{"1": {"fulltext": "Pi\\nPS 2792\\n.B3\\n1900\\nDS\\nN BRAVE\\nD\\n-\u00e2\u0099\u00a6f a is p it\\nER,BURDETT VC\\nn K V-", "height": "3510", "width": "2306", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0001.jp2"}, "2": {"fulltext": "LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.\\nCliap,.__^.__ Copyright ^N o,.\\nUNITED STATES OF AMERICA.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0002.jp2"}, "3": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0003.jp2"}, "4": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0004.jp2"}, "5": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0005.jp2"}, "6": {"fulltext": "n\u00c2\u00bbv\\nV*", "height": "3467", "width": "2171", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0006.jp2"}, "7": {"fulltext": "The Silver Series of English and American Classics\\nBALLADS\\nOF\\nAMERICAN BRAVERY\\nEDITED, WITH NOTES\\nBY\\nCLINTON SCOLLARD\\nAUTHOR OF old AND NEW WORLD LYRICS, SONGS OF SUNRISE LANDS,\\nthe hills of song, etc.\\nSILVER, BURDETT AND COMPANY\\nNew York BOSTON Chicago\\n1", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0009.jp2"}, "8": {"fulltext": "12858\\n^^Zl j^\\nLibrary of Conprr^ss\\nf WO Copies Received\\nJUN 30 19C0 I\\nCopyr-glit cut y\\nStCO\\\\Hl COPY.\\nOciiveifid to\\nOROtfi DIVISION,\\nJUL 12 19 00\\nCopyright, igoo,\\nBy silver. BURDETT AND COMPANY\\n71045", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0010.jp2"}, "9": {"fulltext": ":f\\n5\\nI\\nPREFATORY WORD\\nWhile it has been, in the main, the purpose of the\\nEditor to include in the present collection only such\\npoems as commemorate some signal act of valor his-\\ntorically verified, it has seemed best to widen the\\nscope sufficiently to admit a few selections that must\\nhave been excluded were the lines rigorously drawn.\\nTo appeal to the student of American history has been\\nthe primary aim; yet, inasmuch as the chord played\\nupon that of heroism finds a responsive echo in\\nevery heart, it is hoped that the book may prove of\\ninterest to the general public as well. Though there\\nhas been no attempt at an exhaustive selection, a\\nnatural desire to cover as wide a field as possible has\\nled to the admission of some ballads of lesser literary\\nvalue, though it is believed that none will be found\\nthat has not sufficient merit to warrant its presence.\\nThe Editor desires to make grateful acknowledgment\\nto Houghton, Mifflin Company, Harper Brothers,\\nCharles Scribner s Sons, The Funk VVagnalls Com-\\npany, The J. B. Lippincott Company, The Century\\nCompany, Herbert S. Stone Company, John Lane,\\nThe Lothrop Publishing Company, and the Youth s\\nCompanion, for courtesies extended, and also to thank\\nmost heartily the various authors whose work is in-\\ncluded, or those representing them, for their cordial\\ncooperation.\\nClinton, New York, March, 1900.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0011.jp2"}, "10": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0012.jp2"}, "11": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS\\nIn Time of Strife\\nI. Paul Revere s Ride\\n2. Mary Butler s Ride\\n3. The Surprise at Ticonderoga\\nMontgomery at Quebec\\nThe Maryland Battalion\\nArnold at Stillwater\\nThe Yankee Man-of-War\\nThe Ride of Jennie M Neal\\nThe Song of Marion s Men\\nHow We Burned the Phila\\ndelphia\\nThe Shannon and the\\nChesapeake\\nThe Fight of the Arm-\\nstrong Privateer\\nThe Men of the Alamo\\nThe Fight at the San Jacinto\\nMonterey\\nThe Defense of Lawrence\\nBlood Is Thicker than Water\\nBethel\\n19. The Charge by the Ford\\n20. The Little Drummer\\nHenry Wadsworth Longfel-\\nlow 3\\nBenjamin Franklin Taylor 7\\nMary Anna Phinney S tans-\\nbury 13\\nClinton Scollard 17\\nJohn Williajnson Palmer 19\\nThomas Dunn English 21\\nAnonymous 27\\nIVill Carleton 29\\nWillia7n Cullen Bryatit 34\\nBarrett Eastjuan 36\\nThoj?ias Tracy Bouve 40\\nJames Jeffrey Roche 43\\nJames Jeffrey Roche 48\\nJohn Williamson Palmer 51\\nCharles Fenno Hoffman 54\\nRichard Real f 55\\nWallace Rice 57\\nA ugustine Joseph Hie key\\nDuganne 61\\nThomas Dunn English 64\\nRichard Henry Stoddard 66", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0013.jp2"}, "12": {"fulltext": "VI\\nCONTENTS\\n21. The Cumberland Henry Wadstvorth Longfel-\\nlow 70\\n22. Johnston at Shiloh Fle7ning James 72\\n23. The River Fight Henry Howard Brownell 77\\n24. Kearny at Seven Pines Edmtind Clarence Stedman 81\\n25. The Unknown Hero William Gordon McCabe 83\\n26. Barbara Frietchie yohn Greenleaf Whittier 84\\n27. The Eagle of Corinth Henry Howard Brozunell 87\\n28. Ready Ph(xbe Cary go\\n?g. The Battle of Charleston Har-\\nbor Paid Haviilton Hayne 91\\n30. Keenan s Charge George Parsons Lathrop 93\\n31. The Hero of the Gun Margaret Junkin Preston 97\\n32. An Incident of War Maurice Thompson 99\\n33. The Black Regiment George Henry Boker loi\\n34. Greencastle Jenny Helen Gray Cone 104\\n35. John Burns of Gettysburg Bret Harte 106\\n36. High Tide at Gettysburg Will Henry Thompson .110\\n37. Thomas at Chickamauga Kate Broivnlee Sherwood 113\\n38. The Smallest of the Drums yames Biickham .117\\n39. Little Giffen Francis Orrery Ticknor 119\\n40. Ulric Dahlgren Kate Brownlee Sherzvood 121\\n41. Farragut William Tuckey Meredith 122\\n42. Lee to the Rear John Randolph Thompson 124\\n43. Craven Henry Nezubolt 128\\n44. Gracie of Alabama Francis Orrery Ticknor 129\\n45. The Ballad of a Little Fun Maurice Thompson 131\\n46. Sheridan s Ride Thomas Buchanan Reid 133\\n47. Down the Little Big Horn Francis Brooks 135\\n48. The Bond of Blood Will Henry Thompson 138\\n49. A Ballad of Manila Bay Charles George Douglas Rob-\\nerts 141\\n50. Dewey at Manila Robert Underwood y ohnsoii 143\\n51. The Men of the Merrimac Clinton Scollard 147\\n52. The Charge at Santiago William Hamilton Hayne 149\\n53. Spain s Last Armada Wallace Rice 150\\n54. Ballad of Paco Town Clinton Scollard .155\\nIn Time of Peace\\n55. Peace Hath Her Victories\\n56. In the Tunnel\\nWallace Rice\\nBret Harte\\n161\\n163", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0014.jp2"}, "13": {"fulltext": "CONTENTS vii\\nI AGE\\n57. The Ballad of Calnan s Christ-\\nmas Helen Gray Cone 165\\n58. How He Saved St. Michael s Mary Anna Phinney Stans-\\nbtiry 167\\n59. The Ride of Collin Graves John Boyle O Reilly .171\\n60. Jim Bludso John Hay 174\\n61. George Nidiver Anonymous 176\\n62. A Man s Name Richard Real f 178\\n63. The Man Who Rode to Cone-\\nmaugh John Eliot Boiven .180\\n64. Johnny Bartholomew Thomas unn English 182\\n65. His Name Margaret yunkin Preston 185\\n66. Old Braddock John Vance Cheney .186\\n67. In Apia Bay Charles George Douglas Rob-\\nerts 189\\nNotes ^93", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0015.jp2"}, "14": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0016.jp2"}, "15": {"fulltext": "BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0017.jp2"}, "16": {"fulltext": "Great Greece hath her Thermopylce\\nStout Switzerland her Tell\\nThe Scot his Wallace heart and we\\nHave saints and shrines as well.\\nRichard Real/.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0018.jp2"}, "17": {"fulltext": "Hn Zxmc of Strife", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0019.jp2"}, "18": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0020.jp2"}, "19": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE\\nI\\nPAUL REVERE S RIDE\\nListen, rny children, and you shall hear\\nOf the midnight ride of Paul Revere,\\nOn the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five;\\nHardly a man is now alive\\nWho remembers that famous day and year.\\nHe said to his friend, If the British march\\nBy land or sea from the town to-night,\\nHang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch\\nOf the North Church tower as a signal light,\\nOne, if by land, and two, if by sea;\\nAnd I on the opposite shore will be,\\nReady to ride and spread the alarm\\nThrough every Middlesex village and farm,\\nFor the country folk to be up and to arm.\\nThen he said, Good-night! and with muffled oar\\nSilently rowed to the Charlestown shore,\\nJust as the moon rose over the bay.\\nWhere swinging wide at her moorings lay\\n3", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0021.jp2"}, "20": {"fulltext": "4 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThe Somerset, British man-of-war;\\nA phantom ship, with each mast and spar\\nAcross the moon like a prison bar,\\nAnd a huge black hulk, that was magnified\\nBy its own reflection in the tide.\\nMeanwhile, his friend, through alley and street\\nWanders and watches with eager ears.\\nTill in the silence around him he hears\\nThe muster of men at the barrack door.\\nThe sound of arms, and the tramp of feet.\\nAnd the measured tread of the grenadiers\\nMarching down to their boats on the shore.\\nThen he climbed the tower of the Old North Church,\\nBy the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread.\\nTo the belfry chamber overhead,\\nAnd startled the pigeons from their perch\\nOn the sombre rafters, that round him made\\nMasses and moving shapes of shade,\\nBy the trembling ladder, steep and tall,\\nTo the highest window in the wall,\\nWhere he paused to listen and look down\\nA moment on the roofs of the town,\\nAnd the moonlight flowing over all.\\nBeneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead.\\nIn their night encampment on the hill,\\nWrapped in silence so deep and still\\nThat he could hear, like a sentinel s tread,\\nThe watchful night-wind, as it went\\nCreeping along from tent to tent.\\nAnd seeming to whisper, All is well!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0022.jp2"}, "21": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 5\\nA moment only he feels the spell\\nOf the place and the hour, and the secret dread\\nOf the lonely belfry and the dead\\nFor suddenly all his thoughts are bent\\nOn a shadowy something far away,\\nWhere the river widens to meet the bay,\\nA line of black that bends and floats\\nOn the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.\\nMeanwhile, impatient to mount and ride.\\nBooted and spurred, with a heavy stride\\nOn the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.\\nNow he patted his horse s side,\\nNow gazed at the landscape far and near,\\nThen, impetuous, stamped the earth.\\nAnd turned and tightened his saddle girth\\nBut mostly he watched with eager search\\nThe belfry tower of the Old North Church,\\nAs it rose above the graves on the hill,\\nLonely and spectral and sombre and still.\\nAnd lo as he looks, on the belfry s height,\\nA glimmer, and then a gleam of light!\\nHe springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,\\nBut lingers and gazes, till full on his sight\\nA second lamp in the belfry burns!\\nA hurry of hoofs in the village street,\\nA shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,\\nAnd beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark\\nStruck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:\\nThat was all! And yet, through the gloom and the\\nlight.\\nThe fate of a nation was riding that night;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0023.jp2"}, "22": {"fulltext": "BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nAnd the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,\\nKindled the land into flame with its heat.\\nHe has left the village and mounted the steep,\\nAnd beneath him, tranquil and broad and deep.\\nIs the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;\\nAnd under the alders, that skirt its edge.\\nNow soft on the sand, now loud on the ledge.\\nIs heard the tramp of his steed as he rides.\\nIt was twelve by the village clock.\\nWhen he crossed the bridge into Medford town.\\nHe heard the crowing of the cock.\\nAnd the barking of the farmer s dog.\\nAnd felt the damp of the river fog.\\nThat rises after the sun goes down.\\nIt was one by the village clock.\\nWhen he galloped into Lexington.\\nHe saw the gilded weathercock\\nSwim in the moonlight as he passed,\\nAnd the meeting-house windows, blank and bare,\\nGaze at him with a spectral glare,\\nAs if they already stood aghast\\nAt the bloody work they would look upon.\\nIt was two by the village clock.\\nWhen he came to the bridge in Concord town.\\nHe heard the bleating of the flock.\\nAnd the twitter of birds among the trees.\\nAnd felt the breath of the morning breeze\\nBlowing over the meadows brown.\\nAnd one was safe and asleep in his bed\\nWho at the bridge would be first to fall,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0024.jp2"}, "23": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE\\nWho that day would be lying dead,\\nPierced by a British musket-ball.\\nYou know the rest. In the books you have read\\nHow the British Regulars fired and fled,\\nHow the farmers gave them ball for ball,\\nFrom behind each fence and farmyard wall.\\nChasing the redcoats down the lane.\\nThen crossing the fields to emerge again\\nUnder the trees at the turn of the road.\\nAnd only pausing to fire and load.\\nSo through the night rode Paul Revere\\nAnd so through the night went his cry of alarm\\nTo every Middlesex village and farm,\\nA cry of defiance and not of fear,\\nA voice in the darkness, a knock at the door.\\nAnd a word that shall echo forevermore\\nFor, borne on the night-wind of the Past,\\nThrough all our history, to the last.\\nIn the hour of darkness and peril and need,\\nThe people will waken and listen to hear\\nThe hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,\\nAnd the midnight message of Paul Revere.\\nHenry Wadsworth Longfellow.\\n(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.)\\nMARY BUTLER S RIDE\\nEbenezer Eastman, of Gilmanton, is dead\\nAt least they had him buried full fifty years ago\\nThe gray White Mountain granite they set above his\\nhead.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0025.jp2"}, "24": {"fulltext": "8 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nWith some graven words upon it, to let the neighbors\\nknow\\nPrecisely what it was that made the grasses grow\\nSo wondrous rank and strong: How they rippled in\\nthe wind,\\nAs if nobody ever died, nobody ever sinned\\nTo that old Bible name of his what eloquence was lent\\nWhen its owner marched to battle, not a ration, not\\na tent.\\nNor a promise nor a sign of a Continental cent\\nHo, Ebenezer Eastman! We 11 call the roll again,\\nHo, dead and gone Lieutenant of the old-time Mitiute-\\nMen!\\nPlowing land for turnips, with awkward Buck and\\nBright,\\nWas stout Lieutenant Eastman, one lovely day In\\nJune\\nHe hawed them to the left and he geed them\\nto the right,\\nAnd they slowly came about in the lazy summer\\nnoon,\\nHe humming to himself the fragment of a tune.\\nWhich he would croon at night to the baby-boy who lay\\nIn bassv/ood trough becradled first, a week ago that\\nday!\\nAll at a flying gallop a rider swings in sight,\\nPulls up beside the fallow and gives the view-\\nhalloo,\\nHis horse s flanks are black, but his neck is foamy\\nwhite", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0026.jp2"}, "25": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 9\\nTurn out, Lieutenant Eastman! There s some-\\nthing else to do\\nThe redcoats are a-swarming! Your summer plow-\\ning s through!\\nNo other word away! And the rattling of the hoofs\\nWas like the rain from traveling clouds along the\\ncabin roofs.\\nThe plowman turned his cattle out he saddled up the\\nbay,\\nAnd he rallied out the wilderness upon that summer\\nday,\\nAnd the Minute-Men of Gilmanton to Boston marched\\naway.\\nAbout the mother Well, she watched beside the\\ncabin door,\\nAnd rocked the baby s basswood boat upon the\\npuncheon floor.\\nDays grew long in Gilmanton, and weeds among the\\ncorn\\nThe quoiting ground was grassy, and louder rang the\\nrill;\\nThe wrestling match was over, the smithy was for-\\nlorn,\\nThe spiders in the empty door had swung their webs\\nat will,\\nThe champions had gone to Bunker s smoky Hill,\\nTo try the quaint old-fashioned lock they practiced\\non the Green,\\nAnd such a game of tough square hold the world\\nhas seldom seen\\nAbout the father Only this; he fought in Stark s\\nbrigade,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0027.jp2"}, "26": {"fulltext": "lO BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nOn Charlestown Neck, that dusty day. A splendid\\nmark he made;\\nHe never flinched a sins^le inch when British cannon\\nplayed,\\nBut foddered up an old rail fence with Massachusetts\\nhay,\\nStood out the battle at the rack, and stoutly blazed\\naway!\\nLo, through the smoky glory, that human flower-de-\\nluce.\\nThe gray-eyed Mary Butler, Lieutenant Eastman s\\nwife!\\nHer pallid cheek and brow like a holy flag of truce,\\nHer heart as sweet and red as a rose s inner life.\\nNo murmur on her lips, nor sign of any strife.\\nFour days before the fight. Has the little waman\\nheard\\nFrom anybody Boston way Nobody not a word\\nThen up rose Mary Butler, and set her wheel at rest\\nShe swept the puncheon floor, she washed the cot-\\ntage pride,\\nThe cottage pride of three weeks old, and dressed him\\nin his best,\\nShe wound the clock that told the time her mother\\nwas a bride,\\nAnd porringer and spoon she deftly laid aside\\nShe strung a clean white apron across the window\\npanes.\\nAnd swung the kettle from the crane, for fear of rusting\\nrains;\\nThen tossed her saddle on the bay and donned her\\nlinen gown,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0028.jp2"}, "27": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE II\\nAnd took the baby on before, no looking round or\\ndown\\nFull seventy miles to Cambridge town! Bring out\\nyour civic crown\\nI think t will fit that brow of hers who sadly smiled\\nand said\\nWe 11 knozv about your father, boy, and who is hurt\\nor dead\\nThe maple woods that round her stand so solemn in\\nthe calm.\\nUp and down are swaying slowly, like a singing-\\nmaster s palm.\\nAll together beating time, not a soul to sing a psalm\\nThere s been a dreadful battle! that s what the\\nneighbors said,\\nBut when or where we cannot tell, nor who is hurt\\nor dead.\\nRugged maples broke their ranks to let the rider by,\\nFell in behind her noiseless as falls the stealthy\\ndew;\\nSuch heavy folds of starless dark in double shadow lie,\\nThe slender bridle path she treads can only just show\\nthrough.\\nAnd buried in the leafy miles was all the world she\\nknew.\\nBy muffled drum of partridge and jaunty jay-bird s fife.\\nThat mother made her lonely march, that Continen-\\ntal wife.\\nShe never drew the bridle rein till forty miles were\\ndone.\\nAnd on her ended journey shone the second setting\\nsun.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0029.jp2"}, "28": {"fulltext": "12 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nAnd round the Bay, like battle clock, tolled out the\\nevening gun.\\nTalk not of pomps and tournaments! If only you had\\nseen\\nThe royal ride from Gilmanton, the halt at Cambridge\\nGreen\\nDust-bedimmed and weary, with a look as though she\\nsmiled,\\nShe melted through the haze of the summer s smoky\\ngold!\\nSome master s faded picture of Madonna and the Child,\\nBorn full a thousand years ago, and never growing\\nold!\\nShe heard old Putnam s kennel growl, the bells of\\nCharlestovvn tolled\\nShe saw the golden day turn gray within an ashen\\nshroud,\\nThat showed the scarlet regulars like lightning through\\na cloud.\\nForth from the furnace and the fire Lieutenant East-\\nman came,\\nThe smell of powder in his clothes and fragrance in his\\nfame,\\nAnd met her bravely waiting there, who bore his boy\\nand name!\\nShe from the howling wilderness he from the hell of\\nmen.\\nThe little woman called the roll he called it back\\nagain\\nThen lightly to the pillion the gray-eyed wife he\\nswung.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0030.jp2"}, "29": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 3\\nA bundle on the saddlebow all tenderly he placed,\\nAnd, lost amid the leafy calms where cannon never\\nrung.\\nAway they rode to Gilmanton, her arm around his\\nwaist,\\nNo general s sash of crimson silk so rarely could\\nhave graced\\nAh, Mary Butler cannot die, whatever sextons say,\\nWhile yet life s azure pulses keep their old heroic play.\\nA million men have lingered long, a million men have\\ndied.\\nWho never saw a deed so grand as Mary Butler s ride!\\nBenjamin Franklin Taylor.\\n3\\nTHE SURPRISE OF TICONDEROGA\\nT WAS May upon the mountains, and on the airy wing\\nOf every floating zephyr came pleasant sounds of\\nspring,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nOf robins in the orchards, brooks running clear and\\nwarm,\\nOr chanticleer s shrill challenge from busy farm to\\nfarm.\\nBut, ranged in serried order, attent on sterner noise,\\nStood stalwart Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain\\nBoys,\\nTwo hundred patriots listening, as with the ears of one,\\nTo the echo of the muskets that blazed at Lexington!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0031.jp2"}, "30": {"fulltext": "14 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nMy comrades, thus the leader spake to his gallant\\nband,\\nThe key of all the Canadas is in King George s hand,\\nYet, while his careless warders our slender armies mock,\\nGood Yankee swords God willing may pick his\\nrusty lock!\\nAt every pass a sentinel was set to guard the way,\\nLest the secret of their purpose some idle lip betray,\\nAs on the rocky highway they marched with steady\\nfeet\\nTo the rhythm of the brave hearts that in their bosoms\\nbeat.\\nThe curtain of the darkness closed round them like a\\ntent,\\nWhen, travel-worn and weary, yet not with courage\\nspent,\\nThey halted on the border of slumbering Champlain,\\nAnd saw the watch lights glimmer across the glassy\\nplain.\\nO proud Ticonderoga, enthroned amid the hills!\\nO bastions of old Carillon, the Fort of Chiming\\nRills!\\nWell might your quiet garrison have trembled where\\nthey lay.\\nAnd, dreaming, grasped their sabres against the dawn\\nof day\\nIn silence and in shadow the boats were pushed from\\nshore.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0032.jp2"}, "31": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE I 5\\nStrong hands laid down the musket to ply the muffled\\noar;\\nThe startled ripples whitened and whispered in their\\nwake,\\nThen sank again, reposing, upon the peaceful lake.\\nFourscore and three they landed, just as the morning\\ngray\\nGave warning on the hilltops to rest not or delay\\nBehind, their comrades waited, the fortress frowned\\nbefore,\\nAnd the voice of Ethan Allen was in their ears once\\nmore\\nSoldiers, so long united dread scourge of lawless\\npower!\\nOur country, torn and bleeding, calls to this desperate\\nhour.\\nOne choice alone is left us, who hear that high behest\\nTo quit our claims to valor, or put them to the test!\\nI lead the storming column up yonder fateful hill.\\nYet not a man shall follow save at his ready will\\nThere leads no pathway backward t is death or\\nvictory\\nPoise each his trusty firelock, ye that will come with\\nme\\nFrom man to man a tremor ran at their captain s\\nword,\\n(Like the going in the mulberry-trees that once\\nKing David heard),\u00e2\u0080\u0094", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0033.jp2"}, "32": {"fulltext": "1 6 BALLADS OF A MERLCA N BRA VER Y\\nWhile his eagle glances sweeping adown the triple\\nline,\\nSaw, in the glowing twilight, each even barrel shine!\\nRight face, my men, and forward! Low-spoken,\\nswift-obeyed\\nThey mount the slope unfaltering they gain the es-\\nplanade\\nA single drowsy sentry beside the wicket-gate,\\nSnapping his aimless fusil, shouts the alarm too late\\nThey swarm before the barracks the quaking guards\\ntake flight,\\nAnd such a shout exultant resounds along the height.\\nAs rang from shore and headland scarce twenty years\\nago.\\nWhen brave Montcalm s defenders charged on a British\\nfoe!\\nLeaps from his bed in terror the ill-starred Delaplace,\\nTo meet across his threshold a wall he may not pass\\nThe bayonets lightning flashes athwart his dazzled\\neyes,\\nAnd, in tones of sudden thunder, Surrender! Allen\\ncries.\\nThen in whose name the summons the ashen lips\\nreply.\\nThe mountaineer s stern visage turns proudly toward\\nthe sky,\\nIn the name of great Jehovah he speaks with lifted\\nsword,\\nAnd the Continental Congress, who wait upon His\\nword", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0034.jp2"}, "33": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 7\\nLight clouds, like crimson banners, trailed bright\\nacross the east.\\nAs the great sun rose in splendor above a conflict\\nceased,\\nGilding the bloodless triumph for equal rights and laws,\\nAs with the smile of heaven upon a holy cause.\\nStill, wave on wave of verdure, the emerald hills arise.\\nWhere once were heroes mustered from men of com-\\nmon guise,\\nAnd still, on Freedom s roster, through all her glorious\\nyears.\\nShine the names of Ethan Allen and his bold volun-\\nteers!\\nMary Anna Phinney Stansbury.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of The Youths s Co7npanion.)\\n4\\nMONTGOMERY AT QUEBEC\\nRound Quebec s embattled walls\\nMoodily the patriots lay;\\nDread disease within its thralls\\nDrew them closer day by day;\\nTill from suffering man to man,\\nMutinous, a murmur ran.\\nFootsore, they had wandered far.\\nThey had fasted, they had bled;\\nThey had slept beneath the star\\nWith no pillow for the head\\nWas it but to freeze to stone\\nIn this cruel icy zone", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0035.jp2"}, "34": {"fulltext": "1 8 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nYet their leader held his heart,\\nNaught discouraged, naught dismayed\\nQuelled with unobtrusive art\\nThose that muttered; unafraid\\nWaited, watchful, for the hour\\nWhen his golden chance should flower.\\nT was the death-tide of the year;\\nNight had passed its murky noon\\nThrough the bitter atmosphere\\nPierced nor ray of star nor moon;\\nBut upon the bleak earth beat\\nBlinding arrows of the sleet.\\nWhile the trumpets of the storm\\nPealed the bastioned heights around,\\nDid the dauntless heroes form,\\nDid the low, sharp order sound.\\nBe the watchword Liberty\\nCried the brave Montgomery.\\nHere, where he had won applause.\\nWhen Wolfe faced the Gallic foe.\\nFor a nobler, grander cause\\nWould he strike the fearless blow,\\nSmite at Wrong upon the throne.\\nAt Injustice giant grown.\\nMen, you will not fear to tread\\nW^here your general dares to lead!\\nOn, my valiant boys! he said,\\nAnd his foot was first to speed", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0036.jp2"}, "35": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 9\\nSwiftly up the beetling steep,\\nLion-hearted, did he leap.\\nFlashed a sudden blinding glare;\\nRoared a fearsome battle-peal\\nRang the gloomy vasts of air\\nSeemed the earth to rock and reel;\\nWhile adown that fiery breath\\nRode the hurtling bolts of death.\\nWoe for him, the valorous one,\\nNow a silent clod of clay!\\nNevermore for him the sun\\nWould make glad the paths of day;\\nYet t were better thus to die\\nThan to cringe to tyranny\\nBetter thus the life to yield,\\nStriking for the right and God,\\nUpon Freedom s gory field,\\nThan to kiss Oppression s rod!\\nHonor, then, for all time be\\nTo the brave Montgomery\\nClinton Scollard.\\n5\\nTHE MARYLAND BATTALION\\nSpruce Macaronis, and pretty to see,\\nTidy and dapper and gallant were we;\\nBlooded fine gentlemen, proper and tall.\\nBold in a fox-hunt and gay at a ball", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0037.jp2"}, "36": {"fulltext": "20 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nPrancing soldados so martial and bluff,\\nBillets for bullets, in scarlet and buff\\nBut our cockades were clasped with a mother s low\\nprayer,\\nAnd the sweethearts that braided the sword-knots were\\nfair.\\nThere was grummer of drums humming hoarse in the\\nhills,\\nAnd the bugles sang fanfaron down by the mills.\\nBy Flatbush the bagpipes were droning amain.\\nAnd keen cracked the rifles in Martense s lane;\\nFor the Hessians v/ere flecking the hedges with red.\\nAnd the grenadiers tramp marked the roll of the dead.\\nThree to one, flank and rear, flashed the files of St.\\nGeorge,\\nThe fierce gleam of their steel as the glow of a forge.\\nThe brutal boom-boom of their swart cannoneers\\nWas sweet music compared with the taunt of their\\ncheers\\nFor the brunt of their onset, our crippled array,\\nAnd the light of God s leading gone out in the fray.\\nOh, the rout on the left and the tug on the right!\\nThe mad plunge of the charge and the wreck of the\\nflight!\\nWhen the cohorts of Grant held stout Stirling at strain,\\nAnd the mongrels of Hesse went tearing the slain;\\nWhen at Freeke s Mill the flumes and the sluices ran\\nred,\\nAnd the dead choked the dike and the marsh choked\\nthe dead!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0038.jp2"}, "37": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 21\\nOh, Stirling, good Stirling, how long must we wait\\nShall the shout of your trumpet unleash us too late\\nHave you never a dash for brave. Mordecai Gist,\\nWith his heart in his throat, and his blade in his\\nfist\\nAre we good for no more than to prance in a ball.\\nWhen the drums beat the charge and the clarions\\ncall?\\nTralara Tralara! Now praise we the Lord\\nFor the clang of His call and the flash of His sword!\\nTralara! Tralara! Now forward to die;\\nFor the banner, hurrah and for sweethearts, good-by\\nFour hundred wild lads! May be so. I 11 be\\nbound\\nT will be easy to count us, face up, on the ground.\\nIf we hold the road open, though Death take the toll.\\nWe 11 be missed on parade when the States call the\\nroll-\\nWhen the flags meet in peace and the guns are at rest.\\nAnd fair Freedom is singing Sweet Home in the West.\\nJohn Williamson Palmer.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n6\\nARNOLD AT STILLWATER\\nAh, you mistake me, comrades, to think that my heart\\nis steel!\\nCased in a cold endurance, nor pleasure nor pain to\\nfeel;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0039.jp2"}, "38": {"fulltext": "22 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nCold as I am in my manner, yet over these cheeks so\\nseared\\nTeardrops have fallen in torrents, thrice since my chin\\ngrew beard.\\nThrice since my chin was bearded I suffered the tears\\nto fall\\nBenedict Arnold, the traitor, he was the cause of them\\nall!\\nOnce, when he carried Stillwater, proud of his valor, I\\ncried\\nThen, with my rage at his treason with pity when\\nAndre died.\\nBenedict Arnold, the traitor, sank deep in the pit of\\nshame,\\nBartered for vengeance his honor, blackened for profit\\nhis fame;\\nYet never a gallanter soldier, whatever his after crime.\\nFought on the red field of honor than he in his early\\ntime.\\nAh, I remember Stillwater, as it were yesterday\\nThen first I shouldered a firelock, and set out the foe-\\nmen to slay.\\nThe country was up all around us, racing and chasing\\nBurgoyne,\\nAnd I had gone out with my neighbors. Gates and his\\nforces to join.\\nMarched we with Poor and with Learned, ready and\\neager to fight\\nThere stood the foemen before us, cannon and men on\\nthe height", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0040.jp2"}, "39": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 2 7,\\nOnward we trod with no shouting, forbidden to fire till\\nthe word\\nAs silent their long line of scarlet not one of them\\nwhispered or stirred.\\nSuddenly, then, from among them smoke rose and\\nspread on the breeze\\nGrapeshot flew over us sharply, cutting the limbs from\\nthe trees;\\nBut onward we pressed till the order of Cilley fell full\\non the ear;\\nThen we leveled our pieces and fired them, and rushed\\nup the slope with a cheer.\\nFiercely we charged on their center, and beat back the\\nstout grenadiers.\\nAnd wounded the brave Major Ackland, and grappled\\nthe swart cannoneers;\\nFive times we captured their cannons, and five times\\nthey took them again\\nBut the sixth time we had them we kept them, and\\nwith them a share of their men.\\nOur colonel who led us dismounted, high on a cannon\\nhe sprang;\\nOver the noise of our shouting clearly his joyous words\\nrang;\\nThese are our own brazen beauties! Here to Amer-\\nica s cause\\nI dedicate each, and to freedom foes to King George\\nand his laws!\\nWorn as we were with the struggle, wounded and\\nbleeding and sore.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0041.jp2"}, "40": {"fulltext": "24 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nSome stood all pale and exhausted some lay there\\nstiff in their gore;\\nAnd round through the mass went a murmur, that\\ngrew to a v/hispering clear,\\nAnd then to reproaches outspoken If General\\nArnold were here!\\nFor Gates, in his folly and envy, had given the chief\\nno command,\\nAnd far in the rear some had seen him horseless and\\nmoodily stand,\\nKnitting his forehead in anger, gnawing his red lip in\\npain,\\nFretting himself like a bloodhound held back from his\\nprey by a chain.\\nHark, at our right there is cheering! there is the ruffle\\nof drums\\nHere is the well-known brown charger! Spurring it\\nmadly he comes!\\nLearned s brigade have espied him, rending the air\\nwith a cheer;\\nWoe to the terrified foeman, now that our leader is\\nhere!\\nPiercing the tumult behind him, Armstrong is out on\\nhis track\\nGates has dispatched his lieutenant to summon the\\nfugitive back.\\nArmstrong might summon the tempest, order the\\nwhirlwind to stay,\\nIssue commands to the earthquake would they the\\nmandate obey", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0042.jp2"}, "41": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 2$\\nWounds, they were healed in a moment! weariness in-\\nstantly gone\\nForward he pointed his sabre led us, not ordered us on.\\nDown on the Hessians we thundered, he, like a mad-\\nman ahead\\nVainly they strove to withstand us; raging, they shiv-\\nered and fled.\\nOn to their earthworks we drove them, shaking with\\nire and dismay\\nThere they made stand with a purpose to beat back\\nthe tide of the day.\\nOnv/ard we followed, then faltered deadly their balls\\nwhistled free.\\nWhere was our death-daring leader Arnold, our\\nhope, where was he\\nHe He was everywhere riding! hither and thither\\nhis form,\\nOn the brown charger careering, showed us the path\\nof the storm\\nOver the roar of the cannon, over the musketry s crash.\\nSounded his voice, while his sabre lit up the way with\\nits flash.\\nThrowing quick glances around him, reining a moment\\nhis steed\\nBrooks, that redoubt! was his order; let the rest\\nfollow my lead\\nMark where the smoke-cloud is parting! see where the\\ngun-barrels glance!\\nLivingston, forward On, Wesson, charge them Let\\nMorgan advance!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0043.jp2"}, "42": {"fulltext": "26 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nForward! he shouted, and, spurring on through\\nthe sally-port then,\\nFell sword in hand on the Hessians, closely behind him\\nour men.\\nBack shrank the foemen in terror; off went their forces\\npellmell,\\nFiring one Parthian volley struck by it, Arnold, he fell.\\nOurs was the day. Up we raised him spurted the\\nblood from his knee\\nTake my cravat, boys, and bind it; I am not dead\\nyet, said he.\\nWhat did you follow me, Armstrong Pray, do\\nyou think it quite right.\\nLeaving your duties out yonder, to risk your dear self\\nin the fight\\nGeneral Gates sent his orders faltering the aid-\\nde-camp spoke\\nYou re to return, lest some rashness Fiercely\\nthe speech Arnold broke:\\nRashness! Why, yes, tell the general the rashness\\nhe dreaded is done!\\nTell him his kinsfolk are beaten tell him the battle is\\nwon\\nOh, that a soldier so glorious, ever victorious in fight,\\nPassed from a daylight of honor into the terrible\\nnight\\nFell as the mighty archangel, ere the earth glowed in\\nspace, fell\\nFell from the patriot s heaven down to the loyalist s\\nhell\\nThomas Dunn English.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0044.jp2"}, "43": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 2/\\nTHE YANKEE MAN-OF-WAR\\nT IS of a gallant Yankee ship that flew the Stripes\\nand Stars,\\nAnd the whistling wind from the west-nor -west blew\\nthrough the pitch-pine spars,\\nWith her starboard tacks a-board, my boys, she hung\\nupon the gale.\\nOn an autumn night we raised the light on the old\\nhead of Kinsale.\\nIt was a clear and cloudless night, and the wind blew\\nsteady and strong,\\nAs gaily over the sparkling deep our good ship bowled\\nalong\\nWith the foaming seas beneath her bow the fiery waves\\nshe spread,\\nAnd bending low her bosom of snow, she buried her\\nlee cathead.\\nThere was no talk of shortening sail by him who walked\\nthe poop.\\nAnd under the press of her pondering jib, the boom\\nbent like a hoop\\nAnd the groaning waterways told the strain that held\\nher stout main-tack,\\nBut he only laughed as he glanced abaft at the white\\nand silvery track.\\nThe mid-tide meets in the channel waves that flow\\nfrom shore to shore.\\nAnd the mist hung heavy upon the land from Feather-\\nstone to Dunmore;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0045.jp2"}, "44": {"fulltext": "28 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nAnd that sterling light on Tusker rock, where the old\\nbell tolls the hour,\\nAnd the beacon light that shone so bright was\\nquenched on Waterford tower.\\nThe nightly robes our good ship wore were her three\\ntopsails set,\\nThe spanker and her standing jib, the spanker being\\nfast\\nNow, lay aloft, my heroes bold, let not a moment\\npass!\\nAnd royals and topgallant sails were quickly on each\\nmast.\\nWhat looms upon the starboard bow What hangs\\nupon the breeze\\nT is time our good ship hauled her wind abreast the\\nold Saltees;\\nFor by her ponderous press of sail and by her consorts\\nfour\\nWe saw our morning visitor was a British man-of-war.\\nUp spoke our noble captain then, as a shot ahead of\\nus passed,\\nHaul snug your flowing courses, lay your topsail to\\nthe mast\\nThe Englishmen gave three loud hurrahs from the\\ndeck of their covered ark,\\nAnd we ansv/ered back by a solid broadside from the\\ndecks of our patriot bark.\\nOut, booms! Out, booms! our skipper cried.\\nOut, booms, and give her sheet!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0046.jp2"}, "45": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 29\\nAnd the swiftest keel that ever was launched shot\\nahead of the British fleet.\\nAnd amidst a thundering shower of shot, with stunsails\\nhoisting away,\\nDown the North Channel Paul Jones did steer, just at\\nthe break of day.\\nAnonymous.\\nTHE RIDE OF JENNIE M NEAL\\nPaul Revere was a rider bold\\nWell has his valorous deed been told;\\nSheridan s ride was a glorious one\\nOften has it been dwelt upon.\\nBut why should men do all the deeds\\nOn which the love of a patriot feeds\\nHearken to me, while I reveal\\nThe dashing ride of Jennie M Neal.\\nOn a spot as pretty as might be found\\nIn the dangerous length of the Neutral Ground,\\nIn a cottage, cosy, and all their own.\\nShe and her mother lived alone.\\nSafe were the two, with their frugal store,\\nFrom all of the many who passed their door;\\nFor Jennie s mother was strange to fears.\\nAnd Jennie was large for fifteen years;\\nWith vim her eyes were glistening,\\nHer hair was the hue of the blackbird s wing;\\nAnd while the friends who knew her well\\nThe sweetness of her heart could tell.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0047.jp2"}, "46": {"fulltext": "30 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nA gun that hung on the kitchen wall\\nLooked solemnly quick to heed her call;\\nAnd they who were evil-minded knew\\nHer nerve was strong and her aim was true.\\nSo all kind words and acts did deal\\nTo generous, black-eyed Jennie M Neal.\\nOne night when the sun had crept to bed,\\nAnd rain clouds lingered overhead,\\nAnd sent their surly drops for proof\\nTo drum a tune on the cottage roof,\\nClose after a knock at the outer door,\\nThere entered a dozen dragoons or more.\\nTheir red coats, stained by the muddy road,\\nThat they were British soldiers showed\\nThe captain his hostess bent to greet,\\nSaying, Madam, please give us a bit to eat;\\nWe will pay you well, and, if may be.\\nThis bright-eyed girl for pouring our tea;\\nThen we must dash ten miles ahead,\\nTo catch a rebel colonel abed.\\nHe is visiting home, as doth appear;\\nWe will make his pleasure cost him dear.\\nAnd they fell on the hasty supper with zeal,\\nClose-watched the while by Jennie M Neal.\\nFor the gray-haired colonel they hovered near\\nHad been her true friend, kind and dear;\\nAnd oft, in her younger days, had he\\nRight proudly perched her upon his knee,\\nAnd told her stories many a one\\nConcerning the French war lately done.\\nAnd oft together the two friends were.\\nAnd many the arts he had taught to her;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0048.jp2"}, "47": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 3 1\\nShe had hunted by his fatherly side,\\nHe had shown her how to fence and ride;\\nAnd once had said, The time may be,\\nYour skill and courage may stand by me.\\nSo sorrow for him she could but feel,\\nBrave, grateful-hearted Jennie M Neal.\\nWith never a thought or a moment more,\\nBare-headed she slipped from the cottage door,\\nRan out where the horses were left to feed,\\nUnhitched and mounted the captain s steed,\\nAnd down the hilly and rock-strewn way\\nShe urged the fiery horse of gray.\\nAround her slender and cloakless form\\nPattered and moaned the ceaseless storm;\\nSecure and tight, a gloveless hand\\nGrasped the reins with stern command;\\nAnd full and black her long hair streamed\\nWhenever the ragged lightning gleamed.\\nAnd on she rushed for the colonel s weal,\\nBrave, lioness-hearted Jennie M Neal.\\nHark! From the hills, a moment mute.\\nCame a clatter of hoofs in hot pursuit\\nAnd a cry from the foremost trooper said,\\nHalt, or your blood be on your head\\nShe heeded it not, and not in vain\\nShe lashed the horse with the bridle rein.\\nSo into the night the gray horse strode;\\nHis shoes hewed fire from the rocky road\\nAnd the highborn courage that never dies\\nFlashed from the rider s coal-black eyes.\\nThe pebbles flew from that fearful race;\\nThe raindrops grasped at her glowing face.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0049.jp2"}, "48": {"fulltext": "32 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nOn, on, brave beast! with loud appeal.\\nCried eager, resolute Jennie M Neal.\\nHalt! once more came the voice of dread;\\nHalt, or your blood be on your head!\\nThen, no one answering to the calls,\\nSped after her a volley of balls.\\nThey passed her in their rapid flight.\\nThey screamed to her left, they screamed to her\\nright\\nBut, rushing o er the slippery track,\\nShe sent no token of answer back,\\nExcept a silvery laughter-peal,\\nBrave, merry-hearted Jennie M Neal.\\nSo on she rushed, at her own good will.\\nThrough wood and valley, o er plain and hill;\\nThe gray horse did his duty well.\\nTill all at once he stumbled and fell.\\nHimself escaping the nets of harm,\\nBut flinging the girl with a broken arm.\\nStill undismayed by the numbing pain,\\nShe clung to the horse s bridle rein.\\nAnd gently bidding him to stand,\\nPetted him with her able hand\\nThen sprung again to the saddlebow,\\nAnd shouted, One more trial now!\\nAs if ashamed of the heedless fall\\nHe gathered his strength once more for all,\\nAnd, galloping down a hillside steep.\\nGained on the troopers at every leap;\\nNo more the high-bred steed did reel.\\nBut ran his best for Jennie M Neal.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0050.jp2"}, "49": {"fulltext": "7 V TIME OF STRIFE 33\\nThey were a furlong behind, or more,\\nWhen the girl burst through the colonel s door,\\nHer poor arm hanging helpless with pain,\\nAnd she all drabbled and drenched with rain,\\nBut her cheeks as red as firebrands are.\\nAnd her eyes as bright as a blazing star;\\nAnd shouted, Quick, be quick, I say!\\nThey come! they come! away! away!\\nThen sunk on the rude white floor of deal,\\nPoor, brave, exhausted Jennie M Neal.\\nThe startled colonel sprung, and pressed\\nThe wife and children to his breast,\\nAnd turned away from his fireside bright,\\nAnd glided into the stormy night\\nThen soon and safely made his way\\nTo where the patriot army lay.\\nBut first he bent, in the dim firelight,\\nAnd kissed the forehead broad and white.\\nAnd blessed the girl v/ho had ridden so well\\nTo keep him out of a prison cell.\\nThe girl roused up at the martial din.\\nJust as the troopers came rushing in.\\nAnd laughed, e en in the midst of a moan,\\nSaying, Good sirs, your bird has flown.\\nT is I who have scared him from his nest\\nSo deal with me now as you think best.\\nBut the grand young captain bowed, and said,\\nNever you hold a moment s dread.\\nOf womankind I must crown you queen:\\nSo brave a girl I have never seen.\\nWear this gold ring as your valor s due,\\nAnd when peace comes I will come for you.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0051.jp2"}, "50": {"fulltext": "34 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nBut Jennie s face an arch snnile wore,\\nAs she said, There s a lad in Putnam s corps\\nWho told me the same, long time ago;\\nYou two would never agree, I know.\\nI promised my love to be true as steel,\\nSaid good, sure-hearted Jennie M Neal.\\nWill Carleton.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.)\\n9\\nSONG OF MARION S MEN\\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;\\nWhen, waking to their tents on fire,\\nThey grasp their arms in vain,\\nAnd they who stand to face us\\nAre beat to earth aeain", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0052.jp2"}, "51": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 35\\nAnd they who fly in terror deem\\nA mighty host behind,\\nAnd hear the tramp of thousands\\nUpon the hollow wind.\\nThen sweet the hour that brings release\\nFrom danger 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 rifles.\\nThe scampering of their steeds.\\nT is life to guide the fiery barb\\nAcross the moonlight plain\\nT is 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.\\nGrave men there are by broad Santee,\\nGrave men with boary hairs", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0053.jp2"}, "52": {"fulltext": "36 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nTheir hearts are all with Marion,\\nFor Marion are their prayers.\\nAnd lovely ladies greet our band,\\nWith kindest 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.\\nWnxiAM CuLLEN Bryant.\\nHOW WE BURNED THE PHILADELPHIA\\nBy the beard of the Prophet the Bashazv szvore\\nHe would scourge us from the seas\\nYankees should trouble his soul no more\\nBy the Prophef s beard the Bashazv szvore^\\nThen lighted his hookah^ and took his ease^\\nAnd troubled his soul no more.\\nThe moon was dim in the western sky,\\nAnd a mist fell soft on the sea,\\nAs we slipped away from the Siren brig\\nAnd headed for Tripoli.\\nBehind us the hulk of the Siren lay,\\nBefore us the empty night;\\nAnd when again we looked behind\\nThe Siren was gone from our sight.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0054.jp2"}, "53": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 3/\\nNothing behind us, and nothing before,\\nOnly the silence and rain,\\nAs the jaws of the sea took hold of our bows\\nAnd cast us up again.\\nThrough the rain and the silence we stole along.\\nCautious and stealthy and slow,\\nFor we knew the waters were full of those\\nWho might challenge the Mastico.\\nBut nothing we saw till we saw the ghost\\nOf the ship we had come to see.\\nHer ghostly lights and her ghostly frame\\nRolling uneasily.\\nAnd as we looked, the mist drew up\\nAnd the moon threw off her veil,\\nAnd we saw the ship in the pale moonlight,\\nGhostly and drear and pale.\\nThen spoke Decatur low and said\\nTo the bulwarks shadow all!\\nBut the six who wear the Tripoli dress\\nShall answer the sentinel s call.\\nWhat ship is that cried the sentinel.\\nNo ship, was the answer free;\\nBut only a Malta ketch in distress\\nWanting to moor in your lee.\\nWe have lost our anchor, and wait for day\\nTo sail into Tripoli town.\\nAnd the sea rolls fierce and high to-night.\\nSo cast a cable down.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0055.jp2"}, "54": {"fulltext": "38 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThen close to the frigate s side we came,\\nMade fast to her unforbid\\nSix of us bold in the heathen dress,\\nThe rest of us lying hid.\\nBut one who saw us hiding there\\nAinericano cried.\\nThen straight we rose and made a rush\\nPellmell up the frigate s side.\\nLess than a hundred men were we,\\nAnd the heathen were twenty score;\\nBut a Yankee sailor in those old days\\nLiked odds of one to four.\\nAnd first we cleaned the quarter deck.\\nAnd then from stern to stem\\nWe charged into our enemies\\nAnd quickly slaughtered them.\\nAll around was the dreadful sound\\nOf corpses striking the sea,\\nAnd the awful shrieks of dying men\\nIn their last agony.\\nThe heathen fought like devils all,\\nBut one by one they fell,\\nSwept from the deck by our cutlasses\\nTo the water, and so to hell.\\nSome we found in the black of the hold,\\nSome to the fo c s le fled.\\nBut all in vain we sought them out\\nAnd left them lying dead;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0056.jp2"}, "55": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 39\\nTill at last no soul but Christian souls\\nUpon that ship was found\\nThe twenty score were dead, and we,\\nThe hundred, safe and sound.\\nAnd, stumbling over the tangled dead,\\nThe deck a crimson tide,\\nWe fired the ship from keel to shrouds\\nAnd tumbled over the side.\\nThen out to sea we sailed once more,\\nWith the world as light as day,\\nAnd the flames revealed a hundred sail\\nOf the heathen there in the bay.\\nAll suddenly the red light paled.\\nAnd the rain rang out on the sea;\\nThen a dazzling flash, a deafening roar,\\nBetween us and Tripoli\\nThen, nothing behind us, and nothing before,\\nOnly the silence and rain;\\nAnd the jaws of the sea took hold of our bows\\nAnd cast us up again.\\nBy the beard of the Prophet the Bashaw swore\\nHe would scourge us from the seas\\nYankees should trouble Ids soul no more\\nBy the Prophef s beard the Bashazv swore.\\nThen lighted his hookah, and took his ease,\\nAnd troubled his soul no more.\\nBarrett Eastman.\\n(By special permission of the author.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0057.jp2"}, "56": {"fulltext": "40 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nII\\nTHE SHANNON AND TPIE CHESA-\\nPEAKE\\nThe captain of the Shannon came sailing up the bay,\\nA reeling wind flung out behind his pennons bright\\nand gay\\nHis cannon crashed a challenge; the smoke that hid\\nthe sea\\nWas driven hard to windward and drifted back to lee.\\nThe captain of the Shannon sent word into the town\\nWas Lawrence there, and would he dare to sail his\\nfrigate down\\nAnd meet him at the harbor s mouth and fight him,\\ngun to gun,\\nFor honor s sake, with pride at stake, until the fight\\nwas won\\nNow, long the gallant Lawrence had scoured the bitter\\nmain\\nWith many a scar and wound of war his ship was home\\nagain\\nHis crew, relieved from service, were scattered far and\\nwide,\\nAnd scarcely one, his duty done, had lingered by his\\nside.\\nBut to refuse the challenge Could he outlive the\\nshame\\nBrave men and true, but deadly few, he gathered to\\nhis fame.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0058.jp2"}, "57": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 4 1\\nOnce more the great ship Chesapeake prepared her for\\nthe fight,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nI 11 brhig the foe to town in tow, he said, before\\nto-night!\\nHigh on the hills of Hingham that overlook the shore,\\nTo watch the fray and hope and pray, for they could\\ndo no more,\\nThe children of the country watched the children of\\nthe sea\\nWhen the smoke drove hard to windward and drifted\\nback to lee.\\nHow can he fight, they whispered, with only half\\na crew.\\nThough they be rare to do and dare, yet what can\\nbrave men do\\nBut when the Chesapeake came down, the Stars and\\nStripes on high.\\nStilled was each fear, and cheer on cheer resounded to\\nthe sky.\\nThe captain of the Shannon^ he swore both long and\\nloud\\nThis victory, where er it be, shall make two nations\\nproud!\\nNow onward to this victory or downward to defeat\\nA sailor s life is sweet with strife, a sailor s death as\\nsweet.\\nAnd as when lightnings rend the sky and gloomy\\nthunders roar,\\nAnd crashing surge plays devil s dirge upon the stricken\\nshore,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0059.jp2"}, "58": {"fulltext": "42 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nWith thunder and with sheets of flame the two ships\\nrang with shot,\\nAnd every gun burst forth a sun of iron crimson-hot.\\nAnd twice they lashed together and twice they tore\\napart,\\nAnd iron balls burst wooden walls and pierced each\\noaken heart.\\nStill from the hills of Hingham men watched with\\nhopes and fears,\\nWhile all the bay was torn that day with shot that\\nrained like tears.\\nThe tall masts of the Chesapeake went groaning by the\\nboard\\nThe Shannon s spars were weak with scars when Broke\\ncast down his sword\\nNow woe, he cried, to England, and shame and\\nwoe to me!\\nThe smoke drove hard to windward and drifted back\\nto lee.\\nGive them one breaking broadside more, he cried,\\nbefore we strike\\nBut one grim ball that ruined all for hope and home\\nalike\\nLaid Lawrence low in glory, yet from his pallid lip\\nRang to the land his last command Boys, don t give\\nup the ship\\nThe wounded wept like women when they hauled her\\nensign down.\\nMen s cheeks were pale as with the tale from Hingham\\nto the town", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0060.jp2"}, "59": {"fulltext": "nV TIME OF STRIFE 43\\nThey hurried swift in silence, while toward the eastern\\nnight\\nThe victor bore away from shore and vanished out of\\nsight.\\nHail to the great ship Chesapeake I Hail to the hero\\nbrave\\nWho fought her fast, and loved her last, and shared\\nher sudden grave\\nAnd glory be to those that died, for all* eternity\\nThey lie apart at the mother-heart of God s eternal sea.\\nThomas Tracy Bouve.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of The Youth s Co//ipanion.)\\n12\\nTHE FIGHT OF THE ARMSTRONG\\nPRIVATEER\\nTell the story to your sons\\nOf the gallant days of yore,\\nWhen the brig of seven guns\\nFought the fleet of seven score,\\nFrom the set of sun till morn, through the long Sep-\\ntember night\\nNinety men against two thousand, and the ninety won\\nthe fight\\nIn the harbor of Fayal the Azore.\\nThree lofty British ships came a-sailing to Fayal:\\nOne was a line-of-battle ship, and two were frigates\\ntall;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0061.jp2"}, "60": {"fulltext": "44 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nNelson s valiant men of war, brave as Britons ever are,\\nManned the guns they served so well at Aboukir and\\nTrafalgar.\\nLord Dundonald and his fleet at Jamaica far away\\nWaited eager for their coming, fretted sore at their\\ndelay.\\nThere was loot for British valor on the Mississippi coast\\nIn the beauty and the booty that the Creole cities\\nboast\\nThere were rebel knaves to swing, there were prisoners\\nto bring\\nHome in fetters to old England for the glory of the\\nKing!\\nAt the setting of the sun and the ebbing of the tide\\nCame the great ships one by one, with their portals\\nopened wide.\\nAnd their cannon frowning down on the castle and the\\ntown\\nAnd the privateer that lay close inside\\nCame the eighteen- gun Carnation, and the Rota, forty-\\nfour.\\nAnd the triple-decked Plant agenet 2iX\\\\ Admiral s pennon\\nbore\\nAnd the privateer grew smaller as their topmasts\\ntowered taller,\\nAnd she bent her springs and anchored by the castle\\non the shore.\\nSpoke the noble Portuguese to the stranger: Have\\nno fear;\\nThey are neutral waters these, and your ship is sacred\\nhere", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0062.jp2"}, "61": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 45\\nAs if fifty stout armadas stood to shelter you from\\nharm,\\nFor the honor of the Briton will defend you from his\\narm.\\nBut the privateersman said, Well we know the Eng-\\nlishmen,\\nAnd their faith is written red in the Dartmoor slaughter-\\npen.\\nCome what fortune God may send, vv^e will fight them\\nto the end.\\nAnd the mercy of the sharks may spare us then.\\nSeize the pirate where she lies! cried the English\\nAdmiral\\nIf the Portuguese protect her, all the worse for\\nPortugal!\\nAnd four launches at his bidding leaped impatient for\\nthe fray,\\nSpeeding shoreward where the Armstrong, grim and\\ndark and ready, lay.\\nTwice she hailed and gave them warning; but the\\nfeeble menace scorning,\\nOn they came in splendid silence, till a cable s length\\naway.\\nThen the Yankee pivot spoke; Pico s thousand echoes\\nwoke;\\nAnd four baffled, beaten launches drifted helpless on\\nthe bay.\\nThen the wrath of Lloyd arose till the lion roared again.\\nAnd he called out all his launches and he called five\\nhundred men\\nAnd he gave the word No quarter! and he sent\\nthem forth to smite.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0063.jp2"}, "62": {"fulltext": "46 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nHeaven help the foe before him when the Briton comes\\nin might\\nHeaven helped the little Armstrong in her hour of bit-\\nter need\\nGod Almighty nerved the heart and guided well the\\narm of Reid.\\nLaunches to port and starboard, launches forward and\\naft,\\nFourteen launches together striking the little craft.\\nThey hacked at the boarding-nettings, they swarmed\\nabove the rail;\\nBut the Long Tom roared from his pivot and the grape-\\nshot fell like hail\\nPike and pistol and cutlass, and hearts that knew not\\nfear,\\nBulwarks of brawn and mettle, guarded the privateer.\\nAnd ever where fight was fiercest the form of Reid\\nwas seen\\nEver where foes drew nearest, his quick sword fell be-\\ntween.\\nOnce in the deadly strife\\nThe boarder s leader pressed\\nForward of all the rest\\nChallenging life for life;\\nBut ere their blades had crossed\\nA dying sailor tossed\\nHis pistol to Reid, and cried,\\nNow riddle the lubber s hide!\\nBut the privateersman laughed, and flung the weapon\\naside.\\nAnd he drove his blade to the hilt, and the foeman\\ngasped and died.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0064.jp2"}, "63": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 47\\nThen the boarders took to their launches, laden with\\nhurt and dead,\\nBut little with glory burdened, and out of the battle\\nfled.\\nNow the tide was at flood again, and the night was\\nalmost done.\\nWhen the sloop-of-war came up with her odds of two\\nto one.\\nAnd she opened fire but the Armstrong answered her,\\ngun for gun.\\nAnd the gay Carnation wilted in half an hour of sun.\\nThen the Armstrong, looking seaward, saw the mighty\\nseventy-four,\\nWith her triple tier of cannon, drawing slowly to the\\nshore.\\nAnd the dauntless captain said: Take our wounded\\nand our dead.\\nBear them tenderly to land, for the Armstrong s days\\nare o er;\\nBut no foe shall tread her deck, and no flag above it\\nwave\\nTo the ship that saved our honor we will give a ship-\\nman s grave.\\nSo they did as he commanded, and they bore their\\nmates to land\\nWith the figurehead of Armstrong and the good sword\\nin his hand.\\nThen they turned the Long Tom downward, and they\\npierced her oaken side,\\nAnd they cheered her, and they blessed her, and they\\nsunk her in the tide.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0065.jp2"}, "64": {"fulltext": "48 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nTell the story to your sons,\\nWhen the haughty stranger boasts\\nOf his mighty ships and guns\\nAnd the muster of his hosts,\\nHow the word of God was witnessed in the gallant\\ndays of yore\\nWhen the twenty fled from one ere the rising of the\\nsun,\\nIn the harbor of Fayal the Azore!\\nJames Jeffrey Roche.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and\\nCompany.)\\n13\\nTHE MEN OF THE ALAMO\\nTo Houston at Gonzales town, ride, Rangei for your\\nlife.\\nNor stop to say good-by to-day to home, or child, or\\nwife\\nBut pass the word from ranch to ranch, to every Texan\\nsword,\\nThat fifty hundred Mexicans have crossed the Nueces\\nford.\\nWith Castrillon and perjured Cos, Sesma and Almonte,\\nAnd Santa Anna ravenous for vengeance and for prey!\\nThey smite the land with fire and sword the grass\\nshall never grow\\nWhere northward sweeps that locust horde on San\\nAntonio\\nNow who will bar the foeman s path, to gain a breath-\\ning space,\\nTill Houston and his scattered men shall meet him\\nface to face", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0066.jp2"}, "65": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 49\\nWho holds his life as less than naught when home and\\nhonor call,\\nAnd counts the guerdon full and fair for liberty to fall\\nOh, who but Barrett Travis, the bravest of them all\\nWith seven score of riflemen to play the rancher s\\ngame,\\nAnd feed a counter-fire to halt the sweeping prairie\\nflame\\nFor Bowie of the broken blade is there to cheer them\\non,\\nWith Evans of Concepcion, who conquered Castrillon,\\nAnd o er their heads the Lone Star flag defiant floats\\non high,\\nAnd no man thinks of yielding, and no man fears to die.\\nBut ere the siege is held a week a cry is heard without,\\nA clash of arms, a rifle peal, the Ranger s ringing\\nshout,\\nAnd two-and-thirty beardless boys have bravely hewed\\ntheir way\\nTo die with Travis if they must, to conquer if they\\nmay.\\nWas ever valor held so cheap in Glory s mart before\\nIn all the days of chivalry, in all the deeds of war\\nBut once again the foemen gaze in wonderment and fear\\nTo see a stranger break their lines and hear the Texans\\ncheer.\\nGod how they cheered to welcome him, those spent\\nand starving men!\\nFor Davy Crockett by their side was worth an army\\nthen.\\nThe wounded ones forgot their wounds; the dying\\ndrew a breath\\n4", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0067.jp2"}, "66": {"fulltext": "50 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nTo hail the king of border men, then turned to laugh\\nat death.\\nFor all knew Davy Crockett, blithe and generous as\\nbold,\\nAnd strong and rugged as the quartz that hides its\\nheart of gold.\\nHis simple creed for word or deed true as the bullet sped,\\nAnd rung the target straight: Be sure you re right,\\nthen go ahead!\\nAnd were they right who fought the fight for Texas\\nby his side\\nThey questioned not; they faltered not; they only\\nfought and died.\\nWho hath an enemy like these, God s mercy slay him\\nstraight\\nA thousand Mexicans lay dead outside the convent\\ngate,\\nAnd half a thousand more must die before the fortress\\nfalls,\\nAnd still the tide of war beats high around the\\nleaguered walls.\\nAt last the bloody breach is won the weakened lines\\ngive way\\nThe wolves are swarming in the court the lions stand\\nat bay.\\nThe leader meets them at the breach, and wins the\\nsoldier s prize;\\nA foeman s bosom sheathes his sword when gallant\\nTravis dies.\\nNow let the victor feast at will until his crest be red\\nWe may not know what raptures fill the vulture with\\nthe dead.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0068.jp2"}, "67": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 5 I\\nLet Santa Anna s valiant sword right bravely hew and\\nhack\\nThe senseless corse; its hands are cold; they will not\\nstrike him back.\\nLet Bowie die, but ware the hand that wields his\\ndeadly knife\\nFour went to slay, and one comes back, so dear he\\nsells his life.\\nAnd last of all let Crockett fall, too proud to sue for\\ngrace,\\nSo grand in death the butcher dared not look upon his\\nface.\\nBut far on San Jacinto s field the Texan toils are set,\\nAnd Alamo s dread memory the Texan steel shall\\nwhet.\\nAnd Fame shall tell their deeds who fell till all the\\nyears be run.\\nThermopylae left one alive the Alamo left none.\\nJames Jeffrey Roche.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and\\nCompany.)\\nTHE FIGHT AT THE SAN JACINTO\\nNow for a brisk and a cheerful fight!\\nSaid Harman, big and droll,\\nAs he coaxed his flint and steel for a light,\\nAnd puffed at his cold clay bowl\\nFor we are a skulking lot, says he,\\nOf land-thieves hereabout.\\nAnd the bold senores, two to one.\\nHave come to smoke us out.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0069.jp2"}, "68": {"fulltext": "52 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nSanta Anna and Castrillon,\\nAlmonte brave and gay,\\nPortilla red from Goliad,\\nAnd Cos with his smart array.\\nDulces and cigaritos,\\nAnd the light guitar, ting-tum\\nSant Anna courts siesta\\nAnd Sam Houston taps his drum.\\nThe buck stands still in the timber\\nIs it patter of nuts that fall\\nThe foal of the wild mare whinnies^\\nDid he hear the Comanche call\\nIn the brake by the crawling bayou\\nThe slinking she-wolves howl.\\nAnd the mustang s snort in the river sedge\\nHas startled the paddling fowl.\\nA soft low tap, and a muffled tap.\\nAnd a roll not loud nor long\\nWe would not break Sant Anna s nap,\\nNor spoil Almonte s song.\\nSaddles and knives and rifles!\\nLord but the men were glad\\nWhen Deaf Smith muttered Alamo!\\nAnd Karnes hissed Goliad!\\nThe drummer tucked his sticks in his belt,\\nAnd the fifer gripped his gun.\\nOh, for one free, wild Texan yell,\\nAnd we took the slope in a run", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0070.jp2"}, "69": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 53\\nBut never a shout nor a shot we spent,\\nNor an oath nor a prayer that day,\\nTill we faced the bravos, eye to eye.\\nAnd then we blazed away.\\nThen we knew the rapture of Ben Milam,\\nAnd the glory that Travis made,\\nWith Bowie s lunge and Crockett s shot,\\nAnd Fannin s dancing blade;\\nAnd the heart of the fio-hter, bounding; free\\nIn his joy so hot and mad\\nWhen Millard charged for Alamo,\\nLamar for Goliad.\\nDeaf Smith rode Straight, with reeking spur.\\nInto the shock and rout:\\nI ve hacked and burned the bayou bridge,\\nThere s no sneak s back-way out!\\nMuzzle or butt for Goliad,\\nPistol and blade and fist\\nOh, for the knife that never glanced,\\nAnd the gun that never missed!\\nDulces and cigaritos.\\nSong and the mandolin\\nThat gory swamp was a gruesome grove\\nTo dance fandangos in.\\nWe bridged the bog with the sprawling herd\\nThat fell in that frantic rout;\\nWe slew and slew till the sun set red.\\nAnd the Texan star flashed out.\\nJohn Williamson Palmer.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Herbert S. Stone and\\nCompany.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0071.jp2"}, "70": {"fulltext": "54 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nMONTEREY\\nWe were not many we who stood\\nBefore the iron sleet that day;\\nYet many a gallant spirit would\\nGive half his years if he but 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 them 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,\\nWe 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.\\nWhere orange boughs above their grave\\nKeep green the memory of the brave\\nWho fought and fell at Monterey.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0072.jp2"}, "71": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 55\\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\\nCharles Fenno Hoffman.\\ni6\\nTHE DEFENSE OF LAWRENCE\\nAll night upon the guarded hill,\\nUntil the stars were low,\\nVv^rapped round as with Jehovah s will,\\nWe waited for the foe\\nAll night the silent sentinels\\nMoved by like gliding ghosts;\\nAll night the fancied warning bells\\nHeld all men to their posts.\\nWe heard the sleeping prairies breathe,\\nThe forest s human moans,\\nThe hungry gnashing of the teeth\\nOf wolves on bleaching bones;\\nWe marked the roar of rushing fires.\\nThe neigh of frightened steeds,\\nThe voices as of far-off lyres\\nAmong the river reeds.\\nWe were but thirty-nine who lay\\nBeside our rifles then;\\nWe were but thirty-nine, and they\\nWere twenty hundred men.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0073.jp2"}, "72": {"fulltext": "56 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nOur lean limbs shook and reeled about,\\nOur feet were gashed and bare,\\nAnd all the breezes shredded out\\nOur garments in the air.\\nThey came: the blessed Sabbath day,\\nThat soothed our swollen veins,\\nLike God s sweet benediction, lay\\nOn all the singing plains;\\nThe valleys shouted to the sun,\\nThe great woods clapped their hands,\\nAnd joy and glory seemed to run\\nLike rivers through the lands.\\nAnd then our daughters and our wives,\\nAnd men whose heads were white,\\nRose sudden into kingly lives\\nAnd walked forth to the fight\\nAnd we drew aim along our guns\\nAnd calmed our quickening breath,\\nThen, as is meet for Freedom s sons,\\nShook loving hands with Death.\\nAnd when three hundred of the foe\\nRode up in scorn and pride.\\nWhoso had watched us then might know\\nThat God was on our side\\nFor all at once a mighty thrill\\nOf grandeur through us swept.\\nAnd strong and swiftly down the hill\\nLike Gideons we leapt.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0074.jp2"}, "73": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 5/\\nAnd all throughout that Sabbath day\\nA wall of fire we stood,\\nAnd held the baffled foe at bay,\\nAnd streaked the ground with blood.\\nAnd when the sun was very low\\nThey wheeled their stricken flanks,\\nAnd passed on, wearily and slow,\\nBeyond the river banks.\\nBeneath the everlasting stars\\nWe bended child-like knees.\\nAnd thanked God for the shining scars\\nOf His large victories.\\nAnd some, who lingered, said they heard\\nSuch wondrous music pass\\nAs though a seraph s voice had stirred\\nThe pulses of the grass.\\nRichard Realf,\\n(From Poems, by Richard Realf. Copyright, Funk and Wagnalls\\nCompany, 1898. By special permission.)\\n17\\nBLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER\\nEbbed and flowed the muddy Pei-Ho by the Gulf of\\nPechi-Li,\\nNear its waters swung the yellow dragon-flag;\\nPast the batteries of China, looking westward we\\ncould see\\nLazy junks along the lazy river lag;\\nVillagers in near-by Ta-Kou toiled ben^^ath their\\nhumble star,\\nOn the flats the ugly mud-fort lay and dreamed;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0075.jp2"}, "74": {"fulltext": "58 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nWhile the Powhatan swung slowly at her station by\\nthe bar,\\nWhile the Toey- Wan with Tattnall onward steamed.\\nLazy East and lazy river, fort of mud in lazy June,\\nEnglish gunboats through the waters slowly fare,\\nWith the dragon-flag scarce moving in the lazy after-\\nnoon\\nO er the mud-heap storing venom in the glare.\\nWe were on our way to Pekin, to the Son of Heaven s\\nthrone,\\nWhite with peace was all our mission to his court\\nPeaceful, too, the English vessels on the turbid waters\\nstrown.\\nSeeking passage up to Pekin past the fort.\\nBy the bar lay half the English, while the rest with\\ngallant Hope\\nWrestled with the slipping ebb-tide up the stream\\nThey had cleared the Chinese irons, reached the\\ndoubled chain and rope\\nWhere the ugly mud-fort scowled upon their beam\\nCrash! the heavens split asunder with the thunder of\\nthe fight\\nAs the hateful dragon made its faith a mock;\\nEvery cannon spat its perfidy, each casemate blazed\\nits spite,\\nDashing down upon the English, shock on shock.\\nIn his courage Rason perished, bold McKenna fought\\nand fell.\\nScores were dying as they d lived, like valiant men;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0076.jp2"}, "75": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 59\\nAnd the meteor flag that upward prayed to heaven\\nfrom that hell\\nWept below for those who ne er should weep again.\\nFar away the English launches near the Powhatan\\nswung slow,\\nAH despairing, useless, out of reach of war,\\nSaw their comrades in the battle, saw them reel be-\\nneath the blow,\\nLying helpless gainst the ebb-tide by the bar.\\nOn the Toey- Wan stood Tattnall, Stephen Trenchard\\nat his side,\\nOld Man Tattnall, he who dared at Vera Cruz,\\nSaw here, crippled by the cannon, saw there, throttled\\nby the tide.\\nMen of English blood and speech Could he refuse\\nI 11 be damned, says he to Trenchard, if Old\\nTattnall s standing by\\nSeeing white men butchered here by such a foe!\\nWhere s my barge No side-arms, mind you See\\nthe English fight and die!\\nBlood is thicker, sir, than water. Let us go!\\nQuick we man the barge, and quicker plunge into that\\ndevil s-brew\\nAn official call, and Tattnall went in state:\\nTrenchard s hurt, our flag in ribbons, and the lunging\\nboat shot through,\\nHart, our coxswain, dies beneath the Chinese hate;\\nBut the cheers those English give us as we gain their\\nAdmiral s ship\\nMake the shattered barge and weary arms seem\\nlight\u00e2\u0080\u0094", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0077.jp2"}, "76": {"fulltext": "6o BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nThen the rare smile from Old Tattnall and Hope s\\nhearty word and grip,\\nBleeding though he was, and brave in hell s despite.\\nTattnall nods and we go forward, find a gun no longer\\nfought\\nWhat is peace to us, when all its crew lie dead\\nOne bright English lad brings powder and a wounded\\nman brings shot,\\nAnd we scotch that Chinese dragon, tail and head.\\nHands are shaken, faith is plighted, sounds our cap-\\ntain s cheery call;\\nIn a borrowed boat we speed us fast and far,\\nAnd the Toey-Wan and Tattnall down the ebb-tide\\nslide and fall\\nTo the launches lying moaning by the bar.\\nEager for an English vengeance, battle light on every\\nface.\\nSee, the Clustered Stars lead on the Triple Cross!\\nCheering, swinging into action, valiant Hope takes\\nheart of grace\\nFrom the cannons cloudy roar, the lanyards toss.\\nHow they fought, those fighting English! how they\\ncheered the Toey- Wan,\\nCheered our sailors, cheered Old Tattnall, grim\\nand gray\\nAnd their cheers ring down the ages as they rang be-\\nneath the sun\\nO er those bubbling, troubled waters far away.\\nEbbs and flows the muddy Pei-Ho by the Gulf of\\nPechi-Li,\\nIdly floats beside the stream the dragon-flag", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0078.jp2"}, "77": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 6 1\\nPast the batteries of China, looking westward still you\\nsee\\nLazy junks along the lazy river lag.\\nLet the long, long years drop slowly on that lost and\\nancient land.\\nEver dear one scene to hearts of gallant men\\nThere s a hand-clasp and a heart-throb, there s a\\nword we understand\\nBlood is thicker, sir, than water, now as then.\\nWallace Rice.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\ni8\\nBETHEL\\nWe mustered at midnight, in darkness we formed,\\nAnd the whisper went round of a fort to be stormed\\nBut no drum-beat had called us, no trumpet we heard,\\nAnd no voice of command but our colonel s low word\\nColumn I Forzvard\\nAnd out, through the mist and the murk of the morn,\\nFrom the beaches of Hampton our barges were borne;\\nAnd we heard not a sound save the sweep of the oar,\\nTill the word of our colonel came up from the shore\\nColumn Forward I\\nWith hearts bounding bravely and eyes all alight.\\nAs ye dance to soft music, so trod we that night\\nThrough the aisles of the greenwood, with vines over-\\narched.\\nTossing dew-drops like gems from our feet, as we\\nmarched\\nColumn I Forward I", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0079.jp2"}, "78": {"fulltext": "62 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nAs ye dance with the damsels to viol and flute,\\nSo we skipped from the shadows and mocked their\\npursuit\\nBut the soft zephyrs chased us, with scents of the\\nmorn,\\nAs we passed by the hayfields and green waving\\ncorn\\nColumn Forward\\nFor the leaves were all laden with fragrance of June,\\nAnd the flowers and the foliage with sweets were in\\ntune;\\nAnd the air was so calm, and the forest so dumb,\\nThat we heard our own heart-beats like taps of a\\ndrum\\nColumn I Forward\\nTill the lull of the lowlands was stirred by a breeze,\\nAnd the buskins of morn brushed the tops of the trees,\\nAnd the glintings of glory that slid from her track\\nBy the sheen of our rifles were gayly flung back\\nColumn Forward I\\nAnd the woodlands grew purple with sunshiny mist,\\nAnd the blue-crested hill-tops with rose-light were\\nkissed.\\nAnd the earth gave her prayers to the sun in perfumes.\\nTill we marched as through gardens, and trampled on\\nblooms\\nColumn Forward\\nAye, trampled on blossoms, and seared the sweet\\nbreath\\nOf the greenwood with low-brooding vapors of death;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0080.jp2"}, "79": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 63\\nO er the flowers and the corn we were borne hke a\\nblast,\\nAnd away to the forefront of battle we passed\\nColumn I Forward\\nFor the cannon s hoarse thunder roared out from the\\nglades,\\nAnd the sun was like lightning on banners and blades,\\nWhen the long line of chanting Zouaves, like a flood,\\nFrom the green of the woodlands rolled, crimson as\\nblood\\nColumn Foriuard\\nWhile the sound of their song, like the surge of the\\nseas.\\nWith the Star Spangled Banner swelled over the leas\\nAnd the sword of Duryea, like a torch, led the way,\\nBearing down on the batteries of Bethel that day\\nColumn Foriuard\\nThrough green-tasseled cornfields our columns were\\nthrown,\\nAnd like corn by the red scythe of fire we were mown\\nWhile the cannon s fierce plowings new-furrowed the\\nplain,\\nThat our blood might be planted for Liberty s grain\\nColumn I Forward I\\nOh, the fields of fair June have no lack of sweet flowers.\\nBut their rarest and best breathe no fragrance like ours\\nAnd the sunshine of June, sprinkling gold on the corn,\\nHath no harvest that ripeneth like Bethel s red morn\\nColumn I Forward I", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0081.jp2"}, "80": {"fulltext": "64 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nWhen our heroes, like bridegrooms, with lips and with\\nbreath\\nDrank the first kiss of Danger and clasped her in\\ndeath;\\nAnd the heart of brave Winthrop grew mute as his\\nlyre,\\nWhen the plumes of his genius lay moulting in fire\\nColumn Forward I\\nWhere he fell shall be sunshine as bright as his name,\\nAnd the grass where he slept shall be green as his fame\\nFor the gold of the pen and the steel of the sword\\nWrite his deeds, in his blood, on the land he adored\\nColinnn I Forivard I\\nAnd the soul of our comrade shall sweeten the air.\\nAnd the flowers and the grass-blades his memory up-\\nbear;\\nWhile the breath of his genius, like music in leaves,\\nWith the corn-tassels whispers, and sings in the\\nsheaves\\nColumn I Forward I\\nAugustine Joseph Hickey Duganne.\\n19\\nTHE CHARGE BY THE FORD\\nEighty and nine, with their captain,\\nRode on the enemy s track.\\nRode in the gray of the morning\\nNine of the ninety came back.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0082.jp2"}, "81": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 65\\nSlow rose the mist from the liver,\\nLighter each moment the way;\\nCareless and tearless and fearless\\nGalloped they on to the fray.\\nSinging in tune, how the scabbards\\nLoud on the stirrup-irons rang!\\nClinked as the men rose in saddle,\\nFell, as they sank, with a clang.\\nWhat is it moves by the river,\\nJaded, and weary, and weak\\nGraybacks, a cross on their banner,\\nYonder the foe whom they seek.\\nSilence! they see not, they hear not,\\nTarrying there by the marge\\nForivard draw sabre trot gallop\\nCharge like a hurricane Charge\\nAh, t was a man-trap infernal!\\nFire like the deep pit of hell!\\nVolley on volley to meet them.\\nMixed with the gray rebels yell.\\nNinety had ridden to battle,\\nTracing the enemy s track,\\nNinety had ridden to battle;\\nNine of the ninety came back.\\nHonor the name of the ninety!\\nHonor the heroes who came\\nScathless from five hundred muskets,\\nSafe from the lead-bearing flame!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0083.jp2"}, "82": {"fulltext": "66 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nEighty and one of the troopers\\nLie on the field of the slain,\\nLie on the red field of honor;\\nHonor the nine who remain!\\nCold are the dead there, and gory,\\nThere where their life-blood was spilt\\nBack come the living, each sabre\\nRed from the point to the hilt.\\nUp with three cheers and a tiger!\\nLet the flags wave as they come\\nGive them the blare of the trumpet!\\nGive them the roll of the drum\\nThomas Dunn English.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.)\\n20\\nTHE LITTLE DRUMMER\\nT IS of a little drummer,\\nThe story I shall tell\\nOf how he marched to battle,\\nOf all that there befell.\\nOut in the west with Lyon\\n(For once the name was true!)\\nFor whom the little drummer beat\\nHis rat-tat-too.\\nOur army rose at midnight.\\nTen thousand men as one.\\nEach slinging off his knapsack\\nAnd snatching up his gun.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0084.jp2"}, "83": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 6 J\\nForward and off they started,\\nAs all good soldiers do,\\nWhen the little drummer beats for them\\nThe rat-tat-too.\\nAcross a rolling country,\\nWhere the mist began to rise;\\nPast many a blackened farmhouse,\\nTill the sun was in the skies;\\nThen we met the rebel pickets,\\nWho skirmished and withdrew.\\nWhile the little drummer beat, and beat\\nThe rat-tat-too.\\nAlong the wooded hollows\\nThe line of battle ran,\\nOur center poured a volley.\\nAnd the fight at once began\\nFor the rebels answered shouting,\\nAnd a shower of bullets flew\\nBut still the little drummer beat\\nHis rat-tat-too.\\nHe stood among his comrades,\\nAs they quickly formed the line,\\nAnd when they raised their muskets\\nHe watched the barrels shine.\\nWhen the volley rang, he started.\\nFor war to him was new\\nBut still the little drummer beat\\nHis rat-tat-too.\\nIt was a sight to see them,\\nThat early autumn day,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0085.jp2"}, "84": {"fulltext": "6S BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nOur soldiers in their blue coats,\\nAnd the rebel ranks in gray;\\nThe smoke that rolled between them,\\nThe balls that whistled throup-h.\\nAnd the little drummer as he beat\\nHis rat-tat-too\\nHis comrades dropped around him,\\nBy fives and tens they fell,\\nSome pierced by minie bullets,\\nSome torn by shot and shell\\nThey played against our cannon,\\nAnd a caisson s splinters flew;\\nBut still the little drummer beat\\nHis rat -tat -too I\\nThe right, the left, the center,\\nThe fight was everywhere;\\nThey pushed us here, we wavered,\\nWe drove and broke them there.\\nThe graybacks fixed their bayonets.\\nAnd charged the coats of blue.\\nBut still the little drummer beat\\nHis rat-tat-too\\nWhere is our little drummer\\nHis nearest comrades say.\\nWhen the dreadful fight is over.\\nAnd the smoke has cleared away.\\nAs the rebel corps was scattering\\nHe urged them to pursue,\\nSo furiously he beat, and beat\\nThe rat-tat-too I", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0086.jp2"}, "85": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 69\\nHe stood no more among them,\\nFor a bullet, as it sped,\\nHad glanced and struck his ankle.\\nAnd stretched him with the dead!\\nHe crawled behind a cannon,\\nAnd pale and paler grew\\nBut still the little drummer beat\\nHis rat-tat-too I\\nThey bore him to the surgeon,\\nA busy man was he\\nA drummer boy what ails him\\nHis comrades answered, See!\\nAs they took him from the stretcher\\nA heavy breath he drew.\\nAnd his little fingers strove to beat\\nThe rat-tat-too\\nThe ball had spent its fury:\\nA scratch! the surgeon said,\\nAs he wound the snowy bandage\\nWhich the lint was staining red.\\nI must leave you now, old fellow!\\nOh, take me back with you.\\nFor I know the men are missing me\\nAnd the rat-tat-too\\nUpon his comrade s shoulder\\nThey lifted him so grand,\\nWith his dusty drum before him.\\nAnd his drumsticks in his hand!\\nTo the fiery front of battle,\\nThat nearer, nearer drew,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0087.jp2"}, "86": {"fulltext": "70 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nAnd evermore he beat, and beat\\nHis rat -tat -too\\nThe wounded as he passed them\\nLooked up and gave a cheer;\\nAnd one in dying blessed him,\\nBetween a smile and tear.\\nAnd the graybacks they are flying\\nBefore the coats of blue,\\nFor whom the little drummer beats\\nHis rat -tat -too.\\nWhen the west was red with sunset,\\nThe last pursuit was o er;\\nBrave Lyon rode the foremost.\\nAnd looked the name he bore.\\nAnd before him on his saddle.\\nAs a weary child would do.\\nSat the little drummer, fast asleep,\\nWith his rat-tat-too.\\nRichard Henry Stoddard.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n21\\nTHE CUMBERLAND\\nAt anchor in Hampton Roads we lay.\\nOn board of the Cumberland, sloop-of-war;\\nAnd at times from the fortress across the bay\\nThe alarum of drums swept past,\\nOr a bugle blast\\nFrom the camp on the shore.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0088.jp2"}, "87": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE /I\\nThen far away to the south uprose\\nA Httle feather of snow-white smoke,\\nAnd we knew that the iron ship of our foes\\nWas steadily steering its course\\nTo try the force\\nOf our ribs of oak.\\nDown upon us heavily runs,\\nSilent and sullen, the floating fort;\\nThen comes a puff of smoke from her guns,\\nAnd leaps the terrible death,\\nWith fiery breath,\\nFrom each open port.\\nWe are not idle, but send her straight\\nDefiance back in a full broadside!\\nAs hail rebounds from a roof of slate,\\nRebounds our heavier hail\\nFrom each iron scale\\nOf the monster s hide.\\nStrike your flag! the rebel cries.\\nIn his arrogant old plantation strain.\\nNever! our gallant Morris replies;\\nIt is better to sink than to yield!\\nAnd the whole air pealed\\nWith the cheers of our men.\\nThen, like a kraken huge and black.\\nShe crushed our ribs in her iron grasp!\\nDown went the CiLviberland all a wrack,\\nWith a sudden shudder of death,\\nAnd the cannon s breath\\nFor her dying gasp.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0089.jp2"}, "88": {"fulltext": "yi BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nNext morn, as the sun rose over the bay,\\nStill floated our flag at the mainmast head,\\nLord, how beautiful was Thy day\\nEvery waft of the air\\nWas a whisper of prayer.\\nOr a dirge for the dead.\\nHo, brave hearts that went down in the seas!\\nYe are at peace in the troubled stream\\nHo, brave land, with hearts like these,\\nThy flag, that is rent in twain,\\nShall be one again.\\nAnd without a seam\\nHenry Wadsworth Longfellow.\\n(B) special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.)\\n22\\nJOHNSTON AT SHILOH\\nA CONFEDERATE SOLDIER S STORY\\nMid dim and solemn forests, in the dawning chill and\\ngfay,\\nOver dank, unrustling leaves, or through stiff and\\nsodden clay.\\nWith never a fife or bugle, or mutter of rumbling\\ndrum.\\nWith shivering forms and solemn souls the Southern\\nsoldiers come;\\nTheir long lines vanishing in mist as onward they are\\nsweeping,\\nWith step as silent as the dawn s, to where the foe is\\nsleeping.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0090.jp2"}, "89": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 73\\nA challenge! Halt! The expected shot, and\\nthen a dozen more,\\nLike pebbles pattering down the steep the avalanche\\nbefore\\nAnd then a rush, and then a yell, and then a blinding\\nglare.\\nAnd then a crash to lift the feet resounding every-\\nwhere\\nNow vanish chill and solemn thoughts, now burns the\\nfrenzied blood\\nThe tottering tents toss to and fro upon the driving\\nflood.\\nAnd the campfires flash and darken fast beneath the\\nmasses tread\\nNow smoke behind in scattered brands mid wounded\\nmen and dead.\\nAnd forward crowd the fugitives in panic-driven race;\\nIn vain in bush, ravine, and brake they hunt a hiding-\\nplace;\\nFor still that long line onward sweeps unbroken far\\nand near.\\nAs War himself, with pinions bowed, were screaming\\nin their rear.\\nBut far beyond the panic s reach the foe is forming\\nfast,\\nAnd in our path stands rank on rank of long battalions\\nmassed.\\nNow, Southern soldiers, nerve your hearts and gather\\nup your strength,\\nThe time of trial waited for is come to you at length!\\nA hundred pieces open, and their shrieking missiles\\npour.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0091.jp2"}, "90": {"fulltext": "74 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nWhile full ten thousand muskets flash and mingle in\\nthe roar,\\nTill the cannon s boom is swallowed in the din of\\nmusketry,\\nAs the booming of the ocean when the thunders crash\\non high.\\nBut momently our laboring lines are charging o er the\\nfield,\\nAnd forcing back the stubborn ranks that only inches\\nyield\\nFor at every fence they rally and oppose our surging\\nflood.\\nTill their dead lie heaped before us wherever they\\nhave stood.\\nA Southern regiment there is matched against a full\\nbrigade.\\nAnd not a hundred yards apart in open field arrayed;\\nA brook half way between them through a copse of\\nwillows glides.\\nThere s not a rock, fence, log, or tree to shelter ours\\nbesides.\\nBut stubbornly, undauntedly, with ne er a cheer or\\nshout.\\nWith hands too busy for their lips they deal their\\nvolleys out.\\nAgain the battle gathers strength on yonder wooded\\nhill,\\nBehind whose awful batteries fresh ranks are forming\\nstill;\\nA reeking veil of undergrowth divides the hostile\\nlines.\\nBut lurid through its tangled web the vivid lightning\\nshines!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0092.jp2"}, "91": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 75\\nAnd so affrighting Death appears behind that dreadful\\npall,\\nThe stoutest spirit hesitates and flinches from his\\ncall.\\nNow who will pierce that curtain dire and meet the\\nbattle s brunt.\\nBefore their armies gather there and burst upon our\\nfront\\nAgain the stern, portentous cry of bayonets is\\nheard,\\nBut not again the serried line springs forward at the\\nword\\nBehind the trees as skirmishers the cowering soldiers\\nhide,\\nAnd from afar the harmless trade of musket balls is\\nplied.\\nIn vain, in vain their leaders shout, they cannot make\\nthem stir,\\nBut perish singly in the lead with scarce a follower!\\nBut hark, a sound of hoofs behind, a clang of sabres\\nloud!\\nI see a squad of mighty men go by me like a cloud!\\nAs the immortals rode to war when Hector fought for\\nTroy,\\nThese ride, as if immortals, too, inspired with awful\\njoy.\\nBefore them spurs their leader with a form that fills\\nthe air,\\nSo does his bearing fill their eyes, as if a god were\\nthere!\\nLook how he goes to battle with a glory on his\\nbrow.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0093.jp2"}, "92": {"fulltext": "^6 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nAs if prophetic Victory held laurels o er it now!\\nThey are racing to the rescue it is Johnston rides\\nbefore\\nGod grant they be in time to turn the battle s tide\\nonce more!\\nI hear their shoutings in the din; I hear the cries to\\nform,\\nI see a stiffening battle-line take shape within the\\nswarm\\nAnd again the rank advances with an impetus of\\nwrath,\\nTheir chieftain s rage in every heart impels them on\\ntheir path.\\nA thousand rifles leveled low, but every rifle dumb.\\nThe beating of a thousand feet upon a monster drum,\\nA surging of the war cloud as they disappear beneath,\\nA sickening of the spirit and a gasping of the breath;\\nRedoubled din a lull a cheer; I would the smoke\\nwould go\\nOh, see our swooping battle flags! Oh, see the fleeing\\nfoe!\\nNow glory to those gallant men and Father, to Thy\\nhand\\nTo-morrow shall our praises ring throughout our\\nstricken land\\nBut where is he who rallied them? 1 miss his charger\\nthere\\nI see him now midst yonder three whose saddles all\\nare bare\\nAnd two men staggering with a load this side of them\\nI see;\\nOh, who is it they carry in their arms so tenderly", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0094.jp2"}, "93": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 77\\nThey lay him gently on the leaves. Ah, well I know\\nhim now\\nI know that lordly figure and that grand imperial\\nbrow!\\nT is he; but oh, how prostrate is that form which\\nfilled the air!\\nAnd his the pallid face; but look, the glory still is\\nthere!\\nOh, ye daughters of Kentucky, ere your paeans are\\nbegun,\\nYour lips shall falter when they tell how Shiloh s fight\\nwas won\\nYour. hands shall weave the victor crown of laurels,\\nbut in vain;\\nHis marble brow shall never feel, nor pulse beat quick\\nagain.\\nOh, South, be sure a heart so pure had never loved so\\nwell!\\nA country which had wronged him sore he pardoned\\nere he fell.\\nFleming James.\\n23\\nTHE RIVER FIGHT\\nWould you hear of the river fight\\nIt was two of a soft spring night\\nGod s stars looked down on all.\\nAnd all was clear and bright\\nBut the low fog s chilling breath;\\nUp the River of Death\\nSailed the great Admiral,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0095.jp2"}, "94": {"fulltext": "78 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVELiY\\nOn our high poop-deck he stood,\\nAnd round him ranged the men\\nWho have made their birthright good\\nOf manhood once and again,\\nLords of helm and of sail,\\nTried in tempest and gale.\\nWho could fail with him\\nWho reckon of life or limb\\nNot a pulse but beat the higher!\\nThere had you seen, by the starlight dim.\\nFive hundred faces strong and grim\\nThe Flag is going under fire!\\nRight up by the fort\\nWith her helm hard aport,\\nThe Hartford is going under fire!\\nFirst, as we answered their flash,\\nT was lightning and black eclipse,\\nWith a bellowing roll and crash.\\nBut soon upon either bow,\\nWhat with forts and fire-rafts and ships,\\n(The whole fleet was hard at it now,\\nAll pounding away!) and Porter\\nStill thundering with shell and mortar,\\nT was the mighty sound and form\\nOf an equatorial storm.\\nBut, as we worked along higher.\\nJust where the river enlarges,\\nDown came a pyramid of fire,\\nIt was one of your long coal barges.\\n(We had oft had the like before!)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0096.jp2"}, "95": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 79\\nT was coming down to larboard,\\nWell in with the eastern shore.\\nAnd our pilot, to let it pass round,\\n(You may guess we never stopped to sound,)\\nGiving us a rank sheer to starboard,\\nRan the Flag hard and fast aground!\\nT was nigh abreast of the upper fort,\\nAnd straightway a rascal ram\\n(She was shaped like the devil s dam\\nPuffed away for us, with a snort.\\nAnd shoved it, with spiteful strength,\\nRight alongside of us, to port;\\nIt was all of our ship s length,\\nA huge crackling cradle of the pit,\\nPitch-pine knots to the brim.\\nBelching flame red and grim;\\nWhat a roar came up from it\\nIn a twinkling the flames had risen\\nHalf way to the main-top and mizzen,\\nDarting up the shrouds like snakes!\\nAh, how we clanked at the brakes!\\nAnd the deep steam-pumps throbbed under,\\nSending a ceaseless flow;\\nOur top-men, a dauntless crowd.\\nSwarmed in rigging and shroud\\nThere, t was a wonder!)\\nThe burning ratlins and strands\\nThey quenched with their bare hard hands;\\nBut the great guns below\\nNever silenced their thunder!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0097.jp2"}, "96": {"fulltext": "80 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nAt last, by backing and sounding,\\nWhen we were clear of grounding,\\nAnd under headway once more,\\nThe whole rebel fleet came rounding\\nThe point; if we had it hot before,\\nT was now, from shore to shore.\\nOne long, loud thundering roar,\\nSuch crashing, splintering, and pounding,\\nAnd smashing as you never heard before\\nFor all above was battle,\\nBroadside, and blaze, and rattle,\\nSmoke and thunder alone!\\n(But, down in the sick-bay.\\nWhere our wounded and dying lay,\\nThere was scarce a sob or a moan.)\\nAnd at last, when the dim day broke.\\nAnd the sullen sun awoke.\\nDrearily blinking\\nO er the haze and the cannon-smoke,\\nThat ever such morning dulls,\\nThere were thirteen hulls\\nOn fire and sinking!\\nAnd on the dolorous strand,\\nTo greet the victor-brave.\\nOne flag did welcome wave.\\nRaised, ah, me by a wretched hand,\\nAll outworn on our cruel land,\\nThe withered hand of a slave!\\nT is well to do and dare,\\nBut ever may grateful prayer", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0098.jp2"}, "97": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 8 1\\nFollow, as aye it ought,\\nWhen the good fight is fought,\\nWhen the true deed is done\\nAloft in heaven s pure light,\\n(Deep azure crossed on white)\\nOur fair church-pennant waves\\nO er a thousand thankful braves.\\nBareheaded in God s bright sun.\\nHenry Howard Brownell.\\n24\\nKEARNY AT SEVEN PINES\\nSo that soldierly legend is still on its journey,\\nThat story of Kearny who knew not to yield\\nT was 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\\nnighest,\\nNo charge like Phil Kearny 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 leapt up with a bound\\n6", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0099.jp2"}, "98": {"fulltext": "82 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\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!\\nHow he strode his brown steed How we saw his\\nblade brighten\\nIn the one hand still left, and the reins in his teeth\\nHe laughed like a boy when the holidays heighten.\\nBut his 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\\nOh, anywhere Forward T is all the same,\\nColonel\\nYou 11 find lovely fighting along the whole line!\\nOh, evil the black 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\\nline.\\nEdmund Clarence Stedman.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and\\nCompany.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0100.jp2"}, "99": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 83\\nAN UNKNOWN HERO\\nSweet Malvern Hill is wreathed in flame,\\nFrom serried ranks the steel is gleaming;\\nOur legions march to death and fame,\\nTheir battle flags right wildly streaming.\\nEach hero bares his manly breast.\\nAnd gallant hearts are fiercely beating;\\nWith steady tramp they line the crest\\nO er which an iron hail is sleeting.\\nUp loom, the bastions grim and large\\nThrough battle smoke that s lowering near them\\nThe little drummers roll the charge,\\nAnd dying comrades raise to cheer them.\\nTwice forty guns with deadly aim\\nStrike down our lines in tones of thunder;\\nYet still they press, with eyes aflame.\\nTill Valor s self looks on in wonder.\\nBut now the human tide rolls back,\\nA ghastly remnant grim and gory;\\nAnd countless heroes mark the track\\nWhich led them up to heights of glory.\\nBut one still presses on amain\\nWhere double-shotted guns are frowning,\\nAbove, amidst the iron rain.\\nHe nobly wins a hero s crowning.\\nThrough all the battle smoke he d seen\\nThe saintly forms of angels bearing\\nThe laurel crowns forever green\\nTo wreathe the foreheads of the daring.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0101.jp2"}, "100": {"fulltext": "84 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nAnd eager for his priceless crown,\\nThe bastions scarce a length before him,\\nHis stalwart form at length went down\\nWith Death and Honor bending o er him.\\nBrave soldier of the Southern clime,\\nNo stately song nor brilliant story\\nShall hand thy name to future time\\nAs one who gained immortal glory.\\nBut Freedom, with her mailed hand,\\nHas paused to brush a tear of sorrow,\\nAnd placed thee with that chosen band\\nWho freely pour their lifeblood for her.\\nAnd Valor, with her royal brow,\\nAnd Honor, with her stately bearing.\\nHave surely felt a prouder glow\\nWhen musing on thy peerless daring.\\nO gallant soldier, all unknown.\\nThough noisy Fame, we know, shall never\\nProclaim thy deeds through every zone,\\nA hero s crown is thine forever\\nWilliam Gordon McCabe.\\n26\\nBARBARA FRIETCHIE\\nUp from the meadows rich with corn,\\nClear in the cool September morn,\\nThe clustered spires of Frederick stand\\nGreen-walled by the hills of Maryland.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0102.jp2"}, "101": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 85\\nRound about them orchards sweep,\\nApple and peach tree fruited deep,\\nFair as a garden of the Lord\\nTo the eyes of the famished rebel horde,\\nOn that pleasant morn of the early fall\\nWhen Lee marched over the mountain wall,\\nOver the mountains, winding down,\\nHorse and foot, into Frederick to\\\\vm.\\nForty flags with their silver stars.\\nForty flags with their crimson bars.\\nFlapped in the morning wind; the sun\\nOf noon looked down, and saw not one.\\nUp rose old Barbara Frietchie then.\\nBowed with her fourscore years and ten\\nBravest of all in Frederick town.\\nShe took up the flag the men hauled down;\\nIn her attic window the staff she set,\\nTo show that one heart was loyal yet.\\nUp the street came the rebel tread,\\nStonewall Jackson riding ahead.\\nUnder his slouched hat left and right\\nHe glanced the old flag met his sight.\\nHalt! the dust-brown ranks stood fast;\\nFire! out blazed the rifle-blast.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0103.jp2"}, "102": {"fulltext": "86 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVEI^Y\\nIt shivered the window, pane and sash\\nIt rent the banner with seam and gash.\\nQuick, as it fell, from the broken staff\\nDame Barbara snatched the silken scarf;\\nShe leaned far out on the window-sill,\\nAnd shook it forth with a royal will.\\nShoot, if you must, this old gray head,\\nBut spare your country s flag, she said.\\nA shade of sadness, a blush of shame,\\nOver the face of the leader came;\\nThe nobler nature within him stirred\\nTo life at the woman s deed and word:\\nWho touches a hair of yon gray head\\nDies like a dog! March on he said.\\nAll day long through Frederick street\\nSounded the tread of marching feet;\\nAll day long that free flag tossed\\nOver the heads of the rebel host.\\nEver its torn folds rose and fell\\nOn the loyal winds that loved it well\\nAnd through the hill-gaps sunset light\\nShone over it a warm good-night.\\nBarbara Frietchie s work is o er,\\nAnd the rebel rides on his raids no more.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0104.jp2"}, "103": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 8/\\nHonor to her! and let a tear\\nFall, for her sake, on Stonewall s bier.\\nOver Barbara Frietchie s grave.\\nFlag of freedom and union, wave!\\nPeace, and order, and beauty draw\\nRound thy symbol of light and law;\\nAnd ever the stars above look down\\nOn thy stars below in Frederick town\\nJohn Greenleaf Whittier.\\n(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.)\\n27\\nTHE EAGLE OF CORINTH\\nDid you hear of the fight at Corinth,\\nHow we whipped out Price and Van Dorn\\nA long and terrible day!\\nAnd at last, when night grew gray.\\nBy the hundreds, there they lay,\\n(Heavy sleepers, you d say,)\\nThat would n t wake on the morn.\\nOur staff was bare of a flag,\\nWe did n t carry a rag\\nIn those brave marching days;\\nAh, no, but a finer thing!\\nWith never a cord or string,\\nAn eagle of ruffled wing,\\nAnd an eye of awful gaze.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0105.jp2"}, "104": {"fulltext": "88 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThe grape it rattled like hail,\\nThe minies were dropping like rain,\\nThe first of a thunder shower;\\nThe wads were blowing like chaff,\\n(There was pounding like floor and flail,\\nAll the front of our line\\nSo we stood it hour after hour;\\nBut our eagle, he felt fine!\\nT would have made you cheer and laugh.\\nTo see, through that iron gale.\\nHow the old fellow d swoop and sail\\nAbove the racket and roar,\\nTo right and to left he d soar.\\nBut ever came back, without fail.\\nAnd perched on his standard-staff.\\nAll that day, I tell you true,\\nThey had pressed us steady and fair.\\nTill we fought in street and square,\\n(The affair, you might think, looked blue)\\nBut we knew we had them there!\\nOur batteries were few,\\nEvery gun, they d have sworn, they knew,\\nBut, you see, there were one or two\\nWe had fixed for them, unaware.\\nOn they came in solid column,\\nFor once no whooping nor yell\\n(Ah, I dare say they felt solemn!)\\nFront and flank, grape and shell.\\nOur batteries pounded away!\\nAnd the minies hummed to remind *em\\nThey had started on no child s play", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0106.jp2"}, "105": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE\\nSteady they kept a-going,\\nBut a grim wake settled behind em\\nFrom the edge of the abattis,\\n(Where our dead and dying lay\\nUnder fence and fallen tree,)\\nUp to Robinett, all the way\\nThe dreadful swath kept growing!\\nT was butternut mixed with gray.\\nAh, well you know how it ended\\nWe did for them, there and then.\\nBut their pluck throughout was splendid,\\nThey stood to the last like men.\\nRed as blood, o er the town,\\nThe angry sun went down.\\nFiring flag-staff and vane\\nAnd our eagle, as for him.\\nThere, all ruffled and grim,\\nHe sat, o erlooking the slain!\\nT is many a stormy day\\nSince, out of the cold bleak north,\\nOur great war-eagle sailed forth\\nTo swoop o er battle and fray.\\nMany and many a day\\nO er charge and storm hath he wheeled,\\nForay and foughten field,\\nTramp, and volley, and rattle!\\nOver crimson trench and turf.\\nOver climbing clouds of surf,\\nThrough tempest and cannon-wrack,\\nHave his terrible pinions whirled;\\n(A thousand fields of battle!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0107.jp2"}, "106": {"fulltext": "90 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nA million leagues of foam\\nBut our bird shall yet come back,\\nHe shall soar to his eyrie-home,\\nAnd his thunderous wings be furled,\\nIn the gaze of a gladdened world,\\nOn the nation s loftiest dome.\\nHenry Howard Brownell.\\n28\\nREADY\\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.\\nLighty, gaily they came to shore.\\nAnd never a man afraid\\nWhen suddenly 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!\\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;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0108.jp2"}, "107": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 9 1\\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 was n t a man of them that day\\nWas fitter to die than he\\nPhcebe Gary.\\n(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.)\\n29\\nBATTLE OF CHARLESTON HARBOR\\nTwo hours, or more, beyond the prime of a blithe\\nApril day\\nThe Northmen s mailed Invincibles steamed up\\nfair Charleston Bay\\nThey came in sullen file, and slow, low-breasted on the\\nwave,\\nBlack as a midnight front of storm, and silent as the\\nA thousand warrior-hearts beat high as these dread\\nmonsters drew\\nMore closely to the game of death across the breeze-\\nless blue\\nAnd twice ten thousand hearts of those who watch the\\nscene afar\\nThrill in the awful hush that bides the battle s broad-\\nening star.\\nEach gunner, moveless by his gun, with rigid aspect\\nstands.\\nThe ready linstocks firmly grasped in bold, untrem-\\nbling hands;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0109.jp2"}, "108": {"fulltext": "92 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nSo moveless in their marble calm, their stern, heroic\\nguise,\\nThey look like forms of statued stone with burning\\nhuman eyes!\\nOur banners on the outmost walls, with stately rus-\\ntling fold,\\nFlash back from arch and parapet the sunlight s ruddy\\ngold\\nThey mount to the deep roll of drums, and widely\\nechoing cheers.\\nAnd then, once more, dark, breathless, hushed, wait\\nthe grim cannoneers.\\nOnward, in sullen file, and slow, low-glooming on the\\nwave.\\nNear, nearer still, the haughty fleet glides silent as the\\ngrave.\\nWhen, shivering the portentous calm o er startled\\nflood and shore.\\nBroke from the sacred Island Fort the thunder wrath\\nof yore\\nThe storm has burst! and, while we speak, more\\nfurious, wilder, higher.\\nDart from the circling batteries a hundred tongues of\\nfire;\\nThe waves gleam red, the lurid vault of heaven seems\\nrent above\\nFight on, O knightly gentlemen, for faith, and home,\\nand love!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0110.jp2"}, "109": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 93\\nThere s not, in all that line of flame, one soul that\\nv/ould not rise,\\nTo seize the victor s wreath of blood, though Death\\nmust give the prize;\\nThere s not, in all this anxious crowd that throngs\\nthe ancient town,\\nA maid who does not yearn for power to strike one\\nfoeman down\\nThe conflict deepens Ship by ship the proud Armada\\nsweeps\\nWhere fierce from Sumter s raging breast the volleyed\\nlightning leaps\\nAnd ship by ship, raked, overborne, ere burned the\\nsunset light.\\nCrawls in the gloom of baffled hate beyond the field of\\nfight\\nPaul Hamilton Hayne.\\n(By special permission of William Hamilton Hayne, and of The]\\nLothrop Publishing Company.)\\nKEENAN S CHARGE\\nThe sun had set;\\nThe leaves with dew were wet,\\nDown fell a bloody dusk\\nWhere Stonewall s corps, like a beast of prey,\\nTore through with angry tusk.\\nThey ve trapped us, boys!\\nRose from our flank a voice.\\nWith rush of steel and smoke", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0111.jp2"}, "110": {"fulltext": "94 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nOn came the rebels straight,\\nEager as love, and wild as hate;\\nAnd our line reeled and broke;\\nBroke and fled.\\nNot one stayed, but the dead\\nWith curses, shrieks, and cries,\\nHorses, and wagons, and men\\nTumbled back through the shuddering glen,\\nAnd above us the fading skies.\\nThere s some hope, still,\\nThose batteries parked on the hill\\nBattery, wheel mid the roar).\\nPass pieces; fix prolonge to fire\\nRetiring. Trot! In the panic dire\\nA bugle rings Trot! and no more.\\nThe horses plunged.\\nThe cannon lurched and lunged,\\nTo join the hopeless rout.\\nBut suddenly rose a form\\nCalmly in front of the human storm.\\nWith a stern commanding shout:\\nAlign those guns!\\n(We knew it was Pleasanton s.)\\nThe cannoneers bent to obey,\\nAnd worked with a will at his word,\\nAnd the black guns moved as if they had heard.\\nBut, ah, the dread delay!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0112.jp2"}, "111": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 95\\nTo wait is crime;\\nO God, for ten minutes time!\\nThe general looked around.\\nThere Keenan sat, like a stone.\\nWith his three hundred horse alone.\\nLess shaken than the ground.\\nMajor, your men\\nAre soldiers, general. Then,\\nCharge, major! Do your best;\\nHold the enemy back, at all cost,\\nTill my guns are placed else the army is lost.\\nYou die to save the rest\\nBy the shrouded gleam of the western skies\\nBrave Keenan looked into 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 them shrank.\\nTheir sharp, full cheer, from rank on rank,\\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 the blue and yellow;\\nAnd above in the air, with an instinct true.\\nLike a bird of war their pennon flew.\\nWith clank of scabbard, and thunder of steeds,\\nAnd blades that shine like sunlit reeds.\\nAnd strong brown faces bravely pale\\nFor fear their proud attempt shall fail,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0113.jp2"}, "112": {"fulltext": "g6 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThree hundred Pennsylvanians close\\nOn twice ten thousand gallant foes.\\nLine after line the troopers came\\nTo the edge of the woods that was ringed with flame;\\nRode in, and sabred, 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 his sabre, swung\\nRound his head, like a halo there, luminous hung.\\nLine after line, aye, 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.\\nAnd over them, lying there shattered and mute,\\nWhat deep echo rolls T is a death-salute\\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 their graves the pine cones fall.\\nAnd the whippoorwill chants his spectre 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 resounding still\\nThat saved the army at Chancellorsville.\\nGeorge Parsons LATHRor.\\n(From Dreams and Days Copyright, 1892, Charles Scribner s Sons.\\nBy special permission.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0114.jp2"}, "113": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 97\\nTHE HERO OF THE GUN\\nThe captain galloped to the front,\\nThe foam upon his rein\\nAnd, as he urged his swerving steed\\nAcross a pile of slain,\\nHe hailed the gunner at his post:\\nHo, Fergus! pour your shell\\nStraight in the face of yon stout line\\nThat holds the height so well,\\nAnd never slack your raking fire\\nNo, not to cool your gun;\\nFor if we break those stubborn ranks,\\nI think the day is won.\\nThe gunner wiped his smoke-dimmed face\\nI 11 do the best I can.\\nAnd down brave fellows though they be\\nWe 11 bring them to a man!\\nI 11 trust you for it! Like a flash\\nThe captain turned and wheeled.\\nAnd with his sword above his head\\nDashed backward to the field.\\nFierce belched the cannon s ceaseless fire,\\nWith deadly crash and din;\\nAnd, though the line still held the height,\\nIts ranks began to thin.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0115.jp2"}, "114": {"fulltext": "98 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nTwo rounds and we will clear the hill!\\nBut, as the gunner spoke,\\nA sudden overwhelming storm\\nOf bullets o er him broke.\\nAnd when the smoke had lifted, there\\nStill straining all his powers,\\nThey heard him shout: Two shots, my boys,\\nAnd then the day is ours!\\nNo matter if one arm be gone,\\nI keep the other still;\\nI promised I would do my best,\\nAnd so you 11 see, I will!\\nLet me make trial while my strength\\nCan do the duty set;\\nI tell you that this strong left hand\\nIs good for service yet\\nThey primed the piece, and twice he sent.\\nWith all too deadly aim.\\nThe shells that mowed the broken line,\\nAnd swept the hill with flame.\\nWhere s Fergus and the captain s horse\\nCame spurring into sight\\nWhere s Fergus let him take my thanks,\\nHis fire has won the fight!\\nThe dying gunner raised his head.\\nHis lips were faintly stirred\\nCaptain, I said I d do my best\\nAnd I have kept my word!\\nMargaret Junkin Preston.\\n(By special permission of Dr. George J. Preston.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0116.jp2"}, "115": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 99\\nAN INCIDENT OF WAR\\nOur new flag-bearer, pale and slim,\\nA beardless youth of quiet mien,\\nMuch chaffed at by the soldiers grim\\n(Before in battle he had been),\\nHid the heroic fire in him.\\nHe sang old hymns, and prayed at night;\\nA bad sign, quoth the sergeant bold;\\nCamp-meeting tunes before a fight\\nLoosen a soldier s moral hold,\\nAnd pluck beats prayer a mighty sight.\\nThe boy blushed red, but tenderly\\nHe to the sergeant turned, and said:\\nThat God should mind me what am I\\nAnd yet by Him my soul is fed\\nSend this to mother if I die.\\nThe sergeant, with a knowing look,\\nAnd winking at the rest, replied\\nYes, son, I 11 give your Ma the book\\nJust then a volley rattled wide,\\nAnd one great gun the valley shook.\\nThe pale flag-bearer disappeared.\\nGone to the rear, the sergeant said;\\nPraying would make a Turk afeared\\nThose lonesome tunes have turned his head\\nAnd then the tide of battle neared.\\nLofC.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0117.jp2"}, "116": {"fulltext": "lOO BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nWe formed in haste and dashed away,\\nAcross the field, our place to fill;\\nAt first a skirmish, then a spray\\nOf cannon smoke upon a hill\\nFlanked by long lines in close array.\\nDown charged the foe Ave rushed to meet,\\nWe filled the valley like a sea;\\nThe cannons flashed a level sheet\\nOf blinding flame, the musketry\\nCut men as sickles cut the wheat\\nOh, then we shouted! More and more\\nThe fervor of our courage rose.\\nAs through our solid columns tore\\nThe death hail s crashing, gusty blows,\\nAnd louder leaped the cannon roar!\\nBut how could human courage meet\\nThat icy flood All, all in vain\\nOur counter-charge in slow retreat\\nWe crossed the tumbled heaps of slain,\\nWith grave-pits yawning at our feet!\\nRally! For shame! rang out a cry\\nForth from the thundering vortex cast\\nA voice so steady, clear, and high,\\nIt sounded like a bugle-blast\\nBlown from the lips of Victory.\\nWe paused, took hope, yelled loud, and so\\nRenewed the charge, all as one man.\\nLeaped where Death s waves had thickest flow,\\nAnd felt the breath of horror fan\\nOur naked souls as cold as snow!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0118.jp2"}, "117": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE lOI\\nThe volleys quickened, coalesced,\\nRolled deep, rocked earth, and jarred the sky,\\nWhen lo, our banner-bearer pressed\\nHis standard forward, held it high\\nAnd rode upon the battle s crest!\\nWe saw him wave it over all\\nCaught in the battle trough and dashed\\nFrom side to side, it would not fall;\\nBut like a meteor danced and flashed\\nAnd reveled in the sulphurous pall\\nWe swept the field and won the hill;\\nOur flag flared out upon the crest,\\nWhere wavering, gasping, pale and chill,\\nA dozen bullets through his breast.\\nThe slender hero held it still\\nWe leaped to lift his drooping head.\\nThe sergeant clasped him to his breast\\nI bore the flag, the low voice said,\\nAnd God bore me, now let me rest\\nAnd so we laid him with the dead.\\nMaurice Thompson.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and\\nCompany.)\\nTHE BLACK REGIMENT\\nDark as the clouds of even.\\nRanked in the western heaven.\\nWaiting the breath that lifts\\nAll the dead mass, and drifts", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0119.jp2"}, "118": {"fulltext": "102 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\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;\\nAnd the bright bayonet.\\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 cold chains again\\nOh, what a shout there went\\nFrom the black regiment\\nCharge! trump and drum awoke;\\nOnward the bondsmen broke;\\nBayonet and sabre-stroke\\nVainly opposed their rush.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0120.jp2"}, "119": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE I03\\nThrough the wild battle s crush,\\nWith but one thought aflush,\\nDriving their lords like chaff,\\nIn the gun s mouth they laugh;\\nOr at the slippery brands,\\nLeaping with open hands,\\nDown they tear man and horse,\\nDown in their awful course;\\nTrampling with bloody heel\\nOver the crushing steel,\\nAll their eyes forward bent,\\nRushed the black regiment.\\nFreedom! their battle-cry,\\nFreedom! or leave to die!\\nAh, and they meant the word\\nNot as with us t is heard,\\nNot a mere party shout;\\nThey gave their spirits out.\\nTrusting 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.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0121.jp2"}, "120": {"fulltext": "[04 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nHundreds on hundreds fell;\\nBut they are resting well\\nScourges, and shackles strong,\\nNever shall do them wrong.\\nOh, to the living few,\\nSoldiers, be just and true!\\nHail them as comrades tried;\\nFight with them side by side;\\nNever, in field or tent.\\nScorn the black regiment\\nGeorge Henry Boker.\\n34\\nGREENCASTLE JENNY\\nOh, Greencastle streets were a stream of steel\\nWith the slanted muskets the soldiers bore,\\nAnd the scared earth muttered and shook to feel\\nThe tramp and the rumble of Longstreet s Corps;\\nThe bands were blaring The Bonny Blue Flag,\\nAnd the banners borne were a motley many;\\nAnd watching the gray column wind and drag\\nWas a slip of a girl we *11 call her Jenny.\\nA slip of a girl what needs her name\\nWith her cheeks aflame and her lips aquiver,\\nAs she leaned and looked with a loyal shame\\nOn the steady flow of the steely river:\\nTill a storm grew black in her hazel eyes\\nTime had not tamed, nor a lover sighed for;\\nAnd she ran and she girded her, apron-wise.\\nWith the flasf she loved and her brothers died for.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0122.jp2"}, "121": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE I05\\nOut of the doorway they saw her start\\n(Pickett s Virginians were marching through),\\nThe hot little foolish hero-heart\\nArmored with stars and the sacred blue.\\nClutching the folds of red and white\\nStood she and bearded those ranks of theirs,\\nShouting shrilly with all her might,\\nCome and take it, the man that dares!\\nPickett s Virginians were passing through;\\nSupple as steel and brown as leather,\\nRusty and dusty of hat and shoe,\\nWonted to hunger and war and weather;\\nPeerless, fearless, an army s flower!\\nSterner soldiers the world saw never.\\nMarching lightly, that summer hour,\\nTo death and failure and fame forever.\\nRose from the rippling ranks a cheer;\\nPickett saluted, with bold eyes beaming.\\nSweeping his hat like a cavalier,\\nWith his tawny locks in the warm wind streaming.\\nFierce little Jenny! her courage fell.\\nAs the firm lines flickered with friendly laughter.\\nAnd Greencastle streets gave back the yell\\nThat Gettysburg slopes gave back soon after.\\nSo they cheered for the flag they fought\\nWith the generous glow of the stubborn fighter.\\nLoving the brave as the brave men ought,\\nAnd never a finger Avas raised to fright her:\\nSo they marched, though they knew it not,\\nThrough the fresh green June to the shock infernal.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0123.jp2"}, "122": {"fulltext": "I06 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nTo the hell of the shell and the plunging shot,\\nAnd the charge that has won them a name eternal.\\nAnd she felt at last, as she hid her face,\\nThere had lain at the root of her childish daring\\nA trust in the men of her own brave race,\\nAnd a secret faith in the foe s forbearing.\\nAnd she sobbed, till the roll of the rumbling gun\\nAnd the swinging tramp of the marching men\\nWere a memory only, and day was done,\\nAnd the stars in the fold of the blue again.\\nTJiank God that the day of the sword is done^\\nAnd the stars in the fold of the blue again I\\nHelen Gray Cone.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n35\\nJOHN BURNS OF GETTYSBURG\\nHave you heard the story that gossips tell\\nOf Burns of Gettysburg No Ah, well,\\nBrief is the glory the hero earns.\\nBriefer the story of poor John Burns!\\nHe was the fellow who won renown,\\nThe only man who did n 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,\\nBafBed and beaten, backward reeled\\nFrom a stubborn Meade and a barren field.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0124.jp2"}, "123": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 107\\nI might te]l 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 in a babbling flood\\nInto the milk-pail, red as blood\\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 folks 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,\\nDifficult music for men to face;\\nWhile on the left where now the graves\\nUndulate like the living waves\\nThat all that day unceasing swept\\nUp to the pits the rebels kept\\nRound shot plowed the upland glades.\\nSown with bullets, reaped with blades;\\nShattered fences here and there", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0125.jp2"}, "124": {"fulltext": "I08 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\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.\\nHow do you think the man was dressed\\nHe wore an ancient long buff vest\\nYellow as saf[ ron, but his best\\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.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0126.jp2"}, "125": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE IO9\\nWith scraps of a 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,\\nAnd swallow-tails they were laughing at.\\nT was but a moment, for that respect\\nWhich clothes all courage their voices checked\\nAnd something the wildest could understand\\nSpoke 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 day was their oriflamme of war.\\nSo raged the battle. You know the rest\\nHow the rebels beaten and backward pressed,\\nBroke at the final charge, and ran.\\nAt which John Burns a practical man\\nShouldered his rifle, unbent his brows.\\nAnd then went back to his bees and cows.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0127.jp2"}, "126": {"fulltext": "no BALLADS OF A M ERICA N BRA VER Y\\nThat is the story of old John Burns;\\nThis is the moral the reader learns:\\nIn fighting the battle, the question s whether\\nYou show a hat that s white, or a feather!\\nBret Harte.\\n(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.)\\nHIGH TIDE AT GETTYSBURG\\nA CLOUD possessed the hollow field,\\nThe gathering battle s smoky shield.\\nAthwart the gloom the lightning flashed.\\nAnd through the cloud some horsemen dashed,\\nAnd from the heights the thunder pealed.\\nThen at the brief command of Lee\\nMoved out that matchless infantry.\\nWith Pickett leading grandly down,\\nTo rush against the roaring crown\\nOf those dread heights of destiny.\\nFar heard above the angry guns\\nA cry across the tumult runs,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nThe voice that rang through Shiloh s woods\\nAnd Chickamauga s solitudes,\\nThe fierce South cheering on her sons!\\nAh, how the withering tempest blew\\nAgainst the front of Pettigrew!\\nA Kamsin wind that scorched and singed\\nLike that infernal flame that fringed\\nThe British squares at Waterloo", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0128.jp2"}, "127": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE ill\\nA thousand fell where Kemper led;\\nA thousand died where Garnett bled:\\nIn blinding flame and strangling smoke\\nThe remnant through the batteries broke\\nAnd crossed the works with Armistead.\\nOnce more in Glory s van with me!\\nVirginia cried to Tennessee:\\nWe two together, come what may,\\nShall stand upon these works to-day!\\n(The reddest day in history.)\\nBrave Tennessee In reckless way\\nVirginia heard her comrade say:\\nClose round this rent and riddled rag!\\nWhat time she set her battle-flag\\nAmid the guns of Doubleday.\\nBut who shall break the guards that wait\\nBefore the awful face of Fate\\nThe tattered standards of the South\\nWere shriveled at the cannon s mouth,\\nAnd all her hopes were desolate.\\nIn vain the Tennesseean set\\nHis breast against the bayonet!\\nIn vain Virginia charged and raged,\\nA tigress in her wrath uncaged,\\nTill all the hill was red and wet\\nAbove the bayonets, mixed and crossed,\\nMen saw a gray, gigantic ghost\\nReceding through the battle-cloud,\\nAnd heard across the tempest loud\\nThe death-cry of a nation lost!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0129.jp2"}, "128": {"fulltext": "112 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThe brave went down Without disgrace\\nThey leaped to Ruin s red embrace.\\nThey only heard Fame s thunders wake,\\nAnd saw the dazzling sun-burst break\\nIn smiles on Glory s bloody face!\\nThey fell, who lifted up a hand\\nAnd bade the sun in heaven to stand!\\nThey smote and fell, who set the bars\\nAgainst the progress of the stars.\\nAnd stayed the march of Motherland\\nThey stood, who saw the future come\\nOn through the fight s delirium!\\nThey smote and stood, who held the hope\\nOf nations on that slippery slope\\nAmid the cheers of Christendom!\\nGod lives! He forged the iron will\\nThat clutched and held that trembling hill.\\nGod lives and reigns! He built and lent\\nThe heights for Freedom s battlement\\nWhere floats her flag in triumph still!\\nFold up the banners! Smelt the guns!\\nLove rules. Her gentler purpose runs,\\nA mighty mother turns in tears\\nThe pages of her battle years.\\nLamenting all her fallen sons!\\nWill Henry Thompson.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of The Century Company.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0130.jp2"}, "129": {"fulltext": "JN TIME OF STRIFE II3\\n37\\nTHOMAS AT CHICKAMAUGA\\nIt was that, fierce contested field when Chickamauga\\nlay\\nBeneath the wild tornado that swept her pride away\\nHer dimpling dales and circling hills dyed crimson\\nwith the flood\\nThat had its sources in the springs that throb with\\nhuman blood.\\nGo say to General Hooker to reinforce his right\\nSaid Thomas to his aide-de-camp, when wildly went\\nthe fight;\\nIn front the battle thundered, it roared both right and\\nleft,\\nBut like a rock Pap Thomas stood upon the\\ncrested cleft.\\nWhere ivill I find yoUy General, zuhen I return The\\naide\\nLeaned on his bridle rein to wait the answer Thomas\\nmade;\\nThe old chief like a lion turned, his pale lips set and\\nsere,\\nAnd shook his mane, and stamped his foot, and fiercely\\nanswered, Here\\nThe floodtide of fraternal strife rolled upward to his\\nfeet,\\nAnd like the breakers on the shore the thunderous\\nclamors beat", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0131.jp2"}, "130": {"fulltext": "114 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThe sad earth rocked and reeled with woe, the wood-\\nland shrieked in pain,\\nAnd hill and vale were groaning with the burden of\\nthe slain.\\nWho does not mind that sturdy form, that steady\\nheart and hand.\\nThat calm repose and gallant mien, that courage high\\nand grand?\\nO God, who givest nations men to meet their lofty\\nneeds.\\nVouchsafe another Thomas when our country prostrate\\nbleeds!\\nThey fought with all the fortitude of earnest men and\\ntrue\\nThe men who wore the rebel gray, the men who wore\\nthe blue\\nAnd those, they fought most valiantly for petty state\\nand clan.\\nAnd these, for truer Union and the brotherhood of\\nman.\\nThey come, those hurling legions, with banners crim-\\nson-splashed.\\nAgainst our stubborn columns their rushing ranks are\\ndashed.\\nTill neath the blistering iron hail the shy and fright-\\nened deer\\nGo scurrying from their forest haunts to plunge in\\nwilder fear.\\nBeyond, our lines are broken and now in frenzied rout\\nThe flower of the Cumberland has swiftly faced about;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0132.jp2"}, "131": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE II5\\nAnd horse and foot and color-guard are reeling, rear\\nand van,\\nAnd in the awful panic man forgets he is a man.\\nNow Bragg, with pride exultant above our broken\\nwings,\\nThe might of all his army against Pap Thomas\\nbrings\\nThey re massing to the right of him, they re massing\\nto the left.\\nAh, God be with our hero, who holds the crested cleft\\nBlow, blow, ye echoing bugles give answer, screaming\\nshell!\\nGo, belch your murderous fury, ye batteries of hell!\\nRing out, O impious musket! spin on, O shattering\\nshot,\\nOur smoke-encircled hero, he hears but heeds ye not!\\nNow steady, men now steady make one more valiant\\nstand,\\nFor gallant Steedman s coming, his forces well in hand\\nClose up your shattered columns, take steady aim and\\ntrue.\\nThe chief who loves you as his life will live or die with\\nyou\\nBy solid columns, on they come by columns they are\\nhurled,\\nAs down the eddying rapids the storm-swept booms\\nare whirled", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0133.jp2"}, "132": {"fulltext": "Il6 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nAnd when the ammunition fails O moment drear and\\ndread\\nThe heroes load their blackened guns from rounds of\\nsoldiers dead.\\nGod never set His signet on the hearts of braver men,\\nOr fixed the goal of victory on higher heights than\\nthen\\nWith bayonets and muskets clubbed, they close the\\nrush and roar;\\nTheir stepping-stones to glory are their comrades gone\\nbefore.\\nO vanished majesty of days not all forgotten yet.\\nWe consecrate unto thy praise one hour of deep\\nregret\\nOne hour to them whose days were years of glory that\\nshall flood\\nThe Nation s sombre night of tears, of carnage, and of\\nblood!\\nO vanished majesty of days! Rise, type and mold\\nto-day,\\nAnd teach our sons to follow on where duty leads the\\nway;\\nThat whatsoever trial comes, defying doubt and fear.\\nThey in the thickest fight shall stand and proudly\\nanswer, Here I\\nKate Brownlee Sherwood,\\n(By special permission of the author.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0134.jp2"}, "133": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 11/\\nTHE SMALLEST OF THE DRUMS\\nWhen the opulence of summer unto wood and mea-\\ndow comes,\\nAnd within the tangled graveyard riot old-time spice\\nand bloom,\\nThen dear Nature brings her tribute to the smallest\\nof the drums,\\nSpreads the sweetest of her blossoms on the little\\nsoldier s tomb.\\nIn the quiet country village, still they tell you how he\\ndied\\nAnd the story moves you strangely, more than other\\ntales of war.\\nThrice heroic seems the hero, if he be a child beside,\\nAnd the wound that tears his bosom is more sad\\nthan others far.\\nIn the ranks of Sherman s army none so young and\\nsmall as he,\\nWith his face so soft and dimpled, and his innocent\\nblue eyes.\\nYet of all the Union drummers he could drum most\\nskillfully,\\nWith a spirit said his colonel fit to make the dead\\narise!\\nIn the charge at Chickamauga (so, beside his little\\ngrave.\\nYou may learn the hero s story of some villager,\\nperchance),", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0135.jp2"}, "134": {"fulltext": "Il8 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nWhen his regiment sank, broken, from the rampart,\\nlike a wave,\\nThrice the clangor of his drum-beat rallied to a fresh\\nadvance.\\nThere he stood upon the hillside, capless, with his shin-\\ning hair\\nBlown about his childish forehead like the bright\\nsilk of the corn\\nAnd the men looked up, and saw him standing brave\\nand scathless there,\\nAs an angel on a hilltop, in the drifting mist of\\nmorn.\\nThrice they rallied at his drum-beat,\u00e2\u0080\u0094 then the tattered\\nflag went down\\nSome one caught it, waved it skyward for a moment,\\nand then fell.\\nIn the dust, and gore, and drabble, all the stars of\\nfreedom s crown.\\nAnd the soldiers beaten backward from the emblem\\nloved so well!\\nThen our drummer boy, our hero, from his neck the\\ndrum-cord flung,\\nAnd amid the hail of bullets to the fallen banner\\nsped.\\nQuick he raised it from dishonor; quick before them\\nall he sprung,\\nAnd in fearless, proud defiance, waved the old flag\\no er his head", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0136.jp2"}, "135": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE II9\\nFor a minute s space the cheering, louder than the\\nsinging balls,\\nAnd the soldiers pressing forward, closing up their\\nbroken line\\nThen the child s bright head, death-stricken, on his\\nthrobbing bosom falls,\\nAnd the brave eyes that God lighted cease with life\\nand soul to shine.\\nIn the flag he saved they wrapped him in that starry\\nshroud he lies,\\nAnd the roses, and the lilacs, and the daisies seem\\nto know;\\nFor in all that peaceful acre, sleeping neath the sum-\\nmer skies,\\nThere is neither mound nor tablet that is wreathed\\nand guarded so\\nJames Buckham.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n39\\nLITTLE GIFFEN\\nOut of the focal and foremost fire,\\nOut of the hospital walls as dire;\\nSmitten of grape-shot and gangrene,\\n(Eighteenth battle, and lie sixteen!)\\nSpectre, such as you seldom see!\\nLittle Giffen of Tennessee!\\nTake him and welcome! the surgeons said;\\nLittle the doctor can help the dead!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0137.jp2"}, "136": {"fulltext": "120 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nSo we took him and brought him where\\nThe balm was sweet in the summer air;\\nAnd we laid him down on a wholesome bed\\nUtter Lazarus, heel to head!\\nAnd we watched the war with bated breath,\\nSkeleton Boy against skeleton Death.\\nMonths of torture, how many such\\nWeary weeks of the stick and crutch;\\nAnd still a glint of the steel-blue eye\\nTold of a spirit that wouldn t die,\\nAnd didn t. Nay, more! in death s despite\\nThe crippled skeleton learned to write,\\nDear Mothei^ at first, of course; and then\\nDear Captain, inquiring about the men.\\nCaptain s answer: Of eighty-and-five,\\nGiffen and I are left alive.\\nWord of gloom from the war, one day\\nJohnson pressed at the front, they say.\\nLittle Giffen was up and away;\\nA tear his first as he bade good-by,\\nDimmed the glint of his steel-blue eye.\\nI 11 write, if spared There was news of the fight\\nBut none of Giffen. He did not write.\\nI sometimes fancy that, were I king\\nOf the princely Knights of the Golden Ring,\\nWith the song of the minstrel in mine ear,\\nAnd the tender legend that trembles here,\\nI d give the best on his bended knee.\\nThe whitest soul of my chivalry.\\nFor Little Giffen of Tennessee.\\nFrancis Orrery Ticknor.\\n(By special permission of Mrs. Rosa N. Ticknor.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0138.jp2"}, "137": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 121\\n40\\nULRIC DAHLGREN\\nA FLASH of light across the night,\\nAn eager face, an eye afire\\nO lad so true, you yet may rue\\nThe courage of your deep desire!\\nNay, tempt me not; the way is plain\\nT is but the coward checks his rein\\nFor there they lie,\\nAnd there they cry.\\nFor whose dear sake t were joy to die!\\nHe bends unto his saddlebow,\\nThe steeds they follow two and two\\nTheir flanks are wet with foam and sweat,\\nTheir rider s locks are damp with dew.\\nO comrades, haste! the way is long,\\nThe dirge it drowns the battle-song;\\nThe hunger preys.\\nThe famine slays,\\nAn awful horror veils our ways!\\nBeneath the pall of prison wall\\nThe rush of hoofs they seem to hear;\\nFrom loathsome guise they lift their eyes.\\nAnd beat their bars and bend their ear.\\nAh, God be thanked! our friends are nigh;\\nHe wills it not that thus we die;\\nO fiends accurst\\nOf Want and Thirst,\\nOur comrades gather, do your worst!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0139.jp2"}, "138": {"fulltext": "122 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nA sharp affright runs through the night,\\nAn ambush stirred, a column reined\\nThe hurrying steed has checked his speed,\\nHis smoking flanks are crimson stained.\\nO noble son of noble sire.\\nThine ears are deaf to our desire\\nO knightly grace\\nOf valiant race,\\nThe grave is honor s trysting-place!\\nO life so pure O faith so sure\\nO heart so brave, and true, and strong!\\nWith tips of flame is writ your name,\\nIn annaled deed and storied song!\\nIt flares across the solemn night,\\nIt glitters in the radiant light\\nA jewel set.\\nUnnumbered yet,\\nIn our Republic s coronet!\\nKate Brownlee Sherwood.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n41\\nFARRAGUT\\nFarragut, Farragut,\\nOld Heart of Oak,\\nDaring Dave Farragut,\\nThunderbolt stroke.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0140.jp2"}, "139": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 12^\\nWatches the hoary mist\\nLift from the bay,\\nTill his flag, glory-kissed,\\nGreets the young day.\\nFar, by gray Morgan s walls,\\nLooms the black fleet.\\nHark, deck to rampart calls\\nWith the drums beat\\nBuoy your chains overboard,\\nWhile the steam hums;\\nMen, to the battlement!\\nFarragut comes.\\nSee, as the hurricane\\nHurtles in wrath\\nSquadrons of clouds amain\\nBack from its path.\\nBack to the parapet.\\nTo the guns lips,\\nThunderbolt Farragut\\nHurls the black ships!\\nNow through the battle s roar\\nClear the boy sings,\\nBy the mark fathoms four,\\nWhile the lead swings.\\nSteady the wheelmen five\\nNor by East keep her\\nSteady, but two alive:\\nHow the shells sweep her!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0141.jp2"}, "140": {"fulltext": "124 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nLashed to the mast that sways\\nOver red decks,\\nOver the flame that plays\\nRound the torn wrecks,\\nOver the dying h ps\\nFramed for a cheer,\\nFarragut leads his ships,\\nGuides the line clear.\\nOn by heights cannon-browed,\\nWhile the spars quiver;\\nOnward still flames the cloud\\nWhere the hulks shiver.\\nSee, yon fort s star is set.\\nStorm and fire past\\nCheer him, lads Farragut\\nLashed to the mast\\nOh, while Atlantic s breast\\nBears a white sail.\\nWhile the Gulf s towering crest\\nTops a green vale.\\nMen thy bold deeds shall tell.\\nOld Heart of Oak,\\nDaring Dave Farragut,\\nThunderbolt stroke!\\nWilliam Tuckey Meredith,\\n(By special permission of The Century Company.)\\n42\\nLEE TO THE REAR\\nDawn of a pleasant morning in May\\nBroke through the Wilderness cool and gray.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0142.jp2"}, "141": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 25\\nWhile, perched in the tallest treetops, the birds\\ne ca]\\nWords.\\nWere caroling Mendelssohn s Songs without\\nFar from the haunts of men remote,\\nThe brook brawled on with a liquid note,\\nAnd nature, all tranquil and lovely, Avore\\nThe smile of spring, as in Eden of yore.\\nLittle by little as daylight increased,\\nAnd deepened the roseate flush in the east,\\nLittle by little did morning reveal\\nTwo long glittering lines of steel\\nV/here two hundred thousand bayonets gleam,\\nTipped with light of the earliest beam,\\nAnd the faces are sullen and grim to see,\\nIn the hostile armies of Grant and Lee.\\nAll of a sudden, ere rose the sun.\\nPealed on the silence the opening gun;\\nA little white puff of smoke there came,\\nAnd anon the valley was wreathed in flame.\\nDown on the left of the rebel lines,\\nWhere a breastwork stands in a copse of pines,\\nBefore the rebels their ranks can form,\\nThe Yankees have carried the place by storm.\\nStars and Stripes o er the salient wave.\\nWhere many a hero has found a grave\\nAnd the gallant Confederates strive in vain\\nThe ground they have drenched with their blood to", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0143.jp2"}, "142": {"fulltext": "126 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nYet louder the thunder of battle roared;\\nYet a deadlier fire on their columns poured;\\nSlaughter infernal rode with Despair,\\nFuries twain, through the smoky air.\\nNot far off, in the saddle there sat\\nA gray-bearded man in a black slouch-hat;\\nNot much moved by the fire was he,\\nCalm and resolute Robert Lee.\\nQuick and watchful, he kept his eye\\nOn two bold rebel brigades close by,\\nReserves, that were standing (and dying) at ease,\\nWhile the tempest of wrath toppled over the trees.\\nFor still with their loud, deep, bulldog bay,\\nThe Yankee batteries blazed away,\\nAnd with every murderous second that sped\\nA dozen brave fellows, alas, fell dead\\nThe grand old graybeard rode to the space\\nWhere Death and his victims stood face to face.\\nAnd silently waved his old slouch-hat;\\nA world of meaning there was in that!\\nFollow me! Steady! We 11 save the day!\\nThis was what he seemed to say\\nAnd to the light of his glorious eye\\nThe bold brigades thus made reply\\nWe 11 go forward, but you must go back!\\nAnd they moved not an inch in the perilous track;\\nGo to the rear, and we 11 send them to hell!\\nAnd the spund of the battle was lost in their yell,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0144.jp2"}, "143": {"fulltext": "JN TIME OF STRIFE 12/\\nTurning his bridle, Robert Lee\\nRode to the rear. Like the waves of the sea,\\nBursting their dikes in their overflow.\\nMadly his veterans dashed on the foe.\\nAnd backward in terror that foe was driven,\\nTheir banners rent and their columns riven.\\nWherever the tide of battle rolled\\nOver the Wilderness, wood and wold.\\nSunset out of a crimson sky\\nStreamed o er a field of ruddier dye,\\nAnd the brook ran on with a purple stain\\nFrom the blood of ten thousand foemen slain.\\nSeasons have passed since that day and year;\\nAgain o er its pebbles the brook runs clear.\\nAnd the field in a richer green is dressed\\nWhere the dead of the terrible conflict rest.\\nHushed is the roll of the rebel drum,\\nThe sabres are sheathed, and the cannon dumb;\\nAnd Fate, with pitiless hand, has furled\\nThe flag that once challenged the gaze of the world.\\nBut the fame of the Wilderness fight abides;\\nAnd down into history grandly rides,\\nCalm and unmoved as in battle he sat,\\nThe gray-bearded man in the black slouch-hat.\\nJohn Randolph Thompson,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0145.jp2"}, "144": {"fulltext": "128 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\n43\\nCRAVEN\\nOver the turret, shut in his ironclad tower,\\nCraven was conning his ship through smoke and\\nflame;\\nGun to gun he had battered the fort for an hour,\\nNow was the time for a charge to end the game.\\nThere lay the narrowing channel, smooth and grim,\\nA hundred deaths beneath it, and never a sign;\\nThere lay the enemy s ships, and sink or swim\\nThe flag was flying, and he was head of the line.\\nThe fleet behind was jamming: the monitor hung\\nBeating the stream; the roar for a moment hushed;\\nCraven spoke to the pilot; slow she swung;\\nAgain he spoke, and right for the foe she rushed\\nInto the narrowing channel, between the shore\\nAnd the sunk torpedoes lying in treacherous rank;\\nShe turned but a yard too short; a muffled roar,\\nA mountainous wave, and she rolled, righted, and\\nsank.\\nOver the manhole, up in the ironclad tower,\\nPilot and captain met as they turned to fly:\\nThe hundredth part of a moment seemed an hour,\\nFor one could pass to be saved, and one must die.\\nThey stood like men in a dream Craven spoke,\\nSpoke as he lived and fought, with a captain s pride\\nAfter you. Pilot. The pilot woke,\\nDown the ladder he went, and Craven died.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0146.jp2"}, "145": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 29\\nAll men praise the deed and the manner; but we\\nWe set it apart from the pride that stoops to the\\nproud,\\nThe strength that is supple to serve the strong and\\nfree,\\nThe grace of the empty hands and promises loud\\nSidney thirsting a humbler need to slake,\\nNelson waiting his turn for the surgeon s hand,\\nLucas crushed with chains for a comrade s sake,\\nOutran! coveting right before command,\\nThese were paladins, these were Craven s peers,\\nThese with him shall be crowned in story and song.\\nCrowned with the glitter of steel and the glimmer of\\ntears,\\nPrinces of courtesy, merciful, proud, and strong.\\nHenry Newbolt.\\n(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company, and of\\nJohn Lane.)\\n44\\nGRACIE OF ALABAMA\\nOn, sons of mighty stature,\\nAnd souls that match the best!\\nWhen nations name their Jewels\\nLet Alabama rest.\\nGracie of Alabama\\nT was on that dreadful day\\nWhen howling hounds were fiercest\\nWith Petersburg at bay.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0147.jp2"}, "146": {"fulltext": "130 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nGracie of Alabama\\nWalked down the lines with Lee,\\nMarking through mists of gunshot\\nThe clouds of enemy.\\nThrice Alabama s warning\\nFell on a heedless ear,\\nWhile the relentless lead-storm,\\nConverging, hurtled near;\\nTill, straight before his chieftain,\\nWithout a word or sign,\\nHe stood, a shield the grandest,\\nAgainst the Union line.\\nAnd then the glass was lowered,\\nAnd voice that faltered not\\nSaid, in its measured cadence,\\nWhy, Gracie, you 11 be shot!\\nAnd Alabama answered,\\nThe South will pardon me\\nIf the ball that goes through Gracie\\nComes short of Robert Lee!\\nSwept a swift flash of crimson\\nAthwart the chieftain s cheek,\\nAnd the eyes whose glance was knighthood\\nSpake as no king could speak.\\nAnd side by side with Gracie\\nHe turned from shot and flame,\\nSide by side with Gracie\\nUp the grand aisle of Fame!\\nFrancis Orrery Ticknor.\\n(By special permission of Mrs. Rosa N. Ticknor.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0148.jp2"}, "147": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 131\\n45\\nTHE BALLAD OF A LITTLE FUN\\nI RODE a horse, a dappled bay,\\nCoal-black his mane and tail,\\nA horse who never needed spur.\\nNor curb, nor martingale.\\nAnd by my side three others rode,\\nSun-tanned, long-haired, and grim,\\nWild men led on by Edmondson,\\nJim Polk, you Ve heard of him.\\nBehind us galloped, four by four,\\nA swarthy, mottled band\\nOf reckless fellows, chosen from\\nThe bravest in the land.\\nWhither away on that fair day\\nOh, just a dash for fun.\\nTo speed our horses, and keep up\\nWith Jim Polk Edmondson.\\nBehind our backs we left the hills;\\nWe crossed the Salliquoy;\\nMy right-hand comrade smiled and said,\\nI fished here when a boy.\\nThen from the rise at Hogan s house,\\nI saw, as in a dream,\\nReed-fringed, and silver-blue, and deep,\\nThe Coosawattee gleam.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0149.jp2"}, "148": {"fulltext": "32 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nA shot rang out A bullet split\\nThe air so close to me\\nI felt the keen hot puff; and then\\nA roar of musketry.\\nA wind of lead blew from the wood\\nWe took it at a run:\\nWe sped so fast along the lane\\nThe worm-fence panels spun.\\nA horse went down, a dying face\\nScowled darkly at the sky\\nA bullet clipped my comrade s hat\\nAnd lopped the brim awry.\\nCome, boys; come on our leader cried.\\nPelimell we struck the line\\nMy comrade s pistol spat its balls,\\nAnd likewise so did mine.\\nA swirl of smoke, with rifts of fire.\\nEnveloped friend and foe;\\nDeath, so embarrassed, hardly knew\\nWhich way his strokes must go.\\nThe fight closed in on every side,\\nAnd tore one spot of ground;\\nThere was not room to swing an arm,\\nOr turn your horse around.\\nA moment thus, and then we broke\\nThe circle of our foes.\\nOld Hogan, in his doorway, heard\\nThe crunching of our blows,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0150.jp2"}, "149": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 733\\nThe while we used our pistol-butts,\\nAs swords, on many a head\\nAnd yet, and yet, down in that wood\\nWe left our leader, dead.\\nSo, now you know just how it was\\nWe had our little fun,\\nSpeeding our horses to keep up\\nWith Jim Polk Edmondson.\\nMaurice Thompson.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of The Century Company.)\\n46\\nSHERIDAN S RIDE\\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 was on once more.\\nAnd Sheridan twenty miles away.\\nAnd wider still those billows of war\\nThundered along the horizon s bar;\\nAnd louder yet into Winchester rolled\\nThe roar of that red sea uncontrolled,\\nMaking the blood of the listener 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:", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0151.jp2"}, "150": {"fulltext": "134 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\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 his utmost speed;\\nHills rose and fell but his heart was gay,\\nWith Sheridan fifteen miles away.\\nStill sprang from those swift hoofs, thundering south,\\nThe dust like 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 battle-field calls;\\nEvery nerve of the 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 eye full of fire.\\nBut, lo, he is nearing his heart s desire!\\nHe is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray,\\nWith Sheridan only five miles away.\\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 terrible oath,\\nHe dashed down the line, mid a storm of huzzas,\\nAnd the wave of retreat checked its course there because", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0152.jp2"}, "151": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 35\\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 the red nostril s play,\\nHe seemed to the whole great army to say:\\nI have brought you Sheridan all the way\\nFrom Winchester 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 the day\\nBy carrying Sheridan into the fight.\\nFrom Winchester, twenty miles away!\\nThomas Buchanan Read,\\n(By special permission of J. B. Lippincott Company.)\\n47\\nDOWN THE LITTLE BIG HORN\\nDown the Little Big Horn,\\n(O troop forlorn\\nRight into the camp of the Sioux,\\n(What was the muster\\nTwo hundred and sixty-two\\nWent into the fight with Custer,\\nWent out of the fight with Custer,\\nWent out at a breath.\\nStaunch to the death!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0153.jp2"}, "152": {"fulltext": "36 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nJust from the canyon emerging,\\nSaw they the braves of Sitting Bull surging,\\nTwo thousand and more,\\nPainted and feathered, thirsting for gore,\\nDid they shrink and turn back,\\n(Hear how the rifles crack!)\\nDid they pause for a life,\\nFor a sweetheart or wife\\nAnd one in that savage throng,\\n(His revenge had waited long,)\\nPomped with porcupine quills.\\nHis deerskins beaded and fringed.\\nAn eagle s plume in his long black hair,\\nHis tall lance fluttering in the air.\\nGlanced at the circling hills\\nHis cheeks flushed with a keen surmise,\\nA demon s hate in his eyes\\nRemembering the hour when he cringed,\\nA prisoner thonged,\\nChief Rain-in-the-Face\\n(There was a sachem wronged\\nSaw his enemy s heart laid bare,\\nFeasted in thought like a beast in his lair.\\nCavalry, cavalry,\\n(Tramp of the hoof, champ of the bit,)\\nHorses prancing, cavorting.\\nShying and snorting.\\nAccoutrements rattling,\\n(Children at home are prattling,)\\nGallantly, gallantly.\\nCompany dismount!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0154.jp2"}, "153": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 37\\nFrom the saddle they swing,\\nWith their steeds form a ring,\\n(Hear how the bullets sing!)\\nWho can their courage recount\\nDo you blanch at their fate\\n(Who would hesitate\\nTwo hundred and sixty-two\\nImmortals in blue,\\nStanding shoulder to shoulder,\\nLike some granite boulder\\nYou must blast to displace\\n(Were they of a valiant race\\nTwo hundred and sixty-two,\\nAnd never a man to say,\\nI rode with Custer that day.\\nGive the savage his triumph and bluster,\\nGive the hero to perish with Custer,\\nTo his God and his comrades true.\\nClosing and closing.\\nNearer the redskins creep\\nWith cunning disposing.\\nWith yell and with whoop,\\n(There are women shall weep\\nThey gather and swoop.\\nThey come like a flood,\\nMaddened with blood.\\nThey shriek, plying the knife,\\n(Was there one begged for his life\\nWhere but a moment ago\\nStood serried and sternly the foe,\\nNow fallen, mangled below.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0155.jp2"}, "154": {"fulltext": "138 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nDown the Little Big Horn,\\n(Tramp of hoof, champ of the bit,)\\nA single steed in the morn,\\nComanche, seven times hit,\\nComes to the river to drink;\\nLists for the sabre s clink,\\nLists for the voice of his master,\\n(O glorious disaster!)\\nComes, sniffing the air,\\nGazing, lifts his head.\\nBut his master lies dead,\\n(Who but the dead were there\\nBut stay, what was the muster\\nTwo hundred and sixty-two\\n(Two thousand and more the Sioux!)\\nWent into the fight with Custer,\\nWent out of the fight with Custer;\\nFor never a man can say,\\nI rode with Custer that day\\nWent out like a taper,\\nBlown by a sudden vapor,\\nWent out at a breath,\\nTrue to the death!\\nFrancis Brooks.\\n(By special permission of Dr, Almon Brooks.)\\n48\\nTHE BOND OF BLOOD\\nThe words of a rebel old and battered,\\nWho will care to remember them\\nUnder the Lost Flag, battle-tattered,\\nI was a comrade of Allan Memm.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0156.jp2"}, "155": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 39\\nWho was Allan, that I should name him\\nBravest of all the brave who bled\\nWhy should a soldier s song proclaim him\\nFirst of a hundred thousand dead\\nAn angel of battle, with fair hair curling\\nBy brown cheeks shrunken and wan with want;\\nA living missile that Lee was hurling\\nStraight on the iron front of Grant\\nA war-child born of the Old South s passion,\\nTrained in the camp of the cavaliers;\\nA spirit wrought in the antique fashion\\nOf Glory s martial morning years.\\nHis young wife s laugh and his baby s prattle\\nHe bore through the roar of the hungry guns\\nThrough the yell of shell in the rage of battle,\\nAnd the moan that under the thunder runs.\\nHis was the voice that cried the warning\\nAt the shattered gate of the slaughter-pen,\\nWhen Hancock rushed in the gray of morning\\nOver our doomed and desperate men.\\nHis was the hand that held the standard\\nA flaring torch on a crumbling shore\\nMid the billows of blue by the storm blown landward.\\nAnd his call we heard through the ocean roar:\\nfc)\\nEre the flag should shrink to a lost hope s token,\\nEre the glow of its glory be low and dim.\\nEre its stars should fade and its bars be broken,\\nCalling his comrades to come to him.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0157.jp2"}, "156": {"fulltext": "I40 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nAnd these, at the order of Hill or Gordon,\\nGod keep their ashes! I knew them well,\\nWould have smashed the ranks of the devil s cordon,\\nOr charged through the flames that roar in hell.\\nBut none could stand where the storm was beating,\\nNever a comrade could reach his side;\\nIn the spume of flame where the tides were meeting,\\nHe, of a thousand, stood and died.\\nAnd the foe, in the old heroic manner,\\nTenderly laid his form to rest.\\nThe splintered staff and the riddled banner\\nHiding the horror upon his breast.\\nGone is the cot in the Georgia wildwood.\\nGone is the blossom-strangled porch;\\nThe roof that sheltered a soldier s childhood\\nVainly pleaded with Sherman s torch.\\nGone are the years, and far and feeble\\nEver the old wild echoes die;\\nHark to the voice of a great, glad people\\nHailing the one flag under the sky!\\nAnd the monstrous heart of the storm receding\\nFainter and farther throbs and jars;\\nAnd the new storm bursts, and the brave are bleeding\\nUnder the cruel alien stars.\\nAnd Allan s wife in the grave is lying\\nUnder the old scorched vine and pine,\\nWhile Allan s child in the isles is dying\\nFar on the foremost fighting line.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0158.jp2"}, "157": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE I4I\\nCheer for the flag with the old stars spangled\\nShake out its folds to the wind s caress,\\nOver the hearts by the war-hounds mangled,\\nDown in the tangled Wilderness!\\nTo wave o er the grave of the brave forever;\\nFor the Gray has sealed, in the bond of blood,\\nHis faith to the Blue, and the brave shall never\\nQuestion the brave in the sight of God.\\nWill Henry Thompson.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of The Century Company.)\\n49\\nA BALLAD OF MANILA BAY\\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.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0159.jp2"}, "158": {"fulltext": "142 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\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.\\nSo through the dark we stole our way\\nPast the grim warders and into the bay,\\nPast Kalibuyo, and past Salinas,\\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 shattered 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 Bakor 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.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0160.jp2"}, "159": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE I43\\nBut to the brave though beaten, hail!\\nAll hail to them that dare and fail!\\nTo the dauntless boat that charged our fleet\\nAnd sank in the iron hail\\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;\\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 the 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!\\nCharles George Douglas Roberts.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.)\\nDEWEY AT MANILA\\nT WAS the very verge of May\\nWhen the bold Olympia led\\nInto Bocagrande gray\\nDewey s squadron, dark and dread,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0161.jp2"}, "160": {"fulltext": "144 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nCreeping past Corregidor,\\nGuardian of Manila s shore.\\nDo they sleep who wait the fray\\nIs the moon so dazzling bright\\nThat our cruisers battle-gray\\nMelts into the misty light\\nAh the rockets flash and soar\\nWakes at last Corregidor!\\nAll too late their screaming shell\\nTears the silence with its track;\\nThis is but the gate of hell,\\nWe ve no leisure to turn back.\\nAnswer, Boston then once more\\nSlumber on, Corregidor!\\nAnd as, like a slowing tide.\\nOnward still the vessels creep,\\nDewey, watching, falcon-eyed,\\nOrders Let the gunners sleep;\\nFor we meet a foe at four\\nFiercer than Corregidor.\\nWell they slept, for well they knew\\nWhat the morrow taught us all\\nHe was wise (as well as true)\\nThus upon the foe to fall.\\nLong shall Spain the day deplore\\nDewey ran Corregidor.\\nMay is dancing into light\\nAs the Spanish Admiral", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0162.jp2"}, "161": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 45\\nFrom a dream of phantom fight\\nWakens at his sentry s call.\\nShall he leave Cavite s lee,\\nHunt the Yankee fleet at sea\\nO Montojo, to thy deck,\\nThat to-day shall float its last\\nQuick! To quarters! Yonder speck\\nGrows a hull of portent vast.\\nHither, toward Cavite s lee\\nComes the Yankee hunting thee!\\nNot for fear of hidden mine\\nHalts our doughty Commodore,\\nHe, of old heroic line,\\nFollows Farragut once more,\\nHazards all on victory,\\nHere within Cavite s lee.\\nIf he loses, all is gone\\nHe will win because he must.\\nAnd the shafts of yonder dawn\\nAre not quicker than his thrust.\\nSoon, Montojo, he shall be\\nWith thee in Cavite s lee.\\nNow, Manila, to the fray!\\nShow the hated Yankee host\\nThis is not a holiday\\nSpanish blood is more than boast.\\nFleet and mine and battery.\\nCrush him in Cavite s lee!\\nLo, hell s geysers at our fore\\nPierce the plotted path in vain,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0163.jp2"}, "162": {"fulltext": "146 BALLADS OF A AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nNerving every man the more\\nWith the memory of the Maine\\nNow at last our guns are free\\nHere within Cavite s lee.\\nGridley, says the Commodore,\\nYou may fire when ready. Then\\nLong and loud, like lions roar\\nWhen a rival dares the den,\\nBreaks the awful cannonry\\nFull across Cavite s lee.\\nWho shall tell the daring tale\\nOf Our Thunderbolt s attack,\\nFinding, when the chart should fail,\\nBy the lead his dubious track.\\nFive ships following faithfully\\nFive times o er Cavite s lee;\\nOf our gunners deadly aim\\nOf the gallant foe and brave\\nWho, unconquered, faced with flame.\\nSeek the mercy of the wave\\nChoosing honor in the sea\\nUnderneath Cavite s lee!\\nLet the meed the victors gain\\nBe the measure of their task.\\nLess of flinching, stouter strain.\\nFiercer combat who could ask\\nAnd surrender t was a word\\nThat Cavite ne er had heard.\\nNoon the woful work is done!\\nNot a Spanish ship remains;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0164.jp2"}, "163": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 47\\nBut, of their eleven, none\\nEver was so truly Spain s!\\nWhich is prouder, they or we,\\nThinking of Cavite s lee\\nEnvoy\\nBut remember, when we ve ceased\\nGiving praise and reckoning odds,\\nMan shares courage with the beast.\\nWisdom Cometh from the gods.\\nWho would win, on land or wave.\\nMust be wise as well as brave.\\nRobert Underwood Johnson.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n51\\nTHE MEN OF THE MERRIMAC\\nHail to Hobson hail to Hob son hail to all the valiant\\nset I\\nClausen, Kelly, Deignan, Phillips, Murphy, Montagu,\\nCharette I\\nHowsoever we laud and laurel we shall be their debtors\\nyet\\nShame upon us, shame upon us, should the nation e er\\nforget I\\nThough the tale be worn with telling, let the daring\\ndeed be sung!\\nSurely never brighter valor, since this wheeling world\\nwas young,\\nThrilled men s souls to more than wonder, till praise\\nleaped from every tongue", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0165.jp2"}, "164": {"fulltext": "148 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nTrapped at last the Spanish sea-fox in the hill-locked\\nharbor lay\\nSpake the Admiral from his flagship, rocking off the\\nhidden bay,\\nWe must close yon open portal lest he slip by night\\naway\\nVolunteers! the signal lifted rippling through the\\nfleet it ran\\nWas there ever deadlier venture was there ever bolder\\nplan\\nYet the gallant sailors answered, answered wellnigh to\\na man\\nEre the dawn s first rose-flush kindled, swiftly sped the\\nchosen eight\\nToward the batteries grimly frowning o er the harbor s\\nnarrow gate\\nSooth, he holds his life but lightly who thus gives the\\ndare to Fate\\nThey had passed the outer portal where the guns\\ngrinned, tier o er tier.\\nWhen portentous Morro thundered, and Socapa\\nechoed clear,\\nAnd Estrella joined a chorus pandemoniac to hear.\\nHeroes without hands to waver, heroes without hearts\\nto quail,\\nThere they sank the bulky collier mid the hurtling\\nSpanish hail;\\nLong shall float our starry banner if such lads beneath\\nit sail!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0166.jp2"}, "165": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 49\\nHail to Hobson hail to Hobson I hail to all the valiant\\nset I\\nClausen, Kelly, Deignan, Phillips, Murphy, Montagu^\\nCliai ette\\nHowsoe er we laud and laurel we shall be their debtors\\nyet\\nShame upon us, shame upon us, should the nation e er\\nforget I\\nClinton Scollard.\\nTHE CHARGE AT SANTIAGO\\nWith shot and shell, like a loosened hell,\\nSmiting them left and right,\\nThey rise or fall on the sloping wall\\nOf beetling bush and height!\\nThey do not shrink at the awful brink\\nOf the rifle s hurtling breath,\\nBut onward press, as their ranks grow less,\\nTo the open arms of death\\nThrough a storm of lead, o er maimed and dead,\\nOnward and up they go.\\nTill hand to hand the unflinching band\\nGrapple the stubborn foe.\\nO er men that reel, mid glint of steel.\\nBellow or boom of gun,\\nThey leap and shout over each redoubt\\nTill the final trench is won\\nO charge sublime! Over dust and grime\\nEach hero hurls his name", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0167.jp2"}, "166": {"fulltext": "150 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nIn shot or shell, like a molten hell,\\nTo the topmost heights of fame\\nAnd prone or stiff, under bush and cliff,\\nWounded or dead men lie,\\nWhile the tropic sun on a grand deed done\\nLooks with his piercing eye!\\nWilliam Hamilton Hayne.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n53\\nSPAIN S LAST ARMADA\\nThey fling their flags upon the morn,\\nTheir safety s held a thing for scorn,\\nAs to the fray the Spaniards on the wings of war are\\nborne;\\nTheir sullen smoke-clouds writhe and reel,\\nAnd sullen are their ships of steel,\\nAll ready, cannon, lanyards, from the fighting-tops to\\nkeel.\\nThey cast upon the golden air\\nOne glancing, helpless, hopeless prayer,\\nTo ask that swift and thorough be the victory falling\\nthere;\\nThen giants with a cheer and sigh\\nBurst forth to battle and to die\\nBeneath the walls of Morro on that morning in July.\\nThe Teresa heads the haughty train.\\nTo bear the Admiral of Spain,\\nShe rushes, hurtling, whitening, like the summer hur-\\nricane", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0168.jp2"}, "167": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 15I\\nEl Morro glowers in his might\\nSocapa crimsons with the fight;\\nThe Oquendo s lunging lightning blazes through her\\nsomber night.\\nIn desperate and eager dash\\nThe Vizcaya hurls her vivid flash,\\nAs wild upon the waters her enormous batteries crash\\nLike spindrift scuds the fleet Colon,\\nAnd, on her bubbling wake bestrown,\\nLurch, hungry for the slaughter, El Furor and El\\nPluton.\\nRound Santiago s armored crest.\\nSerene, in their gray valor dressed.\\nOur behemoths lie quiet, watching well from south\\nand west\\nTheir keen eyes spy the harbor-reek;\\nThe signals dance, the signals speak;\\nThen breaks the blasting riot as our broadsides storm\\nand shriek!\\nQuick, poising on her eagle-wings,\\nThe Brooklyn into battle swings;\\nThe wide sea falls and wonders as the titan Texas\\nsprings;\\nThe lozua in monster-leaps\\nGoes bellowing above the deeps;\\nThe Indiana thunders as her terror onward sweeps.\\nAnd, hovering near and hovering low\\nUntil the moment strikes to go,\\nIn gallantry the Gloucester swoops down on her double\\nfoe;", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0169.jp2"}, "168": {"fulltext": "152 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nShe volleys the Furor falls lame;\\nAgain and the Phitori s aflame\\nHurrah, on high she s tossed her! Gone the grim\\ndestroyers fame\\nAnd louder yet and louder roar\\nThe Oregon s black cannon o er\\nThe clangor and the booming all along the Cuban\\nshore.\\nShe s swifting down her valkyr-path,\\nHer sword sharp for the aftermath,\\nWith levin in her glooming, like Jehovah in His wrath.\\nGreat ensigns snap and shine in air\\nAbove the furious onslaught where\\nOur sailors cheer the battle, danger but a thing to\\ndare\\nOur gunners speed, as oft they ve sped,\\nTheir hail of shrilling, shattering lead,\\nSwift-sure our rifles rattle, and the foeman s decks are\\nred.\\nLike baying bloodhounds lope our ships,\\nAdrip with fire their cannons lips;\\ny/e scourge the fleeing Spanish, whistling weals from\\nscorpion-whips\\nTill, livid in the ghastly glare.\\nThey tremble on in dread despair.\\nAnd thoughts of victory vanish in the carnage they\\nmust bear.\\nWhere Cuban coasts in beauty bloom,\\nWhere Cuban breakers swirl and boom,\\nThe Teresa s onset slackens in a scarlet spray of doom", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0170.jp2"}, "169": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 53\\nNear Nimanima s greening hill\\nThe streaming flames cry down her will,\\nHer vast hull blows and blackens, prey to every mortal\\nill.\\nOn Juan Gonzales foaming strand\\nThe Oqtiendo plunges neath our hand,\\nHer armaments all strangled, and her hope a shower-\\ning brand\\nShe strikes and grinds upon the reef,\\nAnd, shuddering there in utter grief,\\nIn misery and mangled, wastes away beside her chief.\\nThe Vizcaya nevermore shall ride\\nFrom out Aserradero s tide.\\nWith hate upon her forehead ne er again she 11 pass in\\npride\\nBeneath our fearful battle-spell\\nShe moaned and struggled, flared and fell.\\nTo lie agleam and horrid, while the piling fires swell.\\nThence from the wreck of Spain alone\\nTears on the terrified Colon,\\nIn bitter anguish crying, like a storm-bird forth she s\\nflown\\nHer throbbing engines creak and thrum;\\nShe sees abeam the Brooklyn come.\\nFor life she s gasping, flying; for the combat is she\\ndumb.\\nTill then the man behind the gun\\nHad wrought whatever must be done\\nHere, now, beside our boilers is the fight fought out\\nand won", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0171.jp2"}, "170": {"fulltext": "154 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nWhere great machines pulse on and beat,\\nA-swelter in the humming heat\\nThe Nation s nameless toilers make her mastery com-\\nplete.\\nThe Cape o the Cross casts out a stone\\nAgainst the course of the Colon,\\nDespairing and inglorious on the wind her white flag s\\nthrown\\nSpain s last Armada, lost and wan,\\nLies where Tarquino s stream rolls on,\\nAs round the world, victorious, looms the dread-\\nnought Oregon.\\nThe sparkling daybeams softly flow\\nTo glint the twilight afterglow.\\nThe banner sinks in splendor that in battle ne er was\\nlow;\\nThe music of our country s hymn\\nRings out like song of seraphim,\\nFond memories and tender fill the evening fair and\\ndim\\nOur huge ships ride in majesty\\nUnchallenged o er the glittering sea,\\nAbove them white stars cluster, mighty emblem of the\\nfree;\\nAnd all adown the long sea-lane\\nThe fitful bale-fires wax and wane\\nTo shed their lurid lustre on the empire that was\\nSpain.\\nWallace Rice.\\n(By special permission of the author.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0172.jp2"}, "171": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 55\\n54\\nBALLAD OF PACO TOWN\\nIn Paco town and in Paco tower,\\nAt the height of the tropic noonday hour,\\nSome Tagal riflemen, half a score,\\nWatched the length of the highway o er,\\nAnd when to the front the troopers spurred,\\nWhiz-z whiz-z how the Mausers whirred\\nFrom the opposite walls, through crevice and crack,\\nVolley on volley went ringing back\\nWhere a band of regulars tried to drive\\nThe stinging rebels out of their hive;\\nWait till our cannon come, and then,\\nCried a captain, striding among his men,\\nWe 11 settle that bothersome buzz and drone\\nWith a merry little tune of our own\\nThe sweltering breezes seemed to swoon.\\nAnd down the calle the thickening flames\\nLicked the roofs in the tropic noon.\\nThen through the crackle and glare and heat,\\nAnd the smoke and the answering acclaims\\nOf the rifles, far up the village street\\nWas heard the clatter of horses feet,\\nAnd a band of signal-men swung in sight.\\nHasting back from the ebbing fight\\nThat had swept away to the left and right.,\\nRide! yelled the regulars, all aghast.\\nAnd over the heads of the signal-men.\\nAs they whirled in desperate gallop past.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0173.jp2"}, "172": {"fulltext": "156 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nThe bullets a vicious music made,\\nLike the whistle and whine of the midnight blast\\nOn the weltering wastes of the ocean when\\nThe breast of the deep is scourged and flayed.\\nIt chanced in the line of the fiercest fire\\nA rebel bullet had clipped the wire\\nThat led, from the front and the fighting, down\\nTo those that stayed in Manila town\\nThis gap arrested the watchful eye\\nOf one of the signal-men galloping by,\\nAnd straightway, out of the plunge and press,\\nHe reined his horse with a swift caress\\nAnd a word in the ear of the rushing steed\\nThen back with never a halt nor heed\\nOf the swarming bullets he rode, his goal\\nThe parted wire and the slender pole\\nThat stood where the deadly tower looked down\\nOn the rack and ruin of Paco town.\\nOut of his saddle he sprang as gay\\nAs a schoolboy taking a holiday;\\nWire in hand up the pole he went\\nWith never a glance at the tower, intent\\nOnly on that which he saw appear\\nAs the line of his duty plain and clear.\\nTo the very crest he climbed, and there,\\nWhile the bullets buzzed in the scorching air,\\nClipped his clothing, and scored and stung\\nThe slender pole-top to which he clung,\\nMade the wire that was severed sound,\\nSlipped in his careless way to the ground.\\nSprang to the back of his horse, and then\\nWas off, this bravest of sio-nal-men.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0174.jp2"}, "173": {"fulltext": "\u00e2\u0096\u00a0IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 57\\nCheers for the hero! While such as he,\\nHeedless alike of wounds and scars,\\nFight for the dear old Stripes and Stars,\\nDown through the years to us shall be\\nEver and ever the victory\\nClinton Scollard.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0175.jp2"}, "174": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0176.jp2"}, "175": {"fulltext": "Hn ^ime of IPeace\\n159", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0177.jp2"}, "176": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0178.jp2"}, "177": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE\\n55\\nPEACE HATH HER VICTORIES\\nAll sobbing, shrieking, swirls the gale,\\nDecember in its sweep.\\nTill ocean s hoary face is pale\\nWith foam, abysses deep;\\nThen see within the furious spray\\nA ship against the gray\\nThe sirens sing by George s shoal\\nAnd lure their victim in,\\nSo the Lord Goiigh, through surge and roll.\\nThe dismal drift and din.\\nComes round to where the breakers comb\\nInto sheer, wind-swept foam.\\nThey see, half-way the shattered mast,\\nThe Stars and Stripes stand out;\\nThey hear, above the howling blast.\\nOld Hughes, with mighty shout,\\nNow, boys, three hearty English cheers!\\nCome forward, volunteers!\\nII\\ni6i", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0179.jp2"}, "178": {"fulltext": "1 62 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThey man their boat, these gallant tars,\\nThough skies beat down the sea\\nWhen falls the flag with all its stars.\\nThen to the masthead free\\nRuns up, the blue above, to swear,\\nFor us Fate still is fair!\\nIn frosty blasts that seek to blow\\nTheir valor from the helm.\\nThey row as they would have you row\\nWhen billows overwhelm\\nThe baffled storm its witness bears\\nThe Cleopatra s theirs!\\nHe thaws the winter from his bone.\\nHe mourns the ship so gone,\\nAnd Pendleton tells great gales blown.\\nDespair since drifting dawn\\nWater-logged, with his boats stove in,\\nW^hat hope was his to win\\nHe saw the sailors on the Gough\\nDeath stood before his eyes,\\nHe knew they would be putting off\\nWhere seas beat back the skies\\nHis flag free on the tempest flew\\nLest they should perish too.\\nWhile Englishmen in mercy go\\nCheering, to war with Death,\\nWhile the Americans can throw\\nOff hope, for others breath,\\nA tyrant Fate need slink afraid,\\nFrom clear eyes, undismayed.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0180.jp2"}, "179": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 63\\nAnd oh, ye folk of English speech,\\nWhen such a brood ye ve borne,\\nWhat favor need ye e er beseech\\nFrom Fate so ripe for scorn\\nT is yours, ye freemen, by your birth,\\nAll that ye will on earth\\nWallace Rice.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n56\\nIN THE TUNNEL\\nDid n t know Flynn,\\nFlynn of Virginia,\\nLong as he s been yar\\nLook ee here, stranger,\\nWhar hev you been\\nHere in this tunnel\\nHe was my pardner,\\nThat same Tom Flynn,\\nWorking together,\\nIn wind and weather,\\nDay out and in.\\nDid n t know Flynn!\\nWell, that is queer\\nWhy, it s a sin\\nTo think of Tom Flynn,\u00e2\u0080\u0094\\nTom with his cheer,\\nTom without fear,\\nStranger, look yar!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0181.jp2"}, "180": {"fulltext": "164 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nThar in the drift,\\nBack to the wall,\\nHe held the timbers\\nReady to fall;\\nThen in the darkness\\nI heard him call:\\nRun for your life, Jake!\\nRun for your wife s sake!\\nDon t wait for me.\\nAnd that was all\\nHeard in the din,\\nHeard of Tom Flynn,\\nFlynn of Virginia.\\nThat s all about\\nFlynn of Virginia.\\nThat lets me out.\\nHere in the damp,\\nOut of the sun,\\nThat ar derned lamp\\nMakes my eyes run.\\nWell, there, I m done!\\nBut, sir, when you 11\\nHear the next fool\\nAsking of Flynn,\\nFlynn of Virginia,\\nJust you chip in,\\nSay you knew Flynn;\\nSay that you ve been yar.\\nBret Harte,\\n(By special permission of Houghton, Mifflin and Company.)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0182.jp2"}, "181": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 165\\n57\\nTHE BALLAD OF CALNAN S CHRISTMAS\\nWhen you hear the fire-gongs beat fierce along the\\nstartled street,\\nSee the great-limbed horses bound, and the gleam-\\ning engine sway.\\nAnd the driver in his place, with his fixed, heroic face,\\nSay a prayer for Calnan s sake he that died on\\nChristmas day!\\nCling! Cling! Each to his station!\\nClang! Clang! Quick to clear the way!\\n(Christ keep the soldiers of salvation.\\nFighting nameless battles in the war of every\\nday!)\\nIn the morning, blue and mild, of the Mother and the\\nChild,\\nWhile the blessed bells were calling, thrilled the\\nsummons through the wire;\\nIn the morning, blue and mild, for a woman and a\\nchild\\nDied a man of gentle will, plunging on to fight the\\nfire.\\nRing, swing, bells in the steeple!\\nRing the Child and ring the Star, as sweetly as ye\\nmay!\\nRing, swing, bells, to tell the people\\nGod s good will to earthly men, the men of every\\nday!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0183.jp2"}, "182": {"fulltext": "l66 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThirty-four swung out agleam, with her mighty,\\nbounding team\\nHorses honor pricked them on, and they leaped as\\nat a goad\\nJimmy Calnan in his place, with his clean-cut Irish\\nface,\\nIron hands upon the reins, eyes a-strain upon the\\nroad.\\nClang! Clang! Quick to clear the way\\n(Sweetly rang, above the clang, the bells of\\nChristmas day.)\\nTearing, plunging through the din, scarce a man could\\nhold them in\\nNone on earth could pull them short Mary Mother,\\nguide from harm\\nYonder woman straight ahead, stony still with sudden\\ndread,\\nAnd the little woman-child, with her waxen child\\nin arm\\nOh, God s calls, how swift they are! Oh, the Cross\\nthat hides the Star!\\nOh, the fire-gong beating fierce through the bells of\\nChristmas day\\nJust a second there to choose, and a life to keep or\\nlose\\nTo the curb he swung the horses, and he flung his\\nlife away!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0184.jp2"}, "183": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 6/\\nRing, swing, bells in the steeple!\\nRing the Star and ring the Cross, for Star and\\nCross are one\\nRing, swing, bells, to tell the people\\nGod is pleased with manly men, and the deeds\\nthat they have done\\nHelen Gray Cone,\\n(By special permission of the author, and of The Century Company.)\\nHOW HE SAVED ST. MICHAEL S\\nIt was long ago it happened, ere ever the signal gun\\nThat blazed above Fort Sumter had wakened the\\nNorth as one;\\nLong ere the wondrous pillar of battle-cloud and fire\\nHad marked where the unchained millions marched\\non to their hearts desire.\\nOn the roofs and the glittering turrets, that night, as\\nthe sun went down,\\nThe mellow glow of the twilight shone like a jewelled\\ncrown,\\nAnd, bathed in the living glory, as the people lifted\\ntheir eyes.\\nThey saw the pride of the city, the spire of St.\\nMichael s, rise\\nHigh over the lesser steeples, tipped with a golden ball.\\nThat hung like a radiant planet caught in its earthward\\nfall:", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0185.jp2"}, "184": {"fulltext": "l68 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nFirst glimpse of home to the sailor who made the\\nharbor round,\\nThe last slow-fading vision dear to the outward bound.\\nThe gently gathering shadows shut out the waning\\nlight;\\nThe children prayed at their bedsides, as you will pray\\nto-night;\\nThe noise of buyer and seller from the busy mart was\\ngone,\\nAnd in dreams of a peaceful morrow the city slumbered\\non.\\nBut another light than sunrise aroused the sleeping\\nstreet,\\nFor a cry was heard at midnight, and the rush of\\ntrampling feet;\\nMen stared in each other s faces through mingled fire\\nand smoke.\\nWhile the frantic bells went clashing clamorous stroke\\non stroke\\nBy the glare of her blazing roof-tree the houseless\\nmother fled,\\nWith the babe she pressed to her bosom shrieking in\\nnameless dread.\\nWhile the fire-king s wild battalions scaled wall and\\ncapstone high.\\nAnd planted their flaring banners against an inky sky.\\nFrom the death that raged behind them and the crash\\nof ruin loud.\\nTo the great square of the city, were driven the surging\\ncrowd,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0186.jp2"}, "185": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 69\\nWhere yet firm in all the tumult, unscathed by the\\nfiery flood,\\nWith its heavenward-pointing finger the church of St.\\nMichael stood.\\nBut e en as they gazed upon it there rose a sudden\\nwail,\\nA cry of horror blended with the roaring of the gale,\\nOn whose scorching wings updriven a single flaming\\nbrand\\nAloft on the towering steeple clung like a bloody\\nhand.\\nWill it fade? The whisper trembled from a thou-\\nsand whitening lips;\\nFar out on the lurid harbor they watched it from the\\nships\\nA baleful gleam that brighter and ever brighter shone,\\nLike a flickering, trembling will-o -the-wisp to a steady\\nbeacon grown.\\nUncounted gold shall be given to the man whose\\nbrave right hand,\\nFor the love of the periled city, plucks down yon\\nburning brand\\nSo cried the Mayor of Charleston, that all the people\\nheard,\\nBut they looked each one at his fellow, and no man\\nspoke a word.\\nWho is it leans from the belfry, with face upturned to\\nthe sky\\nClings to a column and measures the dizzy spire with\\nhis eye", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0187.jp2"}, "186": {"fulltext": "I/O BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nWill he dare it, the hero undaunted, that terrible,\\nsickening height\\nOr will the hot blood of his courage freeze in his veins\\nat the sight\\nBut see! he has stepped on the railing, he climbs with\\nhis feet and his hands.\\nAnd firm on a narrow projection with the belfry be-\\nneath him he stands!\\nNow once, and once only, they cheer him a single,\\ntempestuous breath\\nAnd there falls on the multitude gazing a hush like\\nthe stillness of death.\\nSlow, steadily mounting, unheeding aught save the\\ngoal of the fire.\\nStill higher and higher, an atom, he moves on the face\\nof the spire;\\nHe stops! Will he fall Lo, for answer, a gleam like\\na meteor s track!\\nAnd, hurled on the stones of the pavement, the red\\nbrand lies shattered and black!\\nOnce more the shouts of the people have rent the\\nquivering air,\\nAt the church-door Mayor and Council wait with their\\nfeet on the stair,\\nAnd the eager throng behind them press for a touch\\nof his hand\\nThe unknown savior whose daring could compass a\\ndeed so grand.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0188.jp2"}, "187": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 171\\nBut why does a sudden tremor seize on them while\\nthey gaze\\nAnd what means the stifled murmur of wonder and\\namaze\\nHe stood in the gate of the temple he had periled\\nhis life to save,\\nAnd the face of the hero undaunted was the sable face\\nof a slave\\nWith folded arms he was speaking, in tones that were\\nclear, not loud.\\nAnd his eyes, ablaze in their sockets, burnt into the\\neyes of the crowd\\nYou may keep your gold, I scorn it! but answer\\nme, ye who can.\\nIf the deed I have done before you be not the deed of\\na man\\nHe stepped but a short space backward, and from all\\nthe women and men\\nThere were only sobs for answer, and the Mayor called\\nfor a pen\\nAnd the great seal of the city, that he might read who\\nran;\\nAnd the slave who saved St. Michael s went out from\\nthe door, a man.\\nMary Anna Phinney Stansbury.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n59\\nTHE RIDE OF COLLIN GRAVES\\nNo song of a soldier riding down\\nTo the raging fight of Winchester town", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0189.jp2"}, "188": {"fulltext": "172 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nNo song of a time that shook the earth\\nWith the nation s throe at a nation s birth;\\nBut the song of a brave man free from fear\\nAs Sheridan s self or Paul Revere;\\nWho risked what they risked, free from strife\\nAnd its promise of glorious pay, his life.\\nThe peaceful valley has waked and stirred,\\nAnd the answering echoes of life are heard\\nThe dew still clings to the trees and grass,\\nAnd the early toilers smiling pass.\\nAs they glance aside at the white-walled homes,\\nOr up the valley where merrily comes\\nThe brook that sparkles in diamond rills\\nAs the sun comes over the Hampshire hills.\\nWhat was it passed like an ominous breath\\nLike a shiver of fear, or a touch of death\\nWhat was it The valley is peaceful still,\\nAnd the leaves are afire on the top of the hill;\\nIt was not a sound, nor a thing of sense,\\nBut a pain, like a pang in the short suspense\\nThat wraps the being of those who see\\nAt their feet the gulf of eternity.\\nThe air of the valley has felt the chill\\nThe workers pause at the door of the mill;\\nThe housewife, keen to the shivering air,\\nArrests her foot on the cottage stair.\\nInstinctive taught by the mother-love,\\nAnd thinks of the sleeping ones above.\\nWhy start the listeners Why does the course\\nOf the mill-stream widen Is it a horse", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0190.jp2"}, "189": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1/3\\nHark to the sound of the hoofs! they say\\nThat gallops so wildly Williamsburg way\\nGod what was that like a human shriek\\nFrom the winding valley Will nobody speak\\nWill nobody answer those women who cry\\nAs the awful warnings thunder by\\nWhence come they Listen and now they hear\\nThe sound of the galloping horse-hoofs near;\\nThey watch the trend of the vale, and see\\nThe rider who thunders so menacingly,\\nWith waving arms and warning scream\\nTo the home-filled banks of the valley stream.\\nHe draws no rein, but he shakes the street\\nWith a shout and the ring of the galloping feet,\\nAnd this the cry that he flings to the wind,\\nTo the hills for your lives The flood is beJiiiid I\\nHe cries and is gone, but they know the worst,\\nThe treacherous Williamsburg dam has burst!\\nThe basin that nourished their happy homes\\nIs changed to a demon. It comes! it comes!\\nA monster in aspect, with shaggy front\\nOf shattered dwellings to take the brunt\\nOf the dwellings they shatter; white-maned and\\nhoarse\\nThe merciless terror fills the course\\nOf the narrow valley, and rushing raves\\nWith death on the first of its hissing waves.\\nTill cottage and street and crowded mill\\nAre crumbled and crushed. But onward still,\\nIn front of the roaring flood, is heard\\nThe galloping horse and the warning word.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0191.jp2"}, "190": {"fulltext": "74 BALLADS OF ^MERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThank God that the brave man s life is spared!\\nFrom WilHamsburg town he nobly dared\\nTo race with the flood, and to take the road\\nIn front of the terrible swath it mowed.\\nFor miles it thundered and crashed behind,\\nBut he looked ahead with a steadfast mind\\nThey must be zvarned was all he said,\\nAs away on his terrible ride he sped.\\nWhen heroes are called for, bring the crown\\nTo this Yankee rider; send him down\\nOn the stream of time with the Curtius old;\\nHis deed, as the Roman s, was brave and bold\\nAnd the tale can as noble a thrill awake,\\nFor he offered his life for the people s sake!\\nJohn Boyle O Reilly.\\n(By special permission of Miss Mary Boyle O Reilly.)\\n60\\nJIM BLUDSO\\nWall, no! I can t tell whar he lives,\\nBecase he don t live, you see;\\nLeastways, he s got out of the habit\\nOf livin like you and me.\\nWhar have you been for the last three year\\nThat you have n t heard folks tell\\nHow Jimmy Bludso passed in his checks\\nThe night of the Prairie Belle\\nHe wer n t no saint, them engineers\\nIs all pretty much alike,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0192.jp2"}, "191": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 75\\nOne wife in Natchez-under-the-Hill\\nAnd another one here, in Pike;\\nA keerless man in his talk was Jim,\\nAnd an awkward hand in a row,\\nBut he never flunked, and he never lied,\\nI reckon he never knowed how.\\nAnd this was all the religion he had,\\nTo treat his engine well\\nNever be passed on the river\\nTo mind the pilot s bell\\nAnd if ever the Prairie Belle took fire,\\nA thousand times he swore.\\nHe d hold her nozzle agin the bank\\nTill the last soul got ashore.\\nAll boats has their day on the Mississip,\\nAnd her day come at last,\\nThe Movastar was a better boat.\\nBut the Belle she would n t be passed.\\nAnd so she come tearin along that night\\nThe oldest craft on the line\\nWith a nigger squat on her safety-valve.\\nAnd her furnace crammed, rosin and pine.\\nThe fire bust out as she clared the bar.\\nAnd burnt a hole in the night.\\nAnd quick as a flash she turned, and made\\nFor that wilier-bank on the right.\\nThere was runnin and cursin but Jim yelled out.\\nOver all the infernal roar,\\nI 11 hold her nozzle agin the bank\\nTill the last galoot s ashore,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0193.jp2"}, "192": {"fulltext": "1/6 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThrough the hot, black breath of the burniu boat\\nJim Bludso s voice was heard,\\nAnd they all had trust in his cussedness,\\nAnd knowed he would keep his word.\\nAnd sure s you re born, they all got off\\nAfore the smokestacks fell,\\nAnd Bludso s ghost went up alone\\nIn the smoke of the Prairie Belle,\\nHe wer n t no saint, but at jedgment\\nI d run my chance with Jim,\\nLongside of some pious gentlemen\\nThat would n t shook hands with him.\\nHe seen his duty, a dead-sure thing,\\nAnd went for it thar and then\\nAnd Christ ain t a-going to be too hard\\nOn a man that died for men.\\nJohn Hay.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Houghton, Mifflin and\\nCompany.)\\n6i\\nGEORGE NIDIVER\\nMen have done brave deeds.\\nAnd bards have sung them well;\\nI of good George Nidiver\\nNow the tale will tell.\\nIn Californian mountains\\nA hunter bold was he;\\nKeen his eye and sure his aim\\nAs any you should see.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0194.jp2"}, "193": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 77\\nA little Indian boy\\nFollowed him everywhere,\\nEager to share the hunter s joy,\\nThe hunter s meal to share.\\nAnd when the bird or deer\\nFell by the hunter s skill,\\nThe boy was always near\\nTo help with right good will.\\nOne day as through the cleft\\nBetween two mountains steep.\\nShut in both right and left,\\nTheir questing way they keep,\\nThey see two grizzly bears.\\nWith hunger fierce and fell,\\nRush at them unawares\\nRight down the narrow dell.\\nThe boy turned round with screams.\\nAnd ran with terror wild\\nOne of the pair of savage beasts\\nPursued the shrieking child.\\nThe hunter raised his gun.\\nHe knew one charge was all,\\nAnd through the boy s pursuing foe\\nHe sent his only ball.\\nThe other on George Nidiver\\nCame on with dreadful pace\\nThe hunter stood unarmed.\\nAnd met him face to face.\\nI say unarmed he stood\\nAgainst those frightful paws,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0195.jp2"}, "194": {"fulltext": "1/8 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nThe rifle butt, or club of wood,\\nCould stand no more than straws.\\nGeorge Nidiver stood still,\\nAnd looked him in the face;\\nThe wild beast stopped amazed,\\nThen came with slackened pace.\\nStill firm the hunter stood,\\nAlthough his heart beat high\\nAgain the creature stopped.\\nAnd gazed with wondering eye.\\nThe hunter met his gaze.\\nNor yet an inch gave way;\\nThe bear turned slowly round,\\nAnd slowly moved away.\\nWhat thoughts were in his mind\\nIt would be hard to spell;\\nWhat thoughts were in George Nidiver s\\nI rather guess than tell.\\nBut sure that rifle s aim,\\nSwift choice of generous part,\\nShowed in its passing gleam\\nThe depths of a brave heart.\\nAnonymous.\\n62\\nA MAN S NAME\\nThrough the packed horror of the night\\nIt rose up like a star,\\nAnd sailed into the infinite,\\nWhere the immortals are.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0196.jp2"}, "195": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 79\\nDown brakes! One splendid hard-held breath,\\nAnd lo, an unknown name\\nStrode into sovereignty from death\\nTrailing a path of flame!\\nJump! I remain. No needless word,\\nNo vagueness in his breast\\nAlong his blood the swift test stirred\\nHe answered to the test.\\nGripped his black peril like a vise,\\nAnd, as be grappled, saw\\nThat life is one with sacrifice.\\nAnd duty one with law.\\nHome: but his feet grew granite fast;\\nWife: yet he did not reel;\\nBabes: ah, they tugged! but to the last\\nHe stood as true as steel.\\nAbove his own heart s lovingness.\\nAbove another s crime,\\nAbove the immitigable stress.\\nAbove himself and time.\\nSmote loving Comfort on the cheek.\\nGave quibbling Fear the lie.\\nTaught ambling Fluence how to speak.\\nAnd brave men how to die.\\nWho said the time of kings was gone\\nWho said our Alps were low.\\nAnd not by God s airs blown upon\\nBehold, it is not so", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0197.jp2"}, "196": {"fulltext": "l8o BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nOut from the palace and the hut,\\nDwarf-fronted, lame of will.\\nLimp our marred Joves and giants but\\nSceptered for mastery still,\\nAnd clothed with puissance to quell\\nWhatever mobs of shame\\nAre leagued within us, with such spell\\nAs David Simmons name.\\nRichard Realf,\\n(From Poems, by Richard Realf. Copyright, Funk and Wagnalls\\nCompany, 1898, By special permission.)\\n63\\nTHE MAN WHO RODE TO CONEMAUGH\\nInto the town of Conemaugh,\\nStriking the people s souls with awe,\\nDashed a rider, aflame and pale.\\nNever flighting to tell his tale,\\nSitting his big bay horse astride.\\nRun for your lives to the hills! he cried;\\nRun to the hills! was what he said,\\nAs he waved his hand and dashed ahead.\\nRun for your lives to the hills! he cried.\\nSpurring his horse, whose reeking side\\nWas flecked with foam as red as flame.\\nWhither he goes and whence he carne\\nNobody knows. They see his horse\\nPlunging on in his frantic course.\\nVeins distended and nostrils wide,\\nFired and frenzied at such a ride.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0198.jp2"}, "197": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE l8l\\nNobody knows the rider s name\\nDead forever to earthly fame.\\nRun to the hills! to the hills! he cried;\\nRun for your lives to the mountain side!\\nStop him! he s mad! just look at him go!\\nT ain t safe, they said, to let him ride so.\\nHe thinks he can scare us, said one, with a laugh,\\nBut Conemaugh folks don t swallow no chaff;\\nT ain t nothing, I 11 bet, but the same old leak\\nIn the dam above the South Fork Creek.\\nBlind to their danger, callous of dread.\\nThey laughed as he left them and dashed ahead.\\nRun for your lives to the hills! he cried,\\nLashing his horse in his desperate ride.\\nDown through the valley the rider passed,\\nShouting, and spurring his horse on fast;\\nBut not so fast did the rider go\\nAs the raging, roaring, mighty flow\\nOf the million feet and the millions more\\nOf water whose fury he fled before.\\nOn he went, and on it came,\\nThe flood itself a very flame\\nOf surging, swirling, seething tide.\\nMountain high and torrents wide.\\nGod alone might measure the force\\nOf the Conemaugh flood in its V-shaped course.\\nBehind him were buried under the flood\\nConemaugh town and all who stood\\nJeering there at the man who cried,\\nRun for your lives to the mountain side!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0199.jp2"}, "198": {"fulltext": "1 82 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nOn he sped in his fierce, wild ride.\\nRun to the hills! to the hills! he cried.\\nNearer, nearer raged the roar\\nHorse and rider fled before.\\nDashing along the valley ridge.\\nThey came at last to the railroad bridge.\\nThe big horse stood, the rider cried,\\nRun for your lives to the mountain side!\\nThen plunged across, but not before\\nThe mighty, merciless mountain roar\\nStruck the bridge and swept it away\\nLike a bit of straw or a wisp of hay.\\nBut over and under and through that tide\\nThe voice of the unknown rider cried,\\nRun to the hills! to the hills! it cried,\\nRun for your lives to the mountain side!\\nJohn Eliot Bowen.\\n(By special permission of Edward A. Bowen, Esq., and of Harper\\nand Brothers.)\\n64\\nJOHNNY BARTHOLOMEW\\nThe journals this morning are full of a tale\\nOf a terrible ride through a tunnel by rail\\nAnd people are called on to note and admire\\nHow a hundred or more, through the smoke-cloud and\\nfire,\\nWere borne from all peril to limbs and to lives\\nMothers saved to their children, and husbands to\\nwives.\\nBut of him who performed such a notable deed", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0200.jp2"}, "199": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 83\\nQuite little the journalists give us to read.\\nIn truth, of this hero so plucky and bold\\nThere is nothing except, in few syllables told,\\nHis name, which is Johnny Bartholomew.\\nAway in Nevada they don t tell us where,\\nNor does it much matter a railway is there\\nWhich winds in and out through the cloven ravines,\\nWith glimpses at times of the wildest of scenes:\\nNow passing a bridge seeming fine as a thread,\\nNow shooting past cliffs that impend o er the head.\\nNow plunging some black-throated tunnel within.\\nWhose darkness is roused at the clatter and din;\\nAnd ran every day with its train o er the road\\nAn engine that steadily dragged on its load.\\nAnd was driven by Johnny Bartholomew.\\nWith throttle-valve down, he was slowing the train.\\nWhile the sparks fell around and behind him like rain.\\nAs he came to a spot where a curve to the right\\nBrought the black, yawning mouth of a tunnel in\\nsight.\\nAnd, peering ahead with a far-seeing ken,\\nFelt a quick sense of danger come over him then.\\nWas a train on the track No A peril as dire\\nThe farther extreme of the tunnel on fire!\\nAnd the volume of smoke, as it gathered and rolled,\\nShook fearful dismay from each dun-colored fold,\\nBut daunted not Johnny Bartholomew.\\nBeat faster his heart, though its current stood still.\\nAnd his nerves felt a jar, but no tremulous thrill;\\nAnd his eyes keenly gleamed through their partly\\nclosed lashes.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0201.jp2"}, "200": {"fulltext": "1 84 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nAnd his lips not with fear took the color of ashes.\\nIf we falter, these people behind us are dead!\\nSo close the doors, fiieinan; we 11 send her ahead!\\nCrowd on the steam till she rattles and swings!\\nOpen the throttle-valve! give her her wings!\\nShouted he from his post in the engineer s room,\\nDriving onward perchance to a terrible doom,\\nThis man they call Johnny Bartholomew.\\nFirm grasping the bell-rope and holding his breath,\\nOn, on through the Vale of the Shadow of Death;\\nOn, on through the horrible cavern of hell,\\nThrough flames that arose and through timbers that\\nfell.\\nThrough the eddying smoke and the serpents of fire\\nThat writhed and that hissed in their anguish and ire.\\nWith a rush and a roar like the wild tempest s\\nblast,\\nTo the free air beyond them in safety they passed\\nWhile the clang of the bell and the steam-pipe s shrill\\nyell\\nTold the joy of escape from that underground hell\\nOf the man they called Johnny Bartholomew.\\nDid the passengers get up a service of plate\\nDid some oily-tongued orator at the man prate\\nWomen kiss him Young children cling fast to his\\nknees\\nStout men in their rapture his brown fingers squeeze\\nAnd where was he born Is he handsome Has he\\nA wife for his bosom, a child for his knee\\nIs he young Is he old Is he tall Is he short", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0202.jp2"}, "201": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 85\\nWell, ladies, the journals tell naught of the sort.\\nAnd all that they give us about him to-day,\\nAfter telling the tale in a commonplace way.\\nIs the man s name is Johnny Bartholomew.\\nThomas Dunn English.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of Harper and Brothers.)\\n65\\nHIS NAME\\nO, THE billows of fire\\nWith maelstrom-like swirl,\\nTheir surges they hurl\\nOver roof, over spire,\\nMad, masterless, higher,\\nTill rumble crack crash\\nDown boom with a flash.\\nWhole columns of granite and marble: see! see!\\nSucked in as a weed on the ocean might be.\\nOr engulfed as a sail\\nIn the hurricane-riot and wreak of the gale\\nHa! yonder they rush where the death-dealing steam.\\nOver-pent, waits their gleam\\nTo shudder the city with earthquake Who, who\\nWill adventure mid-flame, and unfasten the screw,\\nSet the fiend loose, and save us so Firemen, you\\nYou willing Would God you might hazard it Nay,\\nThe red tongues are licking the faucets now! Stay!\\nToo late! t is too late!\\nIf ruin, explosion, must come, let us wait", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0203.jp2"}, "202": {"fulltext": "1 86 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nIts coming: to go is to perish. Hold! hold!\\nYou are young I am old\\nYou Ve a wife too and children O God, he\\nis gone\\nStraight into destruction The pipes, men On on\\nPlay the water-stream on him full faster the whole\\nAnd now Christ save his soul!\\nI stifle I choke\\nAnd lie Heaven grant that he smother in smoke\\nEre the dread detonation! Hark! hark! What s\\nthe shout\\nIs he saved Is he out f\\nDid he compass his purpose The hero One\\nname\\nThis pencil of fire on the records of Fame\\nShall blazon, if justice is meted. Why here\\nOn my cheek is a tear,\\nWhich not a whole city in ashes could claim\\nHis name, now, can nobody tell me Ids name\\nMargaret Junkin Preston.\\n(By special permission of Dr. George J. Preston.)\\n66\\nOLD BRADDOCK\\nFire! fire in AUentown\\nThe Women s Building it must go.\\nMothers wild rush up and down,\\nDespairing men push to and fro;\\nTwo stories caught one story more\\nSee see old Braddock s to the fore,\\nBraddockj full three-score.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0204.jp2"}, "203": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 87\\nLike a high granite rock\\nHis good gray head looms huge and bare;\\nFirm as rock in tempest shock\\nHe towers above the tallest there.\\nConrad T is Braddock to his son,\\nThe prop he thinks to lean upon\\nWhen his work is done.\\nConrad, the young and brave,\\nUnflinching meets his father s eye:\\nWho would now the children save,\\nThat they die not himself must die.\\nThe boy, in that white face no fear\\nBut, oh, it is so sweet, so dear\\nLife at twenty year\\nFather Father! A quick\\nEmbrace, and he has set his feet\\nOn the ladder. Rolling thick.\\nThe flame-shot smoke chokes all the street.\\nSo blinds one only has descried\\nHer form, that, through its dreadful tide,\\nSprings to Conrad s side.\\nStrong she is, now, as he,\\nThrobbing with love s own lion might;\\nStrong as beautiful is she.\\nAnd Conrad s arms are pinioned tight.\\nFar through the fire, sits God above\\nIn vain he pleads; full does it prove.\\nHer full strength of love.\\nToo late she sets him free\\nHigh overhead his father s call:", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0205.jp2"}, "204": {"fulltext": ":88 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nFrom a height no eye can see\\nCalls hoary Braddock down the wall,\\nOld men are Death s, let him destroy.\\nYoung men are Life s, Conrad, my boy\\nLife s and Love s, my boy!\\nWilder the women s cries,\\nHoarser the shouts of men below;\\nSheets of fire against the skies.\\nSet all the stricken town aglow.\\nWith sweep and shriek, with rush and roar.\\nThe flames shut round old Braddock hoar\\nBraddock, full three-score.\\nSave, save my children, save!\\nAye, aye! all answer, speak as one,\\nIf man s arm can from the grave\\nBring back your babes, it will be done;\\nKnow Braddock still is worth us all\\nHark hark! It is his own brave call,\\nBack back from the wall!\\nGod, God, that it should be!\\nAs savagely the lashed wind veers,\\nFiercer than the fiery sea\\nThe frantic crowd waves hands, and cheers\\nAn old man high in whirl of hell!\\nThe children how, no soul can tell\\nBraddock holds them well.\\nShorn all that good gray head\\nWith snows of sixty winters sown;\\nGriped around the children s bed,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0206.jp2"}, "205": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE 1 89\\nOne arm is shriveled to the bone:\\nOld men are Death s, let him destroy,\\nYoung men are Life s, Conrad, my boy.\\nLife s and Love s, my boy!\\nFire fire in AUentown\\nThough t was a hundred years ago,\\nHow the babes were carried down,\\nTo-day the village children know.\\nThey know of Braddock s good gray head,\\nThey know the last, great words he said.\\nKnow how he fell dead.\\nJohn Vance Cheney.\\n(By special permission of the author.)\\n67\\nIN APIA BAY\\n{Morituri vos salutainus)\\nRuin and death held sway\\nThat night in Apia Bay,\\nAnd smote amid the loud and dreadful gloom.\\nBut, Hearts, no longer weep\\nThe salt unresting sleep\\nOf the great dead, victorious in their doom.\\nVain, vain the strait retreat\\nThat held the fated fleet.\\nTrapped in the two-fold threat of sea and shore\\nFell reefs on either hand.\\nAnd the devouring strand\\nAbove, below, the tempest s deafening roar!", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0207.jp2"}, "206": {"fulltext": "IQO BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nWhat mortal hand shall write\\nThe horror of that night,\\nThe desperate struggle in that deadly close,\\nThe yelling of the blast,\\nThe wild surf, white, aghast,\\nThe whelming seas, the thunder and the throes!\\nHow the great cables surged,\\nThe giant engines urged,\\nAs the brave ships the unequal strife waged on\\nNot hope, not courage flagged\\nBut the vain anchors dragged.\\nDown on the reefs they shattered, and were gone\\nAnd now were wrought the deeds\\nWhereof each soul that reads\\nGrows manlier, and burns with prouder breath,\\nHeroic brotherhood,\\nThe loving bonds of blood,\\nProclaimed from high hearts face to face with death.\\nAt length, the English ship\\nHer cables had let slip.\\nCrowded all steam, and steered for the open sea,\\nResolved to challenge Fate,\\nTo pass the perilous strait,\\nAnd wrench from jaws of ruin Victory.\\nWith well-tried metals strained.\\nIn the storm s teeth she gained.\\nFoot by slow foot made head, and crept toward life.\\nAcross her dubious way\\nThe good ship Trenton lay.\\nHelpless, but thrilled to watch the splendid strife,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0208.jp2"}, "207": {"fulltext": "IN TIME OF PEACE I9I\\nHelmless she lay, her bulk\\nA blind and wallowing hulk,\\nBy her strained hawsers only held from wreck,\\nBut dauntless each brave heart\\nPlayed his immortal part\\nIn strong endurance on the reeling deck.\\nThey fought Fate inch by inch,\\nCould die, but could not flinch;\\nAnd, biding the inevitable doom,\\nThey marked the English ship,\\nBaffling the tempest s grip,\\nForge hardly forth from the expected tomb.\\nThen, with exultant breath,\\nThese heroes waiting death.\\nThundered across the storm a peal of cheers,\\nTo the triumphant brave\\nA greeting from the grave,\\nWhose echo shall go ringing down the years.\\nTo you, who well have won,\\nFrom us, whose course is run,\\nGlad greeting, as we face the undreaded end!\\nThe memory of those cheers\\nShall thrill in English ears\\nWhere er this English blood and speech extend.\\nNo manlier deed comes down.\\nBlazoned in broad renown,\\nFrom men of old who lived to dare and die\\nThe old fire yet survives.\\nHere in our modern lives.\\nOf splendid chivalry and valor high\\nCharles George Douglas Roberts.\\n(By special permission of the author, and of The YoiitJi s Companion?)", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0209.jp2"}, "208": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0210.jp2"}, "209": {"fulltext": "NOTES\\n[For information incorporated in the notes the Editor is indebted to\\nmany of the authors represented in the volume. He has also, in several\\ninstances, received valuable suggestions from Mr. Francis F. Browne s\\nBugle Echoes. The notes are intended to be suggestive rather than\\nin any sense exhaustive.]\\nHn Uime of Strife\\nr. Paul Revere s Ride. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\\nHenry Wadsworth Longfellow, the most widely read and most\\nbeloved American poet, was born in Portland, Maine, February\\n27, 1807, and died in Cambridge, Massachusetts, where he had\\nlong resided, March 24, 1882.\\nPaul Revere, who was a self-taught engraver upon copperplate, and\\nwho at the time of the Revolution was one of the four engravers in\\nAmerica, rendered his first important service as a messenger in con-\\nnection with the throwing overboard of the tea in Boston harbor.\\nBefore he took his most famous ride he had traveled several thousand\\nmiles in the interest of the patriot cause, and after\\nthe eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five,\\ncontinued to act as a bearer of dispatches. He was one of the com-\\nmittee of upwards of thirty formed in Boston to watch the movements of\\nthe British soldiers. On the memorable evening of April iSth, troops\\nwere observed marching toward the bottom of the Common. About\\nten o clock Revere was apprised of this fact, whereupon he at once\\nrepaired to the house of Dr. Joseph Warren (afterward General War-\\nren), one of the committee. There he discovered that an express,\\none William Dawes, had already been sent by land to Lexington.\\n193", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0211.jp2"}, "210": {"fulltext": "194 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nHurriedly seeking his friend, Robert Newman, the sexton of the Old\\nNorth Church (Christ Church, Salem vStreet), and arranging for the\\ndisplay of the signal previously agreed upon. Revere set out. He suc-\\nceeded in reaching Lexington before Dawes, who joined him about half\\nan hour after his arrival. The two, together with Dr. Prescott, a\\nhigh Son of Liberty, started in company for Concord, but were inter-\\ncepted at Lincoln by a party of British. Revere and Dawes were cap-\\ntured, but Prescott managed to escape by jumping his horse over a\\nstone wall. It was he who rode on to Concord, alarming the country-\\nside as he went.\\nOf Dawes s part in the entecprise of the night, Helen F. More wrote\\nthus humorously in the Century Magazine for February, iSq6\\nWHAT S IN A NAME\\nI am a wandering, bitter shade\\nNever of me was a hero made\\nPoets have never sung my praise,\\nNobody crowned my brows with bays\\nAnd if you ask me the fatal cause,\\nI answer only, My name was Dawes.\\nT is all very well for children to hear\\nOf the midnight ride of Paul Revere\\nBut why should my name be quite forgot,\\nWho rode so boldly and well, God wot?\\nWhy should I ask The reason is clear\\nMy name is Dawes and his Revere.\\nWhen the lights from the Old North Church flashed out,\\nPaul Revere was waiting about,\\nBut I was already on my way.\\nThe shadows of night fell cold and gray\\nAs I rode, with never a break or pause\\nBut what was the use, when my name was Dawes\\nHistory rings with his silvery name\\nClosed to me are the portals of fame.\\nHad he l^een Dawes and I Revere,\\nNo one had heard of him, I fear.\\nNo one has heard of me because\\nHe was Revere and I was Dawes.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0212.jp2"}, "211": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 95\\nPaul Revere was born within sight of the Old North Church, and\\nalmost under its shadow he lived and died (1735-1818J. It is fitting,\\nthen, that to-day the passer should see, imbedded in the solid masonry\\nof the tower, a tablet bearing this inscription\\nTHE SIGNAL LANTERNS OF\\nPAUL REVERE\\nDISPLAYED IN THE STEEPLE OF THIS CHURCH\\nAPRIL 18, 1775,\\nWARNED THE COUNTRY OF THE MARCH\\nOF THE BRITISH TROOPS TO\\nLEXINGTON AND CONCORD,\\n2. Mary Butler s Ride. By Benjamin Franklin Taylor.\\nBenjamin Franklin Taylor was born in Lowville, New York, July\\n19, 18 ig. He was best known as a lecturer. He died in Cleve-\\nland, Ohio, February 24, 1887.\\nOf the poem the author says The story of Mary Butler s Ride is\\nunembellished truth. To one of her grandsons, J. M. Taylor, Esq., of\\nNew York, I am indebted for the incident. To hear men say, those\\nfar-away boys of hers, and yet busy in life s affairs, many a time I\\nhave heard her tell the story! brings the gray-eyed Mary Butler strangely\\nnear. It is like raising a dead century to instant resurrection.\\n1. 39. Stark (John, 1728-1822), a Continental brigadier-general\\nwho distinguished himself at Bunker Hill and Bennington.\\n1. 84. Putnam (Israel, 1718-1790), a Continental major-general,\\nactive at Bunker Hill and in various other engagements until stricken\\nby paralysis in 1779. His daring escape from the British soldiers by\\nriding down a flight of stone steps in the town of Greenwich, Con-\\nnecticut, occurred in March, 1779.\\n3. The Surprise AT TicoNDEROGA. By Mary Anna PhinneyStansbury.\\nMary Anna Phinney Stansbury, a magazine writer who resides in\\nAppleton, Wisconsin, was born in Vernon, New York, October 5,\\n1842.\\nEthan Allen, the hero of Ticonderoga, though born in Litchfield,\\nConnecticut (January 10, 1737), early removed to Vermont. He partic-\\nipated in the invasion of Canada under General Schuylef and was there\\ncaptured and sent a prisoner to England, where he suffered many priva-\\ntions. It was largely through his instrumentality that Vermont was", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0213.jp2"}, "212": {"fulltext": "196 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nrecognized as an independent State. He died in Burlington, February\\n13, 1789.\\nThe fortress of Ticonderoga (a corruption of the Iroquois Cheon-\\nderoga, meaning rushing waters was erected by the French, in\\n1755) oil the western shore of Lake Champlain, near the outlet of Lake\\nGeorge. It was originally called Fort Carillon (chime of bells) from\\nthe neighboring waterfall (see stanza 6). It was here that the French\\nunder Montcalm (stanza 13) repulsed the English under Abercrombie,\\non the 8th of July, 1758.\\nAllen s bold capture was effected on the morning of May 10, 1775.\\nAt the time of the taking of Ticonderoga by Allen, the garrison con-\\nsisted of but forty-eight men under the command of Captain Delaplace,\\nThe Continental Congress, which Allen invoked at the time of the\\nsurrender, had not yet organized. It held its first session six hours later\\non that very day.\\nStanza 11. King David. See 2 Samuel v., 23, 24.\\nThe Vermont Green Mountain Boys, mentioned so prominently in\\na number of engagements in the Revolution, were first organized in\\n1772 to resist the civil power of New York.\\nIn connection with Mrs. Stansbury s poem it may be interesting to\\nread Robert Louis Stevenson s ballad, Ticonderoga.\\n4. Montgomery at Quebec. By Clinton Scollard.\\nClinton Scollard, born in Clinton, New York, September 18, i860.\\nRichard Montgomery was a native of the North of Ireland. He\\nentered the British army at the age of twenty, and served with dis-\\ntinction under Wolfe, and later in the campaign against the Spanish\\nWest Indies. Marrying a daughter of Robert R. Livingston, and set-\\ntling upon the Hudson, at Rhinebeck, he espoused the cause of the\\ncolonists at the opening of the war. In the expedition against Canada\\nhe was second in command under Schuyler, with the rank of brigadier-\\ngeneral. The attack upon Quebec was made early in the morning of\\nthe 31st of December, 1775. Montgomery s death was regarded as\\na great public calamity. Congress passed resolutions of regret and con-\\ndolence, and Chatham and Burke eulogized the dead leader on the floor\\nof the British Parliament. At the time of his death he was thirty-eight\\nyears of age.\\nStanza 6. Wolfe (James), the hero of Louisburg and the\\nconqueror of Quebec, fell upon the Plains of Abraham in his thirty-\\nsecond year. He is to this day regarded as one of the half dozen\\nmost noted generals that England has produced. Quebec was taken\\non the 13th of September, 1759.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0214.jp2"}, "213": {"fulltext": "N0 7^ES /A^ TIME OF STRIFE \\\\gy\\n5. The Maryland Battalion. By John Williamson Palmer.\\nJohn Williamson Palmer, a Baltimore physician, the author of the\\nfamous lyric, Stonewall Jackson s Way, and Bret Harte s fore-\\nrunner in breaking the virgin soil of California in the field of\\nAmerican letters, was born in the city of Baltimore, April 4, 1825.\\nThis ballad celebrates the heroism of the Maryland Battalion at\\nthe battle of Long Island, August 27, 1776, where they checked the\\nadvance of Cornwallis, and saved a portion of Stirling s command from\\ncapture. Two hundred and fifty-nine were left dead on the field.\\nStanza 2. It was in the Platbush district, on the American left,\\nthat General Sullivan was driven back by the Hessians and flanked by\\nClinton s light infantry and dragoons.\\nMartense s lane was a pass, or road, on the southern border of\\nGreenwood Cemetery. Freeke s Mill (stanza 4) stood upon Freeke s\\nmill-pond at the head of Gowanus Creek.\\nStanza 4. Grant, the British general who commanded the left\\nwing in the battle of Pong Island. It was he who declared in the\\nHouse of Commons that the Americans could not fight, and said he\\nwould undertake to march from one end of the continent to the other\\nwith five thousand men.\\nStanza 5. Stirling (William Alexander), commonly called Lord\\nStirling, was the eldest son of James Alexander Stirling, heir presump-\\ntive to the earldom of Stirling, who fled to America in 1716 after having\\nbeen actively involved in the Jacobite conspiracy of the previous year.\\nLord Stirling was born in New York City in 1726. He was aide-de-\\ncamp and secretary to General Shirley in the French and Indian War,\\nand received a commission as brigadier-general in the Continental army\\nin 1776. After the battle of Long Island, Congress made him a major-\\ngeneral. He died at Albany in January, 1783.\\nMordecai Gist was a major in the Maryland Battalion who subse-\\nquently rose to the rank of brigadier-general. He was a native of\\nBaltimore.\\n6. Arnold at Stillwater, By Thomas Dunn English.\\nThomas Dunn English, a physician of Newark, New Jersey, was\\nborn in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, June 29, i8ig. Since early\\nlife Dr. English has been a contributor to the periodicals of the\\nday. His popular ballad, Ben Bolt, appeared in 1842,\\nBenedict Arnold was born in Norwich, Connecticut, January 3, 1740.\\nHe was in command of a volunteer company at the outbreak of the\\nRevolution, and marched at once to Cambridge. He served with great", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0215.jp2"}, "214": {"fulltext": "1 98 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nbravery on Lake Champlain, in Canada, and at Stillwater. After his\\ntreason he received a brigadier-general s commission in the British\\narmy. At the close of the war he went to England, where he re-\\nsided most of the time until his death, June 14, 1801. The second\\nbattle of Stillwater (sometimes called Bemis s Heights and sometimes\\nSaratoga) was fought October 7, 1777. Of Arnold s part in this battle\\nGeorge William Curtis says, in his Centennial Oration The British,\\ndismayed, bewildered, overwhelmed, were scarcely within their re-\\ndoubts, when Benedict Arnold, to whom the jealous Gates, who did not\\ncome upon the field during the day, had refused a command, outriding\\nan aide whom Gates had sent to recall him, came spurring up Bene-\\ndict Arnold whose name America does not love, whose ruthless will\\nhad dragged the doomed Canadian expedition through the starving wil-\\nderness of Maine, who, volunteering to relieve Fort Stanwix, had, by\\nthe mere terror of his coming, blown St. Leger away, and who on the\\nigth of September had saved the American left. Benedict Arnold,\\nwhom battle stung to fury, now whirled from end to end of the\\nAmerican line, hurled it against the great redoubt, driving the enemy at\\nthe point of the bayonet then flinging himself to the extreme right,\\nand finding there the Massachusetts brigade, swept it with him to the\\nassault, and streaming over the breastworks, scattered the Bruns-\\nwickers who defended them, killed their colonel, gained and held the\\npoint which commanded the entire British position, while at the same\\nmoment his horse was shot under him, and he sank to the ground\\nwounded in the leg that had been wounded at Quebec. Here, upon\\nthe Hudson, where he tried to betray his country here, upon the spot\\nwhere, in the crucial hour of the Revolution, he illustrated and led the\\nAmerican valor that made us free and great, knowing well that no\\nearlier service can condone for a later crime, let us recall for one brief\\ninstant of infinite pity the name that has been justly execrated for a\\ncentury.\\nHoratio Gates, who commanded the American forces at the battle of\\nStillwater, was an Englishman by birth, and had served under Brad-\\ndock. He was made adjutant-general at the opening of the Revo-\\nlution, and accompanied Washington to Cambridge when the great\\nVirginian went thither to take charge of the army. Just before the\\nbattle of Stillwater Gates superseded General Schuyler in the command\\nof the army of the north. He suffered a disastrous defeat at Camden,\\nwhen at the head of the southern forces. His patriotism was undoubted,\\nbut he lacked the judgment of a great commander.\\nBurgoyne (John, 1723-1792), who commanded the British forces at", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0216.jp2"}, "215": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 1 99\\nthe battle of Stillwater, had distinguished himself in Portugal, and had\\nalso been a member of the British Parliament before coming to America,\\nMuch was expected of his expedition. It was intended to cut the colo-\\nnies in twain, and thus crush the rebellion. Burgoyne was at one time\\ncommander-in-chief in Ireland. During the closing years of his life he\\ndevoted himself to literature.\\nStanza 5. Poor (Enoch), a New Hampshire brigadier-general\\nwho served with distinction in the Continental army until 1780, when\\nhe died at Hackensack, New Jersey,\\nLearned (Ebenezer), a Massachusetts brigadier-genei^al who had\\nserved in the French and Indian War.\\nStanza 6. Cilley (Joseph), a New Hampshire colonel who was\\nlater in the commands of General Wayne and General Sullivan.\\nStanza 7. Major Ackland, of the Grenadier corps, a most gallant\\nBritish officer, was shot through both legs in this battle. Pie recov-\\nered, but after his return to England he was slain in a duel into which\\nhe was drawn through his defence of the bravery of the Americans.\\nStanza 12. Armstrong (John), a Pennsylvania major, at first\\nattached to the staff of General Hugh Mercer, and later to that of Gen-\\neral Gates, with whom he remained until the close of the war.\\nStanza 16. Brooks (John), a Massachusetts colonel who after-\\nward became adjutant-general.\\nWesson (James), a Massachusetts colonel who commanded a regi-\\nment in Learned s brigade.\\nLivingston (James), a New York colonel who commanded a regiment\\nin Learned s brigade.\\nMorgan (Daniel), a native of New Jersey whose family removed to\\nVirginia while he was yet young. He served with much distinction\\nthroughout the Revolution, and rose to the rank of major-general.\\n7. The Yankee Man-of-War, Anonymous.\\nOf this spirited ballad Alfred M, Williams, in his Studies in Folk\\nSong and Popular Poetry, says To this period, however [the Revo-\\nlution], belongs what is perhaps the very best of American sea-songs.\\nWe do not know whether its authorship was of that time or not,\\nalthough it probably was, and from internal evidence it would seem to\\nhave been composed by one of the very crew of the Rangei Paul\\nJones s ship, which escaped from a British squadron in the Irish Chan-\\nnel in 1778. It was first published, in 1883, by Commodore Luce, in\\nhis collection of Naval Songs, with the statement that it was taken\\ndown from the recitation of a sailor. To this fact is doubtless due the", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0217.jp2"}, "216": {"fulltext": "200 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nvery evident break in the form of the fifth stanza. Most of the places\\nmentioned in the poem (save Dunmore, a promontory on the south-\\nwestern coast) are situated on the southeastern coast of Ireland.\\nThe spirit of the piece, the frequent recurrence of technical ex-\\npressions, together with the swinging measure, remind one (albeit some-\\nwhat remotely) of the work of the foremost balladist of our day,\\nRudyard Kipling,\\n8. The Ride of Jennie M Neal. By Will Carleton,\\nWill Carleton was born in Hudson, Michigan, October 21, 1845.\\nHe is best known by his domestic ballads, Over the Hill to the\\nPoorhouse and Betsey and I Are Out.\\nThe Neutral Ground of the poem Westchester County, New\\nYork was so called because it was held neither by the British nor\\nthe American armies during the Revolutionary War. This locality is\\nthe scene of some of the most stirring passages in Cooper s Spy.\\nLast stanza. Putnam. See Mary Butler s Ride.\\n9. The Song of Marion s Men. By William Cullen Bryant.\\nWilliam Cullen Bryant, the father of American song, was born\\nin Cammington, Massachusetts, November 3, 1794. For fifty years\\nhe was the editor of the New York Evening Post. He died in New\\nYork City, June 12, 1878. In Thanatopsis and To a Water-\\nfowl his genius finds its highest expression.\\nFrancis Marion, one of the most noted partisan leaders of the Revo-\\nlution, was born near Georgetown, South Carolina, in 1732. He was of\\nHuguenot ancestry. He took part in the Cherokee war of 1761, and\\nrendered conspicuous service throughout the struggle of the colonies for\\nindependence, particularly during the last two years. It is said that the\\nbrilliant British cavalry leader, Colonel Tarleton, first gave him the\\nname of swamp-fox. He died at his plantation near Eutaw, South\\nCarolina, in February, 1795.\\n10. How WE Burned the Philadelphia. By Barrett Eastman.\\nBarrett Eastman, a Chicago journalist, was born in Chicago, Janu-\\nary 25, i86g.\\nThe destruction of the Philadelphia, which Lord Nelson, then com-\\nmanding the British blockading fleet off Toulon, called the most bold\\nand daring act of the age, was effected on the night of February 9, 1804.\\nIn the party, numbering but seventy-five officers and men all told, were", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0218.jp2"}, "217": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 20I\\nStephen Decatur, Jr., James Lawrence, Joseph Bainbridge, Thomas\\nMacdonough, and many others who rose to distinction. B. E.\\nStephen Decatur, who commanded the expedition against the Phila-\\ndelphia^ was of French descent, and was born in Sinnepuxent, Mary-\\nland, January 5, 1779. He first saw service against the French, was\\nactive in the war of 1812, and chastised the Algerines in 1815, He was\\nkilled in a duel by Commodore James Barron on March 22. 1820.\\n11. The Shannon and the Chesapeake. By Thomas Tracy\\nBouve.\\nThomas Tracy Bouve was born in Hingham, Massachusetts, June\\n23, 1875. He is the author of several other stirring ballads.\\nLawrence (James), was born in Burlington, New Jersey, October I,\\n1781. He was prominent in Decatur s expedition to destroy the Phila-\\ndelphia. He commanded the Hornet, which sank the brig-of-war Pea-\\ncock, a victory which led to his being appointed to the Chesapeake. It\\nwas from Boston harbor that he sailed to meet the Shannon, June I,\\n1813. He died at sea five days later.\\nStanza 5. Hingham, a town of Plymouth County, Massachusetts,\\nfourteen miles southeast of Boston, on Massachusetts Bay!\\nStanza 10. Broke (Philip Bowes Vere), the captain of the Shan-\\nno7i, who was knighted for his victory over the Chesapeake, and became\\na popular hero in England.\\n12. The Fight of the Armstrong Privateer. By James Jeffrey\\nRoche.\\nJames Jeffrey Roche, a journalist and ballad writer of much vigor,\\nwas born in Queens County, Ireland, May 31, 1847. His early life\\nwas spent on Prince Edward Island. He removed to Boston in\\n1866, and on the death of John Boyle O Reilly succeeded him as\\neditor of the Pilot.\\nThe memorable Fight of the Armstrong Privateer took place\\nSeptember 26 and 27, 1814. The British lost one hundred and twenty\\nmen killed and one hundred and eighty wounded, while the Americans\\nhad but two killed and seven wounded.\\nSamuel Chester Reid, who commanded the Armstrong, was the son\\nof a lieutenant in the British navy. He was at one time harbor-master\\nand warden of the port of New York, and was the designer of the\\npresent form of the United States flag, proposing to retain the original\\nthirteen stripes and add a new star whenever a new State was admitted\\nto the Union.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0219.jp2"}, "218": {"fulltext": "202 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\n1. 10. Nelson (Horatio), England s most noted naval commander,\\nthe hero of Copenhagen, Aboukir Bay, Egypt, where he destroyed the\\nFrench fleet, and of Trafalgar, where he was victorious over the com-\\nbined fleets of France and Spain, and where he met his death, October\\n21, 1805.\\n1. 12. Dundonald (Thomas Cochrane, Earl of Dundonald, 1749-\\n1831), a distinguished Scottish seaman.\\n1. 31. Dartmoor, an English prison in Devonshire. It was built in\\n1806, during the Napoleonic wars, for the retention of prisoners. Seven\\nAmericans were killed here, and sixty wounded, on April 16, 1815, a\\nbrutal and unprovoked act.\\n1. 40. Pico, one of the middle group of the Azores.\\n1. 42. Lloyd (Captain Robert), of the Plantagenet, the commander\\nof the English fleet.\\n13. The Men of the Alamo. By James Jeffrey Roche.\\nJames Jeffrey Roche, See note on The Fight of the Armstrong\\nPrivateer.\\nThe Alamo was a Spanish Mission at San Antonio, founded early in the\\ni8th century. Later it was transformed into a fortress. In addition to\\nthe church, with adjacent buildings used as quarters for the soldiers and\\nfor the magazine, there was a rectangular space about one hundred and\\nfifty yards long and fifty yards wide protected by a stone wall from six\\nto eight feet in height and nearly three feet in thickness. This enclos-\\nure was defended by fourteen or more cannon. The storming of the\\nAlamo took place on the morning of the 6th of March, 1836. There\\nwere 188 Texans defending the place, while the Mexican force numbered\\nfrom 2500 to 5000. Three women, a child, and a negro servant sur-\\nvived the fight. The statement in the last line of the poem refers to\\nthe defenders.\\n1. I. Houston (Samuel, 1793-1863), a Virginian by birth, the com-\\nmander-in-chief of the army of the Texas republic. He was the second\\npresident (first by regular election) of the Republic of Texas, and after-\\nward United States senator and the governor of the State.\\n1. 4. Nueces, a river of southern Texas emptying into Corpus\\nChristi Bay.\\n1. 5. Castrillon, a Mexican general (a Spaniard by birth) who was\\nkilled at San Jacinto, where he had command of the artillery. It was\\nhe who had charge of the assault on the Alamo.\\nCos (Martin Perfecto de), a Mexican general, and brother-in-law of\\nSanta Anna. He was in command at San Antonio when the place was", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0220.jp2"}, "219": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 203\\nsurrendered to the Texans in December, 1835. He was released upon\\nparole under the promise that he would not oppose the re-establishment\\nof the Federal Constitution of 1824. He returned with Santa Anna the\\nfollowing year, and participated in the attack upon the Alamo, hence\\nthe epithet perjured.\\nSesma (Ramirez y), a Mexican general.\\nAlmonte (Juan Nepomunceno), the son of a Mexican priest and\\npatriot. He was a colonel in the Mexican army, and Santa Anna s\\nsecretary. He at one time served as the Mexican minister to the United\\nStates. He was an upholder of Maximilian and served in his cabinet.\\nWhen that ill-fated prince fell, Almonte escaped to France, where he\\ndied two or three years later.\\n1. 6. Santa Anna (Antonio Lopez de, 1795-1876), several times\\npresident of Mexico, and when not in power usually a conspirator\\nagainst the head of the government. He was in command of the\\nMexican army in the war against the Texans, and again in the war with\\nthe United States. He served under Maximilian, and against him. No\\nless than six times he was exiled, or fled the country.\\n1. 13. Travis (William Barrett, 1811-1836), the colonel who com-\\nmanded at the defence of the Alamo, by birth an Alabamian. He\\npracticed law in his native State in his early manhood, but emigrated to\\nTexas in 1832, and there became interested in the cause of independ-\\nence. He was of fine stature, and noted for his intrepidity.\\n1. 16. Bowie (James, 1790-1836), a Georgian who gained notoriety\\non account of his part in a bloody melee which followed a duel fought\\nopposite Natchez, on the Mississippi, in August, 1827. It is said that\\nit was in this encounter that the famous knife which afterward bore\\nBowie s name was first used. The original weapon was made from a\\nblacksmith s broken rasp or file. Bowie emigrated from Louisiana,\\nVkhere he was living at the time of the duel, to Texas, and was active in\\nthe Texan struggle till his death.\\n1. 17. Evans (Robert), a Texan major of artillery who was shot\\nwhen on the point of firing a train to blow up the magazine of the\\nAlamo at Travis s order.\\n1. 29. Crockett (David, familiarly known as Davy, 1 786-1 836).\\nThis noted frontiersman was a Tennesseean. He was prominent in the\\nCreek war, and after a wild life as a scout and hunter became a member\\nof the State legislature, and then of Congress. His waning influence\\nwith his constituents, owing to the fact that he opposed Jackson, caused\\nhim to join the Texans in their struggle for liberty.\\n1. 54. San Jacinto. See note on following poem.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0221.jp2"}, "220": {"fulltext": "204 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\n1. 57- Thermopylae, the pass from Thessaly into Locris where\\nLeonidas and his three hundred Spartans fell, B.C. 480.\\n14. The Fight at the San Jacinto. By John Williamson Palmer.\\nJohn Williamson Palmer. See note on The Maryland Battalion.\\nThe San Jacinto is a river in southern Texas which joins Buffalo\\nBayou very near where that stream empties into Galveston Bay. The\\nbattle by which the Texans gained their independence took place on the\\n2ist of April, 1836, The Texan army numbered exactly seven hundred\\nand eighty-three men, while the Mexicans had more than double that\\nforce.\\nStanza l. Harman (Clark M.), a member of the Texan artillery\\ncorps.\\nStanza 2. For Santa Anna, Castrillon, Almonte and Cos, see\\nThe Men of the Alamo.\\nPortilla (J. N. de la), the Mexican colonel, a native of Yucatan, in\\ncommand at Goliad, who carried out wSanta Anna s infamous order, and\\nexecuted Colonel Fannin and his men. See Fannin, p. 205.\\nHouston. See The Men of the Alamo.\\nStanza 4. Deaf Smith (Erastus, called Deaf from his infirmity,\\n1787-1837), a New Yorker by birth, and a guide and spy in the Texan\\narmy. His parents early emigrated to Mississippi, and he visited Texas\\nin 1817, but did not settle there until 1821. His courage and coolness\\nin battle were remarkable, and his familiarity with the country rendered\\nhis services of the greatest value to the Texan cause.\\nKarnes (Henry W.), a Tennesseean, who rose to the rank of colonel\\nin the Texan service. He served with Deaf Smith as a scout on\\nvarious occasions, and was a captain of cavalry at San Jacinto. He died\\nat San Antonio in 1840.\\nStanza 6. For Travis, Bowie, and Crockett, see The Men of\\nthe Alamo.\\nMilam (Benjamin R.), one of the most distinguished and valorous of\\nthe Texan patriots who was killed while conducting the attack on San\\nAntonio, December 7, 1835. (See Cos.). Milam was a Kentuckian,\\nand was one of the first citizens of the United States to visit Texas. He\\nwas prominent in the Mexican War for Independence, but later suffered\\nmuch at the hands of the Mexicans. The subjoined tribute to his\\nmemory is by William H, Wharton.\\nOft shall the soldier think of thee.\\nThou dauntless leader of the brave.\\nWho on the heights of Tyranny\\nWon Freedom and a glorious grave.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0222.jp2"}, "221": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 20$\\nAnd o er thy tomb shall pilgrims weep,\\nAnd pray to heaven in murmurs low\\nThat peaceful be the hero s sleep\\nWho conquered San Antonio.\\nEnshrined on Honor s deathless scroll,\\nA nation s thanks will tell thy fame\\nLong as her beauteous rivers roll\\nShall Freedom s votaries hymn thy name.\\nFor bravest of the Texan clime.\\nWho fought to make her children free,\\nWas Milam, and his death sublime\\nLinked with undying Liberty\\nFannin (James W., 1800-1S35), a Texan colonel, born in North\\nCarolina, who, with nearly four hundred men, was shot down in cold\\nblood at Goliad, on the San Antonio River, after he had surrendered at\\nthe battle of Coleto Creek.\\nMillard (Henry), a Texan lieutenant-colonel.\\nLamar (Mirabeau B.), the third president of the Republic of Texas,\\na Georgian by birth. He had command of the cavalry at San Jacinto.\\n15. Monterey. By Charles Fenno Hoffman.\\nCharles Fenno Hoffman, one of our most versatile and voluminous\\nwriters until his brain became affected in 1849, was born in New\\nYork City in 1806. He died in Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, June\\n7, 1884.\\nMonterey is the capital of the Mexican State Nuevo Leon. The\\nfamous battle was fought on September 21, 22, and 23, 1846. The\\nplace was defended by ten thousand men under General Ampudia.\\nThe American force is estimated to have been about six thousand\\nfive hundred.\\n16. The Defense of Lawrence. By Richard Realf.\\nRichard Realf was born in Framfield, Sussex, England, June 14,\\n1834. He emigrated to America in 1855, and was connected with\\nJohn Brown and his men in Kansas and Iowa during the two years\\nfollowing. He served with the 88th Illinois Volunteer Infantry\\nthroughout the Civil War, and then became a newspaper writer and\\nlecturer. Unfortunate domestic relations led to his suicide in San\\nFrancisco, October 28, 1878. The lyric Indirection is usually\\nregarded as Realf s finest poem,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0223.jp2"}, "222": {"fulltext": "2o6 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nThe Defense of Lawrence commemorates the resistance made, in\\nSeptember, 1856, to the last pro-slavery attack on Lawrence, Kansas,\\nwhen a small number of Free State men successfully held the place\\nagainst twenty-four hundred armed Missourians, and drove back their\\nadvance of three hundred men.\\nStanza 6. Gideon. See Judges, chapters 6, 7, and 8.\\nStanza 7. The river referred to in the last line of the stanza is the\\nWakarusa.\\n17. Blood is Thicker than Water, By Wallace Rice.\\nWallace Rice, a Chicago critic and poet, was born in Hamilton,\\nOntario, November 10, 1859, of American parents temporarily\\nresident there.\\nThe treaty obtained from China by the English in 1858 was to be\\nreturned, by its terms, to the Chinese capital for final ratification by\\nJune 26, 1859. The British forces assembled at the mouth of Pei-Ho\\nRiver, on the direct road to Pekin, for that purpose, June 25, 1859,\\nTheir heavier vessels were kept in the gulf by a bar, but the lighter\\ngunboats went on up the stream until their progress was stopped by the\\nobstructions placed at the fort. The U. S. S. Powhatan, Flag Officer\\nTattnall, bore John E. Wade and his suite, who were to represent the\\nUnited States at similar negotiations then pending. The size of the\\nPowhatan did not permit her entry upon the river, so Tattnall secured\\nthe small unarmed merchant steamer Toey- Wan to take the representa-\\ntive of our government to Pekin. The rest of the story is told sub-\\nstantially as it occurred, the British loss being 89 killed and 345\\nwounded, out of 1,100 engaged. But for the Toey-Wan and Tatt-\\nnall s interference wholly unwarranted by all considerations save\\nthose which he himself brought forward there can be no doubt that\\nEngland s entire force would have been killed or captured. W. R,\\nJosiah Tattnall, the hero of the Blood is Thicker than Water\\nepisode, was the son of a Georgia soldier and statesman, and was born\\nin Bonaventure, Georgia, November 9, 1795. He entered the navy at\\nseventeen, and served in the War of 1812, in the war with Algiers, and\\nin the Mexican War. Soon after the outbreak of the Rebellion he\\noffered his services to the Confederates. It was he who, in March,\\n1862, succeeded Franklin Buchanan in command of the Merrimac, and\\nit was he who destroyed that noted vessel to prevent her capture. He\\ndied in Savannah, Georgia, June 14, 1871.\\nStephen Decatur Trenchard, who was wounded at the Pei-Ho engage-\\nment, entered the navy in 1834, and served until 1880, when he was", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0224.jp2"}, "223": {"fulltext": "NOTES\u00e2\u0080\u0094 IN TIME OF STRIFE 20/\\nretired, being at the time a rear-admiral. He was a lieutenant when he\\nfought with Tattnall.\\nThe Gulf of Pechi-Li is a land-locked extension of the Yellow Sea\\nbetween the base of the Corean peninsula and the Chinese province of\\nShan-Tung.\\nThe Pei-Ho is a Chinese river that rises near the borders of Mon-\\ngolia, and flows northeast and southeast past Pekin and Tientsin into\\nthe Gulf of Pechi-Li.\\nStanza 3. Hope (Admiral Sir James, 1808-1881). He was twice\\nseverely wounded in the Pei-Ho action, but remained personally in\\ncommand throughout the fight. The year following, he led an expe-\\ndition which successfully attacked the forts, and opened the river for\\nnavigation.\\nStanza 4. Rason and McKenna, officers in Hope s fleet, the one\\na lieutenant-commander, the other a captain.\\n18. Bethel. By Augustine Joseph Hickey Duganne.\\nAugustine Joseph Hickey Duganne was born in Boston, Massachu-\\nsetts, in 1823. He was a colonel of New York volunteers during\\nthe Civil War. He was afterward employed upon the staff of the\\nNew York Tribune. He died in New York City, October 20, 1884.\\nThe battle of Big Bethel, near Fortress Monroe, Virginia, was the\\nfirst action of the Civil War, and was fought June 10, 186 1. The\\nUnion forces were under the command of a militia brigadier from Mas-\\nsachussetts. General E. W. Pierce, to whose incapacity and inexperience\\nthe Confederate success was largely due. Winthrop (Major Theodore,\\nthe author of John Brent and Cecil Dreeme led an assault\\nupon the rebel works, and was shot dead while standing upon a log,\\ncheering his men to the charge. Says Horace Greeley of him in The\\nAmerican Conflict, His courage and conduct throughout the fight\\nrendered him conspicuous to, and excited the admiration of, his\\nenemies. The Duryea mentioned in the poem (Colonel Abram) was\\nin command of a regiment of New York volunteers. Later, he was\\nmade a brigadier-general, participated in several important battles,\\nand at the close of the war was breveted major-general.\\n19. The Charge by the Ford. By Thomas Dunn English.\\nThomas Dunn English. See note on Arnold at Stillwater.\\nAn incident that occurred in 1861, in the Gauley River region, West\\nVirginia.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0225.jp2"}, "224": {"fulltext": "208 BALLADS OF AMERLCAJST BRAVERY\\n20. The Little Drummer, By Richard Henry Stoddard.\\nRichard Henry Stoddard, one of our three most distinguished living\\npoets, (see note on Kearny at Seven Pines, by Edmund Clarence\\nStedman) was born in Hingham, Massachusetts, July 2, 1825,\\nMr. Stoddard s long devotion to literature (although he was for\\nsome years connected with the New York custom-house and dock\\ndepartment) is too well known to call for extended chronicle. Not\\nonly as a poet, but also as an editor and critic, has he won a high\\nplace in American letters.\\nBrigadier-General Nathaniel Lyon, a native of Connecticut (1S18), a\\ngraduate of West Point, and a veteran of the Seminole and Mexican\\nwars, was killed while rallying his troops at the battle of Wilson s\\nCreek, Missouri, August 10, 1S61.\\n21. The Cumberland. By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.\\nHenry Wadsworth Longfellow. See note on Paul Revere.\\nThe battle of Hampton Roads, Virginia, during which the Cumber-\\nland was sunk by the Confederate ram Merrimac, was fought March\\n9, 1862. Morris (George Upham, 1830-1875), who was temporarily\\ncommanding the Cumberland, entered the navy early in life as a mid-\\nshipman, and served until the year before his death. He took part in a\\nnumber of engagements during the Rebellion, and was wounded at\\nFort Darling. An incident of the Cumberland-AIerri7nac battle is de-\\nscribed by George H. Boker (see The Black Regiment in a poem\\nentitled\\nTHE SWORD-BEARER\\nBrave Morris saw the day was lost\\nFor nothing now remained\\nOf the wrecked and sinking Cumberland\\nBut to save the flag unstained.\\nSo he swore an oath in the sight of heaven\\n(If he kept it the world can tell\\nBefore I strike to a rebel flag,\\nI 11 sink to the gates of hell\\nHere, take my sword tis in my way\\nI shall trip o er the useless steel\\nFor I 11 meet the lot that falls to all,\\nWith my shoulder at the wheel,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0226.jp2"}, "225": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 2O9\\nSo the little negro took the sword,\\nAnd oh, with what reverent care\\nFollowing his master step by step.\\nHe bore it here and there.\\nA thought had crept through his sluggish brain,\\nAnd shone in his dusky face,\\nThat somehow he could not tell just how\\nT was the sword of his trampled race.\\nAnd as Morris, great with his lion heart,\\nRushed onward from gun to gun.\\nThe little negro slid after him\\nLike a shadow in the sun.\\nBut something of pomp and of curious pride\\nThe sable creature wore.\\nWhich at any time but a time like that\\nWould have made the ship s crew roar.\\nOver the wounded, dying, and dead.\\nLike an usher of the rod.\\nThe black page, full of his mighty trust,\\nWith dainty caution trod.\\nNo heed he gave to the flying ball,\\nNo heed to the bursting shell\\nHis duty was something more than life.\\nAnd he strove to do it well.\\nDown with our starry flag apeak,\\nIn the whirling sea we sank\\nAnd captain and crew and the sword-bearer\\nWere washed from the bloody plank.\\nThey picked us up from the hungry waves\\nAlas, not all And where.\\nWhere is the faithful negro lad\\nBack oars avast look there\\nWe looked, and as heaven may save my soul,\\nI pledge you a sailor s word.\\nThere, fathoms deep in the sea he lay,\\nStill grasping his master s sword,\\n14", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0227.jp2"}, "226": {"fulltext": "2IO BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nWe drew him ov;t and many an hour\\nWe wrought with his rigid form\\nEre the almost smothered spark of Hfe\\nBy slow degrees grew warm.\\nThe first dull glance that his eyeballs rolled\\nWas down toward his shrunken hand\\nAnd he smiled, and closed his eyes again,\\nAs they fell on the rescued brand.\\nAnd no one touched the sacred sword,\\nTill at length, when Morris came,\\nThe little negro stretched it out\\nWith his eager eyes aflame.\\nAnd if Morris wrung the poor boy s hand,\\nAnd his words seemed hard to speak,\\nAnd tears ran down his manly cheeks.\\nWhat tongue shall call him weak\\n22. Johnston at Shiloh. By Fleming James.\\nAlbert Sydney Johnston, who commanded the Confederate forces at\\nthe battle of Shiloh, was a Kentuckian by birth (1803), and was one of\\nthe most able of the Southern leaders. He had had a wide experience\\nin military affairs, being a West Point graduate, and having served in\\nMexico and upon the plains. The battle of Shiloh was fought on the\\n6th of April, 1862.\\n23. The River Fight. By Henry Howard Brownell.\\nHenry Howard Brownell, called the laureate of the Civil War,\\nwas born in Providence, Rhode Island, February 6, 1820. His\\nearly manhood was devoted to literary work. He served on\\nthe Hartford under Farragut during a part of the Rebellion, and\\nat the close of the war accompanied that ofiicer upon a cruise to\\nvarious European ports. He died in Hartford, Connecticut, Octo-\\nber 31, 1872. Thomas Bailey Aldrich has paid a beautiful tribute\\nto his memory in a sonnet beginning\\nThey never crowned him, never knew his worth,\\nBut let him go unlaureled to the grave.\\nThe conflict commemorated in this poem, resulting in the opening of\\nthe lower Mississippi, took place on the 24th of April, 1862. The in-\\ntroductory portion of the poem is omitted, and a few additional stanzas\\nthat retard, rather than accelerate, the forward movement.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0228.jp2"}, "227": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 211\\nStanza l. Up the River of Death\\nSailed the great Admiral.\\nDavid Glasgow Farragut, generally conceded to be the greatest\\nAmerican seaman, was born near Knoxville, Tennessee, July 5, 1801.\\nHis most famous victories were those of the River Fight and of\\nMobile Bay, which Brownell celebrated in a poem entitled The Bay\\nFight, perhaps his best-known effort, the length of which precludes its\\nuse in this volume. (See poem, Farragut, by William T. Meredith).\\nHe died in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, August 14, 1870.\\nStanza 4. Porter (David Dixon, 1813-1891), the naval officer who\\nsucceeded Farragut as vice-admiral and admiral. He had command of\\nthe mortar flotilla in the River Fight.\\nLast Stanza. The church-pennant is made of white bunting in\\nthe form of an isosceles triangle, on each side of which is sewed blue\\nbunting in shape of a cross resting horizontally on the white. This\\npennant is used only when religious service is being held, and is then\\nhoisted above the national ensign.\\n24. Kearny at Seven Pines. By Edmund Clarence Stedman.\\nEdmund Clarence Stedman, our most distinguished critic, and one\\nof the three most distinguished of our living poets (the others being\\nRichard Henry Stoddard and Thomas Bailey Aldrich), was born in\\nHartford, Connecticut, October 8, 1833. He entered journalism\\nafter leaving college, and was a war correspondent during the early\\nyears of the Civil War. Later he purchased a seat in the New York\\nstock exchange, and became a broker, devoting his leisure to litera-\\nture. He has for many years been one of the most prominent fig-\\nures in literary New York.\\nThe battle of Seven Pines was fought on the 31st of May, 1862.\\nPhilip Kearny was born in New York City, June 2, 1815. Entering\\nthe army in 1837, he was sent to Europe two years later to observe the\\ntactics of the French cavalry. Enlisting in the French service, he per-\\nformed many daring exploits in Algiers. He was in the Mexican War,\\nand was the first American to enter the city of Mexico. He won the\\ncross of the Legion of Honor in the Franco-Austrian war of 1859, and\\nhis service to the Union cause in the Rebellion before his death was\\nconspicuous. General Scott once referred to him as the bravest and\\nmost perfect soldier he ever knew. The battle of Chantilly, where\\nGeneral Kearny lost his life, took place September i, 1862. The gen-\\neral became separated from his men in the dusk and driving rain, and", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0229.jp2"}, "228": {"fulltext": "212 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nrode by mistake into the Confederate line. Encountering some skirm-\\nishers, he perceived his blunder, wheeled his horse, and endeavored to\\nescape, but a volley rang out and he fell. It was in Kearny s memory\\nthat George H. Boker wrote his most tender lyric\\nDIRGE FOR A SOLDIER\\nClose his eyes his work is done\\nWhat to him is friend or foeman.\\nRise of moon, or set of sun.\\nHand of man, or kiss of woman?\\nLay him low, lay him low,\\nIn the clover or the snow\\nWhat cares he he cannot know\\nLay him low\\nAs man may, he fought his fight.\\nProved his truth by his endeavor\\nLet him sleep in solemn night.\\nSleep forever and forever.\\nLay him low, lay him low\\nIn the clover or the snow\\nWhat cares he he cannot know\\nLay him low\\nFold him in his country s stars.\\nRoll the drum and fire the volley\\nWhat to him are all our wars,\\nWhat but Death bemocking Folly\\nLay him low, lay him low.\\nIn the clover or the snow\\nWhat cares he he cannot know\\nLay him low\\nLeave him to God s watching eye.\\nTrust him to the hand that made him.\\nMortal love weeps idly by\\nGod alone has power to aid him.\\nLay him low, lay him low,\\nIn the clover or the snow\\nWhat cares he he cannot know\\nLay him low", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0230.jp2"}, "229": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 213\\nStanza l. Jameson (Charles Davis), a brigadier-general of volun-\\nteers who died in the service.\\nBerry (Hiram George), a major-general of volunteers, killed in the\\nbattle of Chancellorsville. See Keenan s Charge.\\nBirney (David Bell), a major-general of volunteers, who succeeded\\nGeneral Berry after the fall of the latter at Chancellorsville. He died\\nin the service.\\n25. An Unknown Hero. By William Gordon McCabe.\\nWilliam Gordon McCabe was born in Richmond, Virginia, August\\n4, 1 841. He served in various capacities in the Confederate army\\nthroughout the Civil War, since the close of which he has been\\nactive as an educator and as a writer upon educational and general\\ntopics.\\nAfter the battle of Malvern Hill, Virginia (July I, 1862), a soldier\\nwas found dead fifty yards in advance of any officer or man, his musket\\nfirmly grasped in his rigid fingers, name unknown, -simply 2 La.\\n(Second Louisiana) on his cap. Malvern Hill lies near the James River,\\nabout fifteen miles southeast of Richmond.\\n26. Barbara Frietchie. By John Greenleaf Whittier.\\nJohn Greenleaf Whittier, the Quaker laureate of Puritan New\\nEngland, and by some considered the most distinctively American\\npoet, was born in Haverhill, Massachusetts, December 17, 1807.\\nWhittier was prominent among the anti-slavery agitators, and dur-\\ning his early manhood gave much of his time and strength to the\\ninterests of the cause. He took up his permanent residence at\\nAmesbury, Massachusetts, in 1840, and lived there, and at Oak\\nKnoll, in Danvers, during the remainder of his life. Of all our\\npoets, says Mr. Stedman, he is the most natural balladist. He\\nis seen at his best in such ballads as Cassandra South wick,\\nMary Garvin, and The Wreck of Rivermouth, and in the New\\nEngland pastoral, Snowbound. He died at Hampton Falls,\\nNew Hampshire, September 7, 1892.\\nIt was during the march of Stonewall Jackson s command through\\nFrederick City, Maryland, just before the battle of South Mountain, in\\nSeptember, 1862, that the incidents which inspired this poem are said to\\nhave occurred. Their truth having been questioned, Mr. Francis F.\\nBrowne appealed to Mr. Whittier, and in November, 1885, received\\nfrom the poet the subjoined statement Of the substantial truth of\\nthe heroism of Barbara Frietchie I can have no doubt. Mrs. E. D. E. N.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0231.jp2"}, "230": {"fulltext": "214 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nSouthworth, the novelist, of Washington, sent me a slip from a news-\\npaper stating the circumstance as it is given in the poem, and assured\\nme of its substantial correctness. Dorothea L, Dix, the philanthropic\\nworker in Union hospitals, confirmed it. From half a dozen other\\nsources I had the account, and all agree in the main facts. Barbara\\nFrietchie was the boldest and most outspoken Unionist in Frederick,\\nand manifested it to the rebel army in an unmistakable manner. In\\nspite of Mr. Whittier s belief in the truth of the incident, its authentic-\\nity has been seriously questioned in later years.\\nStonewall Jackson (Thomas Jonathan), one of the most brilliant\\ngenerals on either side in the Civil War, was born in Clarksburg, West\\nVirginia, January 21, 1824. He graduated at West Point, and was twice\\nbreveted in the war with Mexico. At the beginning of the Rebellion\\nhe took command of the Confederate troops at Harper s Ferry. He\\ncommanded a brigade at the battle of Bull Run, where he gained the so-\\nbriquet Stonewall on account of the firm stand he made. After a\\nseries of brilliant victories, he was mortally wounded by some of his own\\nmen when returning from a reconnaissance after the battle of Chancel-\\nlorsville. He died on the loth of May, 1863.\\nLine 10. Lee, Robert Edward, the Commander-in-chief of the\\nConfederate forces during the Civil War, was born at Stratford House\\nin Virginia, the home of the Lees, on January ig, 1807. Like Jackson\\nhe was a West Point graduate, and like him served with distinguished\\nbravery in the war with Mexico. At the close of the Rebellion, he was\\nchosen president of Washington College, at Lexington, Virginia. His\\ndeath occurred on October 12, 1870.\\n27. The Eagle of Corinth. By Henry Howard Brownell.\\nHenry Howard Brownell, See note on The River Fight.\\nThe battle of Corinth was fought October 3d and 4th, 1862. The\\nfamous war-eagle of the poem was taken from a nest in Chippeway\\nCounty, Wisconsin, by a Chippeway Indian, in July, 1861, and given\\nby him to a farmer living near. A citizen of Eau Claire purchased the\\nbird, and presented him to Company C, of the Eighth Wisconsin, with\\nwhich he remained until the regiment was mustered out of active\\nservice. He was present at all of the battles in which the troops were\\nengaged, and would fly over the enemy during the hottest of the fight,\\nreturning after a time to his perch upon a pole borne by one especially\\nappointed for that duty. Whenever there was any cheering his wings\\nwere instantly outspread. At the battle of Corinth, the rebel general\\nPrice gave orders to capture or kill the eagle, saying that he was worth", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0232.jp2"}, "231": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 21$\\nmore than the whole brigade. The name by which the bird was\\nuniversally known, Old Abe, was given him by Captain Wolf, of\\nCompany C, of the Eighth Wisconsin.\\nStanza i. Price (Stirling, 1809-1867), a Virginian who served the\\nConfederate cause in the West and Southwest throughout the Civil War.\\nVan Dorn (Earl, 1820-1863), a Mississippian who rose to the rank\\nof major-general in the Confederate service. He was shot and killed\\nby a physician named Peters on account of some private grievance.\\nStanza 5. Robinett, a fort erected by the Federal forces at\\nCorinth.\\n28. Ready. By Phoebe Cary.\\nPhoebe Cary, the younger of the Cary sisters, was born near Cin-\\ncinnati, Ohio, September 4, 1824, and died in Newport, Rhode\\nIsland, July 31, 1873. Her best-known lyric is entitled Nearer\\nHome.\\nThe incident described in this poem probably occurred some time dur-\\ning the first week in April, 1S63, when there were several actions at\\nRodman s Point. This point is a strip of land projecting into the\\nPimlico River about a mile and a half below Washington, North\\nCarolina.\\n29. The Battle of Charleston Harbor. By Paul Hamilton Hayne.\\nPaul Hamilton Hayne, a nephew of the noted Senator Hayne, of\\nSouth Carolina, was born in Charleston, January i, 1830. Most\\nof his life was devoted to literature, his best work being lyrics\\ndescriptive of Southern scenery. He died at Copse Hill, Georgia,\\nJuly 6, 1886.\\nThe attack by the Union fleet upon the defenses of Charleston harbor\\noccurred April 7, 1863.\\nThe fort referred to in the fifth stanza is Moultrie.\\n30. Keenan s Charge. By George Parscns Lathrop,\\nGeorge Parsons Lathrop, perhaps best known as a novelist, was\\nborn in Honolulu, Sandwich Islands, August 25, 1851, and di^d in\\nNew York City, April 19, 1898.\\nDuring the second day of the battle of Chancellorsville, May 2, 1863,\\nGeneral Pleasanton was endeavoring to get twenty-two guns into a\\nvital position as Stonewall Jackson made a sudden advance. Every\\ninstant s delay was precious, at whatever cost it was purchased, so", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0233.jp2"}, "232": {"fulltext": "2l6 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nPleasanton ordered Major Keenan, commanding the Eighth Pennsyl-\\nvania Cavalry (four hundred strong), to charge the advancing ten thous-\\nand of the enemy.\\nGeneral Alfred Pleasanton was born in Washington, D. C, June 7,\\n1824. He was a West Point graduate, and served in the Mexican War\\nand in several Indian wars. He was the commander of the Union\\ncavalry at the battle of Gettysburg.\\nMajor Peter Keenan was born in York, New York, November g,\\n1834. He was a resident of Philadelphia when the Civil War broke\\nout, and assisted in recruiting the Eighth Pennsylvania Cavalry, in\\nwhich he was made a captain. Having attained the rank of major, he\\nwas in command of his regiment at the battle of Chancellorsville, as\\nabove stated.\\nStanza l. Stonewall s Corps. See Barbara Frietchie.\\n31. The Hero of the Gun. By Margaret Junkin Preston,\\nMargaret Junkin Preston, a poet and prose writer who, though a\\nnative of the North (born in Philadelphia, in 1825), has always\\nbeen identified with the South. She wrote many fine ballads.\\nShe died in Baltimore, Maryland, March 28, 1897.\\nAn incident of the Civil War which, though probably true, the son\\nof the author is not able to identify.\\n32. An Incident of War. By Maurice Thompson.\\nMaurice Thompson, poet, novelist, and journalist (brother of Will\\nHenry Thompson, see High Tide at Gettysburg and The\\nBond of Blood was born in Fairfield, Indiana, September 9,\\n1844. His boyhood was passed in Kentucky and Georgia, and he\\nserved in the Confederate army throughout the Civil War, later\\nengaging in the practice of law at Crawfordsville, Indiana, his\\npresent home. He was at one time the state geologist of Indiana.\\nMr. Thompson is a nature-intimate, and his lyrics of wild life\\nhave a rare freshness and charm.\\nOf An Incident of War the author says The poem has no exact\\nmodel of fact I got it out of my composite impression of war as I\\nexperienced it.\\n33. The Black Regiment. By George Henry Boker.\\nGeorge Henry Boker, poet and diplomat, and perhaps best known\\nas the author of the play, Francesca da Rimini, w s born in\\nPhiladelphia, Pennsylvania, October 6, 1823. He was successively", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0234.jp2"}, "233": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 2 1/\\nUnited States Minister to Russia and Turkey. He died in Phila-\\ndelphia, January 2, 1 890,\\nThe Black Regiment commemorates the charge of the First and\\nThird Louisiana Native Guards at Port Hudson, May 27, 1863. Of\\nthe bearing of the negro soldiers in that action General Banks spoke in\\nthe highest terms in reporting to General Halleck. Their conduct,\\nhe wrote, was heroic. No troops could be more determined or more\\ndaring. They made, during the day, three charges upon the batteries\\nof the enemy, suffering very heavy losses, and holding their position at\\nnightfall with the other troops on the right of our line. The highest\\ncommendation is bestowed upon them by all the officers in command on\\nthe right.\\nIn her Camp-Fire and Memorial Poems, Mrs. Kate Brownlee\\nSherwood (see note on Thomas at Chickamauga has paid an elo-\\nquent tribute to the valor of the Black Regiment.\\n34. Greencastle Jenny. By Helen Gray Cone.\\nHelen Gray Cone, one of the most gifted of our women poets of to-\\nday, was born in New York City, March 8, 1859. She is a member\\nof the faculty of the Normal College of New York City.\\nThe story of Greencastle Jenny was told by Colonel William R.\\nAylett, who succeeded General Armistead (see High Tide at Gettys-\\nburg as commander of his brigade, at a reunion of the Blue and Grey\\nat Gettysburg, in 1887. Miss Cone believes that the girl s name is not\\nknown.\\nGreencastle is a small town in Franklin county, Pennsylvania, not far\\nfrom the Maryland line.\\nStanza l. Longstreet (James, 1821-), a prominent Confederate\\ngeneral, by some considered the hardest fighter in the rebel service. He\\nserved in Mexico, and was active all through the Rebellion. At Gettys-\\nburg it is said he endeavored to dissuade Lee from ordering Pickett s\\nfamous charge.\\nStanza 3. Pickett (George Edward, 1825-1875), one of the most\\ngallant Confederate generals. His charge at Gettysburg is historic, and\\nwas the most brilliant feat of arms performed by the Confederates on\\nany field.\\n35. John Burns of Gettysburg. By (Francis) Bret Harte.\\n(Francis) Bret Harte was born in Albany, New York, August 25,\\n1839. The years of his early manhood were passed in California.\\nIt was in San Francisco, while he was the editor of the Overlajid", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0235.jp2"}, "234": {"fulltext": "2l8 BALLADS OF AMERICAN BRAVERY\\nMonthly \\\\\\\\\\\\2i\\\\. the publication of The Luck of Roaring Camp\\nand The Heathen Chinee established his reputation. He has\\nbeen United States Consul at Crefeld, Germany, and at Glasgow,\\nScotland, He resigned the latter post in 1885, since when he has\\nresided in and near London.\\nThe following statement, made by a Union ofificer who served in the\\nEleventh Corps at the battle of Gettysburg, is taken from Mr. Francis\\nF. Browne s Bugle Echoes During the first day s fight an old\\nman, in a swallow-tailed coat and battered cylinder hat, came stalking\\nacross the fields from the tov/n, and made his appearance at Colonel\\nStone s position. With a musket in his hand, and ammunition in his\\npocket, this venerable citizen asked Colonel Wister s permission to fight.\\nWister directed him to go over to the Iron Brigade, where he would be\\nsheltered by the woods but the old man insisted on going forward to\\nthe skirmish line. He was allowed to do so, and continued firing until\\nthe skirmishers retired, when he was the last man to leave. He after-\\nward fought with the Iron Brigade, where he was three times wounded.\\nThis patriotic and heroic citizen was Constable John Burns, of Getty-\\nburg.\\nThe battle of Gettysburg was fought July i, 2, and 3, 1863.\\nLine 11. Lee. See Barbara Frietchie.\\n1. 14. Meade (George Gordon, 1815-1872), the commander of the\\nUnion army at Gettysburg. He served in the Mexican and Seminole\\nWars, and distinguished himself at Antietam and Fredericksburg. He\\nwas at the head of various military departments after the war.\\n1. 100. Navarre. See Macaulay s ballad, Ivry.\\n36. High Tide at Gettysburg. By Will Henry Thompson.\\nWill Henry Thompson (brother of Maurice Thompson see An\\nIncident of War, and The Ballad of a Little Fun a lawyer\\nand poet residing in Seattle, Washington, was born in Calhoun\\ncounty, Georgia, March 10, 1848. Mr. Thompson was a Confed-\\nerate soldier, and his High Tide at Gettysburg is one of the\\nfinest poems inspired by the Civil War.\\nHigh Tide at Gettysburg, the day of Pickett s charge, was the last\\nday of that memorable battle, July 3, 1863.\\nStanza 2. Lee. See Barbara Frietchie.\\nPickett. See Greencastle Jenny.\\nStanza 3. Shiloh, See Johnston at Shiloh.\\nChickamauga. See Thomas at Chickamauga.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0236.jp2"}, "235": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 219\\nStanza 4. Pettigre W, (James Johnson) a Confederate brigadier-\\ngeneral who was mortally wounded in Pickett s charge. He was a na-\\ntive of North Carolina (1828-1863).\\nWaterloo. June 18, 181 5.\\nStanza 5. Kemper (James Lamson, 1823-), a Confederate briga-\\ndier-general, severely wounded and captured at Gettysburg. He has\\nbeen governor of Virginia.\\nGarnett (Richard Brooke, 1819-1863), a Confederate brigadier-gen-\\nrral who fell at Gettysburg.\\nArmistead (Lewis Addison, 1817-1863), a Confederate brigadier-gen-\\neral in Pickett s division, who was mortally wounded in the famous\\ncharge.\\nStanza 7. Doubleday (Abner, 1819-1893), a Federal major-gen-\\neral of volunteers, whose division was active in repulsing Pickett s\\ncharge. It was he who fired the first gun in defense of Fort Sumter.\\nFor another rendering of this battle in verse see Edmund Clarence\\nStedman s Gettysburg (Complete Poems.),\\n37. Thomas at Chickamauga. By Kate Brownlee Sherwood.\\nKate Brownlee Sherwood, a poet and journalist of Toledo, Ohio,\\nwho has written a number of successful war lyrics and memorial\\npoems, was born in Bedford Springs, Pennsylvania, September 14,\\n1841.\\nThe battle of Chickamauga (Tennessee) was fought on the igth and 20th\\nof September, 1863. General George Henry Thomas, the rock of\\nChickamauga, who saved the day for the Federal forces, and made the\\nConfederate victory a barren one, was a Virginian by birth (1816). He\\nserved in Florida and Mexico. It v/as he who was in command at Mis-\\nsion Ridge, and who overthrew the last Confederate army in the south-\\nwest. He was also in the Atlanta campaign. It has been said of him\\nthat he was the beau-ideal of a soldier and a gentleman. Among Fed-\\neral generals he ranks after Grant, Sherman, and Sheridan. He was\\nin command of the military division of the Pacific when he died at San\\nFrancisco, March 28, 1870. The sobriquet Pap was spontaneously\\ngiven Thomas by the soldiers of his command on account of the fatherly\\ninterest he took in them.\\n1. 5. Hooker (Joseph, 18 14-18 79), a distinguished Union general,\\nwho was nicknamed Fighting Joe by the soldiers for his courage un-\\nder fire. He participated in some of the most important battles of the\\nRebellion, and was at one time in command of the Army of the\\nPotomac.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0237.jp2"}, "236": {"fulltext": "220 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\n1. 33. Bragg (Braxton, 1817-1876), a well-known rebel general who\\nwas in command of the Confederate forces at Murfreesboro, Chicka-\\nmauga, and Chattanooga.\\n1. 42. Steedman (James Barrett, 1818-1883), a Pennsylvanian who\\nwas public printer at Washington during Buchanan s administration.\\nHe was in command of the first division of the reserve corps of the\\nArmy of the Cumberland at Chickamauga, and reenforced Thomas at\\nthe most critical moment in the battle.\\n38. The Smallest of the Drums. By James Buckham.\\nJames Buckham, a well-known contributor to the periodicals of the\\nday, was born in Burlington, Vermont, November 25, 1858.\\nThe author states that this poem was suggested by a newspaper para-\\ngraph.\\nStanza 3. Sherman (William Tecumseh), the eighteenth general-\\nin-chief of the United States army, famous for his march to the sea,\\nwas born in Lancaster, Ohio, February 8, 1820. He was Grant s most\\nefficient assistant at Shiloh, Vicksburg, and Chattanooga. He visited\\nEurope in 1872, and was everywhere received with distinguished honor.\\nIn 1874 he retired from the command of the army to make room for\\nSheridan. He died in New York City, February 14, 1S91. See Sher-\\nman, an Horatian Ode, by Louise Imogen Guiney A Roadside\\nHarp and General Sherman, by H. C. Bunner (Complete Poems),\\nStanza 4. Chickamauga. See Thomas at Chickamauga.\\n39. Little Giffen. By Francis Orrery Ticknor.\\nFrancis Orrery Ticknor, a physician, and the author of several\\nlyrics of the Civil War very popular in the South, was a native of\\nGeorgia, and died near Columbus, in that State, in 1874. A pos-\\nthumous volume of his poems was issued in 1879, with an introduc-\\ntion by Paul H. Hayne.\\nThe hero of this poem was Isaac Giffen, a native of the mountainous\\nregion of East Tennessee. He had been terribly wounded at Murfrees-\\nboro, and was taken by Dr. Ticknor and his wife into their own home.\\nHe fell in one of the battles before Atlanta.\\nStanza 5. Johnson pressed at the front, they say. Probably\\nGeneral Joseph Eggleston Johnston, is meant.\\n40. Ulric Dahlgren. By Kate Brownlee Sherwood.\\nKate Brownlee Sherwood. See note on Thomas at Chicka-\\nmauga.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0238.jp2"}, "237": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 221\\nColonel Ulric Dahlgren, the son of Admiral Dahlgren, distinguished\\nhimself while serving upon the staffs of General Hooker, General\\nSigel, and General Meade, lost a leg at Gettysburg, and while on crutches\\nled an expedition to free the Union prisoners in Libby prison at Rich-\\nmond, during which he was ambushed and slain, on the night of March\\n2, 1864. He was twenty-two years of age.\\n41. Farragut. By William Tuckey Meredith.\\nWilliam Tuckey Meredith was born in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania,\\nJune 16, 1839. He served with Farragut at the battle of Mobile\\nBay, and was afterward the admiral s secretary. He subsequently\\nbecame a banker in New York City.\\nThe battle of Mobile Bay was fought August 5, 1864. See Craven,\\nbelow,\\nFarragut. See note on The River Fight.\\nStanza 2. Morgan, a Confederate fort.\\n42. Lee TO THE Rear. By John Randolph. Thompson.\\nJohn Randolph Thompson, journalist and poet, was born in Rich-\\nmond, Virginia, October 23, 1823. He abandoned the law to\\ndevote himself to literature, and for a dozen years successfully\\nedited the Southern Literary Messenger. After the Civil War he\\nwas for a time literary editor of the New York Evening Post. He\\ndied in New York City, April 30, 1873.\\nThe incident described in the poem is authentic. For Lee, See\\nBarbara Frietchie.\\nStanza i. The W^ilderness is a region a few miles south of the\\nRapidan river, in Virginia, memorable for the dreadful battle fought\\nthere between the Federal army under Grant and the Confederate forces\\nunder Lee on the 5th and 6th of May, 1864.\\nMendelssohn, the famous German composer, 1 809-1 847.\\nStanza 4. Grant (Ulysses Simpson, 1822-1885), the eighteenth\\npresident of the United States, and the most distinguished Federal gen-\\neral in the War of the Rebellion. Grant s most celebrated battles were\\nFort Donelson, Shiloh, Vicksburg, Chattanooga, and the conflicts in the\\nWilderness and before Richmond, which culminated in the surrender\\nof Lee. See Grant, by H. C. Bunner (Complete Poems); On\\nthe Death of an Invincible Soldier, by E. C. Stedman Poems Now\\nFirst Collected and Great Captain, Glorious in Our Wars, by\\nThomas Bailey Aldrich (Complete Poems),", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0239.jp2"}, "238": {"fulltext": "222 BALLADS OF AATELUCAN BRAVERY\\n43. Craven. By Henry Newbolt.\\nHenry Newbolt, an English lawyer and poet, was born in Bilston,\\nEngland, June 6, 1862. His best work is to be found in the vol-\\nume entitled Admirals All.\\nCraven (Tunis Augustus Macdonough), the Sidney of the American\\nnavy, was born in Portsmouth, New Hampshire, in January, 1813.\\nHe entered the navy at sixteen, and was a commander at the opening\\nof the Civil War. As captain of the monitor Tecumseh, which had\\nbeen given the post of honor, and Avas leading the fleet, he met his death\\nin Mobile Bay, August 5, 1864.\\nStanza 8. Sidney (Sir Philip, poet, soldier, and statesman. 1554-\\n1586.) The reference is to the well-known story of Sidney s refusing a\\ncup of water, when lying mortally wounded on the battle-field of Zut-\\nphen, in order to give it to a wounded soldier.\\nNelson. See Fight of the Arinstrong Privateer. The reference\\nhere is to the battle of the Nile, where Nelson was severely wounded.\\nLucas, a young English captain, who was captured and imprisoned\\nby an Indian despot (Hyder Ali,) during the campaign of 1780. To\\nrelieve Captain Baird, a severely wounded comrade, he assumed two\\nsets of chains, so that the wounded man might be left free.\\nOutram. (Sir James, 1803-1863.) The reference is to his action\\nat Cawnpore, in 1857, when, though superior in command, in ad-\\nmiration for the brilliant deeds of General Havelock, he conceded\\nto that soldier the glory of relieving Lucknow, waiving his own rank,\\nand tendering his services as a volunteer.\\n44. Gracie of Alabama. By Francis Orrery Ticknor.\\nFrancis Orrery Ticknor. See Little Giffen.\\nPetersburg, the scene of this incident, a city which witnessed some\\nof the fiercest fighting of the Civil War, is situated upon the southern,\\nbank of the Appomattox River, about twenty miles south of Richmond.\\nThe Gracie of the poem (Archibald,) was a Confederate brigadier-\\ngeneral who served with distinction at Knoxville and Chickamauga.\\nStanza 3. Lee. See Barbara Frietchie.\\n45. The Ballad of A Little Fun. By Maurice Thompson.\\nMaurice Thompson. See note on An Incident of War.\\nStanza 5. Salliquoy. A tributary of the Coosawattee. (See below.)\\nStanza 6. Coosawattee. A stream that rises in Gilmer county,", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0240.jp2"}, "239": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OE STRIEE 223\\nnorthern Georgia, and flows southwesterly through Gordon county,\\nwhere it unites with the Canasauga to form the Oostanaula.\\nThis poem relates an adventure that befell a Confederate scouting\\nparty near Hogan s Ford, on the Coosawattee, while out upon a recon-\\nnoitering expedition late in 1864, or early in 1865.\\n46. Sheridan s Ride. By Thomas Buchanan Read.\\nThomas Buchanan Read, poet and artist, was born in Chester\\ncounty, Pennsylvania, March 12, 1822. After a roving youth, he\\nsettled in Philadelphia, in which town and various Italian cities\\nmost of his life was spent. He died in New York City, May 11,\\n1872. The lyrics Drifting and The Closing Scene show\\nRead at his best as a poet.\\nSheridan (Philip, generally known to army men as Little Phil,\\n1831-1888), was the most distinguished Federal cavalry leader in the\\nCivil War. Serving in the early part of the war with the Army of the\\nCumberland, during the latter portion of the conflict he was with\\nthe Army of the Potomac, and rendered Grant important aid in crushing\\nLee. His own version of his famous ride (October 19, 1S64,) may be\\nread in his memoirs. It has been said of Sheridan that he was never\\ndefeated, but often plucked victory from the jaws of defeat.\\nLine 2. Winchester. The capital of Frederick county, Vir-\\nginia, and the key to the Shenandoah valley.\\n47. Down the Little Big Horn. By Francis Brooks.\\nFrancis Brooks, a Chicago poet, who was born in Memphis, Ten-\\nnessee, March 7, 1867, and died near Geneva, Wisconsin, April I2,\\n1898. A memorial edition of his poems, edited by Wallace Rice,\\nwas issued in the autumn of 1898.\\nCuster (George Armstrong) was born in New Rumley, Ohio, Decem-\\nber 5, 1839. He entered the army directly after his graduation from\\nWest Point in June, 1861, and participated in all but one of the battles\\nof the Army of the Potomac, attaining the rank of major-general at\\ntwenty-five. He had eleven horses shot under him in battle. After\\nthe Civil War he served in several Indian campaigns. His last fight,\\non the banks of the Little Big Horn river in Montana, took place June\\n26, 1876. See Custer, by Edmund Clarence Stedman (Complete\\nPoems).\\nStanza 2. Sitting Bull, who commanded the Indians in the Custer\\nfight, was a Sioux chief, born about 1837. He was killed while resist-\\ning arrest in the Sioux outbreak of December, 1890.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0241.jp2"}, "240": {"fulltext": "224 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nStanza 3. Rain-in-the-Face, a Sioux chief, who had been impris-\\noned for murdering a sutler and veterinary surgeon, but had sub-\\nsequently escaped. See Longfellow s poem, The Revenge of\\nRain-in-the-Face.\\nStanza 7. Comanche. See Miles Keogh s Horse, by John\\nHay (Poems).\\n48. The Bond of Blood. By Will Henry Thompson.\\nWill Henry Thompson. See note on High Tide at Gettys-\\nburg.\\nStanzas. Lee. See Barbara Frietchie.\\nStanza 6. Hancock (Winfield Scott, 1824-1886), a distinguished\\nUnion general, and the Democratic candidate for President in 1880.\\nHe was conspicuous for his gallantry at Gettysburg, where he was\\nwounded. The reference in this stanza is probably to the battle of\\nSpottsylvania, where he captured and held a salient of field-works on\\nthe Confederate center, afterward known as the bloody angle.\\nStanza 9. Hill, either A. P. or D. H., both noted Confederate\\ngenerals.\\nGordon (George Washington), a brilliant Confederate leader, well\\nknown after the war as a lawyer and public speaker.\\nStanza 12. Sherman. See The Smallest of the Drums.\\nStanza 16. Wilderness. See Lee to the Rear.\\n49. A Ballad of Manila Bay. By Charles George Douglas Roberts,\\nCharles George Douglas Roberts, poet and novelist, was born near\\nFrederickton, New BrunsMdck, January 10, i860. He was at one\\ntime Professor of English Literature in King s College, Windsor,\\nNova Scotia. Of recent years he has resided in the United States\\nand devoted himself entirely to writing. He is commonly spoken\\nof as the leader of the Canadian School of poets.\\nGeorge Dewey, who by his victory over the Spanish in Manila Bay\\nhas come to be looked upon as the greatest naval commander of modern\\ntimes, was born in Montpelier, Vermont, December 26, 1837. He was\\nwith Farragut at the opening of the Mississippi (see The River\\nFight and took part in the severe engagements at Fort Fisher. He\\nbecame a commodore in 1896, and in recognition of his Manila victory\\n(May I, 1898), and his subsequent services, he was promoted, first to the\\nrank of rear-admiral, and later to that of admiral.\\nStanza i. Corregidor, an island at the entrance to Manila Bay.\\nStanza 4. El Fraile (the Friar), an outcrop of rock, tunnelled to", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0242.jp2"}, "241": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF STRIFE 22$\\nserve as a battery, lying in the main channel almost due south of the\\nwesterly tip of Corregidor.\\nStanza 7. Kalibuyo and Salinas, towns in the province of Cavite,\\non the southern shore of Manila Bay.\\nStanza 8. Cavite, a former Spanish fortress and naval station\\nsituated upon a point of land seven miles south of Manila,\\nStanza 10. Bakor Bay, the bay formed by the projection upon\\nwhich Cavite is situated.\\nStanza 14. Drake (Sir Francis, 1540-1596), the greatest of the\\nElizabethan seaman, whose strategy and skill and audacious courage\\nwere largely instrumental in destroying the Spanish Armada.\\nFarragut. See The River Fight.\\nBlake (Robert, 1599-1657), called, next to Nelson, the greatest of\\nthe English admirals, and noted for his victories over the Dutch\\nand Spanish.\\nStanza 16. Nelson. See The Fight of the Armstrong Pri-\\nvateer.\\n50. Dewey at Manila. By Robert Underwood Johnson.\\nRobert Underwood Johnson, associate-editor of the Century Maga-\\nzine, was born in Washington, D. C, January 12, 1853. As sec-\\nretary of the Authors and Publishers Copyright Leagues, Mr.\\nJohnson rendered valuable services to the cause of international\\ncopyright.\\nDewey. See note on A Ballad of Manila Bay, by Charles George\\nDouglas Roberts.\\nStanza i. Bocagrande (large mouth), the main channel into\\nManila Bay south of Corregidor Island. The northerly channel is called\\nBocachica (small mouth).\\nCorregidor. See A Ballad of Manila Bay.\\nStanza 6. Cavite. See A Ballad of Manila Bay.\\nStanza 7. Montojo (Admiral Patricio Montojo y Pasaron), the\\ncommander of the Spanish naval forces in the Philippines.\\nStanza 8. Farragut. See The River Fight.\\nStanza 12. Gridley (Charles Vernon, 1845-1898), the captain of\\nAdmiral Dewey s flagship, the Olympia.\\n51. The Men of the Merrimac. By Clinton Scollard.\\nClinton Scollard. See note on Montgomery at Quebec.\\nThe Meri ii?iac ^M2iS sunk on the morning of June 3, i8g8, in order to\\nblock the narrow channel into Santiago Bay where the Spanish fleet was\\nat anchor. The men who engaged in the perilous venture were\\nIS", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0243.jp2"}, "242": {"fulltext": "226 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nLieutenant Richard Pearson Hobson, naval constructor (born in\\nGreensboro, Alabama, August 17, 1870 graduated from Annapolis at\\nthe head of his class in 1889 studied in France, and at the opening of\\nthe Spanish war was conducting the post-graduate course in construc-\\ntion at the Naval Academy at Annapolis).\\nOsborn Deignan, a coxswain of the Merrimac.\\nGeorge F, Phillips, a machinist of the Merrimac.\\nJohn Kelly, a water-tender of the Merrimac.\\nGeorge Charette, a gunner s mate of the New York.\\nDaniel Montagu, a seaman of the Brooklyn.\\nJ. C. Murphy, a coxswain of the Lowa.\\nRandolph Clausen, a coxswain of the New York.\\nStanza 6. Morro, the ancient Spanish fortress commanding Santi-\\nago Bay.\\nSocapa and Estrella, batteries at the entrance to the bay.\\n52, The Charge at Santiago. By William Hamilton Hayne.\\nWilliam Hamilton Hayne, son of Paul Hamilton Hayne (see The\\nBattle of Charleston Harbor was born in Charleston, South Caro-\\nlina, March 11, 1856. He has the true lyrical instinct, and is the\\nauthor of many quatrains and much finished nature verse.\\nMr. Hayne s poem commemorates the valor of the American troops in\\ntheir charge on San Juan Hill, near Santiago de Cuba, July i, 1898.\\n53. Spain s Last Armada. By Wallace Rice.\\nWallace Rice. See note on Blood is Thicker than Water.\\nSpain s Last Armada celebrates the great naval victory of July 3,\\n1898.\\nStanza 3. El Morro and Socapa. See note on The Men of\\nthe Merrimac.\\nStanza 11. Nimanima, the cove, six and a-half miles from the en-\\ntrance to Santiago harbor, where the Lnfattta Maria Teresa was\\nbeached.\\nStanza 12. Juan Gonzales, about seven miles from the port of\\nSantiago.\\nStanza 13. Aserradero, fifteen miles from Santiago.\\nStanza 16. The Cape o the Cross, Cape Cruz, at the south-\\nwestern extremity of Cuba.\\nTarquino, the mouth of the Rio Tarquino, where the ill-fated Virgi-\\nnius expedition landed.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0244.jp2"}, "243": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF PEACE 22/\\n54. Ballad of Paco Town. By Clinton ScoUard.\\nClinton Scollard, See note on Montgomery at Quebec.\\nThe incident described in this ballad occurred during the battle of\\nSanta Ana, fought on the 5th of February, 1899, and resulting in the\\ntotal rout of General Ricarti s division of the Filipino army. The\\nsignal-man who performed the daring deed was Lieutenant Charles E.\\nKilbourne, Jr.\\nPaco is a small town south, and slightly east, of Manila.\\nirn Uime of peace,\\n55. Peace Hath her Victories. By Wallace Rice,\\nWallace Rice. See note on Blood is Thicker than Water.\\nThis thrilling international episode earned the thanks and rewards\\nof the American Congress, Captain Hughes, of the Liverpool steamer\\nIoi-d Gotigh, obtaining a gold medal, and all his gallant men being\\nremembered. W. R.\\nThe incident took place in December, 1889.\\n56. In The Tunnel, By Bret Harte.\\nBret Harte. See note on John Burns of Gettysburg.\\n57. Ballad of Calnan s Christmas. By Helen Gray Cone.\\nHelen Gray Cone. See note on Greencastle Jenny.\\nJames F. Calnan, driver for Engine Company No. 34, in New York\\nCity, gave up his life on Christmas Day, 1897.\\n58. How He Saved St. Michael s. By Mary Anna Phinney\\nStansbury.\\nMary Anna Phinney Stansbury. See note on The Sui-prise of\\nTiconderoga.\\nThe story, as related in the poem, is in the main true. The church,\\nhowever, was St. Philip s (Charleston, South Carolina), an earlier edifice\\nthat stood upon the same site as St. Michael s. The slave, moreover,\\nreceived his freedom, not from the city authorities, but from the vestry-\\nmen of the church. The fire occurred in the year 1796.\\n5g. The Ride of Collin Graves. By John Boyle O Reilly.\\nJohn Boyle O Reilly was born in Dowth Castle, County Meath,\\nIreland, June 28, 1844. Entering the British army at the age of\\neighteen, he was detected in a Fenian plot, and sentenced to", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0245.jp2"}, "244": {"fulltext": "228 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\ntwenty years penal servitude in Australia. He escaped in an open\\nboat, was picked up by an American whaler, and brought to this\\ncountry. Settling in Boston, his ability won for him speedy recog-\\nnition, and he was made editor of the Pilots a position which he\\nheld at the time of his death, which occurred on the loth of August,\\n1890. His most notable contribution to poetry was his Songs of\\nthe Southern Seas.\\nThe disaster at Williamsburg, Hampshire County, Massachusetts,\\ntook place on the i6th of May, 1874. The Mill River dam, which\\nburst, covered one hundred and twenty-four acres to the average depth\\nof twenty-four feet. Nearly two hundred lives were lost in the villages\\nof Williamsburg, Skinnerville, Haydenville and Leeds,\\n1. 73. Curtius (Mettus, or Mettius), a young Roman who sac-\\nrificed his life for his country s welfare, B. c. 362. A chasm had opened\\nin the forum, and the soothsayers declared that it could only be filled by\\ncasting into it that which was most precious in Rome. Curtius appeared\\non horseback, clad in full armor, and leaped into the abyss, crying as\\nhe did so, Rome has no greater riches than courage and arms Ac-\\ncording to tradition, the chasm at once closed over him.\\n60. Jim Bludso. By John Hay,\\nJohn Hay, our present (1900) Secretary of State, and recently\\nUnited States Ambassador to Great Britain, was born in Salem,\\nIndiana, October 8, 1838. He has long been connected with the\\ndiplomatic service. During the Civil War he was a private secre-\\ntary to President Lincoln, and in conjunction with John G. Nicolay\\nis the author of the most complete biography of Lincoln published.\\nJim Bludso was Oliver Fairchild, the engineer of the steamer Fash-\\nion. Mr. Hay is unable to fix the date of the disaster to the Fashion.\\n61. George Nidiver. Anonymous,\\n62. A Man s Name. By Richard Realf.\\nRichard Realf, See note on The Defense of Lawrence,\\nDavid Simmons, railroad engineer, was killed in the disaster near\\nNew Hamburgh, New York, on the Hudson River, February 6, 1871,\\n63. The Man who Rode to Conemaugh. By John Eliot Bowen.\\nJohn Eliot Bowen, a journalist and the translator of Carmen Syl-\\nva s Songs of Toil, who was for a number of years connected\\nwith The Independent, was born in Brooklyn, New York, June\\n8, 1858, and died in the same city, January 3, i8go.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0246.jp2"}, "245": {"fulltext": "NOTES IN TIME OF PEACE 229\\nThe bursting of the dam upon the south fork of the Conemaugh\\nRiver took place on the afternoon of May 31, i88g. It is stated that\\nsixteen million tons of water were precipitated down the Conemaugh\\nvalley upon Johnston, Conemaugh, and various smaller towns. A con-\\nservative estimate of the loss of life gives it as three thousand, though\\nsome reports place it as high as five thousand.\\nThe name of the hero who rode in front of the flood, giving the alarm,\\nwas Daniel Peyton, or Periton. The following poem, by an anonymous\\nhand, pays tribute to the rider s bravery and self-sacrifice.\\nDANIEL PERITON\\n(May 31, 1889.)\\nNow that the land lies stricken\\nBy a deluge dire and dread.\\nAnd the bravest spirits sicken\\nAt thought of the doomed and dead,\\nLet a chord of praise be smitten\\nFor the hero-hearted one,\\nAnd a requiem song be written\\nFor Daniel Periton\\nGo not to your olden story\\nFor one with a deathless name\\nWith never a dream of glory,\\nWith never a heed of fame,\\nHe dashed through the fated city\\nAnd called to the folk to fly\\nO God of infinite pity.\\nWould all might have heard his cry\\nToo late, too late the warning\\nFor the wave that bore despair\\nRushed down with a ruthless scorning\\nOf mortal strength and prayer.\\nIt smote in its mad derision,\\nIt gulfed with its choking breath,\\nAnd set on a people s vision\\nThe blinding seal of death.\\nAnd what of him who had striven\\nTo save in that awful hour", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0247.jp2"}, "246": {"fulltext": "230 BALLADS OF AMERLCAN BRAVERY\\nWhen the stoutest walls were riven\\nBy the flood s remorseless power\\nDead by the bridge they found him,\\nHim and his gallant steed\\nBut ever will shine around him\\nThe light of his noble deed\\nA germ of divine creating\\nAbides in the human race,\\nAnd a man is always waiting\\nTo spring to the hero s place.\\nAnd so let the lyre be smitten\\nIn praise of the fearless one.\\nAnd a requiem song be written\\nFor Daniel Periton\\n64. Johnny Bartholomew. By Thomas Dunn English.\\nThomas Dunn English. See note on Arnold at Stillwater.\\nThough this poem has a newspaper paragraph for its basis, the author\\nstates that he has every reason to believe that the story is a true one.\\n65. His Name. By Margaret Junkin Preston.\\nMargaret Junkin Preston. See note on The Hero of the Gun.\\nAn incident of the great Boston fire, November 9, 1872.\\n66. Old Braddock. By John Vance Cheney.\\nJohn Vance Cheney, poet and essayist, was born in Groveland, New\\nYork, December 29, 1848. He at one time practised law in New\\nYork City. He has been in charge of the San Francisco Public Lib-\\nrary, and is now head librarian at the Newberry Library, in\\nChicago.\\nThis poem has no foundation in fact.\\n67. In Apia Bay, By Charles George Douglas Roberts.\\nCharles George Douglas Roberts. See A Ballad of Manila Bay.\\nThe destructive hurricane at Apia (island of Upolu, Samoa), occurred\\non the 15th of March, 18S9. Three German and three American war-\\nships were either driven ashore, or crushed upon the coral reefs, and\\nnearly one hundred and fifty lives were lost. The British ship which\\nbreasted the terrific force of the storm, and succeeded in escaping from\\nthe harbor, was the corvette CaUiope. The American flag-ship was the\\nTrenton (see poem), carrying the flag of Rear-Admiral Kimberley.", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0248.jp2"}, "247": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0249.jp2"}, "248": {"fulltext": "JUN 301900", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0250.jp2"}, "249": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3455", "width": "2085", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0251.jp2"}, "250": {"fulltext": "", "height": "3541", "width": "2232", "jp2-path": "balladsofamerica00scol_0252.jp2"}}