Best Famous Heroine Poems

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12
Written by Robert Frost | Create an image from this poem

Pauls Wife

 To drive Paul out of any lumber camp
All that was needed was to say to him,
"How is the wife, Paul?"--and he'd disappear.
Some said it was because be bad no wife, And hated to be twitted on the subject; Others because he'd come within a day Or so of having one, and then been Jilted; Others because he'd had one once, a good one, Who'd run away with someone else and left him; And others still because he had one now He only had to be reminded of-- He was all duty to her in a minute: He had to run right off to look her up, As if to say, "That's so, how is my wife? I hope she isn't getting into mischief.
" No one was anxious to get rid of Paul.
He'd been the hero of the mountain camps Ever since, just to show them, he bad slipped The bark of a whole tamarack off whole As clean as boys do off a willow twig To make a willow whistle on a Sunday April by subsiding meadow brooks.
They seemed to ask him just to see him go, "How is the wife, Paul?" and he always went.
He never stopped to murder anyone Who asked the question.
He just disappeared-- Nobody knew in what direction, Although it wasn't usually long Before they beard of him in some new camp, The same Paul at the same old feats of logging.
The question everywhere was why should Paul Object to being asked a civil question-- A man you could say almost anything to Short of a fighting word.
You have the answers.
And there was one more not so fair to Paul: That Paul had married a wife not his equal.
Paul was ashamed of her.
To match a hero She would have had to be a heroine; Instead of which she was some half-breed squaw.
But if the story Murphy told was true, She wasn't anything to be ashamed of.
You know Paul could do wonders.
Everyone's Heard how he thrashed the horses on a load That wouldn't budge, until they simply stretched Their rawhide harness from the load to camp.
Paul told the boss the load would be all right, "The sun will bring your load in"--and it did-- By shrinking the rawhide to natural length.
That's what is called a stretcher.
But I guess The one about his jumping so's to land With both his feet at once against the ceiling, And then land safely right side up again, Back on the floor, is fact or pretty near fact.
Well, this is such a yarn.
Paul sawed his wife Out of a white-pine log.
Murphy was there And, as you might say, saw the lady born.
Paul worked at anything in lumbering.
He'd been bard at it taking boards away For--I forget--the last ambitious sawyer To want to find out if he couldn't pile The lumber on Paul till Paul begged for mercy.
They'd sliced the first slab off a big butt log, And the sawyer had slammed the carriage back To slam end-on again against the saw teeth.
To judge them by the way they caught themselves When they saw what had happened to the log, They must have had a guilty expectation Something was going to go with their slambanging.
Something bad left a broad black streak of grease On the new wood the whole length of the log Except, perhaps, a foot at either end.
But when Paul put his finger in the grease, It wasn't grease at all, but a long slot.
The log was hollow.
They were sawing pine.
"First time I ever saw a hollow pine.
That comes of having Paul around the place.
Take it to bell for me," the sawyer said.
Everyone had to have a look at it And tell Paul what he ought to do about it.
(They treated it as his.
) "You take a jackknife, And spread the opening, and you've got a dugout All dug to go a-fishing in.
" To Paul The hollow looked too sound and clean and empty Ever to have housed birds or beasts or bees.
There was no entrance for them to get in by.
It looked to him like some new kind of hollow He thought he'd better take his jackknife to.
So after work that evening be came back And let enough light into it by cutting To see if it was empty.
He made out in there A slender length of pith, or was it pith? It might have been the skin a snake had cast And left stood up on end inside the tree The hundred years the tree must have been growing.
More cutting and he bad this in both hands, And looking from it to the pond nearby, Paul wondered how it would respond to water.
Not a breeze stirred, but just the breath of air He made in walking slowly to the beach Blew it once off his hands and almost broke it.
He laid it at the edge, where it could drink.
At the first drink it rustled and grew limp.
At the next drink it grew invisible.
Paul dragged the shallows for it with his fingers, And thought it must have melted.
It was gone.
And then beyond the open water, dim with midges, Where the log drive lay pressed against the boom, It slowly rose a person, rose a girl, Her wet hair heavy on her like a helmet, Who, leaning on a log, looked back at Paul.
And that made Paul in turn look back To see if it was anyone behind him That she was looking at instead of him.
(Murphy had been there watching all the time, But from a shed where neither of them could see him.
) There was a moment of suspense in birth When the girl seemed too waterlogged to live, Before she caught her first breath with a gasp And laughed.
Then she climbed slowly to her feet, And walked off, talking to herself or Paul, Across the logs like backs of alligators, Paul taking after her around the pond.
Next evening Murphy and some other fellows Got drunk, and tracked the pair up Catamount, From the bare top of which there is a view TO other hills across a kettle valley.
And there, well after dark, let Murphy tell it, They saw Paul and his creature keeping house.
It was the only glimpse that anyone Has had of Paul and her since Murphy saw them Falling in love across the twilight millpond.
More than a mile across the wilderness They sat together halfway up a cliff In a small niche let into it, the girl Brightly, as if a star played on the place, Paul darkly, like her shadow.
All the light Was from the girl herself, though, not from a star, As was apparent from what happened next.
All those great ruffians put their throats together, And let out a loud yell, and threw a bottle, As a brute tribute of respect to beauty.
Of course the bottle fell short by a mile, But the shout reached the girl and put her light out.
She went out like a firefly, and that was all.
So there were witnesses that Paul was married And not to anyone to be ashamed of Everyone had been wrong in judging Paul.
Murphy told me Paul put on all those airs About his wife to keep her to himself.
Paul was what's called a terrible possessor.
Owning a wife with him meant owning her.
She wasn't anybody else's business, Either to praise her or much as name her, And he'd thank people not to think of her.
Murphy's idea was that a man like Paul Wouldn't be spoken to about a wife In any way the world knew how to speak.
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

Courage

 Ten little brown chicks scattered and scuffled,
Under the blue-berries hiding in fear;
Mother-grouse cackling, feathers all ruffled,
Dashed to defend them as we drew near.
Heart of a heroine, how I admired her! Of such devotion great poets have sung; Homes have been blest by the love that inspired her, Risking her life for the sake of her young.
Ten little chicks on her valour reliant, Peered with bright eyes from the bilberry spray; Fiercely she faced us, dismayed but defiant, Rushed at us bravely to scare us away.
Then my companion, a crazy young devil (After, he told me he'd done it for fun) Pretended to tremble, and raised his arm level, And ere I could check him he blazed with his gun.
Headless she lay, from her neck the blood spouted, And dappled her plumage, the poor, pretty thing! Ten little chicks - oh, I know for I counted, Came out and they tried to creep under her wing.
Sickened I said: "Here's an end to my killing; I swear, nevermore bird or beast will I slay; Starving I may be, but no more blood-spilling .
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" That oath I have kept, and I keep it to-day.
Written by Ellis Parker Butler | Create an image from this poem

Why Washington Retreated

 1775

Said Congress to George Washington:
 “To set this country free,
You’ll have to whip the Britishers
 And chase them o’er the sea.
” “Oh, very well,” said Washington, “I’ll do the best I can.
I’ll slam and bang those Britishers And whip them to a man.
” 1777 Said Congress to George Washington: “The people all complain; Why don’t you fight? You but retreat And then retreat again.
” “That can’t be helped,” said Washington, “As you will quite agree When you see how the novelists Have mixed up things for me.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “Pray make your meaning clear.
” Said Washington: “Why, certainly— But pray excuse this tear.
Of course we know,” said Washington, “The object of this war— It is to furnish novelists With patriotic lore.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “Yes! yes! but pray proceed.
” Said Washington: “My part in it Is difficult indeed, For every hero in the books Must sometime meet with me, And every sweet-faced heroine I must kiss gallantly.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “But why must you retreat?” Said Washington: “One moment, please, My story to complete.
These hero-folk are scattered through The whole United States; At every little country town A man or maiden waits.
” To Congress said George Washington: “At Harlem I must be On such a day to chat with one, And then I’ll have to flee With haste to Jersey, there to meet Another.
Here’s a list Of sixty-seven heroes, and There may be some I’ve missed.
” To Congress said George Washington: “Since I must meet them all (And if I don’t you know how flat The novels all will fall), I cannot take much time to fight, I must be on the run, Or some historic novelist Will surely be undone.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “You are a noble man.
Your thoughtfulness is notable, And we approve your plan; A battle won pads very well A novel that is thin, But it is better to retreat Than miss one man and win.
” Said Congress to George Washington: “Kiss every pretty maid, But do it in a courtly way And in a manner staid— And some day when your sword is sheathed And all our banners furled, A crop of novels will spring up That shall appal the world.
Written by Robert William Service | Create an image from this poem

The Ballad Of The Leather Medal

 Only a Leather Medal, hanging there on the wall,
Dingy and frayed and faded, dusty and worn and old;
Yet of my humble treasures I value it most of all,
And I wouldn't part with that medal if you gave me its weight in gold.
Read the inscription: For Valour - presented to Millie MacGee.
Ah! how in mem'ry it takes me back to the "auld lang syne," When Millie and I were sweethearts, and fair as a flower was she - Yet little I dreamt that her bosom held the heart of heroine.
Listen! I'll tell you about it.
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An orphan was Millie MacGee, Living with Billie her brother, under the Yukon sky, Sam, her pa, was cremated in the winter of nineteen-three, As duly and truly related by the pen of an author guy.
A cute little kid was Billie, solemn and silken of hair, The image of Jackie Coogan in the days before movies could speak.
Devoted to him was Millie, with more than a mother's care, And happy were they together in their cabin on Bunker Creek.
'Twas only a mining village, where hearts are simple and true, And Millie MacGee was schoolma'am, loved and admired by all; Yet no one dreamed for a moment she'd do what she dared to do - But wait and I'll try to tell you, as clear as I can recall.
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Christmas Eve in the school-house! A scene of glitter and glee; The children eager and joyful; parents and neighbours too; Right in the forefront, Millie, close to the Christmas Tree.
While Billie, her brother, recited "The Shooting of Dan McGrew.
" I reckon you've heard the opus, a ballad of guts and gore; Of a Yukon frail and a frozen trail and a fight in a dringing dive, It's on a par, I figger, with "The Face on the Bar-Room Floor," And the boys who wrote them pieces ought to be skinned alive.
Picture that scene of gladness; the honest faces aglow; The kiddies gaping and spellbound, as Billie strutted his stuff.
The stage with its starry candles, and there in the foremost row, Millie, bright as a fairy, in radient flounce and fluff.
More like an angel I thought her; all she needed was wings, And I sought for a smile seraphic, but her eyes were only for Bill; So there was I longing and loving, and dreaming the craziest things, And Billie shouting and spouting, and everyone rapt and still.
Proud as a prince was Billie, bang in the footlights' glare, And quaking for him was Millie, as she followed every word; Then just as he reached the climax, ranting and sawing the air - Ugh! How it makes me shudder! The horrible thing occurred.
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'Twas the day when frocks were frilly, and skirts were scraping the ground, And the snowy flounces of Millie like sea foam round her swept; Humbly adoring I watched her - when oh, my heart gave a bound! Hoary and scarred and hideous, out from the tree.
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crept.
A whiskered, beady-eyes monster, grisly and grim of hue; Savage and slinking and silent, born of the dark and dirt; Dazed by the glare and the glitter, it wavered a moment or two - Then like a sinister shadow, it vanished.
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'neath Millie's skirt.
I stared.
had my eyes deceived me? I shivered.
I held my breath.
Surly I must have dreamed it.
I quivered.
I made to rise.
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Then - my God! it was real.
Millie grew pale as death; And oh, such a look of terror woke in her lovely eyes.
Did her scream ring out? Ah no, sir.
It froze at her very lips.
Clenching her teeth she checked it, and I saw her slim hands lock, Grasping and gripping tensely, with desperate finger tips, Something that writhed and wriggled under her dainty frock.
Quick I'd have dashed to her rescue, but fiercely she signalled: "No!" Her eyes were dark with anguish, but her lips were set and grim; Then I knew she was thinking of Billie - the kiddy must have his show, Reap to the full his glory, nothing mattered but him.
So spiked to my chair with horror, there I shuddered and saw Her fingrs frenziedly clutching and squeezing with all their might Something that squirmed and struggled, a deamon of tooth and claw, Fighting with fear and fury, under her garment white.
Oh could I only aid her! But the wide room lay between, And again her eyes besought me: "Steady!" they seamed to say.
"Stay where you are, Bob Simmons; don't let us have a scene, Billie will soon be finished.
Only a moment.
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stay!" A moment! Ah yes, I got her.
I knew how night after night She'd learned him each line of that ballad with patience and pride and glee; With gesture and tone dramatic, she'd taught him how to recite.
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And now at the last to fail him - no, it must never be.
A moment! It seemed like ages.
Why was Billie so slow? He stammered.
Twice he repeated: "The Lady that's known as Lou -" The kiddy was stuck and she knew it.
Her face was frantic with woe.
Could she but come to his rescue? Could she remember the cue? I saw her whispering wildly as she leaned to the frightened boy; But Billie stared like a dummy, and I stifled an anxious curse.
Louder, louder she prompted; then his face illumined with joy, And panting, flushed and exultant, he finished the final verse.
So the youngster would up like a whirlwind, while cheer resounded on cheer; His piece was the hit of the evening.
"Bravo!" I heard them say.
But there in the heart of the racket was one who could not hear - The loving sister who'd coached him; for Millie had fainted away.
I rushed to her side and grabbed her; then others saw her distress, And all were eager to aid me, as I pillowed that golden head, But her arms were tense and rigid, and clutched in the folds of her dress, Unlocking her hands they found it .
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A RAT .
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and the brute was dead.
In silence she'd crushed its life out, rather than scare the crowd, And queer little Billie's triumph .
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Hey! Mother, what about tea? I've just been telling a story that makes me so mighty proud.
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Stranger, let me present you - my wife, that was Millie MacGee.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

Hanchen the Maid of the Mill

 Near the village of Udorf, on the banks of the Rhine,
There lived a miller and his family, once on a time;
And there yet stands the mill in a state of decay,
And concerning the miller and his family, attend to my lay.
The miller and his family went to Church one Sunday morn, Leaving behind their darling child, the youngest born, In charge of brave Hanchen, the servant maid, A kind-hearted girl and not the least afraid.
As Hanchen was engaged preparing dinner for the family She chanced to turn round, and there she did see Heinrich Bottler, her lover, and she sincerely loved him, Then she instantly got him something to eat and bade him begin.
And in the midst of her business she sat down beside him, While he did justice to the meat and thought it no sin, But while he was eating he let fall his knife, Then he commanded Hanchen to pick it up or else he'd take her life.
Then as she stooped down to pick up the knife, The villain caught her by the throat, and swore he'd take her life, Then he drew a dagger from under his coat, Crying, tell me where your master's money is, or I'll cut your throat.
And still he threatened to kill her with the dagger in his hand, If the poor girl didn't comply with his demand, While in his choking grasp her breath was fleeting faster and faster, Therefore she had no other choice but to die or betray her master.
Then she cried, mercy, for Heaven's sake let go thy hold.
And I'll tell thee where my master keeps his gold; Then he let go his hold without delay, And she unto him thus boldly did say.
Here, take this axe and use it, while I run upstairs, To gather all my money, besides all my wares, Because I'm resolved to fly along with you, When you've robbed my master of his gold and bid France adieu.
Then deceived by her plan he allowed her to leave the room, Telling her to make haste and come back very soon, Then to her master's bedroom she led the way, And showed him the coffer where her master's money lay Then Heinrich with the axe broke the coffer very soon, While Hanchen instead of going upstairs to her room, Bolted all the doors upon him without dismay, While Heinrich was busy preparing to carry her master's money away.
Then she rushed to the mill to give the alarm, Resolved to protect her master's money, while she could wield an arm; And the only being in sight was her master's boy of five years old, Then she cried, run! run! and tell father there's a robber taking his gold.
Then the boy did as she bid him without any doubt, And set off, running on the road she pointed out; But at this moment, a shrill whistle made her stand aghast, When she heard Heinrich, crying, catch that child that's running so fast.
But still the boy ran on with might and main, Until a ruffian sprang up from the bed of a natural drain; And snatching the boy in his arms, and hastening towards the mill, While brave Hanchen was afraid the boy would he kill.
Then the villain came rushing with the boy towards the mill, Crying, open the door, or the child I'll kill; But she cried, never will I open the door to thee, No! I will put my trust in God, and He'll save the child and me.
Then the ruffian set down the child, for a moment to look about, Crying, open the door, or I'll fire the mill without doubt; And while searching for combustibles, he discovered an inlet to the mill, Saying, my pretty maid, once I get in, it's you I will kill.
Then he tied the hands and feet of the poor child, Which caused it to scream with fear, very wild; Then he stole back to the aperture to effect an entrance, And when Hanchen saw him, she said now is my chance.
So the ruffian got safely in the great drum wheel, Then Hanchen set on the engine, which made the ruffian reel; And as he was whirled about, he screamed aloud, And when Hanchen saw him like a rat in a trap, she felt very proud.
At length the master arrived and his family, And when she heard his kindly voice her heart was full of glee, Then she opened the mill door and let him in, While her eyes with tears of joy were full to the brim.
Then the master set off the engine without delay, And the ruffian was dragged forth while he shook with dismay, And Heinrich and he were bound together under a strong escort, And conveyed to Bonn Prison where villains resort.
So thus ends the story of Hanchen, a heroine brave, That tried hard her master's gold to save, And for her bravery she got married to the miller's eldest son, And Hanchen on her marriage night cried Heaven's will be done.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

A Humble Heroine

 'Twas at the Seige of Matagarda, during the Peninsular War,
That a Mrs Reston for courage outshone any man there by far;
She was the wife of a Scottish soldier in Matagarda Port,
And to attend to her husband she there did resort.
'Twas in the Spring of the year 1810, That General Sir Thomas Graham occupied Matagarda with 150 men; These consisted of a detachment from the Scots Brigade, And on that occasion they weren't in the least afraid.
And Captain Maclaine of the 94th did the whole of them command, And the courage the men displayed was really grand; Because they held Matagarda for fifty-four days, Against o'erwhelming numbers of the French - therefore they are worthy of praise.
The British were fighting on behalf of Spain, But if they fought on their behalf they didn't fight in vain; For they beat them manfully by land and sea, And from the shores of Spain they were forced to flee.
Because Captain Maclaine set about repairing the old fort, So as to make it comfortable for his men to resort; And there he kept his men at work day by day, Filling sand-bags and stuffing them in the walls without delay.
There was one woman in the fort during those trying dags, A Mrs Reston, who is worthy of great praise; She acted like a ministering angel to the soldiers while there, By helping them to fill sand-bags, it was her constant care.
Mrs Reston behaved as fearlessly as any soldier in the garrison, And amongst the soldiers golden opinions she won, For her presence was everywhere amongst the men, And the service invaluable she rendered to them.
Methinks I see that brave heroine carrying her child, Whilst the bullets were falling around her, enough to drive her wild; And bending over it to protect it from danger, Because to war's alarms it was a stranger.
And while the shells shrieked around, and their fragments did scatter, She was serving the men at the guns with wine and water; And while the shot whistled around, her courage wasn't slack, Because to the soldiers she carried sand-bags on her back.
A little drummer boy was told to fetch water from the well, But he was afraid because the bullets from the enemy around it fell; And the Doctor cried to the boy, Why are you standing there? But Mrs Reston said, Doctor, the bairn is feared, I do declare.
And she said, Give me the pail, laddie, I'll fetch the water, Not fearing that the shot would her brains scatter; And without a moment's hesitation she took the pail, Whilst the shot whirred thick around her, yet her courage didn't fail.
And to see that heroic woman the scene was most grand, Because as she drew the water a shot cut the rope in her hand; But she caught the pail with her hand dexterously, Oh! the scene was imposing end most beautiful to see.
The British fought bravely, as they are always willing to do, Although their numbers were but few; So they kept up the cannonading with their artillery, And stood manfully at their guns against the enemy.
And five times the flagstaff was shot away, And as often was it replaced without dismay; And the flag was fastened to an angle of the wall, And the British resolved to defend it whatever did befall.
So the French were beaten and were glad to run, And the British for defeating them golden opinions have won Ah through brave Captain Maclaine and his heroes bold, Likewise Mrs Reston, whose name should be written in letters of gold.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

Grace Darling

 As the night was beginning to close in one rough September day
In the year of 1838, a steamer passed through the Fairway
Between the Farne Islands and the coast, on her passage northwards;
But the wind was against her, and the steamer laboured hard.
There she laboured in the heavy sea against both wind and tide, Whilst a dense fog enveloped her on every side; And the mighty billows made her timbers creak, Until at last, unfortunately, she sprung a leak.
Then all hands rushed to the pumps, and wrought with might and main.
But the water, alas! alarmingly on them did gain; And the thick sleet was driving across the raging sea, While the wind it burst upon them in all its fury.
And the fearful gale and the murky aspect of the sky Caused the passengers on board to Lament and sigh As the sleet drove thick, furious, and fast, And as the waves surged mountains high, they stood aghast.
And the screaming of the sea-birds foretold a gathering storm, And the passengers, poor souls, looked pale and forlorn, And on every countenance was depicted woe As the "Forfarshire" steamer was pitched to and fro.
And the engine-fires with the water were washed out, Then, as the tide set strongly in, it wheeled the vessel about And the ill-fated vessel drifted helplessly along; But the fog cleared up a little as the night wore on.
Then the terror-stricken crew saw the breakers ahead, And all thought of being saved from them fled, And the Farne lights were shining hazily through the gloom, While in the fore-cabin a woman lay with two children in a swoon.
Before the morning broke, the "Forfarshire" struck upon a rock, And was dashed to pieces by a tempestuous shock, Which raised her for a moment, and dashed her down again, Then the ill-starred vessel was swallowed up in the briny main Before the vessel broke up, some nine or ten of the crew intent To save their lives, or perish in the attempt, Lowered one of the boats while exhausted and forlorn, And, poor souls, were soon lost sight of in the storm.
Around the windlass on the forecastle some dozen poor wretches clung, And with despair and grief their weakly hearts were rung As the merciless sea broke o'er them every moment; But God in His mercy to them Grace Darling sent.
By the first streak of dawn she early up had been, And happened to look out upon the stormy scene, And she descried the wreck through the morning gloom; But she resolved to rescue them from such a perilous doom Then she cried, Oh! father dear, come here and see the wreck, See, here take the telescope, and you can inspect; Oh! father, try and save them, and heaven will you bless; But, my darling, no help can reach them in such a storm as this.
Oh! my kind father, you will surely try and save These poor souls from a cold and watery grave; Oh! I cannot sit to see them perish before mine eyes, And, for the love of heaven, do not my pleading despise! Then old Darling yielded, and launched the little boat, And high on the big waves the boat did float; Then Grace and her father took each an oar in hand, And to see Grace Darling rowing the picture was grand.
And as the little boat to the sufferers drew near, Poor souls, they tried to raise a cheer; But as they gazed upon the heroic Grace, The big tears trickled down each sufferer's face.
And nine persons were rescued almost dead with the cold By modest and lovely Grace Darling, that heroine bold; The survivors were taken to the light-house, and remained there two days, And every one of them was loud in Grace Darling's praise.
Grace Darling was a comely lass, with long, fair floating hair, With soft blue eyes, and shy, and modest rare; And her countenance was full of sense and genuine kindliness, With a noble heart, and ready to help suffering creatures in distress.
But, alas! three years after her famous exploit, Which, to the end of time, will never be forgot, Consumption, that fell destroyer, carried her away To heaven, I hope, to be an angel for ever and aye.
Before she died, scores of suitors in marriage sought her hand; But no, she'd rather live in Longstone light-house on Farne island, And there she lived and died with her father and mother, And for her equal in true heroism we cannot find another.
Written by William Topaz McGonagall | Create an image from this poem

The Wreck of the Barque Lynton

 A sad tale of the sea, I will unfold,
About Mrs Lingard, that Heroine bold;
Who struggled hard in the midst of the hurricane wild,
To save herself from being drowned, and her darling child.
'Twas on the 8th of September, the Barque "Lynton" sailed for Aspinwall, And the crew on board, numbered thirteen in all; And the weather at the time, was really very fine, On the morning that the ill-fated vessel left the Tyne.
And on the 19th of November, they hove in sight of Aspinwall, But little did they think there was going to be a squall; When all on a sudden, the sea came rolling in, And a sound was heard in the heavens, of a rather peculiar din.
Then the vivid lightning played around them, and the thunder did roar, And the rain came pouring down, and lashed the barque all o'er; Then the Captain's Wife and Children were ordered below, And every one on board began to run to and fro.
Then the hurricane in all its fury, burst upon them, And the sea in its madness, washed the deck from stem to stem; And the rain poured in torrents, and the waves seemed mountains high, Then all on board the barque, to God for help, did loudly cry.
And still the wind blew furiously, and the darkness was intense, Which filled the hearts of the crew with great suspense, Then the ill-fated vessel struck, and began to settle down, Then the poor creatures cried.
God save us, or else we'll drown! Then Mrs Lingard snatched to her breast, her darling child, While loudly roared the thunder, and the hurricane wild; And she cried, oh! God of heaven, save me and my darling child, Or else we'll perish in the hurricane wild.
'Twas then the vessel turned right over, and they were immersed in the sea, Still the poor souls struggled hard to save their lives, most heroically; And everyone succeeded in catching hold of the keel garboard streak, While with cold and fright, their hearts were like to break.
Not a word or a shriek came from Mrs Lingard, the Captain's wife, While she pressed her child to her bosom, as dear she loved her life; Still the water dashed over them again and again, And about one o'clock, the boy, Hall, began to complain.
Then Mrs Lingard put his cold hands into her bosom, To warm them because with cold he was almost frozen, And at the same time clasping her child Hilda to her breast, While the poor boy Hall closely to her prest.
And there the poor creatures lay huddled together with fear, And the weary night seemed to them more like a year, And they saw the natives kindling fires on the shore, To frighten wild animals away, that had begun to roar.
Still the big waves broke over them, which caused them to exclaim, Oh! God, do thou save us for we are suffering pain; But, alas, the prayers they uttered were all in vain, Because the boy Hall and Jonson were swept from the wreck and never rose again.
Then bit by bit the vessel broke up, and Norberg was swept away, Which filled the rest of the survivors hearts with great dismay; But at length the longed for morning dawned at last, Still with hair streaming in the wind, Mrs Lingard to the wreck held fast.
Then Captain Lingard still held on with Lucy in his arms, Endeavouring to pacify the child from the storms alarms; And at last the poor child's spirits began to sink, And she cried in pitiful accents, papa! papa! give me a drink.
And in blank amazement the Captain looked all round about, And he cried Lucy dear I cannot find you a drink I doubt, Unless my child God sends it to you, Then he sank crying Lucy, my dear child, and wife, adieu! adieu! 'Twas then a big wave swept Lucy and the Carpenter away, Which filled Mrs Lingard's heart with great dismay, And she cried Mr Jonson my dear husband and child are gone, But still she held to the wreck while the big waves rolled on.
For about 38 hours they suffered on the wreck, At length they saw a little boat which seemed like a speck, Making towards them on the top of a wave, Buffetting with the billows fearlessly and brave.
And when the boat to them drew near, Poor souls they gave a feeble cheer, While the hurricane blew loud and wild, Yet the crew succeeded in saving Mrs Lingard and her child.
Also, the Steward and two sailors named Christophers and Eversen, Able-bodied and expert brave seamen.
And they were all taken to a French Doctor's and attended to, And they caught the yellow fever, but the Lord brought them through.
And on the 6th of December they embarked on board the ship Moselle, All in high spirits, and in health very well, And arrived at Southampton on the 29th of December, A day which the survivors will long remember.
Written by Emily Dickinson | Create an image from this poem

A Mien to move a Queen

 A Mien to move a Queen --
Half Child -- Half Heroine --
An Orleans in the Eye
That puts its manner by
For humbler Company
When none are near
Even a Tear --
Its frequent Visitor --

A Bonnet like a Duke --
And yet a Wren's Peruke
Were not so shy
Of Goer by --
And Hands -- so slight --
They would elate a Sprite
With Merriment --

A Voice that Alters -- Low
And on the Ear can go
Like Let of Snow --
Or shift supreme --
As tone of Realm
On Subjects Diadem --

Too small -- to fear --
Too distant -- to endear --
And so Men Compromise
And just -- revere --
Written by Robert Burns | Create an image from this poem

254. Caledonia: A Ballad

 THERE was once a day, but old Time wasythen young,
 That brave Caledonia, the chief of her line,
From some of your northern deities sprung,
 (Who knows not that brave Caledonia’s divine?)
From Tweed to the Orcades was her domain,
 To hunt, or to pasture, or do what she would:
Her heav’nly relations there fixed her reign,
 And pledg’d her their godheads to warrant it good.
A lambkin in peace, but a lion in war, The pride of her kindred, the heroine grew: Her grandsire, old Odin, triumphantly swore,— “Whoe’er shall provoke thee, th’ encounter shall rue!” With tillage or pasture at times she would sport, To feed her fair flocks by her green rustling corn; But chiefly the woods were her fav’rite resort, Her darling amusement, the hounds and the horn.
Long quiet she reigned; till thitherward steers A flight of bold eagles from Adria’s strand: Repeated, successive, for many long years, They darken’d the air, and they plunder’d the land: Their pounces were murder, and terror their cry, They’d conquer’d and ruin’d a world beside; She took to her hills, and her arrows let fly, The daring invaders they fled or they died.
The Cameleon-Savage disturb’d her repose, With tumult, disquiet, rebellion, and strife; Provok’d beyond bearing, at last she arose, And robb’d him at once of his hopes and his life: The Anglian lion, the terror of France, Oft prowling, ensanguin’d the Tweed’s silver flood; But, taught by the bright Caledonian lance, He learnèd to fear in his own native wood.
The fell Harpy-raven took wing from the north, The scourge of the seas, and the dread of the shore; The wild Scandinavian boar issued forth To wanton in carnage and wallow in gore: O’er countries and kingdoms their fury prevail’d, No arts could appease them, no arms could repel; But brave Caledonia in vain they assail’d, As Largs well can witness, and Loncartie tell.
Thus bold, independent, unconquer’d, and free, Her bright course of glory for ever shall run: For brave Caledonia immortal must be; I’ll prove it from Euclid as clear as the sun: Rectangle-triangle, the figure we’ll chuse: The upright is Chance, and old Time is the base; But brave Caledonia’s the hypothenuse; Then, ergo, she’ll match them, and match them always.
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