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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.
Found 5 total hits in 3 results.
Port Hudson (Louisiana, United States) (search for this): chapter 49
The Black brigade at Port Hudson. by John A. Dorgan. Not fair, for they too long have borne The badge of shame, the lash of scorn; Not fair, for seamed with many a scar Their spirits like their bodies are; Nor learned in books, nor smooth in speech, Whom tyrants made it crime to teach; But strong of limb and true of heart, Behold them in their manhood smart For this their trial-day arrayed, The soldiers of the Black Brigade. Forward!
And with one pulse sublime, And ringing tread of ancient rhyme, They sweep; and forward as they sweep, The thunders of the cannon leap Upon them, and their bleeding host Within the battle-cloud is lost; Flash sword and bayonet, shot and shell Fly screaming through that mist of hell, But onward, onward, undismayed, They hold their way — the Black Brigade. And on, and on, and on they tread; And all the field is heaped with dead, And slippery grows the grass with gore, But onward, onward, yet once more. In vain!
In vain!
The moated wall Mocks them,
Winkelried (search for this): chapter 49
John A. Dorgan (search for this): chapter 49
The Black brigade at Port Hudson. by John A. Dorgan. Not fair, for they too long have borne The badge of shame, the lash of scorn; Not fair, for seamed with many a scar Their spirits like their bodies are; Nor learned in books, nor smooth in speech, Whom tyrants made it crime to teach; But strong of limb and true of heart, Behold them in their manhood smart For this their trial-day arrayed, The soldiers of the Black Brigade. Forward!
And with one pulse sublime, And ringing tread of ancient rhyme, They sweep; and forward as they sweep, The thunders of the cannon leap Upon them, and their bleeding host Within the battle-cloud is lost; Flash sword and bayonet, shot and shell Fly screaming through that mist of hell, But onward, onward, undismayed, They hold their way — the Black Brigade. And on, and on, and on they tread; And all the field is heaped with dead, And slippery grows the grass with gore, But onward, onward, yet once more. In vain!
In vain!
The moated wall Mocks them, b