A New Invasion of the South: Being a Narrative of the Expedition of the Seventy-first Infantry, National Guard, Through the Southern States, to New Orleans. February 24-March 7, 1881

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Board of officers, Seventy-first Infantry, 1881 - 127 من الصفحات

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الصفحة 10 - O'er the land of the free and the home of the brave? On the shore, dimly seen through the mists of the deep, Where the foe's haughty host in dread silence reposes, What is that which the breeze, o'er the towering steep, As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
الصفحة 89 - Such songs have power to quiet The restless pulse of care, And come like the benediction That follows after prayer. Then read from the treasured volume The poem of thy choice, And lend to the rhyme of the poet The beauty of thy voice. And the night shall be filled with music, And the cares, that infest the day, Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs, And as silently steal away.
الصفحة 11 - And this is in the night : — Most glorious night ! Thou wert not sent for slumber ! let me be A sharer in thy fierce and far delight, — A portion of the tempest and of thee...
الصفحة 70 - Naught is seen in the vault on high But the moon, and the stars, and the cloudless sky, And the flood which rolls its milky hue, A river of light on the welkin blue. The moon looks down on old Cro'nest; She mellows the shades on his shaggy breast, And seems his huge gray form to throw In a silver cone on the wave below.
الصفحة 90 - twas but the wind, Or the car rattling o'er the stony street; On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet But hark!
الصفحة 21 - Whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, Where'er his stages may have been. May sigh to think he still has found His warmest welcome at an inn.
الصفحة 95 - Tis sweet to hear the watchdog's honest bark Bay deep-mouthed welcome as we draw near home; Tis sweet to know there is an eye will mark Our coming, and look brighter when we come...
الصفحة 78 - By the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron have fled, Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver, Asleep are the ranks of the dead; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment day; Under the one, the Blue; Under the other, the Gray.
الصفحة 61 - Shouting and clapping, with confused din; That makes a prince. No, Lucio, he's a king, A true right king, that dares do aught save wrong, Fears nothing mortal, but to be unjust, Who is not blown up with the flattering puffs Of...
الصفحة 3 - Oh, Peace ! thou source and soul of social life, Beneath whose calm inspiring influence, Science his views enlarges, Art refines, And swelling Commerce opens all her ports, Blest be the man divine who gives us thee...

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