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The Project Gutenberg EBook of Beechenbrook, by Margaret J. Preston This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: Beechenbrook A Rhyme of the War Author: Margaret J. Preston Release Date: August 8, 2005 [EBook #16480] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK BEECHENBROOK *** Produced by Mark C. Orton, Ted Garvin and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net BEECHENBROOK; A Rhyme of the War. * * * * * BY MARGARET J. PRESTON. * * * * * BALTIMORE: KELLY & PIET, PUBLISHERS, 174 BALTIMORE STREET, 1866. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1866, by KELLY & PIET, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Maryland. Dedication. TO EVERY SOUTHERN WOMAN, WHO HAS BEEN Widowed by the War, I DEDICATE THIS RHYME, PUBLISHED DURING THE PROGRESS OF THE STRUGGLE AND NOW RE-PRODUCED--AS A Faint Memorial of Sufferings, OF WHICH THERE CAN BE NO FORGETFULNESS. M.J.P. * * * * * BEECHENBROOK; A RHYME OF THE WAR. * * * * * I. There is sorrow in Beechenbrook Cottage; the day Has been bright with the earliest glory of May; The blue of the sky is as tender a blue As ever the sunshine came shimmering through: The songs of the birds and the hum of the bees, As they merrily dart in and out of the trees,-- The blooms of the orchard, as sifting its snows, It mingles its odors with hawthorn and rose,-- The voice of the brook, as it lapses unseen,-- The laughter of children at play on the green,-- Insist on a picture so cheerful, so fair, Who ever would dream that a grief could be there! The last yellow sunbeam slides down from the wall, The purple of evening is ready to fall; The gladness of daylight is gone, and the gloom Of something like sadness is over the room. Right bravely all day, with a smile on her brow, Has Alice been true to her duty,--but now Her tasks are all ended,--naught inside or out, For the thoughtfullest love to be bus
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