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Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore) 2 0 Browse Search
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 3 2 0 Browse Search
John Dimitry , A. M., Confederate Military History, a library of Confederate States Military History: Volume 10.1, Louisiana (ed. Clement Anselm Evans) 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, The new world and the new book 2 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 30. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 2 0 Browse Search
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 32. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones) 2 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 2 0 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 7. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 2 0 Browse Search
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 1 1 Browse Search
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Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 3. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 115 (search)
d ne'er by trunnion stand! He had, perchance, but little grace Of learning, or of mien; His conscience and his gun, he thought His duty lay between. And with his utmost skill he strove Alike to keep them clean. He fought as fight Columbia's tars, Her ensign overhead; Her clear eye o'er his smoking gun A cheery radiance shed. A shell crashed through the port; oh God! His limb hung by a shred. I tell you, had the Jarls of old Beheld the hero then, Their beards had gleamed with tears of pride-- Those iron-hearted men! And all Valhalla's warrior halls Had rung with shouts again. He crawled the bulwark near; his eye With coming death was dim; He drew his clasp-knife forth, as death No terrors had for him, And strove, with firm, though feeble hand, To sever his torn limb! He strive in vain! They bore him thence Still yearning to abide The combat's issue, at his post. “Messmates,” he feebly cried, “We'll beat them! aye, we'll surely beat, I trust,” and so he died. --Phila. Press,
Edward L. Pierce, Memoir and letters of Charles Sumner: volume 3, Chapter 30: addresses before colleges and lyceums.—active interest in reforms.—friendships.—personal life.—1845-1850. (search)
be cherished, not those who from accident of birth, or by selfish struggle, have succeeded in winning the attention of mankind; not those who have commanded armies in barbarous war; not those who have exercised power or swayed empire; not those who have made the world tributary to their luxury and wealth; not those who have cultivated knowledge, regardless of their fellowmen. Not present fame, nor war nor power nor wealth nor knowledge, alone, can secure an entrance to this true and noble Valhalla. Here will be gathered those only who have toiled, each in his vocation, for the welfare of the race. Mankind will remember those only who have remembered mankind. Here, with the apostles, the prophets, and the martyrs, shall be joined the glorious company of the world's benefactors,—the goodly fellowship of truth and duty,—the noble army of statesmen, orators, poets, preachers, scholars, men in all walks of life, who have striven for the happiness of others. If the soldier finds a plac
John Dimitry , A. M., Confederate Military History, a library of Confederate States Military History: Volume 10.1, Louisiana (ed. Clement Anselm Evans), Chapter 25: (search)
and the memorable artillery duel of the 3d. They were warmly commended by Colonel Alexander. Only as Confederates is it permitted to us, in this work, to express an interest in Pickett's mighty charge. As Louisianians, it is made our duty to report a gallant charge up the same Cemetery hill by a Louisiana brigade commanded by a brigadier from Louisiana. We need not repeat the glorious story of July 3d. It is one of those tales of heroes which, as the Skalds tell us were rehearsed in Valhalla, will grow in acute interest as the years recede from the field and from what has made it memorable. This may be said for conclusion. If Pickett's famous division of Virginians made a heroic attempt to storm Cemetery hill on July 3d, so had Hays, with a brigade of Louisianians, made the same difficult journey on July 2d. If Pickett's charge with Virginians be immortal, who may doubt that the amaranth will equally crown Hays' charge with Louisianians? Between a brigade and a division
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, The new world and the new book, XVIII (search)
it by any other test succeed much better. The balloting in various newspapers for the best hundred authors or the forty immortals has always turned out to be limited by the constituency of the particular publication which attempted the experiment; or sometimes even by the action of jocose cliques, combining to force up the vote of pet candidates. As regards American authors, the great Library of American Literature of Stedman and Hutchinson aims to furnish a sort of Westminster Abbey or Valhalla, where the relative value of different writers may be roughly gauged by the number of pages assigned to each candidate for fame. But this again is determined by the taste of the compilers, and their judgment, however catholic, is not infallible. Still another test, and one coming nearer to a general popular consensus may be sought in the excellent catalogues which are now prepared for our public libraries—catalogues in which the list of each author's works is supplemented by appending the
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 30. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), chapter 1.35 (search)
the traces to free the dead animal he mounted another, and it, too, was shot down immediately. He escaped with the gun only after a third horse had been shot down and cut from the traces. At Sharpsburg he commanded nearly all the artillery on the Confederate left, and rent the blue lines with shot and shell. But it was at Fredericksburg that the zenith of John Pelham's renown was reached. The martial king of the proudest nation in all the tides of time might well envy—if the shades in Valhalla are given that privilege—the story that crowned the boy artillerist in that stupendous fight and dreadful revelry of death. All was quiet in the Confederate army at Fredericksburg on the morning of the thirteenth of December, 1862. The flower of the South's young manhood was there on the heights in double lines behind bristling bayonets and grimmer guns. Every soldier knew there was to be a fearful fight before the sun sank behind the western wood. The Federal army had crossed the Rappa
Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 32. (ed. Reverend J. William Jones), chapter 1.39 (search)
and of language, made him a most charming authority upon all such subjects. Colonel Carrington was very handsome and commanding in appearance, and his conduct and bearing impressed all who came in contact with him that he was every inch the soldier. He exercised a superb control over his men, who were greatly devoted to him, not so much through stern military discipline as through the confidence and love inspired by just actions and brave deeds. He died on the 22d day of January, 1885. His body rests in Richmond, near the honored dead of his family—his spirit survives in the vale of Valhalla, the home of redeemed heroes. At Charlotte Courthouse a camp of Confederate veterans was formed some years ago, and called H. A. Carrington Camp, C. V., in honor of Colonel Carrington, and a monument erected there since will aid to keep in grateful remembrance the life, service and character of a noble patriot, who was in every relation of life true to his family, his country and his God
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Narrative and legendary poems (search)
ws its summons well; Iona's sable-stoled Culdee Has heard it sounding o'er the sea, And swept, with hoary beard and hair, His altar's foot in trembling prayer! Tis past,—the 'wildering vision dies In darkness on my dreaming eyes I The forest vanishes in air, Hill-slope and vale lie starkly bare; I hear the common tread of men, And hum of work-day life again; The mystic relic seems alone A broken mass of common stone; And if it be the chiselled limb Of Berserker or idol grim, A fragment of Valhalla's Thor, The stormy Viking's god of War, Or Praga of the Runic lay, Or love-awakening Siona, I know not,—for no graven line, Nor Druid mark, nor Runic sign, Is left me here, by which to trace Its name, or origin, or place. Yet, for this vision of the Past, This glance upon its darkness cast, My spirit bows in gratitude Before the Giver of all good, Who fashioned so the human mind, That, from the waste of Time behind, A simple stone, or mound of earth, Can summon the departed forth; Quicken t
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 7. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Criticism (search)
uit by which He conveys it to the sons of men are virtuous and generous practices. The author presents the beautiful examples of St. Pierre, Milton, Howard, and Clarkson,—men whose fame rests on the firm foundation of goodness,—for the study and imitation of the young candidate for that true glory which belongs to those who live, not for themselves, but for their race. Neither present fame, nor war, nor power, nor wealth, nor knowledge alone shall secure an entrance to the true and noble Valhalla. There shall be gathered only those who have toiled each in his vocation for the welfare of others. Justice and benevolence are higher than knowledge and power It is by His goodness that God is most truly known; so also is the great man. When Moses said to the Lord, Show me Thy glory, the Lord said, I will make all my goodness pass before thee. We copy the closing paragraph of the Address, the inspiring sentiment of which will find a response in all generous and hopeful hearts:— Let<
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Chapter 22: Westminster Abbey (search)
hat some day or other the Abbey of Westminster would become the Valhalla of the whole Englishspeak-ing race. I little expected then that a beginning would be made so soon,—a beginning at once painful and gratifying in the highest degree to myself,—with the bust of my friend. Though there be no Academy in England which corresponds to that of France, yet admission to Westminster Abbey forms a sort of posthumous test of literary eminence perhaps as effectual. Every one of us has his own private Valhalla, and it is not apt to be populous. But the conditions of admission to the Abbey are very different. We ought no longer to ask why is so-and-so here, and we ought always to be able to answer the question why such a one is not here. I think that on this occasion I should express the united feeling of the whole English-speaking race in confirming the choice which has been made,—the choice of one whose name is dear to them all, who has inspired their lives and consoled their hearts, and <