Brave was the foeman! well he held his ground! But here defeat at kindred hands he found! The shafts rained on him, in a righteous cause, Came from the quiver of Old England's laws! ...
As some spent gladiator, struck by Death, Whose reeling vision scarce a foe defines, For one last effort gathers all his breath, England draws in her lines. ...
Before this thought the present hour recedes, As from the beach a billow backward rolls, And the great past, rich in heroic deeds Illuminates our souls!
At Plymouth Rock a handful of brave souls, Full-armed in faith, erected home and shrine, And flourished where the wild Atlantic rolls Its pyramids of brine.
A rose-bud by my early walk, Adown a corn-enclosed bawk, Sae gently bent its thorny stalk, All on a dewy morning. Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,...
Where be the temples which, in Britain's Isle, For his paternal Gods, the Trojan raised? Gone like a morning dream, or like a pile Of clouds that in cerulean ether blazed!...
As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below, So the cheek may be tinged with a warm sunny smile, Though the cold heart to ruin runs darkly the while. ...
As Adam, early in the morning, Walking forth from the bower, refresh'd with sleep; Behold me where I pass--hear my voice--approach, Touch me--touch the palm of your hand to my Body as I pass;...
His Grace! impossible! what, dead! Of old age too, and in his bed! And could that mighty warrior fall, And so inglorious, after all? Well, since he's gone, no matter how,...
As consequent from store of summer rains, Or wayward rivulets in autumn flowing, Or many a herb-lined brook's reticulations, Or subterranean sea-rills making for the sea, Songs of continued years I sing....
When foes are o'ercome, we preserve them from slaughter, To be hewers of wood, and drawers of water. Now, although to draw water is not very good, Yet we all should rejoice to be hewers of Wood....
As I ebb'd with the ocean of life, As I wended the shores I know, As I walk'd where the ripples continually wash you Paumanok, Where they rustle up hoarse and sibilant,...
As I laye a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, a-dreamynge, O softlye moaned the dove to her mate within the tree, And meseemed unto my syghte Came rydynge many a knyghte...
"Will you love me, sweet, when my hair is grey And my cheeks shall have lost their hue? When the charms of youth shall have passed away Will your love as of old prove true? ...
Referring to the third verse of this poem, the Pall Mall Gazette of February 1, 1890, said: 'One evening, just before his death-illness, the poet was reading this from a proof to his daughter-in-law and sister. He said: 'It alm...
In that great journey of the stars through space About the mighty, all-directing Sun, The pallid, faithful Moon has been the one Companion of the Earth. Her tender face,...
Once, at night, in the manor wood My Love and I long silent stood, Amazed that any heavens could Decree to part us, bitterly repining. My Love, in aimless love and grief,...
The Forest above and the Combe below, On a bright September morn! He's the soul of a clod who thanks not God That ever his body was born! So hurry along, the stag's afoot, The Master's up and away!...
Fair is our lot, O goodly is our heritage! (Humble ye, my people, and be fearful in your mirth!) For the Lord our God Most High He hath made the deep as dry,...