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Browsing named entities in a specific section of Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 2. (ed. Frank Moore). Search the whole document.

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frights you, slay Your own base selves; and, dying, leave Your children's tearful cheeks to grieve, Not quail and blush, when you shall come, Alive, to their degraded home! Your wives will look askance with scorn; Your boys, and infants yet unborn, Will curse you to God's holy face! Heaven holds no pardon in its grace For cowards. Oh! are such as ye The guardians of our liberty? Back, if one trace of manhood still May nerve your arm and brace your will! You stain your country in the eyes Of Europe, and her monarchies! The despots laugh, the peoples groan; Man's cause is lost and overthrown! I curse you, by the sacred blood That freely poured its purple flood Down Bunker's heights, on Monmouth's plain, From Georgia to the rocks of Maine! I curse you, by the patriot band Whose bones are crumbling in the land! By those who saved what these had won!-- In the high name of Washington!” Then I remember little more. As the tide's rising waves, that pour Over some low and rounded rock, The com
Georgia (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 187
ys, and infants yet unborn, Will curse you to God's holy face! Heaven holds no pardon in its grace For cowards. Oh! are such as ye The guardians of our liberty? Back, if one trace of manhood still May nerve your arm and brace your will! You stain your country in the eyes Of Europe, and her monarchies! The despots laugh, the peoples groan; Man's cause is lost and overthrown! I curse you, by the sacred blood That freely poured its purple flood Down Bunker's heights, on Monmouth's plain, From Georgia to the rocks of Maine! I curse you, by the patriot band Whose bones are crumbling in the land! By those who saved what these had won!-- In the high name of Washington!” Then I remember little more. As the tide's rising waves, that pour Over some low and rounded rock, The coming mass, with one great shock, Flowed o'er the shelter of my mound, And raised me helpless from the ground. As the huge shouldering billows bear, Half in the sea and half in air, A swimmer on their foaming crest, So the
Monmouth, Ill. (Illinois, United States) (search for this): chapter 187
nce with scorn; Your boys, and infants yet unborn, Will curse you to God's holy face! Heaven holds no pardon in its grace For cowards. Oh! are such as ye The guardians of our liberty? Back, if one trace of manhood still May nerve your arm and brace your will! You stain your country in the eyes Of Europe, and her monarchies! The despots laugh, the peoples groan; Man's cause is lost and overthrown! I curse you, by the sacred blood That freely poured its purple flood Down Bunker's heights, on Monmouth's plain, From Georgia to the rocks of Maine! I curse you, by the patriot band Whose bones are crumbling in the land! By those who saved what these had won!-- In the high name of Washington!” Then I remember little more. As the tide's rising waves, that pour Over some low and rounded rock, The coming mass, with one great shock, Flowed o'er the shelter of my mound, And raised me helpless from the ground. As the huge shouldering billows bear, Half in the sea and half in air, A swimmer on their
Yorktown (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 187
el branched and ran To this dread height. The wrong or right Stands clear before God's faultless sight. I only feel the shameful blow, I only see the scornful foe, And vengeance burns in every vein To die, or wipe away the stain. The war-wise hero of the West, Wearing his glories as a crest Of trophies gathered in your sight, Is arming for the coming fight. Full well his wisdom apprehends The duty and its mighty ends; The great occasion of the hour, That never lay in human power Since over Yorktown's tented plain The red cross fell, nor rose again. My humble pledge of faith I lay, Dear comrade of my school-boy day, Before thee, in the nation's view; And if thy prophet prove untrue, And from our country's grasp be thrown The sceptre and the starry crown, And thou, and all thy marshalled host Be baffled, and in ruin lost; Oh! let me not outlive the blow That seals my country's overthrow! And, lest this woeful end come true, Men of the North, I tunr to you. Display your vaunted flag onc
Centreville (Maryland, United States) (search for this): chapter 187
73. upon the Hill before Centreville. July Twenty-first, 1861. by George H. Boker. I'll tell you what I heard that day. I heard the great guns, far away, Boom after boom. Their sullen sound Shook all the shuddering air around, And shook, ah me! my shrinking ear, And downward shook the hanging tear That, in despite of manhood's pride, Rolled o'er my face a scalding tide. And then I prayed. O God! I prayed, As never stricken saint, who laid His hot cheek to the holy tomb Of Jesus, in the midnight gloom. “What saw I?” Little. Clouds of dust; Great squares of men, with standards thrust Against their course; dense columns crowned With billowing steel. Then, bound on bound, The long black lines of cannon poured Behind the horses, streaked and gored With sweaty speed. Anon shot by, Like a lone meteor of the sky, A single horseman; and he shone His bright face on me, and was gone. All these, with rolling drums, with cheers, With songs familiar to my ears, Passed under the far-ha
Maine (Maine, United States) (search for this): chapter 187
orn, Will curse you to God's holy face! Heaven holds no pardon in its grace For cowards. Oh! are such as ye The guardians of our liberty? Back, if one trace of manhood still May nerve your arm and brace your will! You stain your country in the eyes Of Europe, and her monarchies! The despots laugh, the peoples groan; Man's cause is lost and overthrown! I curse you, by the sacred blood That freely poured its purple flood Down Bunker's heights, on Monmouth's plain, From Georgia to the rocks of Maine! I curse you, by the patriot band Whose bones are crumbling in the land! By those who saved what these had won!-- In the high name of Washington!” Then I remember little more. As the tide's rising waves, that pour Over some low and rounded rock, The coming mass, with one great shock, Flowed o'er the shelter of my mound, And raised me helpless from the ground. As the huge shouldering billows bear, Half in the sea and half in air, A swimmer on their foaming crest, So the foul throng beneath me
Bunker Camp (Missouri, United States) (search for this): chapter 187
r wives will look askance with scorn; Your boys, and infants yet unborn, Will curse you to God's holy face! Heaven holds no pardon in its grace For cowards. Oh! are such as ye The guardians of our liberty? Back, if one trace of manhood still May nerve your arm and brace your will! You stain your country in the eyes Of Europe, and her monarchies! The despots laugh, the peoples groan; Man's cause is lost and overthrown! I curse you, by the sacred blood That freely poured its purple flood Down Bunker's heights, on Monmouth's plain, From Georgia to the rocks of Maine! I curse you, by the patriot band Whose bones are crumbling in the land! By those who saved what these had won!-- In the high name of Washington!” Then I remember little more. As the tide's rising waves, that pour Over some low and rounded rock, The coming mass, with one great shock, Flowed o'er the shelter of my mound, And raised me helpless from the ground. As the huge shouldering billows bear, Half in the sea and half in a
Washington (United States) (search for this): chapter 187
freely poured its purple flood Down Bunker's heights, on Monmouth's plain, From Georgia to the rocks of Maine! I curse you, by the patriot band Whose bones are crumbling in the land! By those who saved what these had won!-- In the high name of Washington!” Then I remember little more. As the tide's rising waves, that pour Over some low and rounded rock, The coming mass, with one great shock, Flowed o'er the shelter of my mound, And raised me helpless from the ground. As the huge shouldering biled my sharp disgrace, I feared to meet the human face, Skulking, as any woman might, Who'd lost her virtue in the night, And sees the dreadful glare of day Prepare to light her homeward way, Alone, heart-broken, shamed, undone, I staggered into Washington! Since then long sluggish days have passed, And on the wings of every blast Have come the distant nations' sneers To tingle in our blushing ears. In woe and ashes, as was meet, We wore the penitential sheet. But now I breathe a purer air, And
George H. Boker (search for this): chapter 187
73. upon the Hill before Centreville. July Twenty-first, 1861. by George H. Boker. I'll tell you what I heard that day. I heard the great guns, far away, Boom after boom. Their sullen sound Shook all the shuddering air around, And shook, ah me! my shrinking ear, And downward shook the hanging tear That, in despite of manhood's pride, Rolled o'er my face a scalding tide. And then I prayed. O God! I prayed, As never stricken saint, who laid His hot cheek to the holy tomb Of Jesus, in the midnight gloom. “What saw I?” Little. Clouds of dust; Great squares of men, with standards thrust Against their course; dense columns crowned With billowing steel. Then, bound on bound, The long black lines of cannon poured Behind the horses, streaked and gored With sweaty speed. Anon shot by, Like a lone meteor of the sky, A single horseman; and he shone His bright face on me, and was gone. All these, with rolling drums, with cheers, With songs familiar to my ears, Passed under the far-ha
July 21st, 1861 AD (search for this): chapter 187
73. upon the Hill before Centreville. July Twenty-first, 1861. by George H. Boker. I'll tell you what I heard that day. I heard the great guns, far away, Boom after boom. Their sullen sound Shook all the shuddering air around, And shook, ah me! my shrinking ear, And downward shook the hanging tear That, in despite of manhood's pride, Rolled o'er my face a scalding tide. And then I prayed. O God! I prayed, As never stricken saint, who laid His hot cheek to the holy tomb Of Jesus, in the midnight gloom. “What saw I?” Little. Clouds of dust; Great squares of men, with standards thrust Against their course; dense columns crowned With billowing steel. Then, bound on bound, The long black lines of cannon poured Behind the horses, streaked and gored With sweaty speed. Anon shot by, Like a lone meteor of the sky, A single horseman; and he shone His bright face on me, and was gone. All these, with rolling drums, with cheers, With songs familiar to my ears, Passed under the far-ha