The Writings of James Russell Lowell: Poems

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Houghton, Mifflin and Company, 1890
 

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Página 66 - 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 ! ain't it terrible ? Wut shall we du ? We can't never choose him o...
Página 67 - 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
Página 99 - An' gives a good-sized junk to all, I don't care how hard money is, Ez long ez mine's paid punctooal. I du believe with all my soul In the gret Press's freedom, To pint the people to the goal An' in the traces lead 'em; Palsied the arm thet forges yokes At my fat contracts squintin'.
Página 76 - 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 270 - It is a shameful and unblessed thing to take the scum of people, and wicked condemned men, to be the people with whom you plant; and not only so, but it spoileth the plantation; for they will ever live like rogues, and not fall to work, but be lazy, and do mischief, and spend victuals, and be quickly weary, and then certify over to their country to the discredit of the plantation.
Página 49 - In her grand old eagle-nest; She thet ough' to stand so fearless Wile the wracks are round her hurled, Holdin' up a beacon peerless To the oppressed of all the world!
Página 261 - Brown foundlin' o' the woods, whose baby-bed Was prowled roun' by the Injun's cracklin' tread, An' who grew'st strong thru shifts an
Página 108 - Ez fer the war, I go agin it— I mean to say I kind o' du— Thet is, I mean thet, bein' in it, The best way wuz to fight it thru; Not but wut abstract war is horrid, I sign to thet with all my heart— But civlyzation doos git forrid Sometimes upon a powder-cart. About thet darned Proviso matter I never hed a grain o' doubt, Nor I aint one my sense to scatter So 's no one could n't pick it out; My love fer North an...
Página 11 - I'd better call agin," Says she, "Think likely, Mister;" Thet last word pricked him like a pin, An' — wal, he up an' kist her. When Ma bimeby upon 'em slips, Huldy sot pale ez ashes, All kin' o' smily roun' the lips An' teary roun
Página 269 - Judge not the preacher; for he is thy judge. If thou mislike him, thou conceiv'st him not. God calleth preaching, folly. Do not grudge To pick out treasures from an earthen pot. The worst speak something good. If all want sense, God takes a text, and preacheth patience.

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