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" Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling... "
Arliss's Literary collections - Страница 159
по John Arliss - 1825 - 358 страници
Пълен достъп - Информация за книгата

Annual Register, Том 59

Edmund Burke - 1819 - 822 страници
...the rampart we hurried, Not a soldier di>charged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero was buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our baxonets turning, By the struggling moon-beam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless...

Accepted Addresses; Or, Proemium Poetarum: To which are Added, Macbeth ...

1813 - 410 страници
...MOORE. CHARLES WOLFE. Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero was buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning,— By the struggling...

The American Monthly Magazine and Critical Review, Том 1

H. Biglow, Orville Luther Holley - 1817 - 502 страници
...in Spain, in 1808. Not a dram was heard, nor a funeral note, As his corse to the rampart we hurried, Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot. O'er the...buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with ourbayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless...

Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine, Том 1

1817 - 708 страници
...ofConmna, in 1808. NOT a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As his. corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we buried. * This little poem first appeared in some of the newspapers a few days ago. It is too beautiful not...

The American Monthly Magazine and Critical Review, Том 1

H. Biglow, Orville Luther Holley - 1817 - 492 страници
...to the rampart we hurried, Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot, O'er the grave, where ourhero we buried. We buried him darkly at dead of night. The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless...

The Edinburgh Monthly Magazine, Том 1

1817 - 694 страници
...Canmna, in 1808, NOT a drum was heard, nor a funeral note. As bis corse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero we burici. * This little poem first appeared in some of the newspapers a few days ago. It is toe* beautiful...

Spirit of the English Magazines, Том 2

1818 - 506 страници
...rampart we hurried : Not a toldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our hero wan fc./' M We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning, . By the struggling moonoeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning. No useless...

An excursion to Windsor, in July 1810. Also A sail down the river Medway ...

John Evans - 1817 - 610 страници
...never be YOORS! — Not a DRUM was heard, nor a funeral note, At his corse to the RAMPART we hurried, Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot O'er the grave where our HEBO was buried! We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sod with our bayonets turning, By the struggling...

Tickler, Or, Monthly Compendium of Good Things, in Prose and ..., Томове 1–3

1818 - 596 страници
...heard, not a funeral note, As his corps-? to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharg'd liis farewell shot, O'er the grave where our hero we buried. We buried him darkly, at dead of night, The sod with our bayonets turning, By tlie struggling moon-beams' misty light, And the lantern dimly burning....

The Kaleidoscope: or, Literary and scientific mirror, Том 5

1825 - 458 страници
...place here sf " Not a drum was heard, nor a funeral note, As hts eorse to the raoipart we hurried; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot ' O'er the grave where our hero we burial We buried him darkly at dead of night. The sods with our bayonets turning, — By the straggling...




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