Enlisted Today
I know the sun shines, and the lilacs are blowing,
And the summer sends kisses by beautiful May -
Oh! to see all the treasures the spring is bestowing,
And think my boy Willie enlisted today.
It seems but a day since at twilight, low humming,
I rocked him to sleep with his cheek upon mine,
While Robby, the four-year old, watched for the coming
Of father, adown the street's indistinct line.
It is many a year since my Harry departed,
To come back no more in the twilight or dawn:
And Robby grew weary of watching, and started
Alone on the journey his father had gone.
It is many a year - and this afternoon sitting
At Robby's old window, I heard the band play,
And suddenly ceased dreaming over my knitting,
To recollect Willie is twenty today.
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Chase
Quick, fly to the covert, thou hunted of men!
For the bloodhounds are baying o'er mountain and glen;
The riders are mounted, the loose rein is given,
And curses of wrath are ascending to heaven.
O, speed to thy footsteps! for ruin and death,
Like the hurricane's rage, gather thick round thy path;
And the deep muttered curses grow loud and more loud,
As horse after horse swells the thundering crowd.
Speed, speed, to thy footsteps! thy track has been found;
Now,
sport
for the
rider
, and
blood
for the
hound!
Through brake and through forest the man-prey is driven;
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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Christmas 1864
Christmas time has come again,
But ah! where are the merry chimes
Which on the air their glad refrain
Rang forth in other happier times?
Where now the gladsome youthful throng,
Who 'Merry Christmas' used to greet,
With merry laugh and joyous song,
In every house, in every street?
Where now that soul-inspiring sight
When 'Santa Claus' disclosed his treasure,
Of youthful faces beaming bright
With thankful love, delight and pleasure?
Where now the merry ringing laugh,
As friend meets friend on Christmas morning,
The friendly 'Christmas nog' to quaff,
All thoughts of gloom or care ignoring?
The bells hang silent in their towers,
Our country mourns her valiant dead;
E'en happy Childhood, trembling cowers,
Responsive to a nameless dread!
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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I'm Growing Old
I’M growing old — ‘t is surely so;
And yet how short it seems
Since I was but a sportive child,
Enjoying childish dreams!
I cannot see the change that comes
With such an even pace;
I mark not when the wrinkles fall
Upon my fading face.
I know I’m old; and yet my heart
Is just as young and gay
As e’er it was before my locks
Of bright brown turned to gray.
I know these eyes to other eyes
Look not so bright and glad
As once they looked; and yet ‘tis nor
Because my heart’s more sad.
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Ghost of Goshen
Through Goshen Hollow, where hemlocks grow,
Where rushing rills, with flash and flow,
Are over the rough rocks falling;
Where fox, where bear, and catamount hide,
In holes and dens In the mountain side,
A Circuit-preacher once used to ride,
And his name was Rufus Rawling.
He was set in his ways and what was strange,
If you argued with him he would not change,
One could get nothing through him.
Solemn and slow In style was he,
Slender and slim as a tamarack tree,
And always ready to disagree
With every one that knew him.
One night he saddled his sorrel mare,
And started over to Ripton, where
He had promised to do some preaching.
Away he cantered over the hill,
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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Hind Horn
In Scotland there was a babie born,
Lill lal, etc.
And his name it was called young Hind Horn.
With a fal lal, etc.
He sent a letter to our king
That he was in love with his daughter Jean.
He's gien to her a silver wand,
With seven living lavrocks sitting thereon.
She's gien to him a diamond ring,
With seven bright diamonds set therein.
"When this ring grows pale and wan,
You may know by it my love is gane."
One day as he looked his ring upon,
He saw the diamonds pale and wan.
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Song Of The Negro Boatmen
O, praise an' tanks! De Lord he come
To set de people free;
An' massa tink it day ob doom,
An' we ob jubilee.
De Lord dat heap de Red Sea waves
He jus' as 'trong as den;
He say de word: we las' night slaves;
To-day, de Lord's freemen.
De yam will grow, de cotton blow,
We'll hab de rice an' corn:
O nebber you fear, if nebber you hear
De driver blow his horn!
Ole massa on he trabbels gone;
He leaf de land behind;
De Lord's breff blow him furder on,
Like corn-shuck in de wind.
We own de hoe, we own de plough,
We own de hands dat hold;
We sell de pig, we sell de cow,
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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Hell in Texas
The devil, we're told, in hell was chained,
and a thousand years he there remained,
and he never complained, nor did he groan,
but determined to start a hell of his own
where he could torment the souls of men
without being chained to a prison pen.
So he asked the lord if he had on hand
anything left when he made the land.
The lord said, 'yes, i had plenty on hand,
but i left it down on the Rio Grande.
The fact is, old boy, the stuff is so poor,
i don't think you can use it in hell anymore.'
But the devil went down to look at the truck,
and said if it came as a gift, he was stuck;
for after examining it careful and well
he concluded the place was too dry for hell.
So in order to get it off his hands
god promised the devil to water the lands.
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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Mademoiselle From Armentières
Mademoiselle from Armentières, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentières, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentières,
She hasn't been kissed in forty years,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.
Mademoiselle from Armentières, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentières, Parley-voo?
She had the form like the back of a hack,
When she cried the tears ran down her back,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.
Mademoiselle from Armentières, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentières, Parley-voo?
She never could hold the love of man
'Cause she took her baths in a talcum can,
Hinky, dinky, parley-voo.
Mademoiselle from Armentières, Parley-voo?
Mademoiselle from Armentières, Parley-voo?
She had four chins, her knees would knock,
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Laily Worm and the Mackerel of the Sea
"I was bat seven year alld
Fan my mider she did dee,
My father marr{.e}d the ae warst woman
The wardle did ever see.
"For she has made me the lailly worm
That lays att the fitt of the tree,
An o my sister Meassry
The machrel of the sea.
"An every Saterday att noon
The machrl comes to me,
An she takes my layl{.e} head,
An lays it on her knee,
An keames it we a silver kemm,
An washes it in the sea.
"Seven knights ha I slain
Sane I lay att the fitt of the tree;
An ye war na my ain father,
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poem by Anonymous Americas
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