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Or up the siippery knob I strain Nothin' but tells us wut we miss,
An' see a hundred hills like islan's | Ther''s gaps our lives can't never fay Lift their blue woods in broken chain
in, Out o' the sea o snowy silence; An' thet world seems so fur from this The farm-smokes, sweetes' sight on Lef' for us loafers to grow gray in!
airth, Slow thru the winter air a-shrinkin' My eyes cloud up for rain; my mouth Seem kin' o'sad, an' roun' the hearth Will take to twitchin' roun' the corOf empty places set me thinkin'.
I pity mothers, tu, down South, Beaver roars hoarse with meltin' snows, For all they sot among the scorners : An' rattles di'mon's from his granite;
I'd sooner take my chance to stan' Time wuz, he snatched away my prose,
At Jedgment where your meanest An' into psalms or satires ran it;
slave is, But he, nor all the rest thet once
Than at God's bar hol' up a han' Started my blood to country-dances, Ez drippin' red ez yourn, Jeff Davis ! Can't set me goin' more 'n a dunce Thet hain't no use for dreams an' Come, Peace! not like a mourner bowed fancies.
For honor lost an' dear ones wasted,
But proud, to meet a people proud, Rat-tat-tat-tattle thru the street
With eyes thet tell o' triumph tasted ! I hear the drummers makin' riot, Come, with han' grippin' on the hilt, An' I set thinkin' o' the feet
An' step thet proves ye Victory's Thet follered once an' now are quiet,- daughter ! White feet ez snowdrops innercent, Longin' for you, our sperits wilt
Thet never knowed the paths o' Satan, Like shipwrecked men's on raf's for Whose comin' step ther's ears thet water.
won't, No, not lifelong, leave off awaitin'. Come, while our country feels the lift
Of a gret instinct shoutin' forwards, Why, hain't I held 'em on my knee?
An' knows thet freedom ain't a gift Did n't I love to see 'em growin',
Thet tarries long in han's o' cowards ! Three likely lads ez wal could be,
Come, sech ez mothers prayed for, when Hahnsome an' brave an' not tu They kissed their cross with lips thet knowin'?
quivered, I set an' look into the blaze.
An' bring fair wages for brave men, Whose natur', jes' like theirn, keeps A nation saved, a race delivered !
climbin', Ez long 'z it lives, in shinin' ways, An' half despise myself for rhymin'.
No. XI. Wut's words to them whose faith an' truth
MR. HOSEA BIGLOW'S SPEECH IN On War's red techstone rang true
MARCH MEETING. metal, Who ventered life an’ love an' youth
TO THE EDITOR OF THE ATLANTIC For the gret prize a' death in battle?
MONTHLY. To him who, deadly hurt, agen
JAALAM, April 5, 1866. Flashed on afore the charge's thunder, MY DEA Tippin' with fire the bolt of inen Thet rived the Rebel line asunder?
(an' noticin' by your kiver thet you 're
some dearer than wut you wuz, I enclose T ain't right to hev the young go fust,
the deffrence) I dunno ez I know jest how
to interdroce this las' perduction of my All throbbin' full o'gifts an' graces,
mews, ez Parson Willber allus called 'em, Leavin' life's paupers dry ez dust which is goin' to be the last an' stay the To try an' make b'lieve fill their last onless sunthin' pertikler sh'd interfear places :
| which I don't expec ner I wun't yield tu