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agin aint believe Biglow bore brain brought clear comes common critic don't door doubt ears fact father feel feller fire folks gave give grow half hand hard head hear heart hope human it's jest John keep kind Knott land leave less letters live look matter mean mind natural never night North on't once perhaps person poet poor present question reader round safe seemed side sometimes sort soul sound South spirits stand sure tell there's thet thet's thing thought took true truth turn verse whole wish wonder write young
Seite 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...
Seite 150 - 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
Seite 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.
Seite 171 - 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.
Seite 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.
Seite 172 - 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
Seite 72 - 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...
Seite 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...