« ПретходнаНастави »
I set an' look into the blaze
Ez long 'z it lives, in shinin' ways,
Wut's words to them whose faith an' truth
On War's red techstone rang true metal,
Who ventered life an' love an' youth For the gret prize o' death in battle? To him who, deadly hurt, agen
Flashed on afore the charge's thunder, Tippin' with fire the bolt of men
Thet rived the Rebel line asunder?
"T ain't right to hev the young go fust, All throbbin' full o' gifts an' graces, Leavin' life's paupers dry ez dust
To try an make b'lieve fill their places:
Nothin' but tells us wut we miss,
Ther' 's gaps our lives can't never fay
An' thet world seems so fur from this
My eyes cloud up for rain; my mouth Will take to twitchin' roun' the corners;
I pity mothers, tu, down South,
Than at God's bar hol' up a han'
Ez drippin' red ez yourn, Jeff Davis !
Come, Peace! not like a mourner bowed
For honor lost an' dear ones wasted, But proud, to meet a people proud,
With eyes thet tell o' triumph tasted!
Longin' for you, our sperits wilt
Come, while our country feels the lift
Of a gret instinct shoutin' forwards, An' knows thet freedom ain't a gift
Thet tarries long in han's o' cowards! Come, sech ez mothers prayed for, when They kissed their cross with lips thet quivered,
An' bring fair wages for brave men,
MR. HOSEA BIGLOW'S SPEECH IN
TO THE EDITOR OF THE ATLANTIC
MY DEAR SIR,
JAALAM, April 5, 1866.
(an' noticin' by your kiver thet you 're some dearer than wut you wuz, I enclose the deffrence) I dunno ez I know jest how to interdroce this las' perduction of my mews, ez Parson Willber allus called 'em, which is goin' to be the last an' stay the last onless sunthin' pertikler sh'd interfear which I don't expec' ner I wun't yield tu