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Page 220 - A wicked whisper came, and made My heart as dry as dust. I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet.
Page 128 - Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door — "'Tis some visitor, "I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this and nothing more.
Page 133 - Hear the tolling of the bells, Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone ! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan.
Page 133 - Oh, from out the sounding cells What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! How it dwells On the Future ! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells!
Page 225 - Fair as a garden of the Lord To the eyes of the famished rebel horde. On that pleasant morn of the early fall When Lee marched over the mountain wall, Over the mountains, winding down, Horse and foot into Frederick town, Forty flags with their silver stars, Forty flags with their crimson bars, Flapped in the morning wind ; the sun Of noon looked down, and saw not one.
Page 384 - There will I ask of Christ the Lord Thus much for him and me: — Only to live as once on earth With Love, — only to be, As then awhile, for ever now Together, I and he." She gazed and listened and then said, Less sad of speech than mild, — "All this is when he comes.
Page 31 - Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die. Into the valley of Death Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them Volley'd and thunder'd.
Page 225 - 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?
Page 133 - Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor, Now — now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon.