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Halpine, Charles G. (Charles Graham), 1829-1868 [1866], Baked meats of the funeral: a collection of essays, poems, speeches, histories, and banquets. Collected, revised, and edited, with the requisite corrections of punctuation, spelling, and grammar, by an ex-colonel... (Carleton, New York) [word count] [eaf563T]. To look up a word in a dictionary, select the word with your mouse and press 'd' on your keyboard.
[In the August of 1863, Private Miles wanted a My dear Col. Kelton: but lately I dwelt on The pleasures of tripping through breakers and dipping, Some stately brunette, or gay blonde—better yet— In the surf and the surges from which she emerges Her bright eyes half blinded, Her cheeks salt and rosy, Her hair—never mind it— She's fresh as a Posie!
On your arm loosely swinging, her garments close clinging, The waves have betrayed her—each delicate rounding, She is just as God made her, with beauty abounding! No lace, no illusion, but charms in profusion; No hoops to enshroud her, no rouge or pearl powder; All milliner traces Of fashion have flown, And in all its true graces Her beauty is shown; A new Aphrodité She shines on the shore— O sea nymph! Nereidé! We bow and adore. Supreme of all pleasures, best wealth of all wealth, Unspeakable treasures of youth and of health! The blue, brawny billows—calm steady old fellows— The moment they find her awaiting their shock In their strong arms to wind her so eagerly flock That they break into clamors, And rise silver crested, And with all ocean's glamours Of splendor invested— They chase and pursue her, swirl round her and woo her, Bright wreaths o'er her twining in hoarse tones they praise her, And high in their shining white fore-arms upraise her. They raise her, aspiring To throne her on shore, Then, slowly retiring, Again with a roar, To her feet they surge onward, their crests sparkling sunward,
Swirl up to her knee, to her waist, to her shoulder— Alas! woe is me that my heart is not colder! That it is not so cold As to calmly behold These lords of the sea With her charms making free— Denied and for ever denied unto me! That my hands may not fold her dear tresses of gold To my heart, to my breast, there securely to rest, Her tenderness shielded, her passion confessed! 'Tis worth all our long marches, Hard fare and repining, Our trenching and mining, To see the bright arches Of silver spray shining, All round and above her, As if the rude waves Did humanly love her And were but her slaves! So get wounded, my boy, and a furlough obtain, Such moments of joy are worth treble the pain: Let a ball through you glance, keeping clear of the bones— Just enough for romance (with occasional moans), And you'll find it, I tell you, Of all that befell you The luckiest day you have met in your life, If you are, as you say, “now in search of a wife.”
Halpine, Charles G. (Charles Graham), 1829-1868 [1866], Baked meats of the funeral: a collection of essays, poems, speeches, histories, and banquets. Collected, revised, and edited, with the requisite corrections of punctuation, spelling, and grammar, by an ex-colonel... (Carleton, New York) [word count] [eaf563T]. |