The Poetical Works of James R. Lowell ...

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Ticknor and Fields, 1866

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第171页 - GUVENER B. is a sensible man; He stays to his home an' looks arter his folks; He draws his furrer ez straight ez he can, An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes; — But John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. My! aint it terrible? Wut shall we du? We can't never choose him, o...
第60页 - T is as if a rough oak that for ages had stood, With his gnarled bony branches like ribs of the wood, Should bloom, after cycles of struggle and scathe, With a single anemone trembly and rathe...
第150页 - Freedom's airy Tell they're pupple in the face, — It's a grand gret cemetary Per the barthrights of our race; They jest want this Californy So's to lug new slave-states in To abuse ye, an' to scorn ye, An
第104页 - There warn't no stoves (tell comfort died) To bake ye to a puddin'. The wa'nut logs shot sparkles out Towards the pootiest, bless her, An' leetle flames danced all about The chiny on the dresser.
第171页 - An' into nobody's tater-patch pokes : But John P. Robinson he Sez he wunt vote fer Guvener B. My ! ain't it terrible ? Wut shall we du ? We can't never choose him, o' course — thet 's flat ; Guess we shall hev to come round (don't you.
第44页 - C. labors to get at the centre, and then Take a reckoning from there of his actions and men ; E. calmly assumes the said centre as granted, And, given himself, has whatever is wanted.
第172页 - Polk, you know, he is our country. An' the angel thet writes all our sins in a book Puts the debit to him, an' to us the per contry; An' John P. Robinson he Sez this is his view o
第72页 - Why, there is not a bard at this moment alive More willing than he that his fellows should thrive; While you are abusing him thus, even now He would help either one of you out of a slough; You may say that...
第81页 - There's Holmes, who is matchless among you for wit ; A Leyden-jar always full-charged, from which flit The electrical tingles of hit after hit ; In long poems...
第105页 - He stood a spell on one foot fust, Then stood a spell on t'other, An' on which one he felt the wust He couldn't ha

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