Reprint of the original, first published in 1882.

"Rebecca Hawkins suffered physical abuse from her husband for as long as she could. In the late 1830s she was illiterate, the mother of eight children, and without property in her own name. Her life of abuse began sometime after her marriage to Williamson Hawkins before 1820. She ended his beatings in 1838 when she hired neighbor Henry Garster to murder Williamson." --book jacket.

Excerpt from Rural Rhymes, and Poems From the Farm: Being a Collection of Poems, Grave, Humorous, Didactic, Sentimental and Descriptive, Written at Different Times and Under Different Circumstances Far from the city's noisy din, Far from its bustle and alarm, We had our being first within The limits of an humble farm. From out its cool, sequestered shade, In different ways at different times, We came; and when together laid Are simply styled the Rural Rhymes. From out a toiling farmer's brain We had our birth. - No matter when, If we can your attention chain, And edify the minds of men And though we may not soar as high As Milton's thoughts in former times, Oh I let it be no reason why You should not read the Rural Rhymes. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

Excerpt from Rural Rhymes, and Poems From the Farm: Being a Collection of Poems, Grave, Humorous, Didactic, Sentimental and Descriptive, Written at Different Times and Under Different Circumstances Far from the city's noisy din, Far from its bustle and alarm, We had our being first within The limits of an humble farm. From out its cool, sequestered shade, In different ways at different times, We came; and when together laid Are simply styled the "Rural Rhymes." From out a toiling farmer's brain We had our birth. - No matter when, If we can your attention chain, And edify the minds of men; And though we may not soar as high As Milton's thoughts in former times, Oh! let it be no reason why You should not read the "Rural Rhymes." And though we may not live as did Old Homer's verse and Ossian's lays, Let not our simple truths be hid By greater names of other days. Though thousand years we may not live, As poems have from Eastern climes, May we a transient pleasure give To those who read the "Rural Rhymes." About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can usually download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1893 edition. Excerpt: ... In every age, in every clime, Where'er that cross and story went, In every land, and through all time, Thy name was with the story blent. 'Twas execrated, stigmatized, As judge unjust by all contemned; No name, methought, so much despised As thine, who that just one condemned. I cannot tell the agony That I endured--no mortal can-- And when I woke I sent to thee: 'Have naught to do with that just man.'" SLEEPING YONDER. Written at the request of the managers, and read at the twenty-fifth anniversary of the battle of Lone Jack.;. We meet to-day upon the ground Where, five and twenty years ago, The god of war in anger frowned And let his bolts of thunder go; We meet to-day, but not as then; And as the by-gone past we ponder, Remembrance calls to mind the men, The slain in battle, sleeping yonder. A quarter century has passed; How brief to us the time appears! We scarce can realize how fast Go round the swift-revolving years. For five and twenty years have they Reposed beneath the sward of heather; The loyal blue, the Southern gray Reposing there in peace together. They fought as patriots ever should, Each one believing he was right; And now, where then the lone tree stood, Their ashes mingle and unite. Widows and children, orphans left-- No wives or children could be fonder By the hard fate of war bereft Of husbands, fathers, sleeping yonder. And when a hundred years have passed, A century to a close has drawn, Remembrance of the dead will last, And live when we are dead and gone. The warriors' fame will never fail, 'Tis in the nation's friendly keeping; The marble shaft will tell the tale, When we, like them, in death are sleeping. Mankind have ever honored those Who periled life in the defence Of liberty, and dared the foes Of...

This is a guide to the main developments in the history of British and Irish literature, charting some of the main features of literary language development and highlighting key language topics.