The Living Writers of the South |
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Alabama American appeared beautiful born brave breath bright called character Charleston charming chirograph Church College Confederate dark DeBow's Review dream duodecimo earnest earth Edgar Poe editor entitled eyes fair father favour feeling flowers French genius Georgia give glow grace grave hand hath heart heaven honour hope illustrative Journal Kentucky labours lady light literary literature lived Louisiana lyric Macaria mind Miss native nature never New-York City nom de plume novel o'er octavo Orleans passion poem poet poetic poetry Professor published reader resident Richmond says scene Simms sketches Slavery smile song sorrow soul South Carolina South Carolina College Southern Southern Literary Messenger spirit stars story style success sweet tears thee thine thou thought true truth University of Virginia verse Virginia voice volume wild woman writer written wrote York young
Popular passages
Page 264 - Sad as the last which reddens over one That sinks with all we love below the verge; So sad, so fresh, the days that are no more.
Page 491 - tis weary ; Round its staff 'tis drooping dreary ; Furl it, fold it, it is best : For there's not a man to wave it, And there's not a sword to save it, And there's not one left to lave it In the blood which heroes gave it, And its foes now scorn and brave it ; Furl it, hide it — let it rest.
Page 492 - Furl it ! for the hands that grasped it, And the hearts that fondly clasped it, Cold and dead are lying low ; And that Banner — it is trailing ! While around it sounds the wailing Of its people in their woe, For, though conquered, they adore it...
Page 306 - Ah. Maiden ! wait and watch and yearn For news of Stonewall's band. Ah, Widow! read, with eyes that burn, That ring upon thy hand. Ah, Wife! sew on, pray on, hope on; Thy life shall not be all forlorn ; The foe had better ne'er been born That gets in
Page 198 - Except now and then a stray picket Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro, By a rifleman hid in the thicket. "Tis nothing : a private or two now and then Will not count in the news of the battle ; Not an officer lost, only one of the men Moaning out all alone the death-rattle.
Page 574 - The knightliest of the knightly race, That, since the days of old, Have kept the lamp of chivalry Alight in hearts of gold...
Page 198 - Far away in the cot on the mountain. His musket falls slack — his face, dark and grim, Grows gentle with memories tender, As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep — For their mother — may Heaven defend her...
Page 418 - What though fond hopes deferred Have overshadowed Life's green paths with gloom? Content's soft music is not all unheard; There is a voice sweeter than thine, sweet bird, To welcome me within my humble home; There is an eye, with love's devotion bright, The darkness of existence to illume. Then why complain ? When Death shall cast his blight Over the spirit, my cold bones shall rest Beneath these trees ; and, from thy swelling breast, Over them pour thy song, like a rich flood of light.
Page 306 - He's in the saddle now. Fall in, Steady the whole brigade! Hill's at the ford, cut off; we'll win His way out, ball and blade. What matter if our shoes are worn? What matter if our feet are torn? Quick step! We're with him before morn — That's Stonewall Jackson's way.
Page 418 - Over a ringing lake ; it wraps the soul With a bright harmony of happiness — Even as a gem is wrapped, when round it roll Their waves of brilliant flame — till we become, Ev'n with the excess of our deep pleasure, dumb, And pant like some swift runner clinging to the goal.