{"1": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2870", "width": "1830", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\n]^\\\\-7f\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nriiap. Capyright M..a^.__\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a2Shelf.. P4t?.\\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA.", "height": "2776", "width": "1747", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0007.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "o", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0008.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": "ECLECTIC SCHOOL READINGS\\nOUR COUNTRY\\nIN\\nPOEM AND PROSE\\nARRANGED FOR COLLATERAL AND\\nSUPPLEMENTARY READING\\nBY\\nELEANOR A. PERSONS\\nTEACHER OF HISTORY, YONKERS PUBLIC SCHOOLS\\nNEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO\\nAMERICAN BOOK COMPANY", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0009.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": ".7\\n47059\\nCopyright, 1859, by\\nELEANOR A. PERSONS\\nPer. Our Country\\nw. i I\\nTWO COPIES REGEIVKD.\\nSECOND COPY.\\nrvwv6", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0010.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "PREFACE.\\nThe pupils interest in history depends largely upon\\nthe amount of bright, entertaining material brought for-\\nward during the recitation. This volume is presented\\nto the public in the hope that it may place directly in\\nthe hands of pupils the supplemental literature needed.\\nThe author is indebted to Dr. William J. Milne, Mr.\\nCharles E. Gorton, Dr. Edward Shaw, Miss Lucy A.\\nEarle, and Miss Cora M. Hill for valuable suggestions.\\nSelections from the works of Aldrich, Phcjebe Cary,\\nEmerson, Fiske, Bret Harte, Holmes, Howells, Long-\\nfellow, Stedman, Taylor, and Whittier are used by arrang-\\nment with and permission of Messrs. Houghton, Mifflin\\nCompany, the authorized publishers of the works of\\nthese authors.\\nAcknowledgment is due also to the following publishers\\nfor permission to use copyrighted selections: Messrs. D.\\nAppleton Company, Mr. C. W. Bardeen, Messrs. Little,\\nBrown Company, Messrs. G. P. Putnam s Sons, Messrs.\\nScott Toresman Company, the New England Publish-\\ning Company, and the Educational Publishing Company.\\nEleanor A. Persons.\\n5", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0011.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0012.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS.\\nPAGE\\nHiawatha Longfellow, 1 1\\nSupposed Speech of an Indian Chief Everett, 14\\nIndian Names Sigour/iey, 16\\nThe Skeleton in Armor Longfellow, 19\\nColumbus Proetor, 21\\nThe Return of Columbus 22\\nPonce de Leon Butterworth, 25\\nVerrazani Butterworth, 28\\nDe Soto Biitierworth, 29\\nSir Humphrey Gilbert Longfelloiv, 31\\nPocahontas Thackeray, 2iZ\\nThe Mayflower Everett, 34\\nThe Landing of the Pilgrims Mrs. LLemans, 2,6\\nThe Courtship of Miles Standish Longfellow, 39\\nRoger Williams Biitterworth, 41\\nThe Coming of the Huguenots Moragiie, 42\\nCharles II and William Penn 44\\nT he Quaker of the Olden Time Whittier, 47\\nPentucket Whittier, 48\\nSong of Braddock s Men 51\\nAcadia Longfellow, 53\\nDeath of Wolfe 54\\nAmerica s Obligation to England Barre, 55\\n7", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0013.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "8\\nPAGF.\\nNew England s Chevy Chase Hale, 56\\nLexington Holmes^ 60\\nThe Revolutionary Alarm Bancroft, 62\\nLexington Irving, 64\\nConcord Fight Emerson, 65\\nThe Minuteman Cnrtis, 67\\nThe Green Mountain Boys Bryant, 69\\nBunker Hill Webster, 70\\nWarren s Address Fierpont, 72\\nThe Sword of Bunker Hill Wallace, 73\\nWashington Byron, 74\\nUnder the Old Elm Lowell, 75\\nWashington Parker, 77\\nFranklin s Epigrams, Etc 80\\nBoston Common Three Pictures Holmes, 81\\nThe Rising of 76 Read, 83\\nThe American War Pitt, 86\\nIndependence Bell 88\\nThe Declaration of Independence Randall, 92\\nNathan Hale Finch, 93\\nThe Battle of Trenton 95\\nCarmen Bellicosum McMaster, 96\\nOccupation of Philadelphia Brown, 98\\nThe Fate of John Burgoyne 100\\nThe Surrender of Burgoyne Be Peyster, 102\\nAt Valley Forge Brown, 103\\nThe Storming of Stony Point Mrs. Grecnleaf, 104\\nSong of Marion s Men Bryant, 107\\nKing s Mountain Simms, 109\\nPulaski s Banner Longfellow, 1 1 1", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0014.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "The Dance\\nTalleyrand and Arnold\\nAndre to Washington Willis^\\nWashington s Sword and Franklin s Staff Adams,\\nYorktown Whitticr,\\nHorologe of Liberty\\nLafayette Spr(7gi(c,\\nMy First Steamboat Fulton,\\nA Pleasant Remark from Franklin Fiske,\\nPatriotism Scott,\\nPreamble to the Constitution\\nGeneral Jackson at New Orleans Gayarrc,\\nThe Battle of Lake Erie Hildreth,\\nPerry s Victory\\nBuena Vista Pike,\\nMonterey Jlofiiian,\\nOld Ironsides Holmes,\\nScott and the Veteran Taylor,\\nThe Picket Guard Beers,\\nThe Cavalry Charge Taylor,\\nReady PJuvbe Cary,\\nThe Cruise of the Monitor Baker,\\nKearney at Seven Pines Stedma i,\\nFredericksburg Aldrich,\\nKeenan s Charge Lathrop,\\nThe Black Regiment Boker,\\nJohn Burns of Gettysburg Harte,\\nAddress at Gettysburg. Lincoln,\\nThe Battle above the Clouds Hoiaells,\\nThe Soldier s Reprieve Mrs. Robbins,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0015.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "lO\\nPAGE\\nSheridan s Ride RcaJ^ 68\\nChickamauga Biittcrwortli^ 1 70\\nMusic in Camp Thompson, 1 7 1\\nRoll Call Shcpard, i 73\\nCavalry Song Stcdf/ia/i, 1 75\\nSherman s March to the Sea Byers^ 176\\nThe Blue and the Gray Fi/ic/i, 177\\nO Captain My Captain U /iifnia/i, 179\\nDeath of Lincoln Brya/it, 181\\nThe Burning of Chicago Carlctoii^ 181\\nCuster s Last Charge Whittaker, 185\\nPresident Garfield Longfellow, 188\\nThe Private Soldier Grant, 188\\nDeath of Grant Whitman, 1 90\\nCentennial Hymn Whittier, 191\\nHavana Harbor Oliver, 192\\nA Ballad of Manila Bay Roberts, 1 94\\nThe Men behind the Guns Shea, 196\\nWheeler at Santiago Gordon, 199\\nDon t Cheer, the Poor Devils are Dying .Hubbell, 201\\nBoundaries of the United States Fiske, 202\\nThe Schoolhouse Stands by the Flag Butterworth, 204", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0016.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "OUR councRv m poem ]\\\\m pro$\u00e2\u0082\u00ac.\\nHIAWATHA.\\nLongfellow.\\nHenry Wadsworth Longfellow (i 807-1 882), was one of the best\\nloved of American poets. He was born in Maine, but the greater\\npart of his life was spent at Cambridge, Mass.\\nLo, the poor Indian whose untutored mind\\nSees God in clouds or hears him in the wind. Pope.\\nTrained from his tree-rocked cradle to his bier\\nThe fierce extremes of good and ill to brook.\\nImpassive fearing but the shame of fear\\nA stoic of the woods a man without a tear.\\nCcDiipbell.\\nFrom his wanderings far to eastward,\\nFrom the regions of the morning.\\nHomeward now returned lagoo,\\nThe great traveller, the great boaster,\\nFull of new and strange adventures,\\nMarvels many and many wonders.\\nAnd the people of the village\\nListened to him as he told them\\nOf his marvellous adventures;\\nLaughing, answered him in this wise;\\nUgh! it is indeed Tagoo!\\nNo one else beholds such wonders!\\nHe had seen, he said, a water", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0017.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "12\\nBigger than the Big Sea Water,\\nBroader than the Gitche Gumee,\\nBitter so that none could drink it!\\nAt each other looked the warriors,\\nLooked the women at each other,\\nSmiled, and said, It cannot be so!\\nKaw! they said, it cannot be so!\\nO er it, said he, o er this water\\nCame a great canoe with pinions,\\nA canoe with wings came flying,\\nBigger than a grove of pine trees.\\nTaller than the tallest tree tops!\\nAnd the old men and the women\\nLooked and tittered at each other;\\nKaw! they said, we don t believe it!\\nFrom its mouth, he said, to greet him.\\nCame Waywassimo, the lightning,\\nCame the thunder, Annemeekee!\\nAnd the warriors and the women\\nLaughed aloud at poor lagoo;\\nKaw! they said, what tales you tell us!\\nIn it, said he, came a people.\\nIn the great canoe with pinions\\nCame, he said, a hundred warriors;\\nPainted white were all their faces\\nAnd with hair their chins were covered!\\nAnd the warriors and the women\\nLaughed and shouted in derision.\\nLike the ravens on the tree tops,\\nLike the crows upon the hemlocks.\\nKaw! they said, what lies you tell us!\\nDo not think that we believe them!\\nOnly Hiawatha lausfhed not,\\nBut he gravely spake and answered", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0018.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "13\\nTo their jeering and their jesting:\\nTrue is ah lagoo tehs us;\\nI have seen it in a vision,\\nSeen the great canoe with pinions,\\nSeen the people with white faces.\\nSeen the coming of this bearded\\nPeople of the wooden vessel\\nFrom the regions of the morning.\\nFrom the shining land of Wabun.\\nGitche Manito, the Mighty,\\nThe Great Spirit, the Creator,\\nSends them hither on his errand,\\nSends them to us with his message.\\nLet us welcome, then, the strangers,\\nHail them as our friends and brothers.\\nAnd the heart s right hand of friendship\\nGive them when they come to see us.\\nGitche Manito, the Mighty,\\nSaid this to me in my vision.\\nI beheld, too, in that vision\\nAll the secrets of the future.\\nOf the distant days that shall be.\\nI l^eheld the westward marches\\nOf the unknown, crowded nations,\\nAll the land was full of people.\\nRestless, struggling, toiling, striving.\\nSpeaking many tongues, yet feeling\\nBut one heart-beat in their bosoms.\\nIn the woodlands rang their axes.\\nSmoked their towns in all the valleys,\\nOver all the lakes and rivers\\nRushed their great canoes of thunder,\\nThen a darker, drearier vision\\nPassed before me vague and cloudlike", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0019.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "14\\nI beheld our nation scattered,\\nAll forgetful of my counsels,\\nWeakened, warring with each other:\\nSaw the remnants of our people,\\nSweeping westward, wild and woful.\\nLike the cloud-rack of a tempest,\\nLike the withered leaves in Autumn.\\nHiawatha The Wise Man, the Teacher. Gitche Gtanee\\nBig Sea Water the Indian names for Lake Superior. Wabun\\nEast Wind. Gitche Manito Great Spirit.\\nRead The Bridal of Pennacook. Whittier; The Indians\\nSpragiie.\\nSUPPOSED SPEECH OF AN INDIAN CHIEF.\\nEverett.\\nEdward Everett (1794-1865), a fine example of the scholar in\\npolitics, was born in Massachusetts. In the course of his life\\nhe was Governor of Massachusetts, President of Harvard Col-\\nlege, U. S. Minister to England, Secretary of State and U. S.\\nSenator.\\nWhite man, there is eternal war between me and\\nthee! I quit not the land of my fathers but with my\\nlife. In those woods, where I bent my youthful bow,\\nI will still hunt the deer; over yonder waters I will still\\nglide in my bark canoe; by those dashing waterfalls I\\nwill still lay up my winter s store of food; on these fer-\\ntile meadows I will still plant my corn.\\nStranger, the land is mine. I gave not my con-\\nsent, when, as thou sayest, these broad regions were\\npurchased, for a few baubles, of my fathers. They could\\nsell what was theirs; they could sell no more. How\\ncould my fathers sell that which the Great Spirit sent", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0020.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "15\\nme into the world to live upon? They knew not what\\nthey did.\\nThe stranger came, a timid suppliant, and asked\\nto lie down on the red man s bearskin, and warm him-\\nself at the red man s fire, and have a little piece of land,\\nto raise corn for his women and children; and now\\nhe is become strong, and mighty, and bold, and spreads\\nout his parchment over the whole, and says, It is mine.\\nStranger, there is not room for us both. The\\nGreat Spirit has not made us to live together. There\\nis poison in the white man s cup; the white man s dog\\nbarks at the red man s heels.\\nIf I should leave the land of my fathers, whither\\nshall I fly? Shall I go to the south, and dwell among\\nthe graves of the Pequots? Shall I wander to the\\nwest? the fierce Mohawk, the man-eater, is my foe.\\nShall I fly to the east? the great water is before\\nme. No, stranger; here I have lived, and here will I\\ndie; and if here thou abidest, there is eternal war\\nbetween me and thee.\\nThou hast taught me thy arts of destruction; for\\nthat alone I thank thee. And now take heed to thy\\nsteps: the red man is thy foe. When thou goest forth\\nby day, my bullet shall whistle past thee; when thou\\nHest down at night, my knife is at thy throat.\\nThe noonday sun shall not discover thy enemy,\\nand the darkness of midnight shall not protect thy rest.\\nThou shalt plant in terror, and I will reap in blood thou\\nshalt sow the earth with corn, and I will strew it with\\nashes; thou shalt go forth with the sickle, and I will\\nfollow after with the scalping knife; thou shalt build\\nand I will burn; till the white man or the Indian per-\\nish from the land.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0021.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "i6\\nINDIAN NAMES.\\nSlgourtiey.\\nLydia Huntley Sigourney (1791-1865) was born in Connecticut.\\nThis is one of iier best historical poems.\\nYe say they all ha\\\\ e passed away,\\nThat noble race and brave;\\nThat their light canoes have vanished\\nFrom off the crested wave;\\nThat mid the forests where they roamed,\\nThere rings no hunter s shout;\\nBut their names are on yotir waters,\\nYe may not wash them out.\\nThey re where Ontario s billow\\nLike ocean s surge is curled.\\nWhere strong Niagara s thunders wake\\nThe echo of the world.\\nWhere red Missouri bringeth\\nRich tribute from the West,\\nAnd Rappahannock sweetly sleeps\\nOn green Virginia s breast.\\nYe say their conelike cabins,\\nThat clustered o er the vale.\\nHave fled away like withered leaves\\nBefore the autumn gale;\\nBut their memory liveth on your hills,\\nTheir baptism on your shore,\\nYour everlasting rivers speak\\nTheir dialect of yore.\\nOld Massachusetts wears it\\nUpon her lordly crown,", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0022.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "17\\nAnd broad Ohio bears it\\nAmid his young renown;\\nConnecticut has wreathed it\\nWhere her quiet foHage waves;\\nAnd bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse\\nThrough all her ancient caves.\\nWachusett hides its lingering voice\\nWithin his rocky heart;\\nAnd Alleghany graves its tone\\nThroughout his lofty chart;\\nMonadnock, on his forehead hoar,\\nDoth seal the sacred trust;\\nYour mountains build their monument,\\nThough ye destroy their dust.\\nYe call these red-ljrowed brethren\\nThe insects of an hour,\\nCrushed like the noteless worm amid\\nThe regions of their power;\\nYe drive them from their fathers land,\\nYe break of faith the seal;\\nBut can ye from the court of Heaven\\nExclude their last appeal?\\nYe see their unresisting tribes,\\nWith toilsome step and slow,\\nOn through the trackless desert pass,\\nA caravan of woe;\\nThink ye the Eternal Ear is deaf?\\nHis sleepless vision dim?\\nThink ye the soul s blood may not cry\\nFrom that far land to Him?\\nI F.R. OUR COUNTKY 2", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0023.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "A Viking,", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0024.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "19\\nTHE SKELETON IN ARMOR.\\nLongfclloiv.\\nA suit of armor, supposed to have belonged to one of the\\nNorthmen, was unearthed near the old tower at Newport, R. I.\\nThe spirit of the warrior speaks to the poet.\\nI was a Viking old!\\nMy deeds, though manifold,\\nNo Scald in song has told,\\nNo Saga taught thee!\\nTake heed, that in thy verse\\nThou dost the tale rehearse.\\nElse dread a dead man s curse!\\nFor this I sought thee.\\nFar in the Northern land,\\nBy the wild Baltic s strand,\\nI, with my childish hand,\\nTamed the gerfalcon;\\nAnd, wath my skates fast bound,\\nSkimm d the half-frozen Sound,\\nThat the poor whimpering hound\\nTrembled to walk on.\\nBut wdien I older grew,\\nJoining a corsair s crew.\\nO er the dark sea I flew\\nWith the marauders.\\nWild was the life we led;\\nMany the souls that sped.\\nMany the hearts that bled,\\nBy our stern orders,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0025.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "20\\nOnce as I told in glee\\nTales of the stormy sea,\\nSoft eyes did gaze on me,\\nBurning yet tender;\\nAnd as the white stars shine\\nOn the dark Norway pine,\\nOn that dark heart of mine\\nFell their soft splendor.\\nShe was a Prince s child,\\nI but a Viking wild,\\nSo, though she blush d and smiled,\\nI was discarded!\\nShould not the dove so white\\nFollow the seamew s flight.\\nWhy did they leave that night\\nHer nest unguarded?\\nThree weeks we westward bore,\\nAnd when the storm was o er,\\nCloudlike we saw the shore\\nStretching to leeward;\\nThere for my lady s bower\\nBuilt I the lofty tower,\\nWhich, to this very hour,\\nStands looking seaward.\\nThere lived we many years;\\nTime dried the maiden s tears;\\nShe had forgot her fears.\\nShe was a mother;\\nDeath closed her mild blue eyes,\\nUnder that tower she. lies;", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0026.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "21\\nNe er shall the sun arise\\nOn such another!\\nStill grew my bosom then,\\nStill as a stagnant fen!\\nHateful to me were men,\\nThe sunlight hateful!\\nIn the \\\\ast forest here,\\nClad in my warlike gear.\\nFell I upon my spear,\\nO, death was grateful!\\nRead The Norsemen- TF//////V;-,- Vinland Mon/go/nefy.\\nCOLUMBUS.\\n1492.\\nEdna Dean Proctor.\\nSkilled in the globe and sphere, he gravely stands,\\nAnd with his compass measures seas and lands.\\nI will wear these chains as a memento of the gratitude of\\nPrinces. Columbus.\\nGod helping me, cried Columbus, though fair or\\nfoul the breeze,\\nT will sail and sail till I find the land beyond the western\\nseas!\\nSo an eagle might leave its eyrie, bent, though the blue\\nshould bar.\\nTo fold its wings on the loftiest peak of an undiscov-\\nered star!\\nAnd into the vast and void abyss he followed the set-\\nting sun;", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0027.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "22\\nNor gulfs nor gales could fright his sails, till the won-\\ndrous quest was done.\\nBut Oh! the weary vigils, the murmuring, torturing\\ndays.\\nTill the Pinta s gun, and the shout of Land! set the\\nblack night ablaze!\\nTill the shore lay fair as Paradise in morning s balm\\nand gold,\\nAnd a world was won from the conquered deep, and\\nthe tale of the a^ es told!\\nTHE RETURN OF COLUMBUS.\\nDON GOMEZ AND HIS SECRETARY.\\nDon Gomez. What! What is this you tell me?\\nColumbus returned? A new world discovered? Im-\\npossible,\\nSec. It is even so, sir. A courier arrived at the\\npalace but an hour since with the intelligence. Colum-\\nbus was driven by stress of weather to anchor in the\\nTagus. All Portugal is in a ferment of enthusiasm,\\nand all Spain will be equally excited soon. The sensa-\\ntion is prodigious.\\nDon G. Oh, it is a trick! It must be a trick!\\nSec. But he has brought home the proofs of his\\nvisit, gold and precious stones, strange plants and\\nanimals; and, above all, specimens of a new race of men,\\ncopper-colored, with straight hair.\\nDon G. Still I say, a trick! He has been coasting\\nalong the African shore, and there collected a few curi-\\nosities, which he is palming off for proofs of his pre-\\ntended discovery.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0028.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "T W/\\n\u00c2\u00ab!sr i::i|i!|i[i!iiiii;!;:;;;G;E iiii[\\n|i\\nt|/| ,t", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0029.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "24\\nSec. It is a little singular that all his men should be\\nleagued with him in keei)ing up so unprofitable a false-\\nhood.\\nDon G. But tis against reason, against common\\nsense, that such a discovery should be made.\\nSec. King John of Portugal has received him with\\nroyal magnificence, has listened to his accounts, and is\\npersuaded that they are true.\\nDon G. We shall see, we shall see. Look you, sir,\\na plain matter-of-fact man, such as I, is not to be taken\\nin by any such preposterous story. This vaunted\\ndiscovery will turn out no discovery at all.\\nSec. The king and queen have given orders for prep-\\narations on the most magnificent scale for the recep-\\ntion of Columbus.\\nDon G. What delusion! Her Majesty is so credu-\\nlous! A practical common sense man. like myself, can\\nfind no points of sympathy in her nature.\\nSec. The Indians on board the returned vessels are\\nsaid to be unlike any known race of men.\\nDon G. Very unreliable all that! I take the common\\nsense view of the thing. I am a matter-of-fact man;\\nand do you rememlier what I say, it will all turn out a\\ntrick! The crews may have been deceived. Colum-\\nbus may have steered a southerly course instead of a\\nwesterly. Anything is probable, rather than that a\\ncoast to the westward of us has been discovered.\\nSec. I saw the courier, who told me he had conversed\\nwith all the sailors; and they laughed at the suspicion\\nthat there could be any mistake about the discovery, or\\nthat any other than a westerly course had been steered.\\nDon G. Still I say, a trick! An unknown coast\\nreached by steering west? Impossible.! The earth a", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0030.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "25\\nglobe, and men standing with their heads down in space?\\nFolly! An ignorant sailor from Genoa in the right,\\nand all onr learned doctors and philosophers in the\\nwrong? Nonsense! I m a matter-of-fact man, sir. I\\nwill believe what 1 can see, and handle, and understand.\\nIjut as far as believing in the antipodes, or that the earth\\nis round, or that Columbus has discovered land to the\\nwest Ring the bell, sir; call my carriage; I will go to\\nthe palace and undeceive the king.\\nAs a matter of fact, the people of Spain did not know at that\\ntime that Columbus had discovered a new world. They sup-\\nposed he had simply found a new route to the Indies.\\nRead Columbus Lowell; Columbus Tennyson.\\nPONCE DE LEON.\\nI 5 12.\\nBiitterworlh.\\nHezekiah Butterworth (1839- author, was born at\\nWarren, R. I. Read his Songs of History.\\nThere came to De Leon, the sailor,\\nSome Indian sages, who told\\nOf a region so bright that the waters\\nWere sprinkled with islands of gold.\\nAnd they added: The leafy Bimini,\\nA fair land of grottos and bowers,\\nIs there; and a wonderful fountain\\nUpsprings from its gardens of flowers.\\nThat fountain gives life to the dying.\\nAnd youth to the aged restores;\\nThey flourish in beauty eternal.\\nWho set but their foot on its shores!", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0031.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "26\\nThen answered De Leon, the sailor:\\nI am withered, and wrinkled and old;\\nI would rather discover that fountain\\nThan a country of diamonds and gold.\\nAway sailed De Leon, the sailor,\\nAway with a wonderful glee,\\nTill the birds were more rare in the azure,\\nThe dolphins more rare in the sea;\\nAway from the shady Bahamas,\\nOver waters no sailor had seen,\\nTill again on his wondering vision\\nRose clustering islands of green.\\nStill onward he sped till the breezes\\nWere laden with odors, and lo!\\nA country embedded in flowers,\\nA country with rivers aglow!\\nMore bright than the sunny Antilles,\\nMore fair than the shady Azores.\\nThank the Lord! said De Leon, the sailor,\\nAs he feasted his eyes on the shores,\\nWe have come to a region, my brothers,\\nM ore lovely than earth, of a truth;\\nAnd here is the life-giving fountain,\\nThe beautiful fountain of youth.\\nThen landed De Leon, the sailor.\\nUnfurled his old banner, and sung;\\nBut he felt very wrinkled and withered.\\nAll around was so fresh and so young.\\nThe palms, ever verdant, were blooming.\\nTheir blossoms e en margined the seas.\\nO er the streams of the forests, bright flowers\\nHung deep from the branches of trees.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0032.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "27\\nTis Easter, exclaimed the old sailor;\\nHis heart was with rapture aflame;\\nAnd he said: Be the name of this region\\nAs Florida given to fame.\\nTis a fair, a delectable country.\\nMore lovely than earth, of a truth;\\nI soon shall partake of the fountain,\\nThe beautiful fountain of youth!\\nBut wandered De Leon, the sailor,\\nIn search of that fountain in vain;\\nNo waters were there to restore him\\nTo freshness and beauty again.\\nAnd his anchor he lifted, and murmured,\\nAs the tears gathered fast in his eye,\\nI must leave this fair land of the flowers,\\nGo back o er the ocean and die.\\nThen back by the dreary Tortugas,\\nAnd back by the shady Azores,\\nHe was borne on the storm-smitten waters\\nTo the calm of his own native shores.\\nAnd that he grew older and older,\\nHis footsteps enfeebled gave proof;\\nStill he thirsted in dreams for the fountain,\\nThe beautiful fountain of youth.\\nOne day the old sailor lay dying\\nOn the shores of a tropical isle.\\nAnd his heart was enkindled with rapture,\\nAnd his face lighted up with a smile.\\nHe thought of the sunny Antilles,\\nHe thought of the shady Azores,\\nHe thought of the dreamv Bahamas,\\nHe thought of fair Florida s shores.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0033.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "28\\nAnd, when in his mind he passed over\\nHis -wonderful travels of old,\\nHe thought of the heavenly country.\\nOf the city of jasper and gold.\\nThank the Lord, said De Leon, the sailor.\\nThank the Lord for the light of the truth,\\nI now am approaching the fountain,\\nThe beautiful fountain of youth.\\nThe cabin was silent: at twilight\\nThev heard the birds singing a psalm,\\nAnd the wind of the ocean low sighing\\nThrough the groves of the orange and palm.\\nThe sailor still lay on his pallet,\\nThe cool sail spread o er him a roof.\\nHis soul had gone forth to discover\\nThe beautiful fountain of youth.\\nVERRAZANI.\\n1524.\\nBiitlcrivorih.\\nFrom the palm land s shades to the lands of pines,\\nA Florentine crossed the Western sea;\\nHe sought new lands and golden mines,\\nAnd he sailed neath the flag of the Fleur-de-lis.\\nHe saw at last, in the sunset s gold,\\nA wonderful island, so fair to view.\\nThat it seemed like the Island of Roses old\\nThat his eves in his wondering boyhood knew.\\nHe rounded the shores of the summer sea.\\nAnd he said, as his feet the white sands pressed.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0034.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "29\\nAnd he planted the flag of the Fleiir-de-hs:\\nI have come to the Island of Rhodes in the West.\\nWhile the mariners go, and the mariners come,\\nAnd sing on lone waters the olden odes\\nOf the Grecian seas and the ports of Rome,\\nThey ever will think of the roses of Rhodes.\\nTo the isle of the West he gave the name\\nOf the isle he had loved in the Grecian sea;\\nAnd the Florentine went away as he came,\\nNeath the silver flag of the Fleur-de-lis.\\nFleur-de-lis The emblem of France. Rhodes An island in\\nthe Mediterranean Sea.\\nDE SOTO.\\nButterworth.\\nDe Soto landed at Tampa and began the ill-fated expedition in\\nsouthern United States. He discovered the Mississippi (1541)\\nand was buried in it.\\nAnd this is Tampa: yonder lies the bay.\\nThat Spanish cavaliers\\nEnchanted, saw upon their unknown way\\nIn far and faded years.\\nDe Soto s hands lie deep beneath the wave,\\nDust are his cavaliers;\\nThe cypressed waters murmuring o er his grave,\\nThe silent pilot hears.\\nIn that far river where they laid him down,\\nWhere low the ringdoves sigh.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0035.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0036.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "31\\nAnd oft the full moon drops her silver crown\\nFrom night s meridian sky.\\nSIR HUMPHREY GILBERT.\\nLongfellow.\\nSir Humphrey Gilbert was lost at sea when returning to Eng-\\nland from an unsuccessful attempt at settlement in America\\n(1583).\\nSouthward with fleet of ice\\nSailed the corsair Death;\\nWild and fast blew the blast,\\nAnd the east wind was his breath.\\nHis lordly ships of ice\\nGlisten in the sun;\\nOn each side, like pennons wide,\\nFlashing crystal streamlets run.\\nHis sails of white sea-mist\\nDripped with silver rain;\\nBut where he passed there were cast\\nLeaden shadows o er the main.\\nEastward from Campobello\\nSir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;\\nThree days or more seaward he bore.\\nThen, alas! the land-wind failed.\\nAlas! the land-wind failed.\\nAnd ice-cold grew the night;\\nAnd nevermore, on sea or shore.\\nShould Sir Humphrey see the light.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0037.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "32\\nHe sat upon the deck,\\nThe Book was in his hand;\\nDo not fear! Heaven is as near,\\nHe said, by water as by land!\\nIn the first watch of the night,\\nWithont a signal s sound,\\nOut of the sea, mysteriously,\\nThe fleet of Death rose all around.\\nThe moon and the evening star\\nWere hanging in the shrouds;\\nEvery mast as it passed,\\nSeemed to rake the passing clouds.\\nThey grappled with their prize.\\nAt midnight black and cold!\\nAs of a rock was the shock;\\nHeavily the ground swell rolled.\\nSouthward through day and dark.\\nThey drift in close embrace.\\nWith mist and rain, o er the open main;\\nYet there seems no change of place.\\nSouthward, forever southward,\\nThev drift through dark and day;\\nAnd like a dream, in the Gulf Stream\\nSinking, vanish all away.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0038.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "35\\nPOCAHONTAS.\\nSETTLEMENT OF VIRGINIA, l6oj.\\nTliackcray.\\nWilliam Makepeace Thackeray (1811-1863) was one of the\\ngreatest English novelists.\\nWearied arm and broken sword\\nWage in vain the desperate fight;\\nRound him press a countless horde,\\nHe is but a single knight.\\nHark! a cry of triumph shrill\\nThrough the wilderness resounds.\\nAs, with twenty bleeding wounds,\\nSinks the warrior, fighting still.\\nNow they heap the funeral pyre.\\nAnd the torch of death they light;\\nAh! tis hard to die by fire!\\nWho will shield the captive knight?\\nRound the stake with fiendish cry\\nWheel and dance the savage crowd;\\nCold the victim s mien and proud.\\nAnd his breast is bared to die.\\nWho wall shield the fearless heart?\\nWho avert the murderous blade?\\nFrom the throng with sudden start.\\nSee, there springs an Indian maid.\\nQuick she stands before the knight:\\nLoose the chain, unbind the ring!\\nT am daughter of the king.\\nAnd I claim the Indian right!\\nPER OUR COUNTRY X", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0039.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "34\\nDauntlessly aside she flings\\nLifted axe and thirsty knife;\\nFondly to his heart she cHngs,\\nAnd her bosom guards his Hfe\\nIn the woods of Powhatan,\\nStill tis told by Indian fires,\\nHow a daughter of their sires\\nSaved a captive Englishman.\\nTHE MAYFLOWER.\\nEverett.\\nAnd England sent her men, of men the chief.\\nWho taught these sires of Empire yet to be,\\nTo plant the tree of life, to plant fair Freedom s tree.\\nCampbell.\\nMethinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous\\nvessel, the Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with\\nthe prospects of a future state, and bound across the\\nunknown sea. I behold it pursuing, with a thousand\\nmisgivings, the uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns\\nrise and set, and weeks and months pass, and winter\\nsurprises them on the deep, but brings them not the\\nsight of the wished-for shore. I see them now, scantily\\nsupplied with provisions, crowded almost to suffoca-\\ntion in their ill-stored prison, delayed by calms, pursu-\\ning a circuitous route; and now, driven in fury before\\nthe raging tempest, in their scarcely seaworthy vessel.\\nThe awful voice of the storm howls through the rig-\\nging. The laboring masts seem straining from their\\nbase; the dismal sound of the pump is heard; the ship\\nleaps, as it were, madly from billow to billow; the ocean\\nbreaks, and settles with ingulfing floods over the float-", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0040.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "35\\ning deck, and beats with deadening weight against the\\nstaggered vessel.\\nI see them, escaped from these perils, pursuing their\\nall but desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after\\na five-months passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Ply-\\nmouth, weak and exhausted from the voyage, poorly\\narmed, scantily provisioned, depending on the charity\\nof their shipmaster for a draught of beer on board,\\ndrinking nothing but water on shore, without shelter,\\nwithout means, surrounded by hostile tribes.\\nShut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any\\nprinciple of human probability, what shall be the fate\\nof this handful of adventurers. Tell me, man of mili-\\ntary science, in how many months were they all swept\\noff by the thirty savage tribes enumerated within the\\nboundaries of New England? Tell me, politician, how\\nlong did this shadow of a colony, on which your con-\\nventions and treaties had not smiled, languish on this\\ndistant coast?\\nStudent of history, compare for me the baffled pro-\\njects, the deserted settlements, the abandoned adven-\\ntures of other times, and find the parallel of this. Was\\nit the winter s storm, beating upon the houseless heads\\nof women and children? Was it hard labor and spare\\nmeals? Was it disease? Was it the tomahawk? Was\\nit the deep malady of a blighted hope, a ruined enter-\\nprise, and a broken heart, aching in its last moments\\nat the recollection of the loved and left beyond the sea?\\nWas it some or all of these united that hurried this for-\\nsaken company to their melancholy fate?\\nAnd is it possible that neither of these causes, that\\nnot all combined, were able to blast this bud of hope?\\nIs it possible that from a beginning so feeble, so frail, so", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0041.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "36\\nworthy, not so much of achniration as of pity, there have\\ngone forth a progress so steady, a growth so wonderful,\\na reahty so important, a promise yet to be fulfihed so\\nglorious?\\nTHE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS.\\nMrs. Heina/is.\\nFelicia Hemans (i 794-1 835), was born at Liverpool, England.\\nLook now abroad another race has filled\\nThese populous borders wide the wood recedes,\\nAnd towns shoot up, and fertile realms are tilled\\nThe land is full of harvests and green meads.\\nBryan/.\\nThis beautiful poem was written in commemoration of the\\nlanding of the Pilgrim Fathers, December 22, 1620. After a long\\nand perilous voyage across the Atlantic, this band of exiles\\nmoored their bark in Massachusetts Bay and landed on Ply-\\nmouth Rock.\\nThe breaking waves dashed high\\nOn a stern and rock-bound coast,\\nAnd the woods against a stormy sky\\nTheir giant branches tossed;\\nAnd the heavy night hung dark\\nThe hills and waters o er.\\nWhen a band of exiles moored their bark\\nOn the wild New England shore.\\nNot as the conqueror comes,\\nThey, the true-hearted, came;\\nNot with the roll of the stirring drums.\\nAnd the trumpet that sings of fame;", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0042.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "Z7\\nNot as the flying come,\\nIn silence and in fear:\\nThey shook the depths of the desert s gloom\\nWith their hymns of lofty cheer.\\nAmid the storm they sang,\\nAnd the stars heard, and the sea;\\nAnd the sounding aisles of the dim woods rang\\nTo the anthem of the free.\\nThe ocean eagle soared\\nFrom his nest by the white wave s foam.\\nAnd the rocking pines of the forest roared:\\nThis was their welcome home.\\nThere were men watli hoary hair\\nAmid that pilgrim band;\\nWhy had they come to wither there.\\nAway from their childhood s land?\\nThere was woman s fearless eye,\\nLit by her deep love s truth\\nThere was manhood s brow, serenely high,\\nAnd the fiery heart of youth.\\nWhat sought they thus afar?\\nBright jewels of the mine?\\nThe wealth of seas, the spoils of war?\\nThey sought a faith s pure shrine!\\nAy, call it holy ground,\\nThe soil where first they trod!\\nThey have left unstained what there they found.\\nFreedom to worship God!", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0043.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "3^\\nPuritans Going to Church.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0044.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "39\\nTHE COURTSHIP OF MILES STANDISH.\\nLongfellow.\\nHe s of stature somewhat low\\nYour hero should be always tall, you know.\\nMeanwhile the choleric Captain strode wrathful away\\nto the cotuicil,\\nFound it already assembled, impatiently waiting his\\ncoming;\\nWhile on the table before them was lying unopened a\\nBible,\\nPonderous, bound in leather, brass-studded, printed in\\nHolland,\\nAnd beside it outstretched the skin of a rattlesnake\\nglittered,\\nFilled, like a quiver, with arrows: a signal and challenge\\nof warfare.\\nBrought by an Indian, and speaking with arrowy\\ntongues of defiance.\\nThis Miles Standish beheld, as he entered, and heard\\nthem debating\\nWhat were an answer befitting the hostile message and\\nmenace.\\nTalking of this and of that, contriving, suggesting,\\nobjecting;\\nOne voice only for peace, and that the voice of the\\nElder,\\nJudging it wise and well that some at least be con-\\nverted.\\nRather than any were slain, for this was but Christian\\nbehavior!\\nThen out spake Miles Standish, the stalwart captain of\\nPlymouth,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0045.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "40\\nMuttering deep in his throat, for his voice was husky\\nwith anger,\\nWhat! do you mean to make war with milk and the\\nwater of roses?\\nIs it to shoot red squirrels you have your howitzer\\nplanted\\nThere on the roof of the church, or is it to shoot red\\ndevils?\\nTruly the only tongue that is understood by a savage\\nMust be the tongue of fire that speaks from the mouth\\nof the cannon!\\nThen he advanced to the table, and thus continued dis-\\ncoursing:\\nLeave this matter to me, for to me by right it per-\\ntaineth.\\nWar is a terrible trade; but in the cause that is righteous,\\nSweet is the smell of powder; and thus I answer the\\nchallenge!\\nThen from the rattlesnake s skin, with a sudden con-\\ntemptuous gesture,\\nJerking the Indian arrows, he filled it with powder and\\nbullets\\nFull to the very jaws, and handed it back to the savage.\\nSaying, in thundering tones: Here, take it! this is your\\nanswer!\\nSilently out of the room then glided the glistening\\nsavage,\\nBearing the serpent s skin, and seeming himself like a\\nserpent.\\nWinding his sinuous way in the dark to the depths of\\nthe forest.\\nHo7vitzcr Cannon.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0046.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "41\\nRead The Tvvent3^-second of December Bryant, The Em-\\nbarkation Doteii; The Pilgrim Fathers Pia-pont; The Pil-\\ngrim s V^ision Hobiics; The Mayflowers Whitticr; Interview\\nwith Miles Standish \u00e2\u0080\u0094Lowell.\\nROGER WILLIAMS.\\n1636.\\nButicrworih.\\nWhy do I sleep amid the snows?\\nhy do the pine boughs cover me?\\nWhile dark the wind of winter blows\\nAcross the Narragansett s sea.\\nsense of right! O sense of right!\\nWhate er my lot in life may be,\\nThou art to me God s inner light,\\nAnd these tired feet must follow thee.\\nYes, still my feet must onward go,\\nWith nothing for my hope but prayer,\\nAmid the winds, amid the snow,\\nAnd trust the ravens of the air.\\nBut though alone, and grieved at heart.\\nBereft of human brotherhood,\\n1 trust the whole, and n.ot the part,\\nAnd know that Providence is good.\\nSelf-sacrifice is never lost,\\nBut bears the seed of its reward:\\nThey who for others leave the most.\\nFor others gain the most from God.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0047.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "42\\nsense of right! I must obey,\\nAnd hope and trust, whate er betide;\\n1 cannot always know my way,\\nBut I can always know my Guide.\\nAnd so for me the winter blows\\nAcross the Narragansett s sea.\\nAnd so I sleep beneath the snows,\\nAnd so the pine boughs cover me.\\nTHE COMING OF THE HUGUENOTS.\\nMoragfie.\\nWilliam C. Moragne (1816-1872) was a descendant of the\\nHuguenots. He lived at Abbeville, S. C.\\nIndividuals, led on by an ambitious desire to improve\\ntheir personal fortunes, have abandoned the home of\\ntheir fathers. None of these motives prompted the\\nHuguenot ancestors of the people of Carolina to leave\\nthe delightful hills and valleys of their native France.\\nThey were no instruments in the hands of ambitious\\nprinces for the increase of their wealth or power. They\\ndid not seek a home in America through mere love of\\nadventure, or the ordinary inducements of pecuniary\\ngain. They sought an asylum from persecution, a\\nhome in which they might enjoy, unmolested, the\\nsweets of political and personal liberty. They longed\\nto bear away their altars and their faith to a land of real\\nfreedom, a land allowing free scope to the exercise of\\nconscience in worship of their Maker.\\nTheir name is synonymous with patient endurance,\\nnoble fortitude, and high religious purpose. In revert-", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0048.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "43\\ning to the period when a plain but high-soiiled, ener-\\ngetic people were driven, by persecutions of the Old\\nWorld, to take refuge in this uncultivated wild, we trace\\nthe origin of these people, and tread upon the ashes of\\nthe pioneers of religion, of domestic peace, and social\\nvirtue. To revive the memories of the generous dead,\\nto hold up to praise and emulation ancestral virtue, are\\ngrateful tasks, which seldom fail to achieve lasting and\\nbeneficial results. We look back to our fathers for\\nlessons of wisdom and piety. We take pleasure in\\nrecalling their brave deeds and their exalted virtue.\\nWe like to frequent their walks and haunts. With\\npleasure we sit around the firesides at which they sat,\\nand worship before the altars at which they worshipped;\\nand who will quarrel with this just principle of our\\nnature?\\nOur Huguenot ancestors came to this country in the\\ncomplete armor of grown up, civilized men. They had\\nbeen raised under the auspices of an old and refined\\ncivilization. Their minds and hearts had undergone the\\nseverest discipline of an improved age and of bitter\\nexperience.\\nProhibited from acting in any branch of the learned\\nprofession, not even allowed to pursue the calling of any\\nbusiness by which to support their families, taking\\nshelter in deserts and forests, with property confiscated,\\nand religious worship of their choice interdicted, they\\nquit their native land. Quiet and unobtrusive in their\\nmanners, faithful to their king, obedient to the civil and\\npolitical laws of their country, they begged only for\\nfreedom in religious worship. No violence, no con-\\ntempt of their rights, no harsh vituperation, could\\nimpair their fealty to their sovereign in all things per-", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0049.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "44\\nlaiiiing to the legitimate claims of his station. Over\\nhis losses they lamented. He received from them sin-\\ncere condolence for his misfortunes and fervent prayers\\nfor his happiness. His heart was steeled against such\\ngenerous, simple, and truly loyal worship, and their cup\\nof bitterness was full. The fiat of injured nature went\\nforth. Resolved to endure no longer the oppressions\\nof a home they loved so fondly, they prepared, even as\\na child still loves a parent who has mercilessly cast him\\nupon the broad bosom of the world, friendless and\\npenniless, to bid adieu to all they loved in their dear,\\nnative France, and find in America a new country, a\\nreal home.\\nCHARLES II AND WILLIAM PENN.\\n1682.\\nKing diaries. Well, friend William! I have sold you\\na noble province in North America; but still, I suppose,\\nyou have no thoughts of going thither yourself.\\nPcnii. Yes; I have, I assure thee, friend Charles; and\\nI am just come to bid thee farewell.\\nK. C. What! venture yourself among the savages of\\nNorth America! Why, man, what security have you\\nthat you will not be in their war-kettle in two hours\\nafter setting foot on their shores?\\nP. The best security in the world.\\nK. C. T doubt that, friend William; I have no idea of\\nany securitv against those cannibals but in a regiment\\nof good soldiers, with their muskets and bayonets.\\nAnd mind, I tell you beforehand, that, with all my good-\\nwill for you and your family, to whom I am under\\nobligations, I will not send a single soldier with you.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0050.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "45\\nr. 1 want none of tliy soldiers, Charles; I depend on\\nsomething better than thy soldiers.\\nK. C. Ah! what may that be?\\nP. Why, I depend on themselves; on the working of\\ntheir own hearts; on their notions of justice; on their\\nmoral sense.\\nA C. A fine thing, this same moral sense, no doubt;\\nbut I fear you will not find nnich of it among the Indians\\nof North America.\\nP. And why not among them, as well as others?\\nK. C. Because if they had possessed any, they would\\nnot have treated my subjects so barliarously as they\\nhave done.\\nP. That is no proof of the contrary, friend Charles.\\nThy subjects were the aggressors. When thy subjects\\nfirst went to North America, they found these poor\\npeople the fondest and kindest creatures in the world.\\nEvery day, they would watch for them to come ashore,\\nand hasten to meet them, and feast them on the best fish,\\nand \\\\enison, and corn, which were all they had. In\\nreturn for this hospitality of the savages, as w^e call them,\\nthy subjects, termed Christians, seized on their country\\nand rich hunting grounds, for farms for themselves.\\nNow, is it to be wondered at, that these much injured\\n])eople should have been driven to desperation by such\\ninjustice; and that, burning with revenge, they should\\nhave committed some excesses?\\nK. C. Well, then, I hope you will not complain when\\nthey come to treat you in tlie same manner, as they\\nprobably will.\\nP. I am not afraid of it.\\nK. C. Ah! how will you avoid it? You mean to get\\ntheir hunting grounds too, I suppose?", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0051.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "46\\nP. Yes; but not by driving these poor people away\\nfrom them.\\nK. C. No, indeed? How then will you get their\\nlands?\\nP. I mean to buy their lands of them.\\nK. C. Buy their lands of them? Why, man, you\\nhave already bought them of me.\\nP. Yes, I know I have, and at a dear rate, too; but I\\ndid it only to get thy good will, not that I thought thou\\nhadst any right to their lands.\\nK. C. How, man? no right to their lands?\\nP. No, friend Charles, no right, no right at all: what\\nright hast thou to their lands?\\nK. C. Why, the right of discovery, to be sure; the\\nright which the Pope and all Christian kings have\\nagreed to give one another.\\nP. The right of discovery? A strange kind of right,\\nindeed. Now, suppose, friend Charles, that some canoe\\nload of these Indians, crossing the sea, and discovering\\nthis island of Great Britain, were to claim it as their\\nown, and set it up for sale over thy head, what wouldst\\nthou think of it?\\nK. C. Why why why I must confess, I should\\nthink it a piece of great impudence in them.\\nP. Well, then, how canst thou, a Christian, and a\\nChristian prince too, do that which thou so utterly con-\\ndemnest in these people, whom thou callest savages?\\nYes, friend Charles; and suppose, again, that these\\nIndians, on thy refusal to give up thy island of Great\\nBritain, were to make war on thee, and, having weapons\\nmore destructive than thine, were to destroy many of\\nthy subjects, and drive the rest away wouldst thou\\nnot thing it horribly cruel?", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0052.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "47\\nK. C. I must say, friend William, that I should; how\\ncan I say otherwise?\\nP. Well, then, how can I, who call myself a Christian,\\ndo what I should abhor even in the heathen? No. I\\nwill not do it. But I will buy the right of the proper\\nowners, even of the Indians themselves. By doing this,\\nI shall imitate God Himself, in His justice and mercy,\\nand thereby insure His blessing on my colony, if I\\nshould ever live to plant one in North America.\\nTHE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME.\\nIV/uV/ier.\\nJohn Greenleaf Whittier (1807-1892) was born in Haverhill,\\nMass. He devoted himself to social and political reforms. He had\\nbroad and deep sympathies with all human beings, and a keen\\nappreciation of all that is characteristic in American life.\\nThe Quaker of the olden time!\\nHow calm and firm and true.\\nUnspotted by its wrong and crime.\\nHe walked the dark earth through.\\nThe lust of power, the love of gain.\\nThe thousand lures of sin\\nArotmd him, had no power to stain\\nThe purity within.\\nWith that deep insight which detects\\nAll great things in the small.\\nAnd knows each man s life affects\\nThe spiritual life of all,\\nHe walked by faith and not by sight,\\nBy love and not by law;", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0053.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "48\\nThe presence of the wrong or right\\nHe rather felt than saw.\\nHe felt that wrong with wrong partakes,\\nThat nothing stands alone,\\nThat whoso gives the motive, makes\\nHis brother s sin his own.\\nAnd pausing not for doubtful choice\\nOf evils great or small,\\nHe listened to that inward voice\\nWhich called away from all.\\nO Spirit of that early day,\\nSo pure and strong and true,\\nBe with us in the narrow way\\nOur faithful fathers knew.\\nGive strength the evil to forsake.\\nThe cross of Truth to bear,\\nAnd love and reverent fear to make\\nOur daily lives a prayer!\\nPENTUCKET.\\n1708.\\nWhitfier.\\nHow sweetly on the wood-girt town\\nThe mellow light of sunset shone!\\nEach small, bright lake, whose waters still\\nMirror the forest and the hill,\\nReflected from its waveless breast\\nThe beauty of a cloudless west.\\nGlorious as if a glimpse were given\\nWithin the western gates of heaven,", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0054.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "49\\nLeft, by the spirit of the star\\nOf sunset s holy hour, ajar!\\nBeside the river s tranquil flood\\nThe dark and low-walled dwellings stood,\\nWhere many a rood of open land\\nStretched up antl down on either hand.\\nWith corn-leaves waving freshly green\\nThe thick and blackened stumps between.\\nBehind, un]: roken, deep and dread,\\nThe wild, untraveled forest spread.\\nBack to those mountains, white and cold,\\nOf which the Indian trapper told.\\nUpon whose summits never yet\\nWas mortal foot in safety set.\\nQuiet and calm, without a fear\\nOf danger darkly lurking near.\\nThe weary laborer left his plow.\\nThe milkmaid carolled by her cow;\\nFrom cottage door and household hearth\\nRose songs of praise, or tones of mirth.\\nAt length the murmur died away.\\nAnd silence on that village lay,\\nSo slept Pompeii, tower and hall.\\nEre the quick earthquake swallowed all,\\nUndreaming of the fiery fate\\nWhich made its dwellings desolate!\\nHours passed away. By moonlight sped\\nThe l\\\\Terrimac a^ong his bed.\\nBathed in the pallid luster, stood\\nDark cottage-wall and rock and wood.\\nSilent, beneath that tranquil beam,\\nPER. OUR COUNTRY J.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0055.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "50\\nAs the hushed grouping of a dream.\\nYet on the still air crept a sound,\\nNo bark of fox, nor rabbit s bound,\\nNor stir of wings, nor waters flowing,\\nNor leaves in midnight breezes blowing.\\nWas that the tread of many feet.\\nWhich downward from the hillside beat?\\nWhat forms were those which darkly stood\\nJust on the margin of the wood?\\nCharred tree-stumps in the moonlight dim,\\nOr paling rude, or leafless limb?\\nNo, through the trees fierce eyeballs glowed\\nDark human forms in moonshine showed,\\nWild from their native wilderness,\\nWith painted limbs and battle-dress!\\nA yell the dead might wake to hear\\nSwelled on the night air, far and clear;\\nThen smote the Indian tomahawk\\nOn crashing door and shattering lock;\\nThen rang the rifle-shot, and then\\nThe shrill death-scream of stricken men,\\nSank the red axe in woman s brain.\\nAnd childhood s cry arose in vain.\\nBursting through roof and window came,\\nRed, fast, and fierce, the kindled flame;\\nAnd blended fire and moonlight glared\\nOn still dead men and scalp knives bared.\\nThe morning sun looked brightly through\\nThe river willows, wet with dew.\\nNo sound of combat filled the air,", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0056.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "51\\nNo shout was heard, nor gunshot there;\\nYet stin the thick and suhen smoke\\nFrom smouklering ruins slowly broke;\\nAnd on the greensward many a stain,\\nAnd, here and there, the mangled slain,\\nTold how that midnight bolt had sped,\\nPentucket, on thy fated head!\\nEven now the villager can tell\\nWhere Rolfe beside his hearthstone fell.\\nStill show the door of wasting oak.\\nThrough which the fatal death-shot broke,\\nAnd point the curious stranger where\\nDe Rouville s corse lay grim and bare;\\nWhose hideous head, in death still feared,\\nBore not a trace of hair or beard,\\nAnd still, within the churchyard ground,\\nHeaves darkly up the ancient mound.\\nWhose grass-grown surface overlies\\nThe victims of that sacrifice.\\nPompeii A city of Italy, destroyed and buried by an erup-\\ntion of Vesuvius, A. D. 79. De Roiiville A French officer.\\nSONG OF BRADDOCK S MEN.\\nFORT DUQUESNE, 1755.\\nAnon.\\nSound trumpets let our bloody colors wave\\nAnd either victory, or else a grave.\\nTo arms, to arms! my jolly grenadiers!\\nHark how the drums do roll it along!\\nTo horse, to horse! with valiant good cheer;", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0057.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "52\\nWe ll meet our proud foe before it is long.\\nLet not your courage fail you;\\nBe valiant, stout, and bold;\\nAnd it will soon avail you,\\nMy loyal hearts of gold.\\nHuzzah, my valiant countrymen! again I say huzzah!\\nTis nobly done, the day s our own huzzah,\\nhuzzah\\nMarch on, march on! brave Braddock leads the fore-\\nmost;\\nThe battle is begun, as you may fairly see,\\nStand firm, be bold, and it will soon be over.\\nWe ll soon gain the field from our proud enemy.\\nA squadron now appears, my boys,\\nIf that they do but stand!\\nBoys, never fear, be sure you mind\\nThe word of command.\\nHuzzah, my valiant countrymen! again I say huzzah!\\nTis nobly done, the day s our own huzzah,\\nhuzzah!\\nSee how, see how, they break and fly before us!\\nSee how they are scattered all over the plain!\\nNow, now now, now our country will adore us!\\nIn peace and in triumph, boys, when we return again!\\nThen laurels shall our glory crown\\nFor all our actions l)old:\\nThe hills shall echo all around.\\nMy loyal hearts of gold.\\nHuzzah, my valiant countrymen! again I say huzzah!\\nTis nobly done, the day s our own huzzah,\\nhuzzah!", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0058.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "53\\nACADIA.\\nLongfellow.\\nIn the xA.cadian land, on the shores of the Basin of Minas,\\nDistant, seckided, still, the little village of Grand Pre\\nLay in the fruitful valley. Vast meadows stretched to\\nthe eastward,\\nGiving the village its name, and pasture to flocks with-\\nout number.\\nDikes, that the hands of the farmers had raised with\\nlabor incessant,\\nShut out the turl^ulent tides; but at stated seasons the\\nflood-gates\\nOpened, and welcomed the sea to wander at will o er the\\nmeadows.\\nWest and south there were fields of flax, and orchards\\nand cornfields\\nSpreading afar and unfenced o er the plain and away\\nto the nortliward\\nBlomidon rose, and the forests okb and aloft on the\\nmountains\\nSea-fogs pitched their tents, and mists from the mighty\\nAtlantic\\nLooked on the happy valley, but ne er from their station\\ndescended.\\nThere, in the midst of its farms, reposed the Acadian\\nvillage.\\nThis is the forest primeval; Init where are the hearts\\nthat beneath it\\nI^eaped like the roe, when he hears in the woodland the\\nvoice of the huntsman?\\nWhere is the thatch-roofed village, the home of Acadian\\nfarmers,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0059.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "54\\nMen whose lives glided on like rivers that water the\\nwoodlands,\\nDarkened by shadows of earth, but reflecting an image\\nof heaven?\\nWaste are those pleasant farms, and the farmers forever\\ndeparted!\\nScattered like dust and leaves, when the mighty blasts\\nof October\\nSeize them, and whirl them aloft, and sprinkle them far\\no er the ocean.\\nNaught but tradition remains of the beautiful village of\\nGrand Pre.\\nAcadia Formerly New Brunswick and the adjacent islands,\\nnow Nova Scotia. Basin of Minas In Acadia. Gratid Pre\\nVillage in Acadia.\\nDEATH OF WOLFE.\\nQUEBEC, 1759.\\nA7ton.\\nWith foes surrounded, midst the shades of death.\\nThese were the last words that closed the warrior s\\nbreath:\\nMy eyesight fails! but does the foe retreat?\\nIf they retire, I m happy in my fate!\\nA generous chief, to whom the hero spoke.\\nCried, Sir, they fly! their ranks entirely broke;\\nWhilst thy bold troops o er slaughtered heaps advance,\\nAnd deal due vengeance on the sons of France.\\nThe pleasing truth recalls his parting soul,\\nAnd from his lips these dying accents stole:\\nI m satisfied! he said, then winged his way,\\nGuarded by angels, to celestial day.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0060.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "55\\nAMERICA S OBLIGATION TO ENGLAND.\\nBarrt.\\nThis is an extract from a speech in the British House of\\nCommons, by Col. Isaac Barre (i 726-1 802), who was one of the\\nwarmest friends of the American colonists. He had himself\\nvisited America, having taken part in the French and Indian\\nwar, and having been adjutant general of Wolfe s army, that\\nassailed Quebec. This fact will explain an allusion in the last\\npart of the speech.\\nThe honorable member has asked, And now will\\nthese Americans, children planted by our care, nour-\\nished up by our indulgence, and protected by our arms,\\nwill they grudge to contribute their mite? They\\nplanted by your care! No! Your oppressions planted\\nthem in America. They fled from your tyranny to a\\nthen uncultivated and inhospitable country, where they\\nexposed themselves to almost all the hardships to which\\nhuman nature is liable; and yet, actuated by principles\\nof true English liberty, our American brethren met these\\nhardships with pleasure, compared with those they suf-\\nfered in their own country from the hands of those that\\nshould have been their friends.\\nThey nourished by your indulgence! They grew by\\nyour neglect! As soon as you began to care about\\nthem, that care was exercised in sending persons to rule\\nthem, men whose behavior, on many occasions, has\\ncaused the blood of those sons of liberty to recoil within\\nthem.\\nThey protected by your arms! They have nobly taken\\nup arms in your defense: have exerted a valor, amid\\ntheir constant and laborious industry, for the defense\\nof a country whose frontier was drenched in blood, while", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0061.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "56\\nits interior parts yielded all its little savings to your\\nemolument. And, believe me, the very same spirit of\\nfreedom which actuated that people at first will accom-\\npany them still.\\nHeaven knows I do not at this time speak from\\nmotives of party heat. What I deliver are the genuine\\nsentiments of my heart. However superior to me in\\ngeneral knowledge and experience the respectable body\\nof this House may be, yet I claim to know more of\\nAmerica than most of you, having seen that country,\\nand been conversant with its affairs. The people, I\\nbelieve, are as truly loyal as any su1)ject^s the king has;\\nbut they are a people jealous of their liberties, and who,\\nif those liberties should ever be violated, will vindicate\\nthem to the last drop of their blood.\\nNEW ENGLAND S CHEVY CHASE.\\nHale.\\nEdward Everett Hale (1822- a famous Boston preacher\\nand author. One of his most popular works is The Man\\nWithout a Country.\\nThe love of liberty with life is ^iven,\\nAnd life itself the inferior gift of heaven.\\nTwas the dead of night. By the pine knot s red light\\nBrooks lay half asleep, when he heard the alarm\\nOnly this, and no more, from a voice at the door:\\nThe redcoats are out and have passed Phipps s\\nfarm!\\nBrooks was booted and spurred, he said never a word;\\nTook his horn from its peg, and his gun from the\\nrack;", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0062.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "57\\nTo the cold midnight air he led out his white mare,\\nStrapped the girths and the bridle and sprang to her\\nback.\\nUp the north country road at her full pace she strode,\\nTill Brooks reined her up at John Tarbell s to say:\\nWe have got the alarm they have left Phipps s farm;\\nYou rouse the East Precinct, and Pll go this way.\\nJohn called his hired man, and they harnessed the span;\\nThey roused Abram Garfield, and Garfield called me.\\nTurn out right away, let no minuteman stay\\nThe redcoats have landed at Phipps s! says he.\\nBy the Powder House green seven others fell in;\\nAt Nahum s the men from the sawmill came down;\\nSo that when Jabez Bland gave his word of command\\nAnd said, Forward march! there marched forward\\nthe town.\\nParson Wilderspin stood by the side of the road.\\nAnd he took off his hat, and he said, Let us pray!\\nO Lord, God of might, let thine angels of light\\nLead thy children to-night to the glories of day!\\nAnd let thy stars fight all the foes of the right\\nAs the stars fought of old against Sisera.\\nAnd from heaven s high arch those stars blessed our\\nmarch\\nTill the last of them faded in twilight away.\\nAnd with morning s bright beam, by the bank of the\\nstream,\\nHalf the country marched in, and we heard Davis\\nsay:", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0063.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "58\\nOn the king s own highway I may travel all day,\\nAnd no man hath warrant to stop me, says he,\\nI ve no man that s afraid, and I ll march at their head,\\nThen he turned to the boys Forward march!\\nFollow me.\\nAnd we marched as he said, and the piper he played\\nThe old White Cockade, and he played it right\\nwell.\\nWe saw Davis fall dead, but no man was afraid\\nThat bridge we d have had, though a thousand men\\nfell.\\nThis opened the play, and it lasted all day,\\nWe made Concord too hot for the redcoats to stay.\\nDown the Lexington way we stormed black, white\\nand gray;\\nWe were first at the feast and were last in the fray.\\nThey would turn in dismay as red wolves turn at bay.\\nThey levelled, they fired, they charged up the road;\\nCephas Willard fell dead, he was shot in the head\\nAs he knelt by Aunt Prudence s well sweep to load.\\nJohn Danforth was hit just iji Lexington street,\\nJohn Bridge at the lane where you cross Beaver falls;\\nAnd Winch and the Snows just above John Monroe s\\nSwept away by one sweep of the big cannon balls.\\nI took Bridge on my knee, but he said: Don t mind\\nme\\nFill your horn from mine let me lie as I be.\\nOur fathers, says he, that their sons might be free.\\nLeft the king on his throne and came over the sea;", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0064.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "59\\nAnd that man is a knave or a fool who to save\\nHis hfe for a minute would live like a slave.\\nWell all would not do. There were men good as new\\nFrom Rumford, from Saugus, from towns far away,\\nWho filled up quick and well for each soldier that fell,\\nAnd we drove them, and drove them, and drove them\\nall day.\\nWe knew every one it was war that begun\\nWhen that morning s marching was only half done.\\nIn the hazy twilight at the coming of night\\nI crowded three buckshot and one bullet down.\\nTwas my last charge of lead, and I aimed her and said:\\nGood luck to you, lobsters, in old Boston town.\\nIn a barn at Milk Row Ephraim Bates and Thoreau\\nAnd Baker and Abram and I made a bed\\nWe had mighty sore feet, and we d nothing to eat,\\nBut we d driven the redcoats, and Amos, he said:\\nIt s the first time, said he, that it s happened to me\\nTo march to the sea by, this road where we ve come;\\nBut confound this whole day, but we d all of us say\\nWe d rather have spent it this way than to home.\\nThe hunt had begun with the dawn of the sun.\\nAnd night saw the wolf driven back to his den.\\nAnd .never since then in the memorv of man,\\nHas the old Bay State seen such a hunting again.\\nChe7 y Chase A famous ballad describing an aftray between\\nthe Douglas and the Percy on the Scottish Border.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0065.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "6o\\nLEXINGTON\\nAPRIL 19, 1775.\\nHomics.\\nOliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894), was for many years a pro-\\nfessor at Harvard. He was a brilliant and versatile writer both\\nin verse and in prose.\\nO how great for our country to die,\\nIn the front rank to perish,\\nFirm with our breast to the foe\\nVictory s shout in our ears.\\nSlowly the mist o er the meadow was creeping,\\nBright on the dewy buds glistened the stm,\\nWhen from his cotich while his children were sleeping,\\nRose the bold rebel, and shouldered his gun.\\nWaving her golden veil\\nOver the silent dale,\\nBlithe looked the morning on cottage and spire;\\nHushed was his parting sigh,\\nWhile from his noble eye\\nFlashed the last sparkle of liberty s fire.\\nOn the smooth green, where the fresh leaf is springing,\\nCalmly the firstborn of glory have met.\\nHark! the death-volley around them is ringing!\\nLook! with their lifeblood the young grass is wet!\\nFaint is the feeble breath,\\nMtu mtiring low in death,\\nTell to otir sons how their fathers have died;\\nNerveless the iron hand.\\nRaised for its native land,\\nLies by the weapon that gleams at its side.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0066.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "6i\\nOver the hillsides the wild knell is tolling,\\nFrom their far hamlets the yeomanry come;\\nAs through the storm-clouds the thunderburst rolling,\\nCircles the beat of the mustering drum.\\nFast on the soldier s path\\nDarken the waves of wrath,\\nLong have they gathered and loud shall they fall;\\nRed glares the musket s flash,\\nSharp rings the rifle s crash\\nBlazing and clanging from thicket and wall.\\nGayly the plume of the horseman was dancing,\\nNever to shadow his cold brow again;\\nProudly at morning the war steed was prancing.\\nReeking and panting he droops on the rein;\\nPale is the lip of scorn,\\nVoiceless the trumpet horn.\\nTorn is the silken-fringed red cross on high;\\nMany a belted breast\\nLow on the turf shall rest,\\nEre the dark hunters the herd have passed by.\\nSnow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind is raving.\\nRocks where the weary floods murmur and wail.\\nWilds where the fern by the furrow is weaving,\\nReeled with the echoes that rode on the gale;\\nFar as the tempest thrills\\nOver the darkened hills.\\nFar as the sunshine streams over the plain,\\nRoused by the tyrant band.\\nWoke all the mighty land.\\nGirded for battle, from mountain to main.\\nGreen be the graves where her martyrs are lying!\\nShroudless and tombless they sank to their rest,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0067.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "62\\nWhile o er their ashes the starry fold flying\\nWraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest!\\nBorne on her Northern pine,\\nLong o er the foaming brine,\\nSpread her broad banner to storm and to sun:\\nHeaven keep her ever free,\\nWide as o er land and sea\\nFloats the fair emblem her heroes have won!\\nEagle The American emblem.\\nRead Lexington Whittier.\\nTHE REVOLUTIONARY ALARM.\\nBancroft.\\nGeorge Bancroft (i 800-1 891), our most eminent American\\nhistorian, was born in Worcester, Mass.\\nCan any heart unfaithful be,\\nTo our fair country in her need\\nCan any stimulus require\\nTo noble thought and worthy deed\\nDarkness closed upon the country and upon the\\ntown, but it -was no night for sleep. Heralds on swift\\nrelays of horses transmitted the war message from hand\\nto hand, till village repeated it to village; the sea to the\\nbackwoods; the plains to the highlands; and it was\\nnever suffered to droop till it had been borne North,\\nand South, and East, and West, throughout the land.\\nIt spread over the bays that receive the Saco and the\\nPenobscot. Its loud reveille broke the rest of the\\ntrappers of New Hampshire, and, ringing like bugle-\\nnotes from peak to peak, overleapt the Green Moun-\\ntains, swept onward to Montreal, and descended the\\nocean river, till the responses were echoed from the", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0068.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "63\\ncliffs of Quebec. The hills along the Hudson told to\\none another the tale.\\nAs the s*mimons hurried to the South, it was one day\\nat New York; in one more at Philadelphia; the next it\\nlighted a watch fire at Baltimore; thence it waked an\\nanswer at Annapolis. Crossing the Potomac near\\nMount Vernon, it was sent forward without a halt to\\nWilliamsburg. It traversed the Dismal Swamp to Nan-\\nsemond, along the route of the first emigrants to North\\nCarolina. It moved onwards and still onwards, through\\nboundless groves of evergreen, to Newberne and to\\nWilmington.\\nFor God s sake, forward it by night and by day,\\nwrote Cornelius Harnett, by the express which sped\\nfor Brunswick. Patriots of South Carolina caught up\\nits tones at the border and despatched it to Charleston,\\nand through pines and palmettos and moss-clad live\\noaks, farther to the South, till it resounded among the\\nNew England settlements beyond Sa Siannah.\\nThe Blue Ridge took up the voice, and made it heard\\nfrom one end to the other of the valley of Virginia.\\nThe Alleghanies, as they listened, opened their barriers,\\nthat the loud call might pass through to the hardy\\nriflemen on the Holston, the Watauga, and the French\\nBroad. Ever renewing its strength, powerful enough\\neven to create a commonwealth, it breathed its inspiring-\\nword to the first settlers of Kentucky; so that hunters\\nwho made their halt in the matchless valley of the Elk-\\nhorn commemorated the 19th day of April, 1775, by\\nnaming their encampment Lexington.\\nWith one impulse the colonies sprung to arms; with\\none spirit they pledged themselves to each other to be\\nready for the extreme event. With one heart the con-\\ntinent cried, Liberty or Death!", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0069.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "64\\nLEXINGTON.\\nIrving.\\nWashington Irving (1783-1859) was born in New York, N. Y.\\nHis style is marked by delicacy and refinement. His most\\npopular work is the Sketch-book.\\nFor Freedom s battle once begun,\\nBequeathed by bleeding sire to son.\\nThough batified oft, is ever won.\\nThe cry of blood from the field of Lexington went\\nthrough the land. None felt the appeal more than the\\nold soldiers of the French war. It roused John Stark,\\nof New Hampshire a trapper and hunter in his youth,\\na veteran in Indian warfare; a campaigner under- Aber-\\ncrombie and Amherst, now the military oracle of a rustic\\nneighborhood. Within ten minutes after receiving the\\nalarm, he was spurring towards the seacoast, and on the\\nway stirring up the volunteers of the Massachusetts\\nborders to assemble forthwith at Bedford, in the vicinity\\nof Boston.\\nEqually alert was his old comrade in frontier exploits,\\nColonel Israel Putnam. A man on horseback, with a\\ndrum, passed through his neighborhood, in Connecti-\\ncut, proclaiming British violence at Lexington. Put-\\nnam was in the field ploughing, assisted by his son.\\nIn an instant the team was unyoked, the plough left in\\nthe furrows; the lad sent home to give word of his\\nfather s departure, and Putnam, on horseback, in his\\nworking garb, urging with all speed to the camp. Such\\nwas the spirit aroused throughout the country. The\\nsttirdy yeomanry, from all parts, were hastening towards\\nBoston, with such weapons as were at hand; and happy", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0070.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "65\\nwas he who could command a rusty fowHng piece and a\\npowder horn.\\nAbercj-oDibie and Amherst Generals in the French and Indian\\nWar.\\nCONCORD FIGHT.\\nEmerson.\\nRalph Waldo Emerson (1803-1882), poet and philosopher,\\nwas born in Concord, Mass. His essays have been said to be\\nthe most important prose work of the nineteenth century.\\nBy the rude bridge that arched the flood,\\nTheir flag to April s breeze unfurled,\\nHere once the embattled farmers stood,\\nAnd fired the shot heard round the world.\\nThe foe long since in silence slept;\\nAlike the conqueror silent sleeps;\\nAnd Time the ruined bridge has swept\\nDown the dark stream which seaward creeps.\\nOn the green bank, by this soft stream.\\nWe set to-day a votive stone;\\nThat memory may her dead redeem.\\nWhen, like our sires, our sons are gone.\\nSpirit, that made those heroes dare\\nTo die, and leave their children free,\\nBid Time and Nature gently spare\\nThe shaft we raise to them and thee.\\nPER. OUR COUNTRY", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0071.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "66\\nFather and Sons for Liberty.", "height": "2760", "width": "1795", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0072.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "6/\\nTHE MINUTEMAN.\\nCurtis.\\nGeorge William Curtis (i 824-1 892) was born in Providence,\\nR. I. He was a man of broad culture and as author, editor and\\nlecturer exerted a powerful influence on the public afYairs of his\\ntime. He was one of the first to advocate civil service reform\\nand some of his most notable addresses were on that subject.\\nHis writings are full of kindly humor and his style is charming.\\nTwo hundred years ago, Mary Shepherd, a girl\\nof fifteen, was watching the savages on the hills of\\nConcord, while her brothers thrashed in the barn.\\nSuddenly the Indians appeared, slew the brothers, and\\ncarried her away. In the night, while the savages\\nslept, she tnitied a stolen horse, slipped a saddle from\\nunder the head of one of her captors, mounted, fled,\\nswam the Nashua river, and rode throtigh the forest,\\nhome. Mary Shepherd was the true ancestor of the\\nminuteman of the Revolution.\\nThe minuteman of the Revolution! who was he?\\nHe was the husband, the father, who left the plow in\\nthe fiuTOw, the hammer on the bench, and kissing wife\\nand children, marched to die or to be free. The\\nminuteman of the Revolution! He was the old, the\\nmiddle-aged, the young. He was Captain Miles, of\\nActon, wdio reproved his men for jesting on the march.\\nHe was Deacon Josiah Haines, of Sudbury, eighty years\\nold, who marched with his company to South Bridge,\\nat Concord, then joined in that hot pursuit to Lexing-\\nton, and fell as gloriously as Warren at Bunker Hill.\\nHe was James Hayward, of Acton, twenty-two\\nyears old, foremost in that deadly race from Concord\\nto Charlestown, who raised his piece at the same", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0073.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "68\\nmoment with a British soldier, each exclaiming, You\\nare a dead man. The Briton dropped, shot through\\nthe heart. Young Hayward fell, mortally wounded.\\nFather, said he, I started with forty balls; I have\\nthree left. I never did such a day s work before. Tell\\nmother not to mourn too much, and tell her whom 1\\nlove more than my mother, that I am not sorry I turned\\nout.\\nThis was the minuteman of the Revolution! The\\nrural citizen, trained in the common school, the town\\nmeeting, who carried a bayonet that thought, and\\nwhose gun, loaded wdth a principle, brought down not\\na man, but a system. With brain, and heart, and con-\\nscience all alive, he opposed every hostile order of the\\nBritish council. The cold Grenville, the brilliant Town-\\nshend, the reckless Hillsborough derided, declaimed,\\ndenounced, laid unjust taxes, and sent troops to collect\\nthem, and the plain Boston Puritan laid his finger on\\nthe vital point of the tremendous controversy, and held\\nto it inexorably.\\nIntrenched in his own honesty, the king s gold\\ncould not buy him. Enthroned in the love of his fellow-\\ncitizens, the king s writ could not take him. And when,\\non the morning at Lexington, the king s troops\\nmarched to seize him, his sublime faith saw, beyond the\\nclouds of the moment, the rising sun of America, and\\ncareless of himself, mindful only of his country, he\\nexultingly exclaimed, Oh, what a glorious morning!\\nHe felt that a blow would soon be struck that would\\nbreak the heart of British tyranny. His judgment, his\\nconscience, told him the hour had come.\\nGrenville, Townshend and Hillsborough were English states-\\nmen.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0074.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "69\\nTHE GREEN MOUNTAIN BOYS.\\nBryant.\\nWilliam Cullen Bryant (1794-1878) was born in Cummington,\\nMass. He is best known by Thanatopsis, a poem written when\\nhe was only eighteen years of age.\\nHere patriots live, who for their country s good,\\nIn fighting fields were prodigal of blood. Dryden.\\nEthan Allen and Benedict Arnold captured Ticonderoga and\\nCrown Point May 10, 1775. The soldiers from Vermont were\\ncalled Green Mountain Boys.\\nHere halt we onr march, and pitch our tent,\\nOn the rugged forest ground,\\nAnd Hght our fire with branches rent\\nBy winds from the l:)eeches round.\\nWild storms have torn this ancient wood,\\nBut a wilder is at hand.\\nWith hail of iron and rain of blood,\\nTo sweep and waste the land.\\nHow the dark wood rings with our voices shrill,\\nThat startle the sleeping bird!\\nTo-morrow eve must the voice be still.\\nAnd the step must fall unheard.\\nThe Briton lies by the blue Champlain,\\nIn Ticonderoga s towers,\\nAnd ere the sun rise twice again\\nMust they and the lake be ours.\\nFill up the bowl from the brook that glides\\nWhere the fireflies light the brake,\\nA ruddier juice the Briton hides\\nIn his fortress by the lake.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0075.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "10\\nBuild high the fire, till the panther leap\\nFrom his lofty perch in flight,\\nAnd we ll strengthen our weary arms with sleep\\nFor the deeds of to-morrow night.\\nBUNKER HILL.\\nWebster.\\nDaniel Webster (1782-1852) an orator and statesman, was\\nborn in Salisbury, N. H. His literary fame rests on his\\nnumerous orations.\\nLiberty and union, now and forever, one and inseparable.\\nWebster.\\nIt is not as a mere military encounter of hostile armies\\nthat the battle of Bunker Hill presents its principal claim\\nto attention. Yet, even as a mere battle, there were\\ncircumstances attending it, extraordinary in character,\\nand entitling it to peculiar distinction. It was fought\\non this eminence, in the neighborhood of yonder city,\\nin the presence of many more spectators than there were\\ncombatants in the conflict. Yet on the i6th of June,\\n1775, there was nothing around this hill but verdure\\nand culture. There was, indeed, the note of awful\\npreparation in Boston. There was the Provincial army\\nat Cambridge, but here all was peace. On the 17th,\\neverything was changed. On this eminence had arisen,\\nin the night, a redoubt, built by Prescott, and in which\\nhe held command. Perceived by the enemy at dawn,\\nit was immediately cannonaded from the floating bat-\\nteries in the river, and from the opposite shore. And\\nthen ensued the hurried movement in Boston; and soon\\nthe troops of Britain embarked in the attempt to dis-\\nlodge the colonists. In an hour everything indicated", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0076.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "71\\nan immediate and bloody conflict. Love of liberty on\\none side, proud defiance of rebellion on the other, hopes\\nand fears, and courage and daring, on both sides, ani-\\nmated the hearts of the combatants as they hung on the\\nedge of battle.\\nI will not attempt to describe that battle. The can-\\nnonading, the landing of the British, their advance, the\\ncoolness with wdiich the charge was met, the repulse,\\nthe burning of Charlestown, and finally the closing\\nassault and the slow retreat of the Americans, the\\nhistory of all these is familiar.\\nBut the consequences of the battle of Bunker Hill\\nwere greater than those of any ordinary conflict,\\nalthough between armies of far greater force, and ter-\\nminating with more immediate advantage on the one\\nside or the other. It was the first great battle of the\\nRevolution, and not only the first blow, but the blow\\nwhich determined the contest. It did not, indeed, put\\nan end to the war; but, in the then existing hostile state\\nof feeling, the difificulties could only be referred to the\\narbitration of the sword. And one thing is certain,\\nthat, after the New England troops had shown them-\\nselves able to face and repulse the regulars, it was decided\\nthat peace never could be established but upon the basis\\nof the independence of the colonies. When the sun\\nof that day went down, the event of independence was\\nno longer doubtful. In a few days Washington heard\\nof the battle, and he inquired if the militia had stood\\nthe fire of the regulars. When told that they had not\\nonly stood that fire, but reserved their own till the\\nenemy was within eight rods, and then poured it in with\\ntremendous efTect, Then, exclaimed he, the lil^er-\\nties of the country are safe.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0077.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "72\\nWARREN S ADDRESS.\\nPierpoiit.\\nRev. John Pierpont (1785-1866), an American clergyman and\\npoet.\\nJoseph Warren was born at Roxbury, Mass., June 11, I74r,\\ngraduated at Harvard college in 1759, and began the practice of\\nmedicine in 1764. He was one of the patriots who stood out\\nagainst the first British aggressions. In 1774 he was President\\nof the Massachusetts Provincial Congress, and the following\\nyear was made a major general. At the battle of Bunker Hill\\nhe served as a volunteer, musket in hand, although the chief\\ncommand was oflered to him. He was killed in this action.\\nBefore the battle he said to a friend, I know that I may fall,\\nbut Where s the man who does not think it glorious and delight-\\nful to die for his country\\nStrike for your altars and your fires\\nStrike for the green gr;ives of your sires,\\nGod and your native land Halleck.\\nStand! the groiind s your own, my braves,\\nWill ye give it up to slaves?\\nWill ye look for greener graves?\\nHope ye mercy still?\\nWhat s the mercy despots feel?\\nHear it in that battle peal,\\nRead it on yon bristling steel.\\nAsk it, ye who will!\\nFear ye foes who kill for hire?\\nWill ye to your homes retire?\\nLook behind you! they re afire!\\nAnd before you, see\\nWho have done it! From the vale\\nOn they come! and will ye quail?\\nLeaden rain and iron hail\\nLet their welcome be!", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0078.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "7?\\nIn the God of battles trust!\\nDie we may and die we must;\\nBut, oh, where can dust to dust\\nBe consigned so well.\\nAs where heaven its dews shall shed\\nOn the martyred patriot s bed,\\nAnd the rocks shall raise their head.\\nOf his deeds to tell?\\nRead Grandmother s Story of the Battle of Bunker Hill Holmes\\nTHE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL.\\nWilliaiii R. Wallace.\\nWaterloo was for Britons\\nBunker Hill is for man Bayard Taylo?\\nHe lay upon his dying bed.\\nHis eye was growing dim.\\nWhen, with a feeble voice, he called\\nHis weeping son to him:\\nWeep not, my boy, the veteran said,\\nI bow to Heaven s high will;\\nBut quickly from yon antlers bring\\nThe sword of Bunker Hill.\\nThe sw^ord was brought the soldier s eye\\nLit with a sudden flame;\\nAnd, as he grasped the ancient blade.\\nHe murmured Warren s name;\\nThen said, My boy, I leave you gold,\\nBut what is richer still,\\nI leave you, mark me. mark me, now.\\nThe sword of Bunker Hill.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0079.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "74\\nTwas on that dread, immortal day,\\nI dared the Briton s band,\\nA captain raised his blade on me,\\nI tore it from his hand;\\nAnd while the glorious battle raged.\\nIt lightened Freedom s will;\\nFor, boy, the God of Freedom blessed\\nThe sword of Bunker Hill.\\nOh! keep this sword, his accents broke,\\nA smile and he was dead\\nBut his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade,\\nUpon that dying bed.\\nThe son remains, the sword remains.\\nIts glory growing still.\\nAnd twenty millions bless the sire\\nAnd sword of Bunker Hill.\\nWASHINGTON.\\nByron.\\nO courage there he comes;\\nWhat ray of honor round him looms\\nWhere may the wearied eye repose,\\nWhen gazing on the great,\\nWhere neither guilty glory glows,\\nNor despicable state?\\nYes, one, the first, the last, the best.\\nThe Cincinnatus of the West,\\nWhom envy dared not hate,\\nBequeathed the name of Washington,\\nTo make man blush there was but one.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0080.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "75\\nThe allusion in the expressions guilty glory and despicable\\nstate is to Napoleon, with whose character the author is con-\\ntrasting that of Washington.\\nCincinnatus This old Roman farmer and patriot was called\\nfrom his plow (B. C. 458) to save the Roman army, being made\\ndictator. He defeated the enemy, and after holding supreme\\npower for only sixteen days returned to his farm.\\nThe West -The New World. T/ie Cincimiaius of the West\\nThe patriot of America.\\nUNDER THE OLD ELM.\\nLoweU.\\nJames Russell Lowell (1819-1891), a distinguished scholar and\\npoet, was born in Cambridge, Mass.\\nPoem read at Cambridge on the hundredth anniversary of\\nWashington s taking command of the American army 3d July,\\nJ775-\\nBeneath our consecrated elm a century ago he stood,\\nFamed vaguely for that old fight in the wood,\\nWhose red surge sought but cotild not overwhelm\\nThe life foredoomed to wield our roughhewn helm:\\nFrom colleges, where now the gown\\nTo arms had yielded, from the town,\\nOur rude self-summoned levies fiocked to see\\nThe new-come chiefs, and wonder which was he.\\nNo need to question long: close-lipped and tall.\\nLong trained in murder-brooding forests lone\\nTo bridle others clamors and his own.\\nFirmly erect, he towered above them all.\\nThe incarnate discipline that was to free\\nWith iron curb that armed democracy.\\nSoldier and statesman, rarest unison;\\nHigh-poised example of great duties done\\nSimply as breathing, a world s honors worn,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0081.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "76\\n^^rk", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0082.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "77\\nAs life s indifferent gifts to all men born;\\nDumb for himself, imless it were to God,\\nBut for his barefoot soldiers eloquent.\\nTramping the snow to coral where they trod,\\nHeld by his awe in hollow-eyed content;\\nModest, yet firm as nature s self, unblamed\\nSave by the men his nobler nature shamed.\\nNot honored then or now because he wooed\\nThe popular voice, but that he still withstood;\\nBroad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one\\nWho was all this and ours, and all men s Wash-\\nington.\\nWASHINGTON.\\nParker.\\nTheodore Parker (1810-1860) was a popular American\\nlecturer.\\nIn his person, Washington was six feet high, and\\nrather slender. His limbs were long; his hands were\\nuncommonly large, his chest broad and full, his head\\nwas exactly round, and the hair brown in manhood, l)ut\\ngray at fifty; his forehead rather low and retreating, the\\nnose large and massy, the mouth wide and firm, the\\nchin square and heavy, the cheeks full and ruddv in early\\nlife. His eyes were blue and handsome, but not quick\\nor nervous. He required spectacles to read with at\\nfifty. He was one of the best riders in the United\\nStates, but, like some other good riders, awkward and\\nshambling in his walk. He was stately in his bearing,\\nreserved, distant, and apparently haughty.\\nShy among- women, he was not a great talker in\\nany company, but a careful observer and listener. He", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0083.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "78\\nread the natural temper of men, but not always aright.\\nHe seldom smiled. He did not laugh with his face, but\\nin his body, and, while calm above, below the diaphragm\\nhis laughter was copious and earnest. Like many\\ngrave persons, he was fond of jokes, and loved humor-\\nous stories. He had negro story-tellers to regale him\\nwith fun and anecdotes at Mount Vernon. He was not\\ncritical about his food, but fond of tea. He took beer\\nor cider at dinner, and occasionally wine. He hated\\ndrunkenness, gaming, and tobacco. He had a hearty\\nlove of farming and of private life.\\nThere was nothing of the politician in him, no\\nparticle of cunning. He was one of the most indus-\\ntrious of men. Not an elegant or accurate writer, he\\nyet took great pains with style, and after the Revolu-\\ntion carefully corrected the letters he had written in the\\ntime of the French War, more than thirty years before.\\nHe was no orator, like Jefferson, Franklin, Madi-\\nson, and others, who had great influence in American\\naffairs. He never made a speech. The public papers\\nwere drafted for him. and he read them when the occa-\\nsion came.\\nIt has been said Washington was not a great\\nsoldier; but certainly he created an army out of the\\nroughest materials, out-generaled all that Britain could\\nsend against him, and in the midst of poverty and dis-\\ntress, organized victory. He was not brilliant and\\nrapid. He was slow, defensive, victorious. He made\\nan empty bag stand upright, which Franklin says is\\nhard.\\nSome men command the world, or hold its admira-\\ntion by their ideas or by their intellect. Washington\\nhad neither original ideas nor a deeply cultured mind.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0084.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "79\\nHe commands by his integrity, by his justice. He\\nloved power by instinct, and strong government by\\nreflective choice. Twice he was made Dictator, with\\nabsolute power, and never abused the awful and\\ndespotic trust. The monarchic soldiers and civilians\\nwould make him king. He trampled on their offer,\\nand went back to his fields of corn at Mount Vernon.\\nWashington is the first man of his type: when will\\nthere be another! As yet the American rhetoricians\\ndo not dare tell half his excellence; but the people\\nshould not complain.\\nCromwell is the greatest Anglo-Saxon who was\\never a ruler on a large scale. In intellect he was\\nimmensely superior to Washington; in integrity, im-\\nmeasurable below him. For one thousand years no\\nking in Christendom has shown such greatness, or gives\\nus so high a type of manly virtue. He never dis-\\nsembled. He sought nothing for himself. In him\\nthere was no unsound spot, nothing little or mean in\\nhis character. The whole was clean and presentable.\\nWe think better of mankind because he lived, adorning\\nthe earth with a life so noble. His glory already covers\\nthe continent. More than two hundred places bear his\\nname. He is revered as the father of his country. The\\npeople are his memorial.\\nThe New York Indians hold this tradition of him.\\nAlone of all white men, say they, he has been\\nadmitted to the Indian heaven, because of his justice to\\nthe red men. He lives in a great palace, built like a\\nfort. All the Indians, as they go to heaven, pass by,\\nand he himself is in his uniform, a sword at his side,\\nwalking to and fro. They bow reverently, and with\\ngreat humility. He returns the salute, but says noth-", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0085.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "8o\\niiig. Such is the reward of his justice to the red men.\\nGod be thanked for such a man!\\nCromwell The English ruler after Charles I.\\nFRANKLIN S EPIGRAMS, ETC.\\nBenjamin Franklin (1706- 1790), an illustrious patriot, states-\\nman and philosopher.\\nWe must all hang together, or assuredly we shah all\\nhang separately.\\nLETTER TO STRAHAN.\\nPhilad A, July 5, 1775.\\nMr. Strahan,\\nYou are a Member of Parliament, and one of that Majority\\nwhich has doomed my Country to Destruction. You have\\nbegun to burn our Towns, and murder our People.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Look upon\\nyour Hands! They are stained with the Blood of your Rela-\\ntions. You and I were long Friends. You are now my\\nEnemy, and\\nI am, Yours,\\nB. Franklin.\\nPOOR RICHARD S SAYINGS.\\nIf pride leads the van, beggary brings up the rear.\\nHe that can travel well afoot keeps a good horse.\\nSome men grow mad by studying much to know, but\\nwho grows mad by studying good to grow?\\nWhate er s begun in anger ends in shame.\\nHe that falls in love with himself will have no rivals.\\nAgainst diseases, know the strongest defensive virtue,\\nabstinence.\\nSloth maketh all things difficult; industry, all easy.\\nIf you would have a faithful servant, and one that you\\nlike, serve yourself.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0086.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "8i\\nA mob is a monster; with heads enough, but no\\nbrains.\\nThere is nothing humbler than ambition when it is\\nabout to chmb.\\nThe discontented man finds no easy chair.\\nWhen prosperity was well mounted, she let go the\\nbridle, and soon came tumbling out of the saddle.\\nA little neglect may breed great mischief. For want\\nof a nail the shoe was lost, and for want of a shoe the\\nhorse was lost, and for want of a horse the rider was\\nlost.\\nA false friend and a shadow attend only while the sun\\nshines.\\nPlough deep wdiile sluggards sleep, and you shall have\\ncorn to sell and keep.\\nOld boys have playthings as well as young ones; the\\ndifference is only in price.\\nIf you would keep a secret from an enemy, tell it not\\nto a friend.\\nOne to-day is w^orth two to-morrows.\\nIt is foolish to lay out money in a purchase of repent-\\nance.\\nBOSTON COMMON THREE PICTURES.\\nHolmes.\\n1630.\\nAll overgrown with bush and fern,\\nAnd straggling clumps of tangled trees.\\nWith trunks that lean and boughs that turn,\\nBent eastward by the mastering breeze.\\nPER. OUR COUNTRY 6", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0087.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "82\\nWith spongy bogs that (h ip and fill\\nA yellow pond with muddy rain,\\nBeneath the shaggy southern hill\\nLies wet and low the Shawmut plain.\\nAnd hark! the trodden branches crack,\\nA crow flaps off with startled scream\\nA straying woodchuck canters back;\\nA bittern rises from the stream;\\nLeaps from his lair a frightened deer;\\nAnother plunges in the pool;\\nHere comes old Shawmut s pioneer,\\nThe parson on his brindled bull!\\n1774.\\nThe streets are thronged with trampling feet,\\nThe northern hill is ridged with graves.\\nBy night and morn the drum is beat\\nTo frighten down the rebel knaves.\\nThe stones of King street still are red.\\nAnd yet the bloody redcoats come;\\nI hear their pacing sentry s tread,\\nThe click of steel, the tap of drum.\\nAnd over all the open green.\\nWhere grazed of late the harmless kine,\\nThe cannon s deepening ruts are seen,\\nThe war horse stamps, the bayonets shine.\\nThe clouds are dark with crimson rain\\nAbove the murderous hireling s den,\\nAnd soon their whistling showers shall stain\\nThe pipeclayed belts of Gage s men.\\ni860.\\nAround the green, in morning light,\\nThe spired and palaced summits blaze.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0088.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "83\\nAnd, sunlike, from her Beacon height\\nThe dome-crowned city spreads her rays.\\nThey span the waves, they beh the plains,\\nThey skirt the roads with bands of white.\\nTill with a flash of gilded panes\\nYon farther hillside bonnds the sight.\\nPeace, Freedom, Wealth! no fairer view.\\nThough with the wild bird s restless wings\\nWe sailed beneath the noontide s blue,\\nOr chased the moonlight s endless rings!\\nHere, fitly raised by grateful hands,\\nHis holiest memory to recall,\\nThe Hero s, Patriot s image stands;\\nHe led our sires who won them all!\\nTHE RISING OF 76.\\nRead.\\nThomas Buchanan Read (1822-1873), an artist and poet, was\\nborn in Chester county. Pa.\\nFreedom has a thousand charms to show,\\nThat slaves, howe er contented, never know/\\nOut of the North the wild news came,\\nFar flashing on its wings of flame.\\nSwift as the boreal light that flies\\nAt midnight through the startled skies.\\nAnd there w^as tumult in the air.\\nThe fife s shrill note, the drum s loud beat,\\nAnd through the wide land everywhere\\nThe answering tread of hurrying feet;\\nWhile the first oath of Freedom s gun\\nCame on the blast from Lexington", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0089.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "84\\nAnd Concord, roused, no longer tame,\\nForgot her old baptismal name,\\nMade bare her patriot arm of power,\\nAnd swelled the discord of the hour.\\nWithin its shade of elm and oak\\nThe church of Berkeley Manor stood;\\nThere Sunday found the rural folk,\\nAnd some esteemed of gentle blood.\\nIn vain their feet with loitering tread\\nPassed mid the graves where rank is naught;\\nAll could not read the lesson taught\\nIn that republic of the dead.\\nHow sweet the hour of Sabbath talk,\\nThe vale with peace and sunshine full,\\nWhere all the happy people walk,\\nDecked in their homespun flax and wool!\\nWhere youth s gay hats with blossoms bloom.\\nAnd every maid, with simple art,\\nWears on her breast, like her own heart,\\nA bud whose depths are all perfume;\\nWhile every garment s gentle stir\\nIs breathing rose and lavender.\\nThe pastor came: his snowy locks\\nHallowed his brow of thought and care;\\nAnd calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,\\nHe led into the house of prayer.\\nThe pastor rose; the praver was strong;\\nThe psalm was warrior David s song;\\nThe text, a few short words of might,\\nThe Lord of hosts shall arm the right!", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0090.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "8q\\nHe spoke of wrongs too long endured,\\nOf sacred rights to be secured;\\nThen from his patriot tongue of fiame\\nThe starthng words for Freedom came.\\nThe stirring sentences he spake\\nCompelled the heart to glow or quake,\\nAnd rising on his theme s broad wing.\\nAnd grasping in his nervous hand\\nThe imaginary battle-brand,\\nIn face of death he dared to fling\\nDefiance to a tyrant king.\\nEven as he spoke, his frame, renewed.\\nIn eloquence of attitude,\\nRose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher;\\nThen swept his kindling glance of fire\\nFrom startled pew to breathless choir;\\nWhen suddenly his mantle wide\\nHis hands impatient flung aside,\\nAnd, lo! he met their wondering eyes\\nComplete in all a warrior s guise.\\nA moment there was awful pause,\\nWhen Berkley cried, Cease, traitor! cease!\\nGod s temple is the house of peace!\\nThe other shouted, Nay, not so.\\nWhen God is with our righteous cause;\\nHis holiest places then are ours\\nFlis temples are our forts and towers\\nThat frown upon the tvrant foe;\\nIn this, the dawn of Freedom s dav.\\nThere is a time to fight and pray!\\nAnd now before the open door\\nThe warrior-priest had ordered so", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0091.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "86\\nThe enlisting trumpet s sudden roar\\nRang through the chapel, o er and o er,\\nIts long reverberating blow,\\nSo loud and clear, it seemed the ear\\nOf dusty death must wake and hear.\\nAnd there the startling drum and fife\\nFired the living with fiercer life;\\nWhile overhead, with wild increase.\\nForgetting its ancient toll of peace,\\nThe great bell swung as ne er before.\\nIt seemed as it would never cease;\\nAnd every word its ardor flung\\nFrom off its jubilant iron tongue\\nWas, War! War! War!\\nWho dares? this was the patriot s cry,\\nAs striding from the desk he came,\\nCome out with me, in Freedom s name,\\nFor her to live, for her to die?\\nA hundred hands flung up reply.\\nA hundred voices answered, I.\\nRead Seventy six Btyanf.\\nTHE AMERICAN WAR.\\nSPEECH IN PARLIAMENT.\\nPttf.\\nWilliam Pitt, Earl of Chatham (1708-1778). was born at West-\\nminster, of a Cornish family. After a long and distinguished\\ncareer in the House of Commons, he was appointed to the office\\nof Privy Seal, and entered the House of Lords as Earl of Chat-\\nham. He was a devoted friend to the American Colonies and\\nwhen the sfruggle for their independence began, although he\\nwas in failing health, he advocated the redress of their grievances\\nwith masterly eloquence. To the end of his life he believed", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0092.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "87\\nthat reconciliation was possible, and his last public utterance\\nwas a brilliant speech denouncing the policy which favored the\\nrecognition of American independence.\\nStill one great clime, in full and free defiance,\\nYet rears her crest, unconquered and sublime,\\nAbove the far Atlantic. Byron.\\nThe people whom we at first despised as rebels,\\nbut whom we now acknowledge as enemies, are abetted\\nagainst ns; supplied with every military store, their\\ninterest consulted and their ambassadors entertained by\\nour inveterate enemy! and ministers do not, and dare\\nnot, interpose with dignity or effect. The desperate\\nstate of our army abroad is in part known. No man\\nmore highly esteems and honors the English troops\\nthan I do; I know their virtues and their valor; I know\\nthey can achieve anything but impossilMlities; and\\nI know that the conquest of English America Is an\\nimpossihility.\\nYou cannot, my lords, you cannot conquer America.\\n\\\\\\\\2ii is your present situation there? We do not\\nknow the ivorst but we know that in three campaigns\\nwe have done nothing, and suffered mtich. You may\\nswell every expense, accumulate every assistance, and\\nextend your traiific to the shambles of every German\\ndespot: your attempts will be forever vain and impotent\\ndoubly so, indeed, from this mercenary aid on which\\nyou rely: for it irritates, to an incurable resentment, the\\nminds of your adversaries, to overrun them wath the\\nmercenary sons of rapine and plunder, devoting them\\nand their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty.\\nIf T were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a\\nforeign troop was landed in my country, I never would\\nlav down mv arms never, never, never!", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0093.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "88\\nINDEPENDENCE BELL.\\nThe old State House Bell bore these words: Proclaim liberty\\nthroughout the land, unto all the inhabitants thereof! The\\nlittle grandson of the bellman awaited the action of Congress,\\nto give his grandfather the signal to ring.\\nThere was tumult in the city,\\nIn the quaint old Quaker town,\\nAnd the streets were rife with people\\nPacing restless up and down;\\nPeople gathering at corners,\\nWhere they whispered each to each,\\nAnd the sweat stood on their temples.\\nWith the earnestness of speech.\\nAs the bleak Atlantic currents\\nLash the wild Newfoundland shore,\\nSo they beat against the State House,\\nSo they surged against the door;\\nAnd the mingling of the voices\\nINIade a harnlony profound,\\nTill the quiet street of chestnuts\\nWas all turbulent with sound.\\nWill they do it? Dare they do it?\\nWho is speaking? What s the news?\\nWhat of Adams? What of Sherman?\\nO, God grant they won t refuse!\\nMake some way. there! Let me nearer!\\nI am stifling! Stifle then:\\nWhen a nation s life s at hazard.\\nWe ve no time to think of men!", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0094.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "89\\nSo they beat against the portal\\nMan and woman, maid and child;\\nAnd the July sun in heaven\\nOn the scene looked down and smiled;\\nThe same sun that saw the Spartan\\nShed his patriot blood in vain,\\nNow beheld the soul of freedom\\nAll unconquered rise again.\\nAloft in that high steeple\\nSat the bellman, old and gray;\\nHe was weary of the tyrant\\nAnd his iron-sceptered sway;\\nSo he sat with one hand ready\\nOn the clapper of the bell,\\nWhen his eye should catch the signal,\\nVery happy news to tell.\\nSee! see! the dense crowd quivers\\nThrough all its lengthy line.\\nAs the boy beside the portal\\nLooks forth to give the sign!\\nWith his small hands upward lifted,\\nBreezes dallying with his hair.\\nHark! with deep, clear intonation.\\nBreaks his young voice on the air.\\nHushed the people s swelling murmur.\\nList the boy s strong joyous cry!\\nRing! he shouts aloud; Ring! Grandpa!\\nRing! O, Ring for LIBERTY!\\nAnd straightway, at the signal.\\nThe old bellman lifts his hand,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0095.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "90\\nv\\\\ii(l sends the good news, making\\nIron mnsic throno;h the land.\\nHow they shonted! What rejoicing!\\nHow the old bell shook the air,\\nTill the clang of freedom rnffled\\nThe calm gliding Delaware!\\nHow the bonfires and the torches\\nIllumed the night s repose,\\nAnd from the flames, like Phoenix,\\nFair liberty arose!\\nThe old bell now is silent,\\nAnd hushed its iron tongue,\\nBut the spirit it awakened\\nStill lives forever young.\\nAnd while we greet the sunlight\\nOn the Fourth of each July,\\nWe ll ne er forget the bellman,\\nWho, twixt the earth and sky,\\nRung out our Independence,\\nWhich, please God, shall never die!\\nQuaker foivn Philadelphia.\\nT/ie Spartan In the year 480 B. C, three hundred Greeks\\nhelonging to the state of Sparta, and under the leadership of\\nLeonidas, all perished in defending the Pass of Therinop5da3\\nagainst the Persians who came to destroy the liberties of Greece.\\nPJnvnix A fabled bird which, according to the Greeks, rose\\nfrom its own ashes. Hence the reference to the spirit in the\\nlines,\\nBut the spirit it awakened\\nStill lives forever young.\\nAdams and Sherman were members of the Continental\\nCongress.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0096.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0097.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "92\\nTHE DECLARATION OF INDEPENDENCE.\\nHenry T. Randall.\\nResolved.,\\nThat these United Colonies are, and of right ought to be, free\\nand independent States, that they are absolved from all allegi-\\nance to the British Crown, and that all political connections\\nbetween them and the State of Great Britain is, and ought to be,\\ntotally dissolved.\\nTo the Patriots, the Declaration gave strength and\\ncourage. It gave them a definite purpose, and a\\nname and object commensurate with the cost. When\\nit was formally read by the magistracy from the halls\\nof justice and in the public marts, by the of^cers of the\\narmy at the head of their divisions, by the clergy from\\ntheir pulpits, its grandeur impressed the popular\\nimagination. The American people pronounced it a\\nfit instrument clothed in fitting words. The public\\nenthusiasm btirst forth, sometimes in gay and festive,\\nand sometimes in solemn and religious observances\\nas the Cavalier or Puritan taste predominated.\\nIn the Southern and Middle cities and villages, the\\nriotous populace tore down the images of monarchs\\nand Colonial governors and dragged them with ropes\\nround their necks through the streets cannon thun-\\ndered, bonfires blazed the opulent feasted, drank\\ntoasts, and joined in hilariotis celebrations. In New\\nEngland, the grimmer joy manifested itself in prayers\\nand sermons, and religious rites.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0098.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "93\\nNATHAN HALE.\\nFrancis M. Finch.\\nHe dares for his country or his friends to die. Horace.\\nAfter Washington s retreat from Long Island in September,\\n1776, he needed information as to the British strength and forti-\\nfications Captain Nathan Hale, a tine young American officer\\nof twenty-one, volunteered to get the information. While\\ninside of the enemy s lines he was taken prisoner, and hanged as\\na spy. His last words were, I only regret that I have but one\\nlife to lose for my country.\\nTo drumbeat and heartbeat,\\nA soldier marches by:\\nThere is color in his cheek,\\nThere is courage in his eye,\\nYet to drumbeat and heartbeat\\nIn a moment he must die.\\nBy starlight and moonlight.\\nHe seeks the Briton s camp:\\nHe hears the rustling flag.\\nAnd the armed sentry s tramp;\\nAnd the starlight and moonlight\\nHis silent wanderings lamp.\\nWith slow tread and still tread\\nHe scans the tented line,\\nAnd he counts the battery guns\\nBy the gaunt and shadowy pine;\\nAnd his slow tread and still tread\\nGives no warnins: sisrn.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0099.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "94\\nThe dark wave, the pkimed wave,\\nIt meets his eager glance;\\nAnd it sparkles neath the stars\\nLike the glimmer of a lance,\\nA dark wave, a plumed wave,\\nOn an emerald expanse.\\nA sharp clang, a steel clang.\\nAnd terror in the sound!\\nFor the sentry, falcon-eyed,\\nIn the camp a spy has found:\\nWith a sharp clang, a steel clang,\\nThe patriot is bound.\\nWith calm brow, steady brow,\\nHe listens to his doom:\\nIn his look there is no fear,\\nNor a shadow-trace of gloom.\\nBut with calm brow and steady brow\\nHe robes him for the tomb.\\nIn the long night, the still night,\\nHe kneels upon the sod;\\nAnd the brutal guards withhold\\nE en the solemn Word of God!\\nIn the long night, the still night.\\nHe walks where Christ has trod.\\nNeath the blue morn, the sunny morn,\\nHe dies upon the tree;\\nAnd he mourns that he can lose\\nBut one life for liberty:\\nAnd in the blue morn, the sunny morn.\\nHis spirit-wings are free.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0100.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "95\\nFrom the Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf,\\nFrom monument and urn,\\nThe sad of earth, the glad of heaven,\\nHis tragic fate shall learn;\\nAnd on Fame-leaf and on Angel-leaf\\nThe name of Hale shall burn.\\nTHE BATTLE OF TRENTON.\\nThus far our fortune keeps an upward course,\\nAnd we are graced with wreaths of victory.\\nOn Christmas day in seventy-six\\nOur ragged troops, with bayonets fixed,\\nFor Trenton marched away.\\nThe Delaware, see! the boats below!\\nThe light obscured by hail and snow!\\nBut no signs of dismay.\\nOur object was the Hessian band.\\nThat dared invade fair Freedom s land.\\nAnd quarter in that place.\\nGreat Washington he led us on.\\nWhose streaming flag, in storm or sun.\\nHad never known disgrace.\\nIn silent march we passed the night,\\nEach soldier panting for the fight.\\nThough quite benumbed with frost.\\nGreene on the left at six began.\\nThe right was led by Sullivan\\nWho ne er a moment lost.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0101.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "96\\nTheir pickets stormed, the alarm was spread,\\nThat rebels risen from the dead\\nWere marching into town.\\nSome scampered here, some scampered there.\\nAnd some for action did prepare;\\nBut soon their arms laid down.\\nTwelve hundred servile miscreants.\\nWith all their colors, guns, and tents,\\nWere trophies of the day.\\nThe frolic o er, the bright canteen.\\nIn center, front, and rear was seen-\\nDriving fatigue away.\\nNow, brothers of the patriot bands,\\nLet s sing deliverance from the hands\\nOf arbitrary sway.\\nAnd as our life is but a span.\\nLet s touch the tankard while we can,\\nIn memory of that day.\\nCARMEN BELLICOSUM.\\nA SONG OF WAR.\\nGuy H. McMaster.\\nIn their ragged regimentals\\nStood the old Continentals,\\nYielding not.\\nWhen the grenadiers were lunging,\\nAnd like hail fell the plunging\\nCannon shot\\nWhen the files\\nOf the isles", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0102.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "97\\nFrom the smoky night encampment bore the banner of\\nthe rampant\\nUnicorn,\\nAnd grummer, grnmmer, grummer rolled the roll of\\nthe drnmmer,\\nThrongh the morn!\\nThen with eyes to the front all,\\nAnd with guns horizontal\\nStood our sires;\\nAnd the balls whistled deadly,\\nAnd in streams flashing redly\\nBlazed the fires;\\nAs the roar\\nOn the shore,\\nSwept the strong battle breakers o er the green sodded\\nacres\\nOf the plain;\\nAnd louder, louder, louder cracked the black gun-\\npowder.\\nCracking amain!\\nNow like smiths at their forges\\nWorked the red Saint George s\\nCannoneers\\nAnd the villainous saltpeter\\nRung a fierce discordant meter\\nRound their ears;\\nAs the swift\\nStorm drift,\\nWith hot, sweeping anger, came the horseguards\\nclangor\\nOn our flanks.\\nPER. OUR COUNTRY-", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0103.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "98\\nThen higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned\\nfire\\nThrough the ranks!\\nThen the old-fashioned colonel\\nGalloped through the white, infernal\\nPowder cloud;\\nAnd his broad sword was swinging,\\nAnd his brazen throat was ringing\\nTrumpet loud.\\nThen the blue\\nJ3ullets flew\\nAnd the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the\\nleaden\\nRifle breath;\\nAnd rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six-\\npounder\\nHurling death!\\nSa/nf George Patron saint of England.\\nUuicorn The British flag bears the unicorn, and lion, on\\nthe English coat of arms.\\nRead Gertrude of Wyoming Caiitpbell.\\nOCCUPATION OF PHILADELPHIA.\\nSEPTEMBER 26, 1 777.\\nH. A. Brozun.\\nA sense of something dreadful about to happen hangs\\nover the town. A third of the houses are shut and\\nempty. Shops are unopened, and busy rumor flies\\nabout the streets. Early in the morning the sidewalks\\nare filled with a cjuiet, anxious crowd. The women", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0104.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "99\\nwatch behind bowed windows with half cnrioiis, half\\nfrightened looks. The men, solemn and subdued,\\nwhisper in groups: Will they come to-day? Are they\\nhere already? Will they treat us like a conquered\\npeople?\\nThe morning drags along. By ten o clock Second\\nstreet, from Callowhill to Chestnut, is filled with old\\nmen and boys. There is hardly a young man to be\\nseen. About eleven is heard the sound of approach-\\ning cavalry, and a scjuadron of dragoons comes gallop-\\ning down the street, scattering the boys right and left.\\nIn a few minutes, far up the street, there is the faint\\nsound of martial music and something moving that\\nglitters in the sunlight.\\nThe crowd thickens, and is full of hushed expecta-\\ntion. Presently one can see a red mass swaying to and\\nfro. It becomes more and more distinct. Louder\\ngrows the music and the tramp of marching men, as\\nwaves of scarlet, tipped with steel, come moving down\\nthe street. They are now but a scjuare off, their bayo-\\nnets glancing in perfect line, and steadily advancing to\\nthe music of God Save the King.\\nThese are the famous grenadiers. They are per-\\nfectly ecjuipped, and look well fed and hearty. Behind\\nthem are more cavalry. No, these must be officers.\\nThe first one is splendidly mounted, and wears the uni-\\nform of a general. A whisper goes through the\\nbystanders, It is Lord Cornwallis himself.\\nBut who are these in dark blue, that come behind the\\ngrenadiers? Breeches of yellow leather, leggins of\\nblack, and tall pointed hats of brass, complete their uni-\\nform. They wear moustaches, and have a fierce foreign\\nlook; and their unfamiliar music seems to a child in that", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0105.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "lOO\\ncrowd to cry, Plunder! plunder! plunder! as it times\\ntheir rapid march. These are the Hessian mercenaries\\nwhom Washington surprised and thrashed so well at\\nChristmas in 76.\\nAnd now all have passed by. The time for the even-\\ning parade comes, and the well-equipped regiments are\\ndrawn up in line, while the sun slowly sinks in autumnal\\nsplendor in the west. The streets are soon in shadow,\\nbut still noisy with the tramping of soldiers and the\\nclatter of arms.\\nIn High street, and on the commons, fires are lit for\\nthe troops to do their cooking, and the noises of the\\ncamp mingle with the city s hum. Most of the houses\\nare shut, but here and there one stands wide open, while\\nbrilliantly dressed officers lounge at the windows, or\\npass and repass in the doorways. And thus night falls\\nupon the Quaker City.\\nIn spite of Trenton and Princeton, and Brandywine,\\nin spite of the wasdom of Congress and the courage and\\nskill of the commander in chief, in spite of the bravery\\nand fortitude of the Continental army, the forces of the\\nking are in the rebel capital, and the All s well of\\nhostile sentinels keeping guard by her northern border\\npasses unchallenged from the Schuylkill to the Dela-\\nware.\\nTHE FATE OF JOHN BURGOYNE.\\nOCTOBER 17. 1777.\\nWhen Jack, the king s commander,\\nWas going to his duty.\\nThrough all the crowd he smiled and bowed\\nTo every blooming beauty.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0106.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "lOI\\nThe city rung with feats he d done\\nIn Portugal and Flanders,\\nAnd all the town thought he d be crowned\\nThe first of Alexanders.\\nTo Hampton Court he first repairs\\nTo kiss great George s hand, sirs;\\nThen to harangue on state affairs\\nBefore he left the land, sirs.\\nThe Lower House sat mute as mouse\\nTo hear his grand oration;\\nAnd all the peers with loudest cheers,\\nProclaimed him to the nation.\\nThen off he went to Canada,\\nNext to Ticonderoga,\\nAnd quitting those away he goes\\nStraightway to Saratoga.\\nWith grand parade his march he made\\nTo gain his wished-for station.\\nWhile far and wide his minions hied\\nTo spread his Proclamation.\\nTo such as stayed he offers made\\nOf pardon on submission.\\nBut savage bands should waste the lands\\nOf all in opposition.\\nBut ah, the cruel fates of war!\\nThis boasted son of Britain,\\nWhen mounting his triinnphal car,\\nWith sudden fear was smitten.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0107.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "I02\\nThe sons of Freedom gathered round,\\nHis hostile 1)ands confounded,\\nAnd when they d fain have turned their back\\nThey found themselves surrounded!\\nIn vain they fought, in vain they fled;\\nTheir chief, humane and tender.\\nTo save the rest soon thought it l)est\\nHis forces to surrender.\\nBrave Saint Clair, when he first retired,\\nKnew what the fates portended;\\nAnd Arnold and heroic Gates\\nHis conduct have defended.\\nTHE SURRENDER OF BURGOYNE.\\nOCTOBER 17, 1777.\\nGen. John Waits De Pcyster.\\nBrothers, this spot is holy! Look around!\\nBefore us flows our memory s sacred river,\\nWhose banks are Freedom s shrines. This grassy\\nmound,\\nThe altar, on whose height the Mighty Giver\\nGave Independence to our country; when,\\nThanks to its brave, enduring, patient men,\\nThe invading host was brought to bay and laid\\nBeneath Old Glory s new-born folds, the blade\\nThe brazen thunder-throats, the pomp of war.\\nAnd England s yoke, broken for evermore.\\nYes, on this spot, thanks to our gracious God,\\nWhere last in conscious arrogance it trod,", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0108.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "lO\\nDefiled, as captives, Burgoyne s conquered horde;\\nBelow, their general yielded up his sword;\\nThere, to our flag bowed England s battle-torn;\\nWhere now we stand, the United States was born.\\nAT VALLEY FORGE.\\nH. A. Brown.\\nThe wind is cold and piercing on the old Gulf Road,\\nand the snowflakes have begun to fall. Who is this\\nthat toils up yonder hill, his footsteps stained with\\nblood? His bare feet peep through his worn-out shoes,\\nhis legs nearly naked, his shirt hanging in strings, his\\nhair dishevelled, his face wan and thin, his look hungry.\\nOn his shoulder he carries a rusty gun, and the hand\\nthat grasps the stock is blue with cold. His comrade\\nis no better off, nor he who follows.\\nA fourth comes into view, and still another. A dozen\\nare in sight. Twenty have reached the ridge, and there\\nare more to come. See them as they mount the hill\\nthat slopes eastward into the Great Valley. A thou-\\nsand are in sight, but they are but the vanguard of the\\nmotley company that winds down the road until it is\\nlo^t in the cloud of snowflakes that have hidden the\\nGulf hills. Yonder are horsemen in tattered uniforms,\\nand behind them cannon lumbering slowing over the\\nfrozen road, half dragged, half pushed by men.\\nAre these soldiers that huddle together and bow their\\nheads as they face the biting wind? Is this an army\\nthat comes straggling through the valley in the blind-\\ning snow? No martial music leads them in triumph\\ninto a captured capital. No city full of good cheer and", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0109.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "I04\\nwarm and comfortable homes awaits their coming. No\\nsound keeps time to their steps save the icy wind rattHng\\nthe leafless branches, and the dull tread of their weary\\nfeet on the frozen ground. In yonder forest must they\\nfind their shelter, and on the northern slope of these\\ninhospitable hills their place of refuge.\\nTrials that rarely have failed to break the fortitude of\\nmen await them here. The Congress whom they serve\\nshall prove helpless to protect them, and their country\\nherself seem unmindful of their sufferings. Disease\\nshall infest their huts by day, and Famine stand guard\\nwith them through the night. Frost shall lock their\\ncamp with icy fetters, and the snows cover it as with a\\ngarment; the storms of winter shall be pitiless, but\\nall in vain. Danger shall not frighten nor temptation\\nhave power to seduce them. Doubt shall not shake\\ntheir love of country, nor suffering overcome their forti-\\ntude. The powers of evil shall not prevail against\\nthem; for they are the Continental Army, and these are\\nthe hills of Valley Forge!\\nTHE STORMING OF STONY POINT.\\nJULY 15, 1779.\\nMrs. Fannie E. Greenleaf.\\nAnd Freedom s summons-shout shall burst,\\nRare music! on the brain.\\nThe country was in danger, the British were elate\\nWith cruel joy and triumph o er the rebels coming fate.\\nFor the British held the Hudson, Stony Point was in\\ntheir power.\\nAnd the shadows o er the country loomed more darkly\\nhour by hour.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0110.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "105\\nThe nation s chief with frowning brow sat lost in anx-\\nious thought;\\nHe had dipped into the Future with pain and\\nanguish fraught.\\nThen starting from his seat he cries, Send General\\nWayne to me;\\nHe s the man can do it, if such a man there be!\\nThe soldier stood before him, erect and firm of mien,\\nEager to learn his chief s commands, with fiery eyes\\nand keen,\\nThat fort! it must be ours! Can you take it, Anthony\\nWayne?\\nI ll storm it, sire, was the response, if you ll plan\\nthe campaign.\\nForth came he from the presence, alert with joy and\\npride,\\nThe hope of triumph on his brow; and gazing far and\\nwide,\\nThat fort! it must be ours! ay, and this very night.\\nEre another morning breaking floods all the world with\\nlight,\\nT and my bravest soldiers will mount that steep old crag,\\nTear down those hated colors, and plant the nation s\\nflag.\\nTwas midnight, and the shining stars with mild and\\ntender glow.\\nWith eyes of pitying love looked on this jarring world\\nbelow.\\nW^ith eyes of love on high and low, alike on friend and\\nfoe,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0111.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "io6\\nOn happy scenes of peace and joy, alas! on tears and\\nwoe.\\nBut the sweet silence of the night was broken by the\\ntread\\nOf soldiers marching swiftly, brave Anthony at the\\nhead;\\nAlong the road and causeway, led by a friendly hand,\\nSoftly with rapid feet they sped, till on the hill they\\nstand.\\nThe sentinel hears the countersign, but ere the foe he\\nspies.\\nThe soldiers throw him to the ground, and gag him as\\nhe lies.\\nInspired by their brave leader, they onward rush until\\nThey re half way up the slope, they ve nearly climbed\\nthe hill\\nThen from the battlements o erhead a murderous fire\\nbursts out.\\nThe cannon l^alls plough through their ranks, near put-\\nting them to rout.\\nThen shouts mad Anthony. On boys! for by the\\neternal powers.\\nThat fort, it must be ours! do you hear? it must be ours!\\nOn to your shoulders, comrades, I m wounded, but I ll\\nhe\\nWithin the walls of that grim fort, one moment ere I\\ndie!\\nThrough fire and smoke, through shot and shell, like\\nmaddened fiends they fought;\\nAnd with their bayonets alone the deadly work was\\nwrought.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0112.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "I07\\nMounting the walls with h-antic zeal the foe they over-\\npower,\\nTrampling the dying and the dead in that terrific hour.\\nThe fort is ours! shouts Anthony, We ve scaled\\nthis steep old crag!\\nDown with those hated colors! up with the nation s\\nflag!\\nSONG OF MARION S MEN.\\nBryant.\\nGeneral Francis Marion (born in South Carolina in 1722) won\\ngreat fame in the war for Independence. With a small force of\\nirregular or par*^,isan troops he greatly harassed the British in\\nSouth Carolina. He had his camp in a swampy and wooded\\nisland, and from there he would secretly sally forth and strike\\nswift and telling blows at the enemy.\\nOur band is few, but true and tried,\\nOur leader frank and bold:\\nThe British soldier trembles\\nWhen Marion s name is told.\\nOur fortress is the good greenwood,\\nOur tent the cypress tree:\\nWe know the forest round us,\\nAs seamen know the sea.\\nWe know its walls of thorny vines,\\nIts glades of reedy grass,\\nIts safe and silent islands\\nWithin the dark morass.\\nWoe to the English soldiery\\nThat little dread us near!\\nOn them shall light at midnight\\nA strange and sudden fear:", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0113.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "TO S\\nWhen waking to tlieir tents on fire.\\nThey grasp their arms in vain,\\nAnd they who stand to face ns\\nAre beat to earth again\\nAnd they who fly in terror deem\\nA mighty host l)ehind,\\nAnd hear the tramp of thousands\\nUpon the hollow wind.\\nThen sweet the hour that brings release\\nFrom dangers and from toil:\\nWe talk the battle over,,\\nAnd share the battle s spoil.\\nThe woodland rings with laugh and shout.\\nAs if a hunt were up,\\nAnd woodland flowers are gathered\\nTo crown the soldier s cup.\\nWith merry songs we mock the wind\\nThat in the pine-top grieves,\\nAnd slumber long and sweetly\\nOn beds of oaken leaves.\\nWell knows the fair and friendly moon\\nThe band that Marion leads,\\nThe glitter of their rilles.\\nThe scampering of their steeds.\\nTis life to guide the fiery barb\\nAcross the moonlight plain;\\nTis life to feel the night-wind\\nThat lifts his tossing mane.\\nA moment in the British Camp\\nA moment and away\\nBack to the pathless forest.\\nBefore the peep of day.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0114.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "I09\\nGrave men there are by broad Santee,\\nGrave men with hoary hairs;\\nTheir hearts are all with Marion,\\nFor Marion are their prayers.\\nAnd lovely ladies greet our band\\nWith kindliest welcoming,\\nWith smiles like those of summer,\\nAnd tears like those of spring.\\nFor them we wear these trusty arms,\\nAnd lay them down no more\\nTill we have driven the Briton,\\nForever, from our shore.\\nKING S MOUNTAIN.\\nIV. G. Sz nfns.\\nBattles so bravely won\\nHave ever to the sun\\nBy fame been raised.\\nCol. Ferguson and his forces of British and Tories were\\ndefeated by the patriots at King s Mountain, S. C, Oct. 7, 1780.\\nThe Tory leaders were hanged immediately after the battle.\\nHark! through the gorge of the valley,\\nTis the bugle that tells of the foe;\\nOur own quickly sounds for the rally,\\nAnd we snatch down the rifle, and go.\\nDown the lone heights now wind they together.\\nAs the mountain brooks flow to the vale.\\nAnd now, as they group on the heather,\\nThe keen scout delivers his tale:\\nThe British the Tories are on us;\\nAnd now is the moment to prove.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0115.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "no\\nTo the women whose virtues liave w^on us,\\nThat our virtues are worthy their love!\\nThey have swept the vast valleys below us,\\nWith fire, to the hills from the sea;\\nAnd here would they seek to o erthrow us,\\nIn a realm which our eagle makes h-ee!\\nGrim dashed they away as they bounded,\\nThe hunters to hem in the prey,\\nAnd with Deckard s long rifles surrounded.\\nThen the British rose fast to the fray;\\nAnd never, with arms of more vigor,\\nDid their bayonets press through the strife,\\nWhere, with every swift pull of the trigger,\\nThe sharpshooters dashed out a life!\\nTwas the meeting of eagles and lions,\\nTwas the rushing of tempests and waves,\\nInsolent triumph gainst patriot defiance.\\nBorn freemen gainst sycophant slaves:\\nScotch Ferguson sounding his whistle.\\nAs from danger to danger he flies.\\nFeels the moral that lies in Scotch thistle.\\nWith its touch me who dare! and he dies.\\nAn hour, and the battle is over;\\nThe eagles are rending the prey;\\nThe serpents seek flight into cover,\\nBut the terror still stands in the way:\\nMore dreadful the doom that on treason\\nAvenges the wrongs of the state;\\nAnd the oak tree for manv a season\\nBears its fruit for the vultures of Fate.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0116.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "Ill\\nPULASKI S BANNER.\\nLongfellow.\\nCount Casimir Pulaski, a famous Polish officer, fought in\\nbehalf of the United States, 1777-^779, and was mortally\\nwounded in the assault on Savannah Oct. 9, 1779. His crimson\\nsilk banner was given to him by the Moravian nuns of Bethle-\\nhem, Penn.\\nWhen the dying flame of day\\nThrough the chancel shot its ray,\\nFar the glimmering tapers shed\\nFaint light on the cowled head;\\nAnd the censer burning swung,\\nWhere, before the altar, hung.\\nThe crimson banner, that with prayer\\nHad been consecrated there.\\nAnd the nun s sweet hymn was heard the while,\\nSung low, in the dim, mysterious aisle.\\nTake thy banner! May it wave\\nProudly o er the good and brave;\\nWhen the battle s distant wail\\nBreaks the sabbath of our vale,\\nWhen the clarion s music thrills\\nTo the hearts of these lone hills,\\nWhen the spear in conflict shakes.\\nAnd the strong lance shivering breaks.\\nTake thy banner! and, beneath\\nThe battle-cloud s encircling wreath.\\nGuard it. till our homes are free!\\nGuard it! God will prosper thee!", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0117.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "112\\nIn the dark and trying hour,\\nIn the breaking forth of power,,\\nIn the rush of steeds and men,\\nHis right hand wiU shield thee then.\\nTake thy banner! But when night\\nCloses round the ghastly fight,\\nIf the vanquished warrior bow,\\nSpare him! By our holy vow.\\nBy our prayers and many tears,\\nBy the mercy that endears,\\nSpare him! he our love hath shared!\\nSpare him! as thou wouldst be spared!\\nTake thy banner! and if e er\\nThou shouldst press the soldier s bier.\\nAnd the muffled drum should beat\\nTo the tread of mournful feet,\\nThen this crimson flag shall be\\nMartial cloak and shroud for thee.\\nThe warrior took that banner proud,\\nAnd it was his martial cloak and shroud!\\nTHE DANCE.\\nThen join hand in hand, brave Americans all,\\nBy uniting we stand, by dividing we fall\\nJohn Dickinson.\\nCornwallis led a country dance.\\nThe like was never seen, sir.\\nMuch retrograde and much advance,\\nAnd all with General Greene, sir.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0118.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "113\\nThey rambled up and rambled down,\\nJoined hands, then off they run, sir.\\nOur General Greene to Charlestown,\\nThe earl to Wilmington, sir.\\nGreene in the South then danced a set,\\nAnd got a mighty name, sir,\\nCornwallis jigged with young Fayette,\\nBut suffered in his fame, sir.\\nThen down he figured to the shore.\\nMost like a lordly dancer,\\nAnd on his courtly honor swore\\nHe would no more advance, sir.\\nNow housed in York, he challenged all,\\nAt minuet or allemande.\\nAnd lessons for a courtly ball\\nHis guards by day and night connedc\\nThis challenge known, full soon there came,\\nA set who had the bon ton,\\nDe Grasse and Rochambeau, whose fame\\nFut brillaiit pour itii long temps.\\nAnd Washington, Columbia s son,\\nWhom easy nature taught, sir.\\nThat grace which can t by pains be won,\\nOr Plutus s gold be bought, sir.\\nNow hand in hand they circle round\\nTin s ever-dancing peer, sir;\\nTheir gentle movements soon confound\\nThe earl as they draw near, sir.\\nPER. OUR COUNTRY 8", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0119.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "114\\nHis music soon forgets to play\\nHis feet can move no more, sir,\\nAnd all his bands now curse the day\\nThey jigged to our shore, sir.\\nNow Tories all, what can ye say?\\nCome is not this a griper,\\nThat while your hopes are danced away,\\nTis you must pay the piper?\\nNote. Fnt hrillant pour tin long temps Was glorious for a\\nlone: time.\\nTALLEYRAND AND ARNOLD.\\nOh that a soldier so glorious, ever victorious in fight,\\nPassed from a daylight of honor into the terrible night;\\nFell as the mighty archangel, ere the earth glowed in peace,\\nfell.\\nFell from the patriot s heaven down to the loyalist s hell.\\nThere was a day when Talleyrand arrived in Havre,\\ndirect from Paris. It was the darkest hour of the\\nFrench Revolution. Pursued by the bloodhounds of\\nthe Reign of Terror, stripped of every wreck of\\nproperty and power, Talleyrand secured a passage to\\nAmerica in a ship about to sail. He was a beggar, and\\na wanderer to a strange land, to earn his daily bread by\\ndaily labor.\\nIs there an American staying at your house? he\\nasked the landlord of the hotel. I am bound across\\nthe water, and would like a letter to a person of influ-\\nence in the New World.\\nThe landlord hesitated a moment, then replied\\nThere is a gentleman up stairs, either from America\\nor Britain, but whether an American or an Englishman,\\nI cannot tell.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0120.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "115\\nHe pointed the way, and Talleyrand who, in\\nhis life, was Bishop, Prince, and Prime Minister\\nascended the stairs. A miserable suppliant, he stood\\nbefore the stranger s door, knocked, and entered.\\nIn the farther corner of the dimly lighted room sat\\na man of some fifty years, his arms folded and his head\\nbowed on his breast. From a window directly oppo-\\nsite, a flood of light poured over his forehead. His\\neyes looked from beneath the downcast brows and gazed\\non Talleyrand s face with a peculiar and searching\\nexpression. His face was striking in outline, the mouth\\nand chin indicative of an iron will. His form, vigor-\\nous even with the snows of fifty winters, was clad hi a\\ndark, but rich and distinguished, costume.\\nTalleyrand advanced, stated that he was a. fugitive,\\nand under the impression that the gentleman before\\nhim was an American, he solicited his kind offices. He\\npoured forth his history in elocj^uent French and broken\\nEnglish.\\nI am a wanderer an exile. I am forced to f\\\\y\\nto the New World, without a friend or home. You are\\nan American! Give me, then, I beseech you, a letter\\nof yours, so that I may be able to earn my bread. I am\\nwilling to toil in any manner the scenes of Paris have\\nseized me with such horror, that a life of labor would\\nbe a paradise to a career of luxury in France. You\\nwill give me a letter to one of your friends? A gentle-\\nman like you has doubtless many friends.\\nThe strange gentleman arose. With a look that\\nTalleyrand never forgot he retreated towards the door\\nof the next chamber. He spoke as he stepped back-\\nward his voice was full of meaning.\\nI am the only man born in the New World who can", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0121.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "ii6\\nraise his hand to God and say, I have not a friend not\\none, in all America! Talleyrand never forgot the\\noverwhelming sadness of the look which accompanied\\nthese words.\\nWho are you? he cried, as the strange man\\nretreated to the next room; your name?\\nMy name, he replied, with a smile that had more\\nmockery than joy in its convulsive expression my\\nname is Benedict Arnold! He was gone. Talley-\\nrand sank into a chair, gasping the words Arnold\\nthe Traitor!\\nThus, you see, he wandered over the earth, another\\nCain, with the wanderer s mark upon his brow. Even\\nin that secluded room at that inn in Havre his crime\\nfound him out, and forced him to tell his name that\\nname the synonym of infamy.\\nThe last twenty years of his life were covered with\\na cloud, from the darkness of which but a few gleams\\nof light flashed out upon the page of history.\\nThe manner of his death is not exactly known. But\\nwe cannot doubt that he died utterly friendless that\\nremorse pursued him to the grave, whispering the name\\nof Andre in his ear, and that the memory of his course\\nof glory gnawed like a canker at his heart, murmuring\\nforever True to your country, faithful to your\\nduties as an American soldier and general, what might\\nyou have been, Arnold tJic Traitor!\\nTalleyrand (1854-1838), a French statesman fled to the U. S.\\nwhen Louis XVI fell. He afterward returned and held several\\nhig^h offices under Napoleon. Louis XVIII and Louis Phillipe.\\nFrom the execution of Louis XVI, June 2, 1793, tojuly 27,\\n1794, Robespierre had control of the government of France.\\nOn account of the many trials and butcheries during this period,\\nit is called the Reign of Terror.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0122.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "117\\nANDRE TO WASHINGTON.\\nWi llis.\\nNathaniel Parker Willis (1806-1867) was born at Portland, Me.\\nOne of his best poems is Absalom.\\nThough those that are betrayed do feel the treason deeply,\\nYet the traitor stands in worse case of woe.\\nIt is not the fear of death\\nThat damps my brow;\\nIt is not for another breath\\nI ask thee now;\\nI can die with a Hp unstirred,\\nAnd a quiet heart\\nLet but this prayer be heard\\nEre I depart.\\nI can give up my mother s look\\nMy sister s kiss;\\nI can think of love yet brook\\nA death like this!\\nI can give up the young fame\\nI bin-ned to win;\\nAll but the spotless name\\nI glory in.\\nThine is the power to give,\\nThine to deny.\\nJoy for the hour I live,\\nCalmness to die\\nBy all the brave should cherish\\nBy my dying breath.\\nI ask that I may perish\\nBy a soldier s death.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0123.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "ii8\\nWASHINGTON S SWORD AND FRANKLIN S STAFF.\\nAdams.\\nJohn Quincy Adams (1767-1848), sixth president of the United\\nStates, was born at Braintree, Mass.\\nJ hc sword of Washington! The staff of FrankHn!\\nOh, sir, what associations are Hnked in adamant with\\nthese names! Wasliins^ton, whose sword was never\\n(h awn but in the cause of his country, and never\\nsheathed when wielded in his country s cause! Frank-\\nhn, the ])hilosopher of the thun(lerl)oh, the printing\\npress, and the plowshare! What names are these in\\nthe scanty catalogue of the benefactors of human kind!\\nWashington and Franklin! What other two men\\nwhose lives belong to the eighteentli century of Christ-\\nendom, have left a deeper impression of themselves\\nupon the age in which they lived, and upon all after\\ntime?\\nWashingtf)!!, the warrior and the legislator! In\\nwar, contending by the wager of battle for the inde-\\npendence of his country and for the freedom of the\\nhuman race, ever manifesting amid its horrors, l)y pre-\\ncept and by exam])le, his reverence for the laws of peace,\\nand for the tenderest sym])athies of humanity; in peace,\\nsoothing the ferocious spirit of discord among his own\\ncountrymen into harmony and union, and giving to that\\nvery sword, now presented to his country, a charm\\nmore potent tlian that attributed in ancient times to the\\nlyre of Orpheus.\\nFranklin, the mechrmic of liis own fortune; teach-\\ning in early youth, under the shackles of indigence, the\\nway to wealth; and, in the shade of obscurity, the path", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0124.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "119\\nto i;rcatiicss; in llic iiialuril) of luaiiliood, (lisarniiiii^\\nthe tluiiulcr of its terrors, the hghtiiiiiL; of its fatal hlast;\\nand wreslint; from the tyrant s hand the still more\\nafllictive seepter of o|)|)ression; while descending into\\nthe vale of years, traversing the Atlantic ocean, braving\\nin the dead of winter the haltle and the breeze, bearing\\nin his hand the charier of in(lci)endence which he had\\ncontribnted to form; and tendering, from the self-\\ncreated nation to the mightiest monarchs of Enroj)c,\\nthe oHve branch of ])eace, the nicrcnrial wand of com-\\nmerce, and the anuilet of protection and safety to the\\nman of peace on the pathless ocean, from the inexorable\\ncruelty and merciless rapacity of war.\\nyXnd, linally, in the last stage of life, with four score\\nwinters upon his head, under the torture of an incurable\\ndisease, returning to his native land, closing his days as\\nthe chief magistrate of his adopted commonwealth, after\\ncontributing by his counsels, under the presidency of\\nWashington, and recording his name, under the sanc-\\ntion of devout pra\\\\cr in\\\\ oked by him to iod, to that\\nconstitution under authority of which we are here\\nassembled as the representatives of the North American\\npeo])le, to receive in their name and for them, these\\nvenerable relics of the wise, the valiant, and the good\\nfounders of (nu great confederated republic, these\\nsacred symbols of our golden age.\\nMay they be de])osited among the archives of our\\ngovernment! And may every American who shall\\nhereafter behold them, ejactdate a mingled olTering of\\nl^raise to that Supreme Ruler of the universe, by whose\\ntender mercies our Union has been hitherto jircserved\\nthrough all the \\\\icissilndes and revoliUions of this tur-\\nbulent world, and of pra\\\\er for the continuance of these", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0125.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "I20\\nblcssiiijj^s by the li.s])cnsali()n f)f I^T)vi(lencc to our\\nbeloved country from age to age, till time shall be no\\nmore!\\nAccording to the Greek legend Orpheus had the power of\\ncharming all animals and inanimate objects with the music of\\nhis lyre.\\nYORKTOWN.\\nWhitlicr.\\nBright is the wreath of our fame,\\nGlory awaits us for aye.\\nIn September, 1781, Washington appeared before Yorktown,\\nheld by the British army under Lord Cornwallis. With the\\nFrench and American forces Washington began a regular siege,\\nwhich lasted for three weeks, when the British commander sur-\\nrendered his army of over seven thousand men. Count Rocham-\\nbeau (ro-shom-bo) was in command of the French allies at the\\nsiege.\\nFrom orkt(nvn^s ruins, ranked and still.\\nTwo lines stretch far o er vale and hill:\\nWho curbs his steed at head of one?\\nHark! the low murmur: Washington!\\nWho bends his keen, ai:)|)roving glance\\nWlierc down the gorgeous line of France\\nShine knightly star and ])lume of snow?\\nThou too art victor, Kochambcau!\\nThe earth which bears this calm array\\nShook with the war-charge yesterday;\\n1 Mowed deej) with hurrying hoof and wheel,\\nShot down and blade(l thick with steel;\\nOctober s clear and noonday sun\\nPaled in the breath-smoke of the gun;", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0126.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "121\\nAnd down night s doii1)lc l)lackness fell,\\nLike a dropped star, the l)lazing- shell.\\nNow all is hushed: the gleaming lines\\nStand moveless as the neighboring pines;\\nWhile through them, sullen, grim, and slow,\\nThe conquered hosts of England go:\\nO Hara s brow belies his dress,\\nGay Tarleton s troop rides bannerless;\\nShout from the fired and wasted homes,\\nThy scourge, Virginia, captive comes!\\nNor thou alone: with one glad voice\\nLet all thy sister States rejoice;\\nLet Freedom, in whatever clime\\nShe waits with sleepless eye her time.\\nShouting from cave and mountain wood\\nMake glad her desert solitude.\\nWhile they who hunt her, quail with fear;\\nThe New World s chain lies broken here!\\nHOROLOGE OF LIBERTY.\\nGod grants liberty only to those who love it and are always\\nready to guard and defend it. Webster.\\nThe world heard: the battle of Lexington one;\\nthe Declaration of Independence two; the surrender\\nof Burgoyne three; the siege of Yorktown foin-;\\nthe treaty of Paris five; the inauguration of Wash-\\nington six; and then it was the sunrise of a new day.\\nof which we have seen yet only the glorious forenoon.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0127.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "122\\nLAFAYETTE.\\nCharles Sprague.\\nThe moment I heard of America, I loved her. The moment I\\nknew she was fighting for freedom, I burnt with a desire of\\nbleeding for her, and the moment I shall be able to serve her at\\nany time, or in any part of the world, will be the happiest one\\nof my life. Lafayette.\\nOthers have Hvecl in the love of their own people;\\nl)ut who, like this man, has drank his sweetest cup of\\nwelcome with another? Matchless chief! of glory s\\nimmortal tablets there is one for him, for him alone!\\nOblivion shall never shroud its splendor; the everlast-\\ning flame of Liberty shall guard it, that the generations\\nof men may repeat the name recorded there, the beloved\\nname of Lafayette.\\nMY FIRST STEAMBOAT.\\nRobert Fit I ton.\\nWhen I was building my first steamboat, the pro-\\nject was viewed by the public at New York either with\\nindiff erence or contempt, as a visionary scheme. My\\nfriends indeed were civil, btit they were shy. They\\nlistened with patience to iny explanations, but with a\\nsettled cast of incredulity on their countenances. I felt\\nthe full force of the lamentation of the poet\\nTruths would you teach, to save a sinking land?\\nAll shun, none aid you, and few understand.\\nAs T had occasion to pass daily to and from the\\nbuilding-yard while my boat was in progress, I often", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0128.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "123\\nloitered, unknown, near the idle groups of strangers\\ngathering in little circles, and heard various inquiries as\\nto the object of this new vehicle. The language was\\nuniformly that of scorn, sneer, or ridicule. The loud\\nlaugh rose at my expense; the dry jest, the wise calcula-\\ntions of losses and expenditure; the dull but endless\\nrepetition of the Fulton folly! Never did a single\\nencouraging remark, a bright hope, or a warm wish\\ncross my path.\\nz\\\\t length the day arrived when the experiment\\nwas to be made. To me it was a most trying and inter-\\nesting occasion. 1 wanted my friends to go on board\\nand witness the first successful trip. Many of them did\\nme the favor to attend, as a matter of personal respect;\\nbut it was manifest they did it with reluctance, fearing\\nto be partakers of my mortification and not of my\\ntriumph.\\nI was well aware that, in my case, there were many\\nreasons to doubt of my own success. The machinery\\nwas new and ill-made; many parts of it were constructed\\nby mechanics unaccjuainted with such work; and unex-\\npected difficulties might reasonably be presumed to\\npresent themselves from other causes.\\nThe moment arrived in which the word was to be\\ngiven for the vessel to move. My friends were in\\ngroups on the deck. There was anxiety mixed with\\nfear among them. They were silent, sad, and weary.\\nT read in their looks nothing but disaster, and almost\\nrepented of my efiforts. The signal was given, and the\\nboat moved on a short distance, and then stopped and\\nbecame immovable.\\nTo the silence of the preceding moment now suc-\\nceeded murmurs of discontent and agitation, and", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0129.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "124\\nwhispers and shrugs. 1 could hear distinctly repeated,\\nI told you so it is a foolish scheme. I wish we\\nwere well out of it. I elevated myself on a platform,\\nand addressed the assembly. I stated that I knew not\\nwhat was the matter; but if they would be quiet and\\nindulge me for half an hour, I would either go on or\\nabandon the voyage for that time.\\nThis short respite was conceded without objection.\\nI went below and examined the machinery, and dis-\\ncovered that the cause was a slight malformation of a\\npart of the work. In a short period it was obviated;\\nthe boat was put again in motion; she continued to\\nmove on. All were still incredulous; none seemed\\nwilling to trust the evidence of their own senses.\\nWe left the fair city of New York; we passed\\nthrough the romantic and ever-varying scenery of the\\nHighlands; we descried the clustering houses of Albany;\\nwe reached its shores; yet even then imagination super-\\nseded the force of fact. It was doulited if it could be\\ndone again, or if, in any case, it could be made of any\\ngreat value.\\nA PLEASANT REMARK FROM FRANKLIN.\\n(at the close of the. federal convention.)\\nFiske.\\nJohn Fiske (1842- philosopher and historian, was born\\nin Hartford, Conn.\\nAll private virtue is the public fund\\nAs that abounds the state decays or thrives\\nEach should contribute to the general stock.\\nAnd who lends most is most his country s friend.\\nfi^ so/i s Braganza.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0130.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "^25\\nThus after four months of anxious toil, through the\\nwhole of a scorching Philadelphia summer, after earn-\\nest but sometimes bitter discussion, in which, more than\\nonce, the meeting had seemed on the point of breaking\\nup, a colossal work had at last been accomplished, the\\nresults of which were most powerfully to affect thf\\nwhole future career of the human race so long as i:\\nshall dwell upon the earth. In spite of the high-\\nwrought intensity of feeling which had been now and\\nthen displayed, grave decorum had ruled the proceed-\\nings; and now, though few were really satisfied, the\\napproach to unanimity was remarkable.\\nWhen all was over, it is said that many of the mem-\\nbers seemed awestruck. Washington sat with head\\nbowed in solemn meditation. The scene was ended by\\na characteristic bit of homely pleasantry from Franklin.\\nThirty-three years ago, in the days of George II.,\\nbefore the first mutterings of the Revolution had been\\nheard, and when the French dominion in America was\\nstill untouched, before the banishment of the Acadians\\nor the rout of Braddock, while Washington was still\\nsurveying lands in the wilderness; while Madison was\\nplaying in the nursery, and Hamilton was not yet born,\\nFranklin had endeavored to bring together the thirteen\\ncolonies in a federal union. Of the famous Albany\\nplan of 1754, the first complete outline of a federal con-\\nstitution for America that was ever made, he was the\\nprincipal, if not the sole author. When he signed the\\nDeclaration of Independence in this very room, his\\nyears had rounded the full period of three score and ten.\\nEleven years more had passed, and he had been spared\\nto see the noble aim of his life accomplished. There", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0131.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "126\\nwas still, no doubt, a chance of failure, but hope now\\nreigned in the old man s breast.\\nOn the back of the President s quaint black armchair\\nthere was emblazoned a half-sun, brilliant with its gilded\\nrays. As the meeting was breaking up and Washington\\narose, Franklin pointed to the chair and made it the text\\nfor prophecy.\\nAs I have been sitting here all these weeks, said\\nhe, I have often wondered whether yonder sun is ris-\\ning or setting. But now I know it is a rising sun.\\nPATRIOTISM.\\nSz r Walter Scott.\\nBreathes there a man with soul so dead.\\nWho never to himself hath said.\\nThis is my own, my native land\\nPREAMBLE TO THE CONSTITUTION.\\nGreat were the hearts and strong the minds\\nOf those who framed in high debate,\\nThe immortal league of love that binds\\nOur fair broad Empire, State with State. Bryant.\\nWe, the People of the United States, in order to form\\na more perfect union, establish justice, insure domestic\\ntranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote\\nthe general welfare, and seciu e the blessings of liberty\\nto ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish\\nthis Constitution for the United States of America.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0132.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "127\\nGENERAL JACKSON AT NEW ORLEANS.\\nCharles Gayat-re\\nProud was his tone, but calm; his eye\\nHad that compelling dignity,\\nHis mien that bearing haught and high\\nWhich common spirits fear.\\nThe Union, it must and shall be preserved.\\nAiidrt iv Jackson.\\nHis very physiognomy prognosticated what sotil was\\nencased within the spare but well-ribbed form, which had\\nthat lean and hungry look described l^y England s\\ngreatest bard as bespeaking little sleep of nights, but\\nmuch of ambition, self-reliance, and impatience of con-\\ntrol. His lip and eye denoted the man of unyielding-\\ntemper, and his very hair, slightly silvered, stood erect\\nlike quills round his wrinkled brow, as if they scorned\\nto bend.\\nSuch was the man who, with a handful of raw militia,\\nwas to stand in the way of the veteran troops of Eng-\\nland, whose boast it was to have triumphed over one of\\nthe greatest captains of known history.\\nThis man, when he took the command at New\\nOrleans, had made up his mind to beat the English:\\nand, as that mind was so constituted that it was not\\nsusceptible of entertaining much doubt as to the results\\nof any of its resolves, he went to work with an innate\\nconfidence which transfused itself into the population he\\nhad been sent to protect.\\nThe battle of New Orleans was fought Januar\\\\ 8, 1815, two\\nweeks after the treaty of peace had been signed at Ghent.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0133.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "12S\\nTHE BATTLE OF LAKE ERIE.\\nHildrcih.\\nRichard Hildreth (1807-1865), an eminent historian, was born\\nat Deerfield, Mass.\\nMilHons for defense, but not one cent for tribute. Pickney.\\nThe battle of Lake Erie was fought September 10, 1813. The\\nwhole British fleet was surrendered.\\nCovered by a regiment of Pennsylvania militia\\nordered out for that purpose, and having overcome, by\\nenergy and indefatigable perseverance a thousand\\nobstacles incident to naval equipment on that, as it then\\nwas, remote and thinly-settled frontier, Perry had at\\nlength completed at Erie two war brigs, the Lawrence\\nand the Niagara, each armed with eighteen thirty-two\\npound carronades and two long twelves. The bar, a\\nprotection to the ships while btiilding, was now a serious\\nobstacle to their getting out; but, during a temporary\\nabsence of the British sqtiadron, whose chief employ-\\nment it had been for some time past to watch the harbor,\\nadvantage was taken to lighten them over.\\nHaving received the reenforcement of sailors sent\\nby Chatmcey, and taken on board, to complete his\\nequipment, one hundred and fifty men from Harrison s\\narmy, Perry sailed for Maiden, to offer battle to the\\nenemy. His squadron consisted of the two new brigs,\\nthe captured Caledonia with three heavy guns, the Ariel\\nwith fotir long twelves, the Scorpion and Somers, each\\nof two guns, and three other small lake vessels of one\\ngun each; a total of fifty-five guns and nine vessels.\\nThe enemy s squadron, commanded by Captain", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0134.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "129\\nBarclay, an experienced seaman, consisted of the\\nDetroit, a new ship just finished, of nineteen long guns,\\nthe ship Queen Charlotte, of seventeen, the schooner\\nLady Prevost, of thirteen, and the brig Hunter, of ten\\nguns, besides two smaller vessels. Their whole number\\nof guns was sixty-three, inferior in weight of metal to\\nthose of the American squadron, though better suited\\nto an action at long shot. Perry had also some advan-\\ntage in able seamen, Barclay s vessels being chiefly\\nmanned by Canadian watermen and soldiers. The\\nentire crew on either side amounted to about five hun-\\ndred men.\\nIn hopes of additional sailors, Barclay for some\\ntime avoided an action; but, disappointed in this, and\\ngetting short of provisions, he presently left Maiden to\\nseek an engagement. Perry lay at Put-in-Bay, among\\nthe group of islands ofi^ Sandusky, a favorable station\\nfor intercepting the British fleet.\\nEarly in the morning the squadrons approached\\neach other in order of battle but the wind was so light\\nthat it was noon before they came within reach. Bar-\\nclay thus had the advantage of commencing the action\\nat long shot, and also that of concentrating almost all\\nhis whole fire upon the Lawrence, Perry s flagship,\\nwhich led the American line, supported by the Ariel and\\nScorpion, and presently by the Caledonia.\\nThis fire, kept up for two hours and a half, occa-\\nsioned a great slaughter, dismounted the guns of the\\nLawrence, disabled her sails, and made her almost a\\ncomplete wreck. As the wind freshened, the other\\nvessels passed her, and Perry, entering his l:)oat, went\\non board the Niagara. Lieutenant Elliot, which had\\nhitherto taken little part in the action, but now became\\nPER. OUR COUNTRY 9", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0135.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "I30\\nthe leading ship. Elhot assumed the command of the\\nSomers, and exerted himself to bring up the smaller\\nvessels.\\nThe British, in attempting to wear so as to\\nencounter this fresh enemy with fresh broadsides, dis-\\nordered their line, through which the Niagara passed\\nfiring both broadsides at once, followed and sup-\\nported by the smaller vessels; and such was the effect of\\nher heavy carronades that the British ships all soon\\nstruck. The combat had lasted about three hours, with\\na loss on either side of one hundred and fifty in killed\\nand wounded, Barclay himself among the latter.\\nPERRY S VICTORY.\\nWe have met the enemy and they are ours. Perry.\\nTake heed\\nHow you awake our sleeping sword of war;\\nWe charge you in the name of God take heed.\\nWe sailed to and fro in Erie s broad lake,\\nTo find British bullies or get into their wake,\\nWhen we hoisted our canvas with true Yankee speed,\\nAnd the brave Captain Perry our squadron did lead.\\nWe sailed thro the lake, boys, in search of the foe,\\nIn the cause of Columbia our brav ry to show,\\nTo be equal in combat was all our delight.\\nAs we wished the proud Britons to know we could fight.\\nAt length to our liking six sails hove in view,\\nHuzzah! says brave Perry, huzzah! says his crew,\\nAnd then for the chase, boys, with our brave little crew,\\nWe fell in with the l)ullies antl gave them burgoo.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0136.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "131\\nThough the force was unequal, determined to fight,\\nWe brought them to action before it was night:\\nWe let loose our thunder, our bullets did fly,\\nNow give them your shot, boys, our commander did\\ncry.\\nWe gave them a broadside, our cannon to try,\\nWell done, says brave Perry, for quarter they h cry,\\nShot well home, my brave boys, they shortly shall see,\\nThat quite brave as they are, still braver are we.\\nThen we drew up our squadron, each man full of fight.\\nAnd put the proud Britons in a terrible plight.\\nThe brave Perry s movements will prove fully as bold.\\nAs the famed Admiral Nelson s prowess of old.\\nThe conflict was sharp, boys, each man to his gun,\\nFor our country, her glory, the victr y was won,\\nSo six sail (the whole fleet) was our fortune to take,\\nHere s a health to brave Perry who governs the Lake.\\nBUENA VISTA.\\nGeneral Pike.\\nA song for our banner? The watchword recall\\nWhich gave the Republic her station;\\nUnited we stand, divided we fall\\nIt made and preserved us a nation\\nFrom the Rio Grande s waters to the icy lakes of Maine,\\nLet all exult! for we have met the enemy again;\\nBeneath their stern old mountains we have met them in\\ntheir pride.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0137.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "132\\nAnd rolled from Buena Vista back the battle s bloody\\ntide;\\nWhere the enemy came surging swift, like the Missis-\\nsippi s flood.\\nAnd the reaper, Death, with strong arms swung his\\nsickle red with blood.\\nSant Anna boasted loudly that, before two hours were\\npast.\\nHis Lancers through Saltillo should pursue us fierce\\nand fast,\\nOn comes his solid infantry, line marching after line;\\nLo! their great standards in the sun like sheet\u00c2\u00a7 of silver\\nshine:\\nWith thousands upon thousands, yea, with more\\nthan three to one,\\nTheir forests of bright bayonets fierce-flashing in the\\nsun.\\nBut there on Buena Vista s heights a long day s work\\nwas done.\\nAnd there our brave old General another battle won.\\nStill, still our glorious banner waves, unstained by flight\\nor shame,\\nAnd the ATexicans among the hills still tremble at our\\nname.\\nSo honor unto those who stood! Disgrace to those\\nthat fled!\\nAnd everlasting glory unto Buena Vista s dead.\\nGeneral Taylor defeated the Mexicans in the battle of Buena\\nVista, February 23, 1847.\\nRead Ang-els of Buena Vista\u00e2\u0080\u0094 WJn ltier.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0138.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "133\\nMONTEREY.\\nSEPTEMBER 24. 1 846.\\nHojfiiian.\\nThere can be no nearer affinity than our country. Plato.\\nWe were not many, we who stood\\nBefore the iron sleet that day;\\nYet many a gallant spirit would\\nGive half his years if but he could\\nHave been with us at Monterey.\\nNow here, now there, the shot it hailed\\nIn deadly drifts of fiery spray,\\nYet not a single soldier quailed\\nWhen wounded comrades round him wailed\\nTheir dying shout at Monterey.\\nAnd on, still on, our column kept.\\nThrough walls of flame its withering way;\\nWhere fell the dead, the living stept,\\nStill charging on the guns which swept\\nThe slippery streets of Monterey.\\nThe foe himself recoiled aghast.\\nWhen, striking where he strongest lay,\\nHe swooped his flanking batteries past.\\nAnd braving full their murderous blast.\\nStormed home the towers of Monterey.\\nOur banners on those turrets wave.\\nAnd there our evening bugles play;", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0139.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "^34\\nWhere orange boughs above their grave,\\nKeep green the memory of the brave\\nWho fought and fell at Monterey.\\nWe are not many, we who pressed\\nBeside the brave who fell that day;\\nBut who of us has not confessed\\nHe d rather share their warrior rest\\nThan not have been at Monterey?\\nOLD IRONSIDES.\\nHolmes.\\nOld Ironsides was the popular name by which the frigate\\nConstitution was known. The poem was first printed in the\\nBoston Daily Advertiser, at the time when it was proposed to\\nbreak up the old ship as unfit for service.\\nAy, tear her tattered ensign down!\\nLong has it waved on high,\\nAnd many an eye has danced to see\\nThat banner in the sky;\\nBeneath it rung the battle s shout,\\nAnd burst the cannon s roar;\\nThe meteor of the ocean s air\\nShall sweep the land no more.\\nHer deck once red with heroes blood,\\nWhere knelt the vanquished foe,\\nWhen winds were hurrying o er the flood,\\nAnd waves were white below\\nNo more shall feel the victor s tread.\\nOr know the conquered knee;", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0140.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "135\\nThe harpies of the shore shall pluck\\nThe eagle of the sea!\\nO, better that her shattered hulk\\nShould sink beneath the wave;\\nHer thunders shook the mighty deep,\\nAnd there should be her grave:\\nNail to the mast her holy flag,\\nSet every threadbare sail;\\nAnd give her to the god of storms.\\nThe lightning and the gale!\\nSCOTT AND THE VETERAN.\\nMAY, 1861.\\nTaylor.\\nBayard Taylor (1825-1 878), a well-known traveler and writer,\\nwas born at Kennett Square, Pa.\\nIt is sweet and glorious to die for one s country. Horace.\\nAn old and crippled veteran to the War Department\\ncame\\nHe sought the Chief who led him on many a field of\\nfame\\nThe Chief who shouted Forward where er his banner\\nrose,\\nAnd bore its stars in triumph behind the flying foes.\\nHave you forgotten. General, the battered soldier\\ncried,\\nThe days of Eighteen Hundred Twelve, when I was at\\nyour side?", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0141.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "136\\nHave yon forgotten Jolmson, that fonght at Lnndy s\\nLane?\\nTis trne I m old and pensioned, but I want to fight\\nagain.\\nHave I forgotten? said the Chief; my brave old\\nsoldier, no!\\nAnd here s the hand I gave you then, and let it tell\\nyou so:\\nBut you have done your share, my friend; you re\\ncrippled, old, and gray.\\nAnd we have need of younger arms and fresher blood\\nto-day.\\nBut General, cried the veteran, a flush upon his brow,\\nThe very men who fought with us, they say, are\\ntraitors now;\\nThey ve torn the flag of Lundy s Lane our old red,\\nwhite, and blue;\\nAnd while a drop of blood is left, Lll show that drop is\\ntrue.\\nI m not so weak but T can strike, and I ve a good old\\ngun\\nTo get the range of traitors hearts, and pick them, one\\nby one.\\nYour Minie rifles, and such arms, it a n t worth while\\nto try;\\nI couldn t get the hang o them, but I ll keep my powder\\ndry!\\nGod bless you, comrade! said the Chief; God bless\\nvour loval heart!", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0142.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "^2 7\\nBut yoiingei men arc in the field, and claim to have\\ntheir part;\\nThey ll plant our sacred banner in each rebellious town,\\nAnd woe, henceforth, to any hand that dares to pull it\\nclown!\\nBut General still persisting, the weeping veteran\\ncried,\\nI m young enough to follow, so long as you re my\\nguide;\\nAnd some, you know, must bite the dust, and that, at\\nleast can I,\\nSo give the voung ones place to fight, but me a place to\\ndie!\\nIf they should fire on Pickens, let the colonel in com-\\nmand\\nPut me upon the rampart, with the flagstaff in my\\nhand\\nNo odds how hot the cannon-smoke, or how the shells\\nmay fly;\\nI ll hold the stars and stripes aloft, and hold them till\\nI die!\\nI m ready, General, so you let a post to me be given,\\nWhere Washington can see me, as he looks from highest\\nheaven.\\nAnd say to Putnam at his side, or, may be. General\\nWayne:\\nThere stands old Billy Johnson, that fought at Lundy s\\nLane!\\nAnd when the fight is hottest, before the traitors fly.\\nWhen shell and ball are screeching and bursting in the\\nsky,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0143.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "138\\nIf any shot should hit me, and lay mc on my face,\\nMy soul would go to Washington s and not to Arnold s\\nplace!\\nTHE PICKET GUARD.\\nEthel Lynn Dccrs.\\nDo but think how well the same he spends\\nWho spends his blood his country to reheve.\\nDaniel.\\nNow the hour of rest\\nHath come to thee. Longfellow.\\nAll quiet along the Potomac, they say,\\nExcept now and then a stray picket\\nIs shot as he walks on his beat to and h o,\\nBy a rifleman hid in the thicket.\\nTis nothing a private or two now and then\\nWill not count in the news of the battle;\\nNot an ofificer lost only one of the men\\nMoaning out, all alone, the death rattle.\\nAll quiet along the Potomac to-day,\\nWhere the soldiers lie peacefully dreaming;\\nTheir tents, in the rays of the clear autumn moon\\nOr the light of the watch fire, are gleaming.\\nA tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind\\nThrough the forest-leaves softly is creeping;\\nWhile the stars up above, with their glittering eyes,\\nKeep guard, for the army is sleeping.\\nThere s only the sound of the lone sentry s tread\\nAs he tramps from the rock to the fountain.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0144.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "139\\nAnd thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed,\\nFar away in the cot on the mountain.\\nHis musket falls slack his face, dark and grim,\\nGrows gentle with memories tender,\\nAs he mutters a prayer for the children asleep\\nFor their mother may Heaven defend her!\\nTlie moon seems to shine just as brightly as on\\nThat night when the love yet unspoken\\nLeaped up to his lips when low-murmured vows\\nWere pledged to be ever unbroken.\\nThen drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,\\nHe dashes ofif tears that are welling,\\nAnd gathers his gun closer up to its place,\\nAs if to keep dov^^n the heart-swelling.\\nHe passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree.\\nThe footstep is lagging and weary;\\nYet onward he .^oes through the broad belt of light,\\nToward the shade of the forest so dreary.\\nHark! was it the night wind that rustled the leaves?\\nWas it moonlight so wonderously flashing?\\nIt looked like a rifle Ha! Mary, good-by!\\nAnd the lifeblood is ebbing and plashing.\\nAll quiet along the Potomac to-night.\\nNo sound save the rush of the river;\\nWhile soft falls the dew on the face of the dead\\nThe picket s off duty forever!\\nRead Killed at the Ford, and A Nameless Grave. Loiigfelloiv.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0145.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "140\\nTHE CAVALRY CHARGE.\\nTaylor.\\nBenjamin Franklin Taylor (1822-1887) was born at Lowville,\\nN. Y. His best known poems are The Isle of the Long Ago\\nand The Old Village Choir.\\nSinging of men that in battle array,\\nReady in heart and ready in hand,\\nMarch with banner, and bugle, and fife,\\nTo the death, for their native land. Te?inyson.\\nHark! the rattling roll of the musketeers,\\nAnd the ruffled drums and the rallying cheers,\\nAnd the rifles burn with a keen desire\\nLike the crackling whips of a hemlock fire,\\nAnd the singing shot and the shrieking shell.\\nAnd the splintered fire of the shattered hell,\\nAnd the great white breaths of the cannon smoke\\nAs the growling guns by batteries spoke;\\nAnd the ragged gaps in the walls of blue\\nWhere the iron surge rolled heavily through.\\nThat the colonel builds with a breath again,,\\nAs he cleaves the din with his Close up, men!\\nAnd the groan torn out from the blackened lips,\\nAnd the prayer doled slow with the crimson drips,\\nAnd the beaming look in the dying eye\\nAs under clouds the stars go by,\\nBut his soul marched on, the captain said.\\nFor the Boy in Blue can never be dead!\\nAnd the troopers sit in their saddles all\\nLike statues carved in an ancient hall.\\nAnd they watch the whirl from their breathless ranks,\\nAnd their spurs are close to the horses flanks,\\nAnd the fingers work of the saber hand", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0146.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "o", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0147.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "142\\nO, to bid them live, and to make them grand!\\nAnd the bugle sounds to the charge at last,\\nAnd away they plunge, and the front is passed!\\nAnd the jackets blue grow red as they ride,\\nAnd the scabbards too that clank by their side,\\nAnd the dead soldiers deaden the strokes iron-shod\\nAs they gallop right on o er the plashy red sod\\nRight into the cloud all spectral and dim,\\nRight up to the guns black-throated and grim,\\nRight down on the hedges bordered with steel,\\nRight through the dense columns, then right about\\nwheel!\\nHurrah! A new swath through the harvest again!\\nHurrah for the flag! To the battle, Amen!\\nREADY.\\nPhoebe Cary,\\nMake way for liberty he cried,\\nMade way for liberty and died Montgomery.\\nLoaded with gallant soldiers,\\nA boat shot in to the land.\\nAnd lay at the right of Rodman s Point,\\nWith her keel upon the sand.\\nLightly, gayly, they came to shore,\\nAnd never a man afraid;\\nWhen sudden the enemy opened fire\\nFrom his deadly ambuscade.\\nEach man fell flat on the bottom\\nOf the boat; and the captain said:\\nIf we lie here, we all are captured.\\nAnd the first who moves is dead!", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0148.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "143\\nThen out spoke a negro sailor,\\nNo slavish soul had he:\\nSomebody s got to die, boys,\\nAnd it might as well be me!\\nFirmly he rose, and fearlessly\\nStepped out into the tide;\\nHe pushed the vessel safely off.\\nThen fell across her side:\\nFell, pierced by a dozen bullets.\\nAs the boat swung clear and free;\\nBut there wasn t a man of them that day\\nWho was fitter to die than he!\\nTHE CRUISE OF THE MONITOR.\\n1862.\\nGeorge M. Baker.\\nOnward, tis our country needs us.\\nHonor s self now proudly leads us!\\nFreedom God, and Right!\\nOut of a Northern city s bay,\\nNeath lowering clouds, one bleak March day.\\nGlided a craft, the like I ween,\\nOn ocean s crest was never seen\\nSince Noah s float,\\nThat ancient boat.\\nCould o er a conquered deluge gloat.\\nNo raking masts, with clouds of sail.\\nBent to the breeze or braved the gale;", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0149.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "144\\nNo towering chimney s wreaths of smoke\\nBetrayed the mighty engine s stroke;\\nBut low and dark,\\nLike the crafty shark,\\nMoved in the waters this novel bark.\\nThe fishers stared as the flitting sprite\\nPassed their huts in the misty light.\\nBearing a turret huge and black\\nAnd said, The old sea serpent s back.\\nCarting away,\\nBy light of day,\\nUncle Sam s fort from New York bay.\\nForth from a Southern city s dock,\\nOur frigates strong blockade to mock,\\nCrept a monster of rugged build,\\nThe work of crafty hands, well skilled\\nOld Merrimac,\\nWith an iron back\\nWooden ships would find hard to crack.\\nStraight to where the Cumberland lay\\nThe, mail-clad monster made its way;\\nIts deadly prow struck deep and sure,\\nAnd the hero s fighting days were o er.\\nAh! many the braves\\nWho found their graves\\nWith that good ship beneath the waves.\\n[But with their fate is glory wrought.\\nThose hearts of oak like heroes fought", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0150.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "145\\nWith desperate hope to win the clay,\\nAnd crush the foe that -fore them lay.\\nOur flag uprun,\\nThe last-fired gun\\nTokens how bravely duty was done.]\\nFlushed with success, the victor flew,\\nFurious, the startled squadron through;\\nSinking, burning, driving ashore,\\nUntil the Sabbath day was o er,\\nResting at night.\\nTo renew the fight\\nWith vengehd ire by morning s light.\\nOut of its den it burst anew,\\nWhen the gray mist the sun broke through,\\nSteaming to where, in clinging sands,\\nThe frigate Minnesota stands,\\nA sturdy foe\\nTo overthrow,\\nBut in woeful plight to receive a blow.\\nBut see! beneath her bow^ appears\\nA champion no danger fears;\\nA pigmy craft, that seems to be.\\nTo this new lord that rules the sea.\\nLike David of old\\nTo GoHath bold\\nYouth and giant, by scripture told.\\nRound the roaring despot playing,\\nWith willing spirit helm obeying,\\nPER. OUR COUNTRY lO", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0151.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "146\\nSpurning the iron against it hurled,\\nWhile belching turret rapid whirled,\\nAnd swift shots seethe,\\nWith smoky wreath,\\nTold that the shark was showing his teeth,\\nThe Monitor fought. In grim amaze\\nThe Merrimacs upon it gaze,\\nCowering neath the iron hail,\\nCrashing into their coat of mail.\\nThey swore this craft,\\nThe devil s shaft,\\nLooked like a cheese-box on a raft,\\nHurrah! little giant of 62!\\nBold Worden with his gallant crew\\nForces the fight; the day is won;\\nBack to his den the monster s gone.\\nWith crippled claws\\nAnd broken jaws,\\nDefeated in a reckless cause.\\nHurrah for the master mind that wrought.\\nWith iron hand, this iron thought!\\nStrength and safety with speed combined,\\nEricsson s gift to all mankind;\\nTo curb abuse,\\nAnd chains to loose,\\nHurrah for the Monitor s famous cruise!\\nThe battle between the Monitor and the Merriinac was fought\\nin Hampton Roads, Virginia, March 9, 1862.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0152.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "147\\nKEARNEY AT SEVEN PINES.\\nMAY 31, 1862.\\nStcdinan.\\nEdmund Clarence Stedman (1833- an author of note, was\\nborn at Hartford, Conn.\\nThis is my own, my native land Scott.\\nGeneral Philip Kearney lost his life at the battle of Chantilly,\\nVa., September i, 1862, by becoming separated from his men and\\nriding by mistake into the Confederate line.\\nSo that soldierly legend is still on its journey\\nThat story of Kearney who knew not to yield!\\nTwas the day when with Jameson, fierce Berry and\\nBirney,\\nAgainst twenty thousand he rallied the field.\\nWhere the red volleys poured, where the clamor rose\\nhighest,\\nWhere the dead lay in clumps through the dwarf oak\\nand pine,\\nWhere the aim from the thicket was surest and nighest.\\nNo charge like Phil Kearney s along the whole line.\\nWhen the battle went ill, and the bravest were solemn,\\nNear the dark Seven Pines, where we still held our\\nground,\\nHe rode down the length of the withering column,\\nAnd his heart at our war cry leaped up with a l)ound.\\nHe snuffed, like his charger, the wind of the powder,\\nHis sword waved us on, and we answered the sign;\\nLoud our cheer as we rushed, but his laugh rang the\\nlouder:\\nThere s the devil s own fun, boys, along the whole\\nline!", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0153.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "148\\nHow he strode his Ijrown steed! How we saw his\\nblade Ijrighten\\nIn the one hand still left and the reins in his teeth!\\nHe laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten,\\nBut a soldier s glance shot from his visor beneath.\\nUp came the reserves to the mellay infernal,\\nAsking where to go in through the clearing or\\npine?\\nO, anywhere! Forward! Tis all the same. Colonel:\\nYou ll find lovely fighting along the whole line!\\nO, evil the l)lack shroud of night at Chantilly,\\nThat hid him from sight of his brave men and tried!\\nFoul, foul sped the bullet that clipped the white lily,\\nThe flower of our knighthood, the whole army s\\npride!\\nYet we dream that he still in that shadowy region\\nWhere the dead form their ranks at the wan drum-\\nmer s sign\\nRides on, as of old, down the length of his legion.\\nAnd the word still is Forward! along the whole line.\\nFREDERICKSBURG.\\nDECEMBER I 3, I 862.\\nAldrich.\\nThomas Bailey Aldrich (1836- an eminent author, was\\nborn in Portsmouth, N. H.\\nOn, on to the combat the heroes that bleed\\nFor virtue and mankind are heroes indeed\\nThe increasing moonlight drifts across my bed,\\nAnd on the churchyard by the road, I know\\nIt falls as white and noiselessly as snow.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0154.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "149\\nTwas such a night two weary summers lied.\\nThe stars, as now, were waning overhead.\\nListen! Again the shrill-Hpped bugles blow\\nWhere the swift currents of the river flow\\nPast Fredericks1nu-g: far otT the heavens are red\\nWith sudden conflagration: on yon height,\\nLinstock in hand, the gunners hold their l^reath:\\nA signal-rocket pierces the dense night,\\nFlings its spent stars upon the town beneath:\\nHark! the artillery massing on the right.\\nHark! tlie black squadrons wheeling down to Death.\\nKEENAN S CHARGE.\\nLatJirop.\\nGeorge Parsons Lathrop (1851-1892), journalist, was born at\\nHonolulu, Hawaii.\\nMarch on March on all hearts resolved\\nOn victory or death. Tlie Maj seillaise Hymn.\\nAt the battle of Chancellorsville, Va., May 2, 1863, it became\\nnecessary to bring a Federal battery into position to resist a\\nsudden onset by Stonewall Jackson. To gain a few minutes\\ntime, Major Peter Keenan, of the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry,\\nwas ordered to charge the enemy and, with three or four\\nhundred men, he rode against ten thousand, in a charge as gallant\\nas that of the Light Brigade.\\nBy the shrouded gleam of the western skies,\\nBrave Keenan looked in Pleasanton s eyes\\nFor an instant clear, and cool, and still;\\nThen, with a smile, he said: I will.\\nCavalry, charge! Not a man of theili shrank,\\nTheir sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0155.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "150\\nRose joyously, with a willing breath\\nRose like a greeting hail to death.\\nThen forward they sprang, and spurred and clashed;\\nShouted the officers, crimson-sashed;\\nRode well the men, each brave as his fellow,\\nIn their faded coats of blue and yellow;\\nAnd above in the air, with an instinct true,\\nLike a bird of war their pennon flew.\\nWith clank of scabbards and thunder of steeds.\\nAnd blades that shine like sunlit reeds.\\nAnd strong brown faces bravely pale\\nFor fear their proud attempt shall fail,\\nThree hundred Pennsylvanians close\\nOn twice ten thousand gallant foes.\\nLine after line the troopers came\\nTo the edge of the wood that was ringed with flame;\\nRode in and sabered and shot and fell:\\nNor came one back his wounds to tell.\\nAnd full in the midst rose Keenan, tall\\nIn the gloom, like a martyr awaiting his fall,\\nWhile the circle-stroke of the saber, swung\\nRound his head, like a halo there, luminous hung.\\nLine after line; ay, whole platoons.\\nStruck dead in their saddles, of brave dragoons\\nBy the maddened horses were onward borne\\nAnd into the vortex flung, trampled and torn;\\nAs Keenan fought with his men, side by side.\\nSo they rode, till there were no more to ride.\\nBut over them, lying there, shattered and mute.\\nWhat deep echo rolls? Tis a death salute", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0156.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "151\\nFrom the cannon in place; for, heroes, you braved\\nYour fate not in vain; the army was saved!\\nOver them now year following year\\nOver the graves, the pine cones fall,\\nAnd the whip-poor-will chants his specter-call;\\nBut they stir not again; they raise no cheer;\\nThey have ceased. But their glory shall never cease,\\nNor their light be quenched in the light of peace.\\nThe rush of their charge is sounding still.\\nThat saved the army at Chancellorsville.\\nTHE BLACK REGIMENT.\\nPORT HUDSON, LA., JUNE. 1863.\\nGeo. H. Boker.\\nLoose the folds asunder\\nFlag we conquer under. Welch Song.\\nDark as the clouds of even,\\nRanked in the western heaven,\\nWaiting the breath that lifts\\nAll the dread mass, and drifts\\nTempest and falling brand\\nOver a ruined land\\nSo still and orderly,\\nArm to arm, knee to knee.\\nWaiting the great event,\\nStands the Black Regiment.\\nDown the long dusky line\\nTeeth gleam and eyeballs shine;", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0157.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "And the bright ba}onet,\\nBristling and firmly set,\\nFlashed with a purpose grand,\\nLong ere the sharp command\\nOf the fierce rolling drum\\nTold them their time had come,\\nTold them what work was sent\\nFor the Black Regiment.\\nNow, the flag-sergeant cried,\\nThough death and hell betide,\\nLet the whole nation see\\nIf we are fit to be\\nFree in this land; or bound\\nDown, like the whining hound,\\nBound with red stripes of pain\\nIn our old chains again!\\nOh, what a shout there went\\nFrom the Black Regiment!\\nCharge! Trump and drum awoke.\\nOnward the bondmen broke;\\nBayonet and saber stroke\\nVainly opposed their rush.\\nThrough the wild battle s crush.\\nWith 1)ut one thought aflush,\\nDriving their lords like chaff.\\nIn the guns mouths they laugh;\\nOr at the slippery brands\\nLeaping with open hands.\\nDown they tear man and horse,\\nDown in their awful course;\\nTrampling with bloodv heel\\nOver the crashing steel.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0158.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "oo\\niVll their eyes forward bent,\\nRushed the Blaek Regniieiit.\\nFreedom! their battle cry\\nFreedom! or leave to die!\\nAh! and they meant the word,\\nNot as with us tis heard,\\nNot a mere party shout:\\nThey gave their spirits out;\\nTrusted the end to God,\\nAnd on the gory sod\\nRolled in triumphant blood.\\nGlad to strike one free blow,\\nWhether for weal or woe;\\nGlad to breathe one free breath,\\nThough on the lips of death;\\nPraying, alas! in vain!\\nThat they might fall again.\\nSo they could once more see\\nThat burst to liberty!\\nThis was what freedom lent\\nTo the Black Regiment.\\nHundreds on hundreds fell;\\nBut they are resting well;\\nScourges and shackles strong\\nNever shall do thenr wrong.\\nOh, to the li\\\\ing few.\\nSoldiers, be just and true!\\nHail them as comrades tried;\\nFio-ht with them side bv side.\\nNever in Field or tent.\\nScorn the Black Regiment.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0159.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "154\\nJOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG.\\nBret Hartc.\\nBret Harte (1839- was born in Albany, N. Y. He has\\nwritten many poems of Western life.\\nWave, wave, your glorious battle-flags, brave soldiers of the\\nNorth\\nAnd from the fields your arms have won to-day, go proudly\\nforth\\nHave you heard the story that gossips tell\\nOf Burns of Gettysburg? No? Ah, well;\\nBrief is the glory that hero earns,\\nBriefer the story of poor John Burns;\\nHe was the fellow who won renown\\nThe only man who didn t back down\\nWhen the rebels rode through his native town;\\nBut held his own in the fight next day,\\nWhen all his townsfolk ran away.\\nThat was in July, sixty-three,\\nThe very day that General Lee,\\nFlower of Southern chivalry.\\nBaffled and beaten, backward reeled\\nFrom a stubborn Meade and a barren field.\\nI might tell how, but the day before,\\nJohn Burns stood at his cottage door.\\nLooking down the village street,\\nWhere, in the shade of his peaceful vine.\\nHe heard the low of his gathered kine,\\nAnd felt their breath with incense sweet;\\nOr, I might say, when the sunset burned\\nThe old farm gable, he thought it turned\\nThe milk that fell like a babbling flood\\nInto the milk pail, red as blood;", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0160.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "155\\nOr, how he fancied the hum of bees\\nWere bullets buzzing among the trees.\\nBut all such fanciful thoughts as these\\nWere strange to a practical man like Burns,\\nWho minded only his own concerns,\\nTroubled no more by fancies fine\\nThan one of his calm-eyed long-tailed kine,\\nQuite old-fashioned and matter-of-fact,\\nSlow to argue but quick to act.\\nThat was the reason, as some folk say.\\nHe fought so well on that terrible day.\\nAnd it was terrible. On the right\\nRaged for hours the heady fight,\\nThundered the battery s double bass\\nDifificult music for men to face;\\nWhile on the left where now the graves\\nUndulate like living waves\\nThat all the day unceasing swept\\nUp to the pits the rebels kept\\nRound-shot ploughed the upland glades,\\nSown with bullets, reaped with blades;\\nShattered fences here and there.\\nTossed their splinters in the air;\\nThe very trees were stripped and bare;\\nThe barns that once held yellow grain\\nWere heaped with harvests of the slain;\\nThe cattle bellowed on the plain.\\nThe turkeys screamed with might and main,\\nAnd brooding barn fowl left their rest\\nWith strange shells bursting in each nest.\\nJust where the tide of battle turns.\\nErect and lonely, stood old John Burns.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0161.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "t5^\\nHow do you think the man was dressed?\\nHe wore an ancient, long l)uff vest.\\nYellow as saffron Ijut his Ijest\\nAnd buttoned over his manly breast\\nWas a bright blue coat with a rolling collar,\\nAnd large gilt buttons size of a dollar,\\nWith tails that the country folk called swaller.\\nHe wore a broad-brimmed, bell crowned hat.\\nWhite as the locks on which it sat.\\nNever had such a sight been seen\\nFor forty years on the village green,\\nSince old John Burns was a country beau.\\nAnd went to the quiltings long ago.\\nClose at his elbows all that day\\nVeterans of the Peninsula,\\nSunburnt and bearded, charged away;\\nAnd striplings, downy of lip and chin,\\nClerks that the Home Guard mustered in,\\nGlanced, as they passed, at the hat he wore.\\nThen at the rifle his right hand bore;\\nAnd hailed him, from out their youthful lore,\\nWith scraps of slangy repertoire:\\nHow are you, White Hat? Put her through!\\nYour head s level! and Bully for you!\\nCalled him Daddy, begged he d disclose\\nThe name of the tailor who made his clothes,\\nAnd what was the value he set on those;\\nWhile Burns, unmindful of jeer and scoff.\\nStood there picking the rebels off\\nWith his long brown rifle, and bell crowned hat.\\n\\\\nd the swallowtails they were laughing at.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0162.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "157\\nTwas Ijiit a moment, for that respect\\nWhich clothes aU courage their voices checked;\\nAnd something the wildest could understand\\nSpake in the old man s strong right hand,\\nAnd his corded throat, and the lurking frown\\nOf his eyebrows under his old bell crown;\\nUntil, as they gazed, there crept an awe\\nThrough the ranks in whispers, and some men saw,\\nIn the antique vestments and long white hair,\\nThe Past of the Nation in battle there;\\nAnd some of the soldiers since declare\\nThat the gleam of his old white hat afar,\\nLike the crested plume of the brave Navarre,\\nThat dav was their oriflamme of war.\\nThus raged the battle. You know the rest;\\nHow the rebels, 1)eaten, and l)ack\\\\var(l pressed,\\nBroke at the final charge and ran.\\nAt which John Burns a practical man\\nShouldered his rifle, unbent his brows.\\nAnd then went iiack to his bees and cows.\\nThat is the story of old John Burns;\\nThis is the moral the reader learns:\\nIn fighting the battle, the question s wliether\\nYou ll show a hat that s white, or a feather.\\nJohn Burns wns born in Burlinsrton, N. J., Sept. 5, 1793, and\\ndied in Gettysburg-, Pa Sept. 7, 1872. He fought in the war of\\n1812, and in the war with Mexico; he was one of the first to\\nvolunteer for the civil war, but was rejected on account of his\\nadvanced age.\\nRfpcrtoire Vocabularv, or stock of words. N avarre King-\\nHenry of France.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0163.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0164.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "159\\nADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG.\\nNOVEMBER 19, 1863.\\nAbraham Lincoln.\\nFour score and seven years ago our fathers brought\\nforth on this continent a new nation, conceived in\\nliberty, and dedicated to the proposition that ah men\\nare created equal. Now we are engaged in a great\\ncivil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so\\nconceived and so dedicated, can long endure.\\nWe are met on a great battlefield of that war. We\\nhave come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final\\nresting place for those who here gave their hves that\\nthat nation might live. It is altogether fitting and\\nproper that we should do this.\\nBut in a larger sense we cannot dedicate, we cannot\\nconsecrate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave\\nmen, living and dead, who struggled here, have conse-\\ncrated it far above our poor power to add or detract.\\nThe world will little note, nor long remember, what\\nwe say here, but it can never forget what they did here.\\nIt is for us, the living, rather to be dedicated here to\\nthe unfinished work which they who fought here have\\nthus far so nobly advanced.\\nIt is rather for us to be here dedicated to the great\\ntask remaining before us, that from these honored dead\\nwe take increased devotion to that cause for which they\\ngave the last full measure of devotion; that we here\\nhighly resolve that these dead shall not have died in\\nvain; that this nation, under God, shall have a new birth\\nof freedom, and that government of the people, by the\\npeople, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0165.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "i6o\\nTHE BATTLE ABOVE THE CLOUDS.\\nHowells.\\nWilliam Dean Howells (1837- was born at Martin s\\nFerry, Ohio. His works are noted for their delicate and accurate\\nportrayal of character.\\n[The day had been one of dense mists and rains, and much of\\nGeneral Hooker s battle was fought above the clouds, on the top\\nof Lookout Mountain. General Meigs s Report of t lie Battle before\\nChattanooga, Nov. 23-25, 1S63.]\\nWhere the dews and the rains of heaven have their\\nfountain,\\nLike its thunder and its hghtning our brave burst on\\nthe foe,\\nUp above the clottds on Freedom s Lookotit Mountain,\\nRaining hfeblood Hke water on the vaUays down\\nbelow.\\nO, green be the laurels that grow,\\nO, sweet be the wild buds that blow.\\nIn the dells of the mountains where the brave are\\nlying low.\\nLight of our hope and crown of our story,\\nBright as sunlight, pure as starlight shall their deeds\\nof daring glow.\\nWhile the day and the night out of heaven shed their\\nglory.\\nOn Freedom s Lookout Mountain when they routed\\nFreedom s foe.\\nO. soft be the gales where they go\\nThrottgh the pines on the summit where they 1)low,\\nChanting solenm music \\\\v x the souls that passed\\nbelow.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0166.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "I (14", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0167.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "l62\\nTHE SOLDIER S REPRIEVE.\\nMrs. Robbins.\\nWith malice toward none\\nWith charity for all. Lmcoln.\\nI thought, Mr. Allen, when I gave my Bennie to his\\ncountry, that not a father in all this broad land made so\\nprecious a gift no, not one. This dear boy only slept\\na minute, just one little minute, at his post; I know\\nthat was all, for Bennie never dozed over a duty. How\\nprompt and reliable he was! I know he only fell asleep\\none little second he was so young, and not strong,\\nthat boy of mine. Why, he was as tall as I, and only\\neighteen! And now they shoot him because he was\\nfound asleep when doing sentinel duty. Twenty-four\\nhours the telegram said, only twenty-four hours.\\nWhere is Bennie now?\\nWe will hope with his heavenly Father, said Mr.\\nAllen, soothingly.\\nYes, yes; let us hope; God is very merciful!\\nI should be ashamed, father, Bennie said, when\\n1 am a man, to think I never used this great right arm\\nand he held it out so proudly before me for my\\ncountry, when it needed it. Palsy it rather than keep\\nit at the plow.\\nGo, then, go, my boy, T said, and God keep\\nyou! God has kept him, I think, Mr. Allen! and the\\nfarmer repeated these last words slowly, as if, in spite\\nof his reason, his heart doubted them.\\nLike the apple of his eye, Mr. Owen, doubt it not!\\nBlossom sat near them listening, with blanched\\ncheek. She had not shed a tear. Her anxiety had", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0168.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "ss-s-^sTs^^spsirafMrw:^ 1\\nThe Soldier s Reprieve.\\nxC3", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0169.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "164\\n1)een so concealed that no one had noticed it. She had\\noccupied herself mechanically in the household cares.\\nNow she answered a gentle tap at the kitchen door,\\nopening it to receive from a neighbor s hand a letter.\\nIt is from him, was all she said.\\nIt was like a message from the dead! Mr. Owen\\ntook the letter but could not break the envelope, on\\naccount of his trembling fingers, and held it toward Mr.\\nAllen, with the helplessness of a child.\\nThe minister opened it, and read as follows:\\nDear Father: When this reaches you, I shall be\\nin eternity. At first, it seemed awful to me; but I have\\nthought about it so much now, that it has no terror.\\nThey say they will not bind me, nor blind me; l)ut that\\nI may meet my death like a man. I thought, father, it\\nmight have been on the battle field, for my counrty, and\\nthat, when I fell, it would be fighting gloriously; but\\nto l)e shot down like a dog for nearly betraying it,\\nto die for neglect of duty! O, father, I wonder the very\\nthought does not kill me! But I shall not disgrace you.\\nI am going to write you all about it; and when I am\\ngone, you may tell my comrades. I cannot now.\\nYou know I promised Jemmie Carr s mother, I\\nwould look after her boy; and, when he fell sick, I did\\nall I could for him. He was not strong when he was\\nordered back into the ranks, and the day before that\\nnight, T carried all his luggage, besides my own, on our\\nmarch. Toward night we went in on double-quick,\\nand though the luggage began to feel very heavy, every\\nbody else was tired too; and as for Jemmie, if T had not\\nlent him an arm now and then, he would have dropped\\nby the wav. I was all tired out when we carne into\\ncamp, and then it was Jemmie s turn to be sentry, and", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0170.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "i65\\n1 would take his place; but 1 was too tired, father. 1\\ncould not have kept awake if a gun had been pointed at\\nmy head; but I did not know it until well, until it\\nwas too late.\\nGod be thanked! interrupted Mr. Owen, rever-\\nently. I knew Bennie was not the boy to sleep care-\\nlessly at his post.\\nThey tell me to-day that I have a short reprieve,\\ngiven to me by circumstances, time to write to you,\\nour good Colonel says. Forgive him, father, he only\\ndoes his duty; he would gladly save me if he could; and\\ndo not lay my death up against Jemmie. llie poor boy\\nis broken-hearted, and does nothing but beg and entreat\\nthem to let him die in my stead.\\nI can t bear to think of mother and Blossom. Com-\\nfort them, father! Tell them I die as a brave boy\\nshould, and that, when the war is over, they will not be\\nashamed of me, as they must be now. God help me;\\nit is very hard to bear! Good-by, father! God seems\\nnear and dear to me; not at all as if He wished me to\\nperish forever, but as if He felt sorry for his poor, sinful,\\nbroken-hearted child, and would take me to be with\\nHim and my Savior in a better better life.\\nA deep sigh burst from Mr. Owen s heart. Amen,\\nhe said solemnly, Amen.\\nTo-night, in the early twilight, I shall see the cows\\nall coming home from pasture, and precious little Blos-\\nsom stand on the back stoop, waiting for me, but T\\nshall never, never come! God bless you all! Forgive\\nyour poor Bennie.\\nLate that night the door of the back stoop opened\\nsoftly, and a little figure glided out, and down the foot-\\npath that led to the road by the mill. She seemed", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0171.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "1 66\\nrather flying than walking, turning her head neither to\\nthe right nor the left, looking only now and then to\\nHeaven, and folding her hands, as if in prayer. Two\\nhours later, the same young girl stood at the Mill\\nDepot, watching the coming of the night train; and\\nthe conductor, as he reached down to lift her into the\\ncar, wondered at the tear-stained face that was upturned\\ntoward the dim lantern he held in his liand. A few\\nquestions and ready answers told him all; and no father\\ncould have cared more tenderly for his only child, than\\nhe for our little Blossom.\\nShe was on her way to Washington, to ask President\\nLincoln for her brother s life. She had stolen away,\\nleaving only a note to tell her father where and why she\\nhad gone. She had brought Bennie s letter with her:\\nno good, kind heart, like the President s could refuse\\nto be melted by it.\\nThe next morning they reached New York, and the\\nconductor hurried her on to Washington. Every\\nminute, now, might be the means of saving her\\nbrother s life. And, so, in an incredibly short time.\\nBlossom reached the capital, and hastened immediately\\nto the White House.\\nThe President had just seated himself to his morning\\ntask of looking over and signing important papers,\\nwhen, without one word of announcement, the door\\nsoftly opened, and Blossom, with downcast eyes and\\nfolded hands, stood before him.\\nWell, my child, he said, in his pleasant, cheer-\\nful tones, what do you want so bright and early in the\\nmorning?\\nBennie s life, please, sir, faltered Blossom.\\nBennie? Who is Bennie?", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0172.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "167\\nMy brother, sir. They are going to shoot him for\\nsleeping at his post.\\nOh, yes; and Mr. Lincohi ran his eyes over the\\npapers before him. I remember. It was a fatal sleep.\\nYou see, child, it was a time of special danger. Thou-\\nsands of lives might have been lost for his negligence.\\nSo my father said, replied Blossom, gravely.\\nBut poor Bennie was so tired, sir, and Jemmie so\\nweak. He did the work of two, sir, and it was Jem-\\nmie s night, not his; but Jemmie was too tired, and\\nBennie never thought about himself, that he was tired,\\ntoo.\\nWhat is this you say, child? Come here; I do not\\nunderstand; and the kind man caught eagerly, as ever,\\nat what seemed a justification of an ofYense.\\nBlossom went to him; he put his hand tenderly on\\nher shoulder, and turned up the pale, anxious face\\ntoward his. How tall he seemed; and he was the Presi-\\ndent of the United States, too! A dim thought of this\\nkind passed for a moment through Blossom s mind; but\\nshe told her simple and straightforward story, and\\nhanded Bennie s letter to Mr. Lincoln.\\nHe read it carefully; then, taking up his pen, wrote\\na few hasty lines and rang his bell. Blossom heard this\\norder given: Send this dispatch at once. The Presi-\\ndent then turned to the girl and said, Go home, my\\nchild, and tell your father, who could approve his\\ncountry s sentence even when it took the life of a child\\nlike that, that Abraham Lincoln thinks the life far too\\nprecious to be lost. Go back, or wait until to-mor-\\nrow; Bennie will need a change after he has so bravely\\nfaced death; he shall go with you.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0173.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "108\\nGod l:)less you, sir, said Blossom; and who shall\\ndoubt that God heard that prayer?\\nTwo days after this interview, the young soldier came\\nto the White House with his little sister. He was called\\ninto the President s j^rivate room, and a strap was fas-\\ntened upon his shoulder. Mr. Lincoln then said, The\\nsoldier that could carry a sick comrade s baggage and\\ndie for the act so uncomplainingly, deserves well of his\\ncountry. Then Bennie and Blossom took their way\\nto their Green Mountain home. A crowd gathered at\\nthe Mill Depot to welcome them back; and, as Farmer\\nOwen s hand grasped that of his boy, tears flowed down\\nhis cheeks, and he said fervently, Tlic Lord be f raiscd.\\nSHERIDAN S RIDE.\\nOCTOBER 19, 1864.\\nT. B. Read.\\nBut when your country called you forth,\\nYour flaming courage and your matchless worth.\\nTo fierce contention gave a prosperous end. Waller\\nUp from the south, at break of day,\\nBringing to Winchester fresh dismay.\\nThe affrighted air with a shudder bore,\\nLike a herald in haste to the chieftain s door.\\nThe terrible grumble, and rumble and roar,\\nTelling the battle Avas on once more,\\nAnd Sheridan twenty miles away.\\nAnd wider still those billows of war\\nThunder d along the horizon s bar\\nAnd louder vet into Winchester rolled", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0174.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "1 69\\nThe roar of that red sea uncontroll d\\nMaking the Ijlood of the hstener cold,\\nAs he thought of the stake in that fiery fray,\\nWith Sheridan twenty miles away.\\nBut there is a road from Winchester town.\\nA good broad highway leading down.\\nAnd there, through the flush of the morning light,\\nA steed, as black as the steeds of night.\\nWas seen to pass as with eagle flight\\nAs if he knew the terrible need.\\nHe stretched away with the utmost speed;\\nHills rose and fell but his heart was gay,\\nWith Sheridan fifteen miles away.\\nStill sprung from these swift hoofs, thundering South,\\nThe dust, like the smoke from the cannon s mouth,\\nOr the trail of a comet sweeping faster and faster.\\nForeboding to traitors the doom of disaster;\\nThe heart of the steed and the heart of the master\\nWere beating like prisoners assaulting their walls.\\nImpatient to be where the battlefield calls;\\nEvery nerve of tiie charger was strained to full play\\nWith Sheridan only ten miles away.\\nUnder his spurning feet, the road\\nLike an arrowy Alpine river flowed.\\nAnd the landscape sped away behind\\nLike an ocean flying before the wind:\\nAnd the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire.\\nSwept on with his wild eyes full of fire.\\nBut lo! he is nearing his heart s desire\\nHe is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,\\nWith Sheridan onlv five miles awav.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0175.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "170\\nThe first that the General saw were the groups\\nOf stragglers, and then the retreating troops;\\nWhat was done what to do a glance told him both,\\nThen striking his spurs with a muttered oath.\\nHe dashed down the line mid a storm of huzzahs,\\nAnd the wave of retreat checked its course there because\\nThe sight of the master compelled it to pause.\\nWith foam and with dust the black charger was gray;\\nBy the flash of his eye, and his red nostril s play,\\nHe seemed to the whole great army to say,\\nliavc brought you Sheridan all the ivay\\nFrom WincJiester down to save the day!\\nHurrah, hurrah for Sheridan!\\nHurrah, hurrah for horse and man!\\nAnd when their statues are placed on high\\nUnder the dome of the Union sky,\\nThe American soldier s temple of Fame,\\nThere, with the glorious General s name,\\nBe it said in letters both bold and bright:\\nHere is the steed that saved tJie day\\nBy carrying Sheridan into the light\\nFrom IVinchester twenty miles azvay!\\nCHICKAMAUGA.\\nSEPTEMBER 20, 1 863.\\nButterworih.\\nIt was the Sabbath; and in awe\\nWe heard the dark hills shake.\\nAnd o er the mountain turrets saw\\nThe smoke of battle break.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0176.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "I7T\\nThe morning breaks with screaming guns\\nFrom batteries dark and dire,\\nAnd where the Chickamauga runs\\nRed runs the muskets ire.\\n1 see bold Longstreet s darkening host\\nSweep through our hues of flame,\\nAnd hear again, The right is lost!\\nSwart Rosecrans exclaim.\\nBut not the left, young Garfield cries;\\nFrom that you must not sever,\\nWhile Thomas holds the field that lies\\nOn Chickamauga River!\\nOn Mission Ridge the sunlight streams\\nAbove the fields of fall.\\nAnd Chattanooga calmly dreams\\nBeneath her mountain wall;\\nOld Lookout Mountain towers on high,\\nAs in heroic days.\\nWhen neath the battle of the sky\\nWere seen the summit s blaze.\\nMUSIC IN CAMP.\\nfoh7t R. Thompson.\\nTw^o armies covered hill and plain,\\nWhere Rappahannock s waters\\nRan deeply crimsoned with the stain\\nOf battle s recent slaughters.\\nDown flocked the soldiers to the banks;\\nTill, margined by its pebbles,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0177.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "172\\nOne wooded shore was l^lue with Yanks\\nAnd one was gray with Rebels.\\nThen all was still; and then the band,\\nWith movement light and tricksy,\\nMade stream and forest, hill and strand,\\nReverberate with Dixie.\\nThe conscious stream, with burnished glow\\nWent proudly o er its pebbles,\\nBut thrilled throughout its deepest flow\\nWith yelling of the Rebels.\\nAgain a pause; and then again\\nThe trumpet pealed sonorous.\\nAnd Yankee Doodle was the strain\\nTo which the shore gave chorus.\\nThe laughing ripple shoreward flew\\nTo kiss the shining pebbles;\\nLoud shrieked the swarming Boys in Blue\\nDefiance to the Rebels.\\nAnd yet once more the bugle sang\\nAbove the stormy riot;\\nNo shout upon the evening rang\\nThere reigned a holy quiet.\\nNo unresponsive soul had heard\\nThat plaintive note s appealing,\\nSo deeply Home, Sweet Home has stirred\\nThe hidden founts of feelin\u00c2\u00ab-.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0178.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "^73\\nOr Blue or Gray, the soldier sees.\\nAs by the wand of fairy,\\nThe cottage neath the live oak trees,\\nThe cabin by the prairie.\\nThus memory, waked by music s art.\\nExpressed in simple numbers,\\nSubdued the sternest Yankee s heart,\\nMade light the Rebel s slumbers.\\ny\\\\nd fair the form of Music shines\\nThat bright celestial creature\\nWho still mid War s embattled lines\\nGave this one touch of Nature.\\nROLL CALL.\\nA^. G. Shepherd.\\nFrom Ilar/iet s Magazine, by permission.\\nOur business is like men to fight,\\nAnd herolike to die!\\nCorporal Green! the orderly cried;\\nHere! was the answer, loud and clear.\\nFrom the lips of the soldier who stood near,\\nAnd Here! was the word the next replied.\\nCyrus Drew! then a silence fell,\\nThis time no answer followed the call;\\nOnly his rear-man had seen him fall,\\nKilled or wounded, he could not tell,", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0179.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "174\\nThere they stood in the faihng Hght,\\nThese men of battle, with grave, dark looks,\\nAs plain to be read as open books.\\nWhile slowly gathered the shades of night.\\nThe fern on the hillside was splashed with blood.\\nAnd down in the corn where the poppies grew\\nWere redder stains than the poppies knew;\\nAnd crimson-dyed was the river s fiood.\\nFor the foe had crossed from the other side\\nThat day, in the face of a murderous fire\\nThat swept them down in its terrible ire;\\nAnd their lifeblood went to color the tide.\\nHerbert Kline! At the call there came\\nTwo stalwart soldiers into the line,\\nBearing between them this Herbert Kline,\\nWounded and bleeding, to answer his name.\\nEzra Kerr! and a voice answered, Here!\\nHiram Kerr! but no man replied.\\nThey were brothers, these two, the sad winds sighed.\\nAnd a shudder crept through the cornfield near.\\nEphraim Deane! then a soldier spoke:\\nDeane carried our regiment s colors, he said;\\nWhere our ensign was shot, I left him dead,\\nJust after the enemy wavered and broke.\\nClose to the roadside his body lies;\\nI paused a moment and gave him a drink,\\nAnd Death came with it, and closed his eyes,\\nHe murmured his mother s name, I think.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0180.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "175\\nTwas a victory; yes, but it cost us clear,\\nFor that company s roll when called at night,\\nOf a hundred men who went into the fight,\\nNumbered but twenty that answered Here!\\nCAVALRY SONG.\\nStedman.\\nOur good steeds snuff the evening air,\\nOur pulses with their purpose tingle;\\nThe foeman s fires are twinkling there;\\nHe leaps to hear our sabres jingle!\\nHalt!\\nEach carbine sends its whizzing ball:\\nNow, cling! clang! forward all.\\nInto the fight!\\nDash on beneath the smoking dome:\\nThrough level lightnings gallop nearer!\\nOne look to Heaven! No thoughts of home:\\nThe guidons that we bear are dearer.\\nCharge!\\nCling! clang! forward all!\\nHeaven help those whose horses fall!\\nCut left and right!\\nThey flee before our fierce attack!\\nThey fall! they spread in broken surges!\\nNow, comrades, bear our wounded back,\\nAnd leave the foeman to his dirges.\\nWheel!\\nThe bugles sound the swift recall:\\nCling! clang! 1:)ackward all!\\nHome, and good-night!", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0181.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "176\\nSHERMAN S MARCH TO THE SEA.\\nSatmiel H. M. Byers.\\nSavannah, Georgia, Dec. 22, 1864.\\nTo his Excellency^ President Lincoln^ Washington, D. C:\\nI beg to present you, as a Christmas gift, the city of Savannah,\\nwith one hundred and fifty heavy guns and plenty of ammunition\\nalso about twenty-five thousand bales of cotton.\\nW. T. Sherman, MaJ.Geiil.\\nOur camp fires shone bright on the mountain\\nThat frowned on the river below.\\nAs we stood by our guns in the morning.\\nAnd eagerly watched for the foe;\\nWhen a rider came out of the darkness\\nThat hung over mountain and tree,\\nAnd shouted, Boys, up and be ready!\\nFor Sherman will march to the sea!\\nThen cheer tipon cheer for bold Sherman\\nWent up from each valley and glen.\\nAnd the bugles reechoed the music\\nThat came from the lips of the men;\\nFor we knew that the stars in our banner\\nMore bright in their splendor wotdd be.\\nAnd that blessings from Northland would greet us\\nWhen Sherman marched down to the sea.\\nThen forward, boys! forward to battle!\\nWe marched on our wearisome way,\\nWe stormed the wild hills of Resaca\\nGod bless those who fell on that day!\\nThen Kenesaw, dark in its glory,\\nFrowned down on the flag of the free;", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0182.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "177\\nBut the East and the West bore our standard,\\nAnd Sherman marched on to the sea.\\nStiH onward we pressed, till our banners\\nSwept out from Atlanta s grim w^alls,\\nAnd the blood of the patriot dampened\\nThe soil wdiere the traitor-flag falls;\\nWe paused not to weep for the fallen\\nWho slept by each river and tree,\\nYet we twined them a wreath of the laurel,\\nAs Sherman marched down to the sea.\\nO, proud was our army that morning,\\nThat stood where the pine darkly towers,\\nWhen Sherman said, Boys, you are weary,\\nBut to-day fair Savannah is ours!\\nThen sang we the song of our chieftain.\\nThat echoed o er river and lea,\\nAnd the stars in our banner shone brighter\\nWhen Sherman marched down to the sea.\\nTHE BLUE AND THE GRAY.\\nFinch.\\nAnd, leaving in battle no blot on their name,\\nLook proudly to heaven from the deathbed of fame.\\nBy the flow of the inland river,\\nWhence the fleets of iron had fled,\\nWhere the blades of the grave-grass cpiiver,\\nAsleep are the ranks of the dead\\nUnder the sod and the dew;\\nWaiting the judgment day;\\nUnder the one, the Blue;\\nUnder the other, the Gray.\\nTKR. OUK COUNIRV 12", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0183.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "178\\nThese in the robings of glory,\\nThose in the gloom of defeat;\\nAll with the battle blood gory,\\nIn the dusk of eternity meet;\\nUnder the sod and the dew;\\nWaiting the judgment day;\\nUnder the laurel, the Blue;\\nUnder the willow, the Gray.\\nFrom the silence of sorrowful hours\\nThe desolate mourners go.\\nLovingly laden with fiowers,\\nAlike for the friend and the foe;\\nUnder the sod and the dew;\\nWaiting the judgment day;\\nUnder the laurel, the Blue;\\nUnder the willow, the Gray.\\nSo with an equal splendor,\\nThe morning sun-rays fall,\\nWith a touch impartially tender.\\nOn the blossoms blooming for all;\\nUnder the sod and the dew;\\nWaiting for judgment day;\\nBroidered with gold, the Blue;\\nMellowed with gold, the Gray.\\nSo, when the summer calleth\\nOn forest and field of grain,\\nWith an equal murmur falleth\\nThe cooling drops of rain;\\nUnder the sod and the dew;\\nWaiting for judgment day;\\nWet with the rain, the Blue;\\nWet with the rain, the Gray.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0184.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "179\\nSadly, l3ut not with upbraiding,\\nThe generous deed was done;\\nIn the storm of the years, now fading.\\nNo braver battle was won;\\nUnder the sod and the dew;\\nWaiting for judgment day;\\nUnder the blossoms, the Blue;\\nUnder the garlands, the Gray.\\nNo more shall the war cry sever.\\nOr the winding rivers be red;\\nThey banish our anger forever\\nWhen they laurel the graves of our dead.\\nUnder the sod and the dew;\\nWaiting the judgment day;\\nLove and tears for the Blue;\\nTears and love for the Gray.\\nO CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!\\nABRAHAM LINCOLN, 1865.\\nIVa// Whitman.\\nWalt Whitman (1819-1892), an eccentric poet, was born at\\nWest Hill, Long Island, N. Y. This poem represents the national\\ngovernment as a ship, Lincoln as the Captain, and Peace, the\\nport.\\nO Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done;\\nThe shi[) has weather d every rack, the prize we sought\\nis won;\\nThe port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,\\nWhile follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and\\ndaring;", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0185.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "i8o\\nBut heart; heart! heart!\\ntlie bleeding drops of red,\\nWhere on the deek my Captain Hes,\\nFallen cold and dead.\\nO Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;\\nRise up for you the flag is flung for you the bugle\\ntrills;\\nFor you l)Ouquets and ribbon d wreaths for you the\\nshores a-crowding;\\nFor you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces\\nturning;\\nHear Captain! dear father!\\nIdiis arm beneath your head;\\nIt is some dream that on the deck\\nYou ve fallen cold and dead.\\nMy Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still:\\nMy father does not feel ni}- arm, he has no pulse nor\\nwill;\\nThe ship is anchor d safe and sound, its voyage closed\\nand done;\\nFrom fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object\\nwon\\nExult, C^ shores, and ring, O bells!\\nBut T with mournful tread.\\nWalk the deck where my Captain lies.\\nFallen cold and dead.\\nTo die is landing on some silent shore,\\nWhere billows never break nor tempests roar;\\nEre well we feel the friendly stroke tis o er.\\nSir Saimicl Garth.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0186.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "i8i\\nDEATH OF LINCOLN.\\nBryant.\\nOh, slow to smite and swift to spare,\\nGentle and merciful and just!\\nWho, in the fear of God, didst bear\\nThe sword of power, a nation s trust!\\nIn sorrow by the bier we stand,\\nAmid the awe that hushes all.\\nAnd speak the anguish of a land\\nThat shook with horror at thy fall.\\nThy task is done; thy bonds are free;\\nWe bear thee to an honored grave.\\nWhose proudest monument shall be\\nThe broken fetters of the slave.\\nPure was thy life; its l)Ioody close\\nHath placed thee with the sons of light,\\nAmong the noble host of those\\nWho perished in the cause of right.\\nTHE BURNING OF CHICAGO.\\n1871.\\nWill Carle/on.\\nFrom Farm Legends, Copyright, 18S7, by H,irJ er b Brot/iers.\\nTwas night in the beautiful city,\\nThe famous and wonderful city.\\nThe proud and magnificent city.\\nThe Queen of the North and the West.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0187.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "182\\nThe riches of nations were gathered in wondrous and\\nplentiful store;\\nThe swift speeding bearers of Commerce were waiting\\non river and shore;\\nThe great staring walls towered skyward, with visage\\nundaunted and bold,\\nAnd said, We are ready, O Winter! come on with your\\nhunger and cold!\\nSweep down with your storms from the northward!\\ncome out from your ice-guarded lair!\\nOur larders have food for a nation! our wardrobes have\\nclothing to spare!\\nFor off from the corn-bladed prairies, and out from the\\nvalleys and hills.\\nThe farmer has swept us his harvests, the miller has\\nemptied his mills.\\nAnd here, in the lap of our city, the treasures of autumn\\nshall rest.\\nIn golden-crowned, glorious Chicago, the Queen of\\nthe North and the West!\\nThen straight at the great, quiet city.\\nThe strong and over-confident city,\\nThe well-nigh invincible city.\\nDoomed Queen of the North and the West,\\nThe Fire-devil rallied his legions, and speeded them\\nforth on the wind.\\nWith tinder and treasures before him, with ruin and\\ntempests behind.\\nThe tenement crushed neath his footstep, the mansion\\noped wide at his knock.\\nAnd walls that had frowned him defiance, they trembled\\nand fell with a shock.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0188.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "1 83\\nAnd down on the hot, smoking housetops came raining\\na dehige of fire;\\nAnd serpents of flame writhed and clambered, and\\ntwisted on steeple and spire;\\nAnd beautiful, glorious Chicago, the city of riches and\\nfame.\\nWas swept by a storm of destruction, was flooded by\\nbillows of flame.\\nThe Fire-king loomed high in his glory, with crimson\\nand flame-streaming crest,\\nAnd grinned his fierce scorn on Chicago, doomed\\nQueen of the North and the West.\\nO crushed but invincible city!\\nO broken but fast-rising city!\\nO glorious and unconquered city.\\nStill Queen of the North and the West!\\nThe long golden years of thy future, with treasures\\nincreasing and rare.\\nShall glisten upon thy rich garments, shall twine in the\\nfolds of thy hair!\\nFrom out the black heaps of thy ruins new columns of\\nbeauty shall rise,\\nAnd glittering domes shall fling grandly our nation s\\nproud flag to the skies!\\nFrom ofT thy wide prairies of splendor the treasures of\\nAutumn shall pour,\\nThe breezes shall sweep from the northward, and hurry\\nthe ships to thy shore!\\nFor Heaven will look downward in mercy on those\\nwho ve passed under the rod.\\nAnd happ ly again they will prosper, and bask in the\\nblessings of God.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0189.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "Battle of the Bl^ Horn. \u00e2\u0080\u0094Death of Custer.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0190.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "185\\nOnce more shall thou stand mid the cities, l)y prosper-\\nous breezes caressed,\\nO grand and unconquered Chicago, still Queen of the\\nNorth and the West!\\nCUSTER S LAST CHARGE.\\nFrederick IVhittakcr.\\nGeneral George A. Custer and all his men were killed June\\n25, 1876, near the Big Horn River in Montana Territory in an\\nattack upon the Sioux Indians.\\nDeath is the worst a fate which all must try\\nAnd for our country tis a bliss to die. Iliad.\\nDead! Is it possible? He, the bold rider,\\nCuster, our hero, the first in the fight,\\nCharming the Indlets of 3 ore to fly wider.\\nFar from our battle-king s ringlets of light!\\nDead, our young chieftain, and dead, all forsaken!\\nNo one to tell us the way of his fall!\\nSlain in the desert, and never to waken,\\nNever, not even to victory s call!\\nProud for his fame that last day that he met them!\\nAll the night long he had been on their track,\\nScorning their traps and the men that had set them,\\nW ild for a charge that should never give back.\\nThere on the hilltop he halted and saw them,\\nLodges all loosened and ready to fl}\\nHurrying scouts with the tidings to awe them.\\nTold of his coming before he was nigh.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0191.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "i86\\nAll the wide valley was full of their forces,\\nGathered to cover the lodges retreat!\\nWarriors running in haste to their horses,\\nThousands of enemies close to his feet!\\nDown in the valleys the ages had hollowed,\\nThere lay the Sitting Bull s camp for a prey!\\nNumbers! What recked he? What recked those who\\nfollowed\\nMen who had fought ten to one ere that day?\\nOut swept the squadrons, the fated three hundred,\\nInto the battle-line steady and full;\\nThen down the hillside exultingly thundered,\\nInto the hordes of tire old Sitting Bull!\\nWild Ogalallah, Arapahoe, Cheyenne,\\nWild Horse s braves, and the rest of their crew,\\nShrank from that charge like a herd from a lion,\\nThen closed around, the grim horde of wild Sioux!\\nRight to their center he charged, and then facing\\nHark to those yells! and around them, O see!\\nOver the hilltops the Indians come racing.\\nComing as fast as the waves of the sea!\\nRed was the circle of fire about them;\\nNo hope of victory, no ray of light,\\nShot through that terrible black cloud without them,\\nBrooding in death over Custer s last fight.\\nThen did he blench? Did he die like a craven,\\nBegging those torturing fiends for his life?\\nWas there a soldier who carried the Seven\\nFlinched like a coward or fled from the strife?\\nNo, by the blood of our Custer, no quailing!\\nThere in the midst of the Indians they close,", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0192.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "18;\\nHemmed in by thousands, but ever assailing,\\nFighting like tigers, all bayed amid foes!\\nThicker and thicker the bullets came singing;\\nDown go the horses and riders and all;\\nSwiftly the warriors round them were ringing,\\nCircling like buzzards awaiting their fall.\\nSee the wild steeds of the mountain and prairie,\\nSavage eyes gleaming from forests of mane;\\nQuivering lances with pennons so airy,\\nWar-painted warriors charging amain.\\nBackward, again and again, they were driven,\\nShrinking to close with the lost little band;\\nNever a cap that had worn the bright Seven\\nBowed till its wearer was dead on the strand.\\nCloser and closer the death circle growing.\\nEven the leader s voice, clarion clear,\\nRang out his words of encouragement glowing,\\nWe can but die once, boys, we ll sell our lives\\ndear!\\nDearly they sold them like Berserkers raging.\\nFacing the death that encircled them round;\\nDeath s bitter pangs by their vengeance assauging.\\nMarking their tracks l:)y their dead on the ground.\\nComrades, our children shall yet tell their story,\\nCuster s last charge on the old Sitting Bull;\\nAnd ages shall swear that the cup of his glory\\nNeeded but that death to render it full.\\nSette7i is the number of the res^iment, the Seventh U. S.\\nCavalry.\\nBerserkers were mythical Norse heroes who were subject to\\nfits of wild furv in battle during which they were reputed to be\\nproof against fire and steel.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0193.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "PRESIDENT GARFIELD.\\nLongfcUoxv.\\nJames Abram Garfield, twentieth president of the United\\nStates, was born in Orange, Ohio, Nov. 19, 1831. He was shot\\nby an assassin July 2, 1881, and died Sept. 19, 1881.\\nE venni dal martirio a questa pace.\\nParadiso, xv, 148.\\nThese words the poet heard in Paradise,\\nUttered Ijy one who, l^ravely dying here,\\nIn the true faith was Hving in that sphere\\nWhere the celestial cross of sacrifice\\nSpread its protecting arms athwart the skies;\\nThe souls magnanimous, tliat knew not fear.\\nFlashed their effulgence on his dazzled eyes.\\nAnd set thereon, like jewels crystal clear,\\nAh me! how dark the discipline of pain.\\nWere not the suffering followed by the sense,\\nOf infinite rest and infinite .release!\\nThis is our consolation; and again\\nA great soul cries to us in our suspense,\\nI came from martyrdom unto this i)eace!\\nTHE PRIVATE SOLDIER.\\nU. S. Grant.\\nWhat saved the country was the coming forward of\\nthe young men of the nation. They came from their\\nhoines and their fields, as they did in the time of the\\nRevolution, giving everything to their country. To", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0194.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "I lll 141\\nI, n li I.I, i II 1,1,1,11, I I lli \u00e2\u0080\u009ei I I I\\n,11 1 !ll|i .i\\niii il i SllV I\\nliii ii!i I I i ill 1 1 I II, I li iii\\niiViiiM li vi i ,l ::,,,Mili| l\\niiilllifpji li iiii i, I III I\\nMr ill II I III ll\\nI I\\nI i\\n{l ill;lil I ll III I ll III [III\\ni\\nm V\\nI 11 li\\ni|iii I, ll ,i i, ,ii\\ni i, l\\nli ii l\\n1 1 ii 1 1 III 1 1.11\\n,1 I III ilijiiiii\\n^-^4 I 1 1 r i i i\\ni.i n:i(f|i\\n\u00e2\u0080\u00a24^:^ t", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0195.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "their devotion we owe the salvation of the Union. The\\nhumblest soldier who carried a musket is entitled to as\\nmuch credit for the results of the war as those who were\\nin command. So long as our young men are animated\\nby this spirit there will be no fear for the Union.\\nDEATH OF GRANT.\\nIVa// Whitman.\\nLet us have peace. Grant.\\nTo reap the harvest of perpetual peace,\\nBy this one bloody trial of sharp war.\\nTis much he dares\\nAnd, to that dauntless temper of his mind,\\nHe hath a wisdom that doth guide his valor\\nTo act in safety.\\nAs one by one withdraw the lofty actors\\nFrom that great play on history s stage eternal,\\nThat lurid, partial act of war and peace of old and\\nnew contending,\\nFought out through v/rath, fears, dark dismays, and\\nmany a long suspense;\\nAll past and since, in countless graves receding,\\nmellowing,\\nVictor and vanquished Lincoln s and Lee s now\\nthou with them,\\nMan of the mighty day and equal to the day!\\nThou from the prairies? and tangled and many-\\nveined and hard has been thy part.\\nTo admiration has it been enacted!", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0196.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "191\\nCENTENNIAL HYMN.\\n1876.\\nWhittier.\\nVoters are the uncrowned kings who rule the nation.\\nMorgan.\\nOur Father s God! from out whose hand\\nThe centuries fall like grains of sand,\\nWe meet to-day, united, free.\\nAnd loyal to our land and Thee,\\nTo thank Thee for the era done,\\nAnd trust thee for the opening one.\\nHere, where of old, by Thy design,\\nThy fathers spake that word of Thine\\nWhose echo is the glad refrain\\nOf rended bolt and falling chain,\\nTo grace our festal time from all\\nThe zones of earth our guests we call.\\nBe with us while the New World greets\\nThe Old World thronging all its streets,\\nUnvailing all the triumphs won,\\nBy art or toil beneath the sun\\nAnd unto common good ordain\\nThis rivalship of hand and brain.\\nThou, who hast here in concord furled\\nThe war flags of a gathered world.\\nBeneath our Western skies fulfil\\nThe Orient s mission of good will;\\nAnd, freighted with love s Golden Fleece,\\nSend back its Argonauts of peace.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0197.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "192\\nFor art and labor met in truce,\\nFor beauty made the bride of use,\\nWe thank Thee; but, withal, we crave\\nThe austere virtues strong to save,\\nThe honor proof to place or gold,\\nThe manhood never bought nor sold!\\nOh, make Thou us, through centuries long.\\nIn peace secure, in justice strong;\\nAround our gift of freedom draw\\nThe safeguards of Thy righteous law;\\nAnd, cast in some diviner mold,\\nLet the new cycle shame the old!\\nAr\u00c2\u00a3-onau/s The heroes who sailed to Colchis in the ship Argo\\nin search of the Golden Fleece.\\nHAVANA HARBOR.\\nFEBRUARY I 5, iSqS.\\nMartha E. Oliver.\\nNo thought of harm disturbed each breast.\\nIn peace they laid them down to rest.\\nClose sheltered in The Maine.\\nThe sentry called put: All is well.\\nThe ship so gently rose and fell\\nThe anchor felt no strain.\\nA flash, a crash, a sullen roar!\\nThe gallant vessel floats no more\\nIn beauty on the sea.\\nRut, neath the waves of foreign port.\\nOf wind and waters is the sport\\nA thing of mystery.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0198.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "193\\nBrave men and true from many a town\\nWith ship and armor aU went down\\nSix fathoms in the sea.\\nFor not mid storm and tempest tossed,\\nNor in a battle, were they lost,\\nWith shouts of victory.\\nBut, helpless, those brave men were hurled\\nTo borders of another world,\\nWith scarce a moment s prayer.\\nFor them all hope, all life was o er,\\nTwo hundred gallant men, and more.\\nWere murdered, martyred, there.\\nThough in the ocean s stormy wave\\nThe sailor-hero finds his grave,\\nAnd calmly, sweetly sleeps.\\nOr in a far and foreign strand,\\nOr in his own dear native land,\\nFor him his country weeps.\\nThen, lest our navy s hope and pride,\\nWho lived for fame, for nought have died,\\nTheir sacrifice in vain.\\nWe ll hold their mem ry ever dear.\\nAnd for them shed the pitying tear\\nWho perished with The Maine.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0199.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "194\\nA BALLAD OF MANILA BAY.\\nCharles G. D. Roberts.\\nFrom Harper s Magazine, Copyright, i8g8, by HarJ er Brothers.\\nYour threats how vain, Corregidor;\\nYour rampired batteries, feared no more;\\nYour frowning guard at Manila gate,\\nWhen our Captain went before!\\nLights out. Into the unknown gloom\\nFrom the windy, glimmering, wide sea-room,\\nChallenging fate in that dark strait\\nWe dared the hidden doom.\\nBut the death in the deep awoke not then;\\nMine and torpedo they spoke not then;\\nFrom the heights that loomed on our passing line\\nThe thunders broke not then.\\nSafe through the perilous dark we sped,\\nQuiet each ship as the quiet dead,\\nTill the guns of El Fraile roared too late.\\nAnd the steel prows forged ahead.\\nMute each ship as the mute-mouth grave,\\nA ghost leviathan cleaving the wave;\\nBut deep in its heart the great fires throb,\\nThe travailing engines rave.\\nThe ponderous pistons urge like fate,\\nThe red-throat furnaces roar elate,\\nAnd the sweating stokers stagger and swoon\\nIn a heat more fierce than hate.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0200.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "195\\nSo through the dark we stole our way\\nPast the grim warders and into the bay,\\nPast Kahbuyo, and past Sahnas,\\nAnd came at the break of day\\nWhere strong Cavite stood to oppose,\\nWhere, from a sheen of silver and rose,\\nA thronging of masts, a soaring of towers,\\nThe beautiful city arose.\\nHow fine and fair! But the shining air\\nWith a thousand shattering thunders there\\nFlapped and reeled. For the fighting foe\\nWe had caught him in his lair.\\nSurprised, unready, his proud ships lay\\nIdly at anchor in Balsor Bay;\\nUnready, surprised, but proudly bold,\\nWhich was ever the Spaniard s way.\\nThen soon on his pride the dread doom fell,\\nRed doom, for the ruin of shot and shell\\nLit every vomiting, bursting hulk\\nWith a crimson reek of hell.\\nBut to the brave, though beaten, hail!\\nAll hail to them that dare not fail!\\nTo the dauntless boat that charged our fleet\\nAnd sank in the iron hail!\\nH\u00c2\u00ab\\nManila Bay; Manila Bay!\\nHow proud the song on our lips to-day!\\nA brave old song of the true and strong\\nAnd the will that has its way;", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0201.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "ig6\\nOf the blood that told in the days of Drake,\\nWhen the fight was good for the fighting s sake!\\nFor the blood that fathered Farragut\\nIs the blood that fathered Blake;\\nAnd the pride of blood will not be undone\\nWhile war s in the world and a fight to be won.\\nFor the master now, as the master of old.\\nIs the man behind the gun.\\nThe dominant blood that daunts the foe,\\nThat laughs at odds, and leaps to the blow,\\nIt is Dewey s glory to-day, as Nelson s\\nA hundred years ago\\nTHE MEN BEHIND THE GUNS.\\nyo/ai C Shea.\\nWhen the boat s crew of the warship Brooklyn, after securing\\nthe standard compass from the wreck of the Infanta Maria\\nTeresa, the flagship of Admiral Cervera, presented it to Commo-\\ndore Schley, he replied with a trembling voice: I am much\\nobliged to you, but the great credit of that victory belongs to\\nyou boys the men behind the guns. Without you no laurels\\nwould come to our country.\\nThe thunders of that Sabbath morn\\nThat morn so bright, so calm, so fair\\nTold that the Spanish ships, in scorn.\\nHad come, like bloodhounds, from their lair;\\nAnd Sampson s men, Columbia s sons.\\nSprang, rallying there, behind the guns.\\nOn, on, they come! Determined foe!\\nOne chance for freedom on the seas", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0202.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "jisBsiaiis;;v!iSiKi.sss\\n197", "height": "2766", "width": "1748", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0203.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": "igS,\\nThey strive to give us blow^ for blow,\\nBut two for one we give with ease,\\nAnd thundering where Teresa runs.\\nOur seamen stand behind the guns!\\nNew York, the flagship, where was she?\\nLook eastward! Ah, she s miles away;\\nBut Sampson reads the signal free\\nFrom ships now rushing to the fray\\nThe foe escapes! But noble ones\\nAre ready there behind the guns!\\nAnd quickly now the words go back,\\nIn answer to the signal there;\\nClose on the enemy; attack!\\nAnd cannon s voices fill the air.\\nFor men die fast when hot blood runs\\nAnd freemen stand behind the guns!\\nImpatient, Sampson views the gleam\\nOf burning ships in deadly line;\\nHis heart throbs faster than the steam\\nForced on by furnace glow and shine.\\nAnd all around war s noble sons\\nStand grim and fierce behind the guns!\\nSchley, on the Brooklyn, giving blows.\\nThat made the foeman faint and reel,\\nKnew, as every brave man knows,\\nWhat joy of heart would Sampson feel\\nCould he be with the foremost sons\\nWho fought and stood behind the guns!\\nThe Spanish ships along the shore,\\nBurned by fire and smashed by shell,", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0204.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "199\\nAre blackened pyres and nothing more\\nYet some are dying where they fell,\\nBrave, but misguided Spanish sons,\\nYou lost when freemen manned the guns!\\nAnd while our warships plough the seas.\\nAnd valor holds its glorious sway;\\nAnd while Old Glory feels the breeze.\\nThat wafts brave thoughts back o er the way\\nThe Nation s safe when freedom s sons\\nStand man to man behind the guns!\\nWHEELER AT SANTIAGO.\\nJames Lindsay Gordon.\\nInto the thick of the fight he went, pallid and sick and\\nwan.\\nBorne in an ambulance to the front, a ghostly wisp of\\na man;\\nBut the fighting soul of a fighting man, approved in\\nthe long ago.\\nWent into the fight in that ambulance, and the body of\\nFighting Joe.\\nOut from the front they were coming back, smitten of\\nSpanish shells\\nWounded boys from the Vermont hills and the Ala-\\nbama dells;\\nPut them into this ambulance; I ll ride to the front,\\nhe said;\\nAnd he climbed to the saddle, and. rode right on, that\\nlittle old ex-Confed.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0205.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "200\\nFrom end to end of the long Ijlue ranks rose up the\\nringing cheers,\\nAnd many a powder-blackened face was furrowed with\\nsudden tears,\\nAs with flashing eyes and gleaming sword, and hair\\nand beard of snow,\\nInto the hell of shot and shell rode little old Fighting\\nJoe!\\nSick with fever and racked with pain, he could not stay\\naway.\\nFor he heard the song of the yester-years in the deep-\\nmouthed cannon s bay\\nHe heard in the calling song of the guns there was work\\nfor him to do.\\nWhere his country s best blood splashed and flowed\\nround the old Red, White and Blue.\\nFevered body and hero heart! This Union s heart to you\\nBeats out in love and reverence and to each dear boy\\nin blue\\nWho stood or fell mid the shot and shell, and cheered\\nin the face of the foe.\\nAs, wan and white, to the heart of the fight rode little\\nold Fighting Joe!", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0206.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "201\\nDON T CHEER, THE POOR DEVILS ARE DYING.\\nMark S. Hubbell.\\nRespectfully dedicated to Captain John Philip, of the United\\nStates battleship Texas.\\nDon t cheer, the poor devils are dying. The Angel\\nof Death on the blast\\nHad swept from the mouths of our cannon to wither\\nthe foe as he passed.\\nDon t cheer, the poor devils are dying; there spoke\\nthe true soul of a man,\\nAnd hushed were the voices of victors that cheered on\\nthe ship in the van.\\nThe bravest of words ever uttered to ring down the\\nreaches of Time,\\nThat hold that exulting o er sorrow is not very distant\\nfrom crime;\\nLike Nelson s last words, Kiss me. Hardy; brave\\nPerry s, Don t give up the ship,\\nThese words are the flowers of the spirit that leap from\\nthe heart to the lip.\\nDon t cheer, the poor devils are dying, brave thought\\nof a lion of the West,\\nEnshrining the soul of a nation by heaven directed and\\nblest,\\nThat show that compassion and pity are dominant\\ntraits of the brave,\\nThat the soul of the hero is gentle as woman s when\\nwatching a grave.\\nOh, nations of decadent Europe, the best of your past\\ncenters here.", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0207.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "202\\nKind hearts are more noble than miters, and love is\\nmore mighty than fear.\\nWe war not for rapine or conquest, in God and His jus-\\ntice we trust;\\nThrough Him we shall live when thrones totter, and\\ncoronets crumble to dust.\\nThrones totter the old order changeth its greed and\\nits hatred are through.\\nAnd over the ways of the future there streams the brave\\nlight of the new.\\nDon t cheer, the poor devils are dying; till the sky\\nshall turn up like a scroll\\nThese words of a God-inspired mercy through\\nuncounted ages shall roll.\\nThe will of the people, God s will is, when the generous\\nheart finds its voice.\\nAnd the peans of liberty conquered shall echo from lips\\nthat rejoice;\\nBut this shall ring true, through the ages, from Asian\\nto Occident shore:\\nDon t cheer, the poor devils are dying, till Time shall\\nitself be no more.\\nBOUNDARIES OF THE UNITED STATES.\\nFhke.\\nWe join ourselves to no party that does not carry the flag\\nand keep step to the music of the Union. Ritfjts CJioate.\\nAmong the legends of our late Civil War there is\\na story of a dinner party given by the Americans\\nresiding in Paris, at which were propounded sundry\\ntoasts concerning not so much the past and present as", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0208.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "203\\nthe expected glories of the great American Nation.\\nIn the general character of these toasts geographical\\nconsiderations were very prominent, and the principal\\nfact which seemed to occupy the minds of the speakers,\\nwas the unprecedented bigness of our country. Here s\\nto the United States, said the first speaker, bounded\\non the north by British America, on the south by the\\nGulf of Mexico, on the east by the Atlantic, and on the\\nwest by the Pacific Ocean. But, said the second\\nspeaker, this is far too limited a view of the subject;\\nin assigning our boundaries we must look to the great\\nand glorious future which is prescribed for us by the\\nmanifest destiny of the Anglo-Saxon race. Here s to\\nthe United States, bounded on the north by the\\nNorth Pole, on the south by the South Pole, on the\\neast by the rising and on the west by the setting sun.\\nEmphatic applause greeted this aspiring prophecy.\\nBut here arose the third speaker a very serious\\ngentleman from the Far West. If we are going,\\nsaid this truly patriotic American, to leave the his-\\ntoric past and present, and take our manifest destiny\\ninto the account, why restrict ourselves within the nar-\\nrow limits assigned by our fellow-countryman who has\\njust sat down? I give you the United States,\\nbounded on the north by the aurora borealis, on the\\nsouth by the precession of the equinoxes, on the east by\\nthe primeval chaos, and on the west by the Day of\\nJudgment!", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0209.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "2a4\\nTHE SCHOOLHOUSE STANDS BY THE FLAG.\\nButterworth.\\nA star for every State, a State for every star. Winthrop.\\nYe who love the RepubHc, remember the claim\\nYe owe to her fortunes, ye owe to her name,\\nTo her years of prosperity past and in store,\\nA hundred behind you, a thousand before.\\nTis the schoolhouse stands by the flag,\\nLet the Nation stand by the school;\\nTis the school bell that rings for our Liberty old,\\nTis the schoolboy whose ballot shall rule.\\nThe blue arch above us is Liberty s dome,\\nThe green fields beneath us, Equality s home.\\nBut the schoolroom to-day is Humanity s friend,\\nLet the people the flag and the schoolhouse defend.\\nTis the schoolhouse stands by the flag.\\nLet the Nation stand by the school;\\nTis the school bell that rings for our Liberty old,\\nTis the schoolboy whose ballot shall rule.", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0210.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "Books for Supplementary Reading\\nStudy. By James G\\nNeedham s Outdoor Studies\\nA Reading Book of Nature\\nNeedham\\nDana s Plants and their Children\\nBy Mrs. William Starr Dana. Illustrated by Alice\\nJosephine Smith\\nKelly s Short Stories of Our Shy Neighbors\\nBy Mrs. M. A. B. Kelly. Illustrated\\nMcGuffey s Natural History Readers. Illustrated\\nMcGufley s Familiar Animals and their Wild Kindred\\nMcGuffey s Living Creatures of Water, Land, and Air\\nTreat s Home Studies in Nature. Illustrated\\nBy Mrs. Mary Treat. Part I.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Observations on Birds\\nPart II.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Habits of Insects. Part III.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Plants that Con\\nsume Animals. Part IV.\u00e2\u0080\u0094 Flowering Plants\\nMonteith s Popular Science Reader\\nBy James Monteith. Illustrated\\nCarpenter s Geographical Reader Asia\\nCarpenter s Geographical Reader North America\\nBy Frank G. Carpenter. With Maps and Illustrations.\\nPayne s Geographical Nature Studies\\nFor Primary Work in Home Geography. By Frank Owen\\nPayne, M.Sc. Fully Illustrated\\nGuyot s Geographical Reader and Primer\\nA series of journeys round the world. Illustrated\\nJohonnot s Geographical Reader\\nBy James Johonnot. Illustrated\\nVan Bergen s Story of Japan\\nBy R. Van Bergen. With Double Map of Japan and\\nKorea and Numerous Illustrations\\nHoibrook s Round the Year in Myth and Song\\nBy Florence Holbrook. With beautiful Illustrations\\n$0.40\\n.65\\n.50\\n.50\\n.50\\n.90\\n.75\\n.60\\n.60\\n.25\\n.60\\nLOO\\n1.00\\n.60\\nCopies of any of these books will be sent prepaid to any address, on\\nreceipt of the price, by the Publishers\\nNew York\\n(7)\\nAmerican Book Company\\nCincinnati\\nChicago", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0211.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "School Histories of the United States\\nMcMaster s School History of the United States\\nBy John Bach McMaster. Cloth, i2mo, 507 pages.\\nWith maps and illustrations $1.00\\nWritten expressly to meet the demand for a School History\\nwhich should be fresh, vigorous, and interesting in style, accurate\\nand impartial in statement, and strictly historical in treatment.\\nField s Grammar School History of the United States\\nBy L. A. Field. With maps and illustrations .1.00\\nBarnes s Primary History of the United States\\nFor Primary Classes. Cloth, i2mo, 252 pages. With maps,\\nillustrations, and a complete index .60\\nBarnes s Brief History of the United States\\nRevised. Cloth, 8vo, 364 pages. Richly embellished with\\nmaps and illustrations 1 .00\\nEclectic Primary History of the United States\\nBy Edward S. Ellis. A book for younger classes. Cloth,\\ni2mo, 230 pages. Illustrated .50\\nEclectic History of the United States\\nBy M. E. Thalheimer. Revised. Cloth, i2mo, 441\\npages. With maps and illustrations 1 .00\\nEggleston s First Book in American History\\nBy Edward Eggleston. Boards, i2mo, 203 pages.\\nBeautifully illustrated .60\\nEggleston s History of the United States and Its People\\nBy Edward Eggleston. Cloth, 8vo, 416 pages. Fully\\nillustrated with engravings, maps and colored plates. 1.05\\nSwinton s First Lessons in Our Country s History\\nBy William Swinton. Revised edition. Cloth, i2mo,\\n208 pages. Illustrated 48\\nSwinton s School History of the United States\\nRevised and enlarged. Cloth, i2mo, 383 pages. With new\\nmaps and illustrations .90\\nWhite s Pupils Outline Studies in the History of the\\nUnited States\\nBy Francis H. White. For pupils use in the application\\nof laboratory and library methods to the study of United\\nStates History .30\\nCopies of any of the above books will be sent, prepaid, to any address on\\nreceipt of the price by the Publishers\\nAmerican Book Company\\nNEW YORK CINCINNATI CHICAGO\\n(8)", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0212.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "Eclectic School Readings\\nA carefully graded collection of fresh, interesting and instructive\\nsupplementary readings for young children. The books are well and\\ncopiously illustrated by the best artists, and are handsomely bound in\\ncloth.\\nFolk-Story Series\\nLane s Stories for Children\\nBaldwin s Fairy Stories and Fables\\nBaldwin s Old Greek Stories\\nFamous Story Series\\nBaldwin s Fifty Famous Stories Retold\\nBaldwin s Old Stories of the East\\nDefoe s Robinson Crusoe\\nClarke s Arabian Nights\\n).25\\n.35\\n.45\\n.35\\n.45\\n.50\\n.60\\nHistorical Story Series\\nEggleston s Stories of Great Americans\\nEggleston s Stories of American Life and Adventure\\nGuerber s Story of the Thirteen Colonies\\nGuerber s Story of the English\\nGuerber s Story of the Chosen People\\nGuerber s Story of the Greeks\\nGuerber s Story of the Romans\\nClassical Story Series\\nClarke s Story of Troy\\nClarke s Story of Aeneas\\nClarke s Story of Caesar\\n.40\\n.50\\n.65\\n.65\\n.60\\n.60\\n.60\\n.60\\n.45\\n.45\\nNatural History Series\\nNeedham s Outdoor Studies\\nKelly s Short Stories of Our Shy Neighbors\\nDana s Plants and Their Children\\n.40\\n.50\\n.65\\nCopies of any of these books -will be sent prepaid to any address, on\\nreceipt of the price, by the Publishers\\nNew York\\n(15)\\nAmerican Book Company\\nCincinnati\\nChicago", "height": "2786", "width": "1738", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0213.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "Historical Readings\\nFOR THE Young\\nEggleston s Stories of Great Americans for Little\\nAmericans\\nCloth, 1 2 mo. 159 pages. Illustrated 40 cents\\nThis book of stories is designed for young pupils of the\\nSecond Reader Grade. Its primary aim is to provide\\nreading lessons that will excite attention and give pleasure\\nand thus make the difficult task of learning to read easier.\\nAnother purpose is to interest children at an early age in\\nthe history of our country by making them familiar with\\nits great characters and leading events. This is most\\neffectively done in this little book by entertaining and\\ninstructive stories which every American child ought to\\nknow, and by vivid descriptions of scenes and incidents\\nwhich pertain very largely to the childhood of the great\\nactors represented.\\nThe numerous illustrations that accompany the text\\nhave all been planned with special reference to awakening\\nthe child s attention and they add greatly to the lessons\\nand purpose of the book.\\nEggleston s Stories of American Life and Adventure\\nCloth, i2mo. 214 pages. Illustrated 50 cents\\nThis book, which is intended for the Third Reader\\nGrade, includes reading matter that is intensely attractive\\nand interesting to the young stories of Indian life, of\\nfrontier peril and escape, of pioneer adventure and Revolu-\\ntionary daring, of dangerous voyages, explorations, etc.\\nWith these are interspersed sketches of the homes and\\nfiresides, the dress and manners, the schools and amuse-\\nments of the early colonial and pioneer periods. The\\nstories of this book represent in a general way every section\\nof our country and every period of its history.\\nCopies of the above books will be sent prepaid to any address, on receipt of\\nthe price, by the Publishers\\nAmerican Book Company\\nNevr York Cincinnati Chicago", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0214.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0215.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0216.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0217.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "NOV 10 1899", "height": "2781", "width": "1690", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0218.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2776", "width": "1664", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0219.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "", "height": "2833", "width": "1816", "jp2-path": "ourcountryinpoem00pers_0220.jp2"}}