Cruisings, Afloat and Ashore |
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Author:
| Buntline, Ned |
ISBN: | 978-0-217-81619-9 |
Publication Date: | Aug 2009 |
Publisher: | General Books LLC
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Book Format: | Paperback |
List Price: | USD $19.99 |
Book Description:
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Purchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: A feather from the wing of Time. A note from the trumpet of Fame, with two endorsers. EPIGRAM. ON A REFORMED TOPER sUFFERING FROM THK GOOT. Corned was I in early days Because I loved the corn, Corned am I in latter days, Though much I hate the corn, Corn, alas has cornered me, And I am corned in misery....
More DescriptionPurchase of this book includes free trial access to www.million-books.com where you can read more than a million books for free. This is an OCR edition with typos. Excerpt from book: A feather from the wing of Time. A note from the trumpet of Fame, with two endorsers. EPIGRAM. ON A REFORMED TOPER sUFFERING FROM THK GOOT. Corned was I in early days Because I loved the corn, Corned am I in latter days, Though much I hate the corn, Corn, alas has cornered me, And I am corned in misery. TALES OF THE OLD SYCAMOEtU I Am a ragged, old time tree, And here I still am standing, where The first shouts of the dauntless free Burst on Columbia's trembling air, When Freedom's sons in wrath arose, A small, but yet a fearless band; And spoke defiance to the foes Who trampled down their native land And here, upon this sward, beneath My shade, hath stood that god like chief, Who wore in war the victor's wreath, That we might wear the olive leaf? The glorious Washington Star Of all the gone-befure, the light Which like a beacon from afar, Seamed brightest?truest in the night, A tree standing in Independence Square, Philadelphia?probably the oldest and largest of Its kind in that city. I am an ancient tree. Strange things, I've seen. Strange thoughts I've heard. Beneath The shadow of my spreading limbs, Young Lore hath twined his rosy wreath j And in the circle of my shade, Cold Death hath come, and softly laid His hand upon his own. The spade 'Mongat my old roots a grave hath made. The pistol of the mad suicide Beneath my breeze-swung limb; hath rung; And on those limln, my trunk beaide, A poor maniac girl once hnng. And at my foot hath robber stood, To wait gome luckless paeser-by, With gold enough to buy his blood, I've heard? deliver, or you die I've heard the wily villain swear Oaths of love used but to betray, I've seen the victim in despair Cast here her worthless life away. I'v...