Forlorn

There are few sights that leave a railway lover more wistful than a desolate railway viaduct no longer carrying tracks. As with tunnels, so much effort was made to conquer the landscape, yet so many now stand forlorn.

For here forlorn and loſt I tread, / With fainting ſteps and ſlow; / Where wilds immeaſurably ſpread, / Seem lengthening as I go.

This is the Maiden all forlorn, That milked the Cow with the crumpled Horn[.]

The condition of the besieged, in the mean time, was forlorn in the extreme; not so much from want of food, though their supplies were scanty, as from excessive toil and exposure.

Sweet are familiar songs, tho' Music dips / Her hollow shell in Thought's forlornest wells: / And sweet, tho' sad, the sound of midnight bells, / When the oped casement with the night-rain drips.

Come, stack arms, Men! Pile on the rails; stir up the campfire bright; no matter if the canteen fails, we'll make a roaring night. Here Shenandoah brawls along, there burly Blue Ridge echoes strong, to swell the Brigade's rousing song, of “Stonewall Jackson’s Way.” We see him now — the old slouched hat cocked o’er his eye askew, the shrewd, dry smile, the speech so pat, so calm, so blunt, so true. The “Blue-Light Elder” knows ’em well; says he, “That’s Banks — he’s fond of shell; Lord save his soul! We’ll give him” — well, that’s “Stonewall Jackson’s Way.” Silence! Ground arms! Kneel all! Caps off! Old Blue Light’s going to pray. Strangle the fool that dares to scoff: Attention! 'Tis his way. Appealing from his native sod in forma pauperis to God: “Lay bare thine arm, stretch forth thy rod! Amen!” That’s “Stonewall’s Way.” He’s in the saddle now. Fall in! Steady, the whole brigade! Hill’s at the ford, cut off — we’ll win his way out, ball and blade! What matter if our shoes are worn? What matter if our feet are torn? “Quick step! We’re with him before the morn!” That’s “Stonewall Jackson’s Way.” The sun’s bright lances rout the mists of morning, and by George! Here’s Longstreet struggling in the lists, hemmed in an ugly gorge. Pope and his Yankees, whipped before, “Bay’nets and grape!” hear Stonewall roar; “Charge, Stuart! Pay off Ashby’s score!” in “Stonewall Jackson’s Way.” Ah! Maiden, wait and watch and yearn for news of Stonewall’s band! Ah! Widow read with eyes that burn that ring upon thy hand. Ah! Wife, sew on, pray on, hope on! Thy life shall not be all forlorn. The foe had better ne’er been born that gets in “Stonewall’s Way.”

Sophia broke down here. Even at this moment she was subconsciously comparing her rendering of the part of the forlorn bride with Miss Marie Lohr's.

To begin therefore with Traditions, which is your forlorn hope that in the first place we are to set upon: this must I needs tell you before we begin, that you much mistake the matter, if you think that traditions of all sorts promiscuously are struck at by our religion.

Well! It is a forlorn hope at the best, and not much the forlorner for being delayed till dark.

Mrs. Blair had lost her husband, who was a cavalry officer, in Cabool, at the memorable Khyber Pass; but as no precise tidings of his death had every been received, she cherished the forlorn hope that he was still living in captivity among the Affghans, and that some day it would be her happiness yet to be reunited with him, even on earth.

Now he rushed to the platform edge carrying a full fire bucket, in a forlorn attempt to douse the flames as the now brightly burning wagon rolled past.

The Regiment being drawn up into the former Figure, they may proceed to Firings upon it, firſt let the Forlorns fire five or six times over, being commanded by the eldeſt Captains Lieutenant, who is to be aſſiſted by a couple of able Serjeants; after let him wheel off to the right and left, and bring them down in the Reer of the Pikes. Then let the ſecond Captains Lieutenant being aſſiſted by two Serjeants lead up the reſerves by the out-ſide of the Pikes, at ſuch time when the Forlorns begin to come off, […]

[…] I ordered the forlorns to advance and to march, at their open order, towards the upland, and by this time the tide was upon the ground wee ſtood on: The forlorn were no ſooner advanced a few rods, before there was firing on both ſides; […]

I was this day in the van, and our forlorn having entered Huntingdon without any great reſiſtance till they came to the bridge, finding it barricaded, they ſent me word; I cauſed the troops to halt, and rode up to the forlorn, to view the countenance of the enemy, and found by the poſture they had put themſelves in, that they reſolved to ſell us the paſſage as dear as they could.

The garrison, taken by surprise, had the first intelligence of the assault in the "forlorns plunging into the canal."