The Poetical Works of James R. Lowell

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Página 104 - 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.
Página 171 - 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...
Página 152 - S jest to make him fill its pus. Want to tackle me in, du ye? I expect you'll hev to wait; Wen cold lead puts daylight thru ye You'll begin to kal'late; S'pose the crows wun't fall to pickin' All the carkiss from your bones, Coz you helped to give a lickin' To them poor half-Spanish drones? Jest go home an...
Página 184 - I cannot praise a fugitive and cloistered virtue, unexercised and unbreathed, that never sallies out and sees her adversary, but slinks out of the race, where that immortal garland is to be run for not without dust and heat.
Página 60 - 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 ; His strength is so tender, his...
Página 105 - An' yit she gin her cheer a jerk Ez though she wished him furder, An' on her apples kep' to work, Parin
Página 61 - I'd lay any bet that, without ever quitting Their box, they'd be all, to a man, for acquitting. He has drawn you one character, though, that is new, One wildflower he's plucked that is wet with the dew Of this fresh Western world...
Página 44 - 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.
Página 81 - 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...
Página 151 - Trainin' round in bobtail coats, — But it's curus Christian dooty This 'ere cuttin' folks's throats. They may talk o' Freedom's airy Tell they're pupple in the face,^ It's a grand gret cemetary Fer 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

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