Night creeps into the cellars, musty and dull. Tuxedos totter through the rubble of the street. Faces are moldy and worn out. The blue morning burns coolly in the city....
Silence now reigns in the corridors wide, The stately rooms of that mansion of pride; The music is hushed, the revellers gone, The glitt'ring ball-room deserted and lone, -...
Night closed around the conqueror's way, And lightnings showed the distant hill, Where those who lost that dreadful day, Stood few and faint, but fearless still. The soldier's hope, the patriot's zeal,...
There's no more to be done, or feared, or hoped; None now need watch, speak low, and list, and tire; No irksome crease outsmoothed, no pillow sloped Does she require....
I know a little garden-close, Set thick with lily and red rose, Where I would wander if I might From dewy morn to dewy night, And have one with me wandering.
Not long in bed had Lyndhurst lain, When, as his lamp burned dimly, The ghosts of corporate bodies slain,[1] Stood by his bedside grimly. Dead aldermen who once could feast,...
O thou, who kindly dost provide For every creature's want! We bless thee, God of Nature wide, For all thy goodness lent: And if it please thee, Heavenly Guide, May never worse be sent;...
O thou in whom we live and move, Who mad'st the sea and shore, Thy goodness constantly we prove, And grateful would adore. And if it please thee, Power above, Still grant us with such store,...
Couentry, that do'st adorne[1] The Countrey wherein I was borne, Yet therein lyes not thy prayse Why I should crowne thy Tow'rs with Bayes: 'Tis not thy Wall, me to thee weds...
Bacchus, let me drink no more! Wild are seas that want a shore! When our drinking has no stint, There is no one pleasure in't. I have drank up for to please Thee, that great cup, Hercules....
I sing thy praise, Iacchus, Who with thy thyrse dost thwack us: And yet thou so dost back us With boldness, that we fear No Brutus ent'ring here, Nor Cato the severe....
Lie in my arms, Ailsie, my bairn,-- Lie in my arms and dinna greit; Long time been past syn I kenned you last, But my harte been allwais the same, my swete.
Aw'm as rich as a Jew, tho aw havn't a meg, But awm free as a burd, an aw shak a loise leg; Aw've noa haase, an noa barns, soa aw nivver pay rent, But still aw feel rich, for awm bless'd wi content,...