the river's moaning flow, the bold, gray bluffs arise, Like banks of rugged, slumb'ring clouds against the sapphire skies.; There Vicksburgh stands upon the slope and on the frowning height, While spire and dome gleam strang
Hotel Vicksburgh (search for this): chapter 12
shines Within this Southern land May drink its draught of crimson life that stains the burning sand; And some, alas! of this brave band their mortal course shall run, And be but ghastly, mould'ring clay ere sets another sun. 'Tis midnight lone. The moon has climbed high up the eastern steeps, While in her holy, pensive gaze the trembling dewdrop weeps; Across the river's moaning flow, the bold, gray bluffs arise, Like banks of rugged, slumb'ring clouds against the sapphire skies.; There Vicksburgh stands upon the slope and on the frowning height, While spire and dome gleam strangely out upon the fearful night. Ay, there is fear within the gloom, such fear as guilt may know, When it has drawn upon its crimes the swift, avenging blow. There comes no slumber to the eyes that gaze with horror dread Upon the upturned, frightful face of all the mangled dead. There is no peace to those who list the shriek of woe and pain That, never ceasing, rises from the weeping and the slain. Proud one,
Mississippi (Mississippi, United States) (search for this): chapter 12
A midnight scene at Vicksburgh. by Horace B. Durant, Company A, One Hundredth Regiment Penn. V., First Division Ninth Army Corps. By Mississippi's mighty tide, our camp-fires flick'ring glow, O'er weary, tented, slumb'ring men, are burning dim and low; Calm be their rest beneath the shade of bending forest bough, And soft the night-wind as it creeps across the dreamer's brow; The hot glare that to-morrow shines Within this Southern land May drink its draught of crimson life that stains the burning sand; And some, alas! of this brave band their mortal course shall run, And be but ghastly, mould'ring clay ere sets another sun. 'Tis midnight lone. The moon has climbed high up the eastern steeps, While in her holy, pensive gaze the trembling dewdrop weeps; Across the river's moaning flow, the bold, gray bluffs arise, Like banks of rugged, slumb'ring clouds against the sapphire skies.; There Vicksburgh stands upon the slope and on the frowning height, While spire and dome gleam stran
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