Poetry of the Pacific; selections and original poems from the poets of the Pacific states
May Wentworth
Paperback
(RareBooksClub.com, May 14, 2012)
This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1867 Excerpt: ...hopes and fears, But her's the love and loyalty That dared to suffer and to die. "Our soldiers are in need of bread; I'll stay and bake it here," she said. Many a hungry friend and foe Stifled his pangs and bade her go. Thousands, to see the maid secure, Had abjured food for evermore. Heedless of every warning breath, Heedless of danger and of death, Staunch in duty, the brave heart stood, Till the foem'an's lire shed its blood. Where Gettysburg's heroes have been laid, Brave as the bravest, sleeps Jenny Wade. The years shall come in endless pursuit, With returning verdure, bloom and fruit; And the birds, as the seasons rise and decline, Make their pilgrimages from the Palm to the Pine; But the foe who came when the summer's store Was rich in the fields, shall come no more. And a Nation shall sing: O, not in vain, Were they who sleep at Gettysburg slain! They were the steadfast breasts that withstood The shock of the fierce, invading flood; They were the the heroes true and great, Who dashed back the waves from the ship of State. And she, embalmed in her country's tears, She of the maiden bloom and years, Though her gentle hand could wield no sword To repel the march of the rebel horde, In purpose as firm, in duty as brave, Was great as the greatest who died to save. For a maiden's love and a maiden's prayer, Give strength to the hero's arm in war; And the will of a maid who dares to bleed, Is good and great as the warrior's deed. Freedom shall mourn where her dead are laid, No champion truer than Jenny Wade. PICTURES IN SILVER-LAND. BY E. P. HINGSTON. Come to me, from shores Atlantic, letter in a loved one's hand, Saying, "Paint me in your word-lore, pictures of the Silver-land, Paint me Washoe, as you see it, tinting with a truthful touch; ...