1. As from an ancestral oak Two empty ravens sound their clarion, Yell by yell, and croak by croak, When they scent the noonday smoke Of fresh human carrion: -
If this were our creed it were creed enough To keep us thoughtful and make us brave; On this sad journey o'er pathways rough That lead us steadily on to the grave.
There are two mountains hallowed By majesty sublime, Which rear their crests unconquered Above the floods of Time. Uncounted generations Have gazed on them with awe, - The mountain of the Gospel,...
My hut is built of stringy-bark, the window's calico, The furniture a gin-case, one bush-table, and a bunk; Thick as wheat on my selection does the towering timber grow,...
Fools can parrot-cry the prophet when the proof is close at hand, And the blind can see the danger when the foe is in the land! Truth was never cynicism, death or ruin's not a joke,...
It is the longest night in all the year, Near on the day when the Lord Christ was born; Six hours ago I came and sat down here, And ponder'd sadly, wearied and forlorn. ...
I thought the deacon liked me, yit I warn't adzackly shore of it - Fer, mind ye, time and time agin, When jiners 'ud be comin' in, I'd seed him shakin' hands as free With all the sistern as with me!...
I'd not complain of Sister Jane, for she was good and kind, Combining with rare comeliness distinctive gifts of mind; Nay, I'll admit it were most fit that, worn by social cares,...
Quiet form of silent nun, What has given you to my inward eyes? What has marked you, unknown one, In the throngs of centuries That mine ears do listen through? This old master's melody...
Soft as a cloud is yon blue Ridge, the Mere Seems firm as solid crystal, breathless, clear, And motionless; and, to the gazer's eye, Deeper than ocean, in the immensity Of its vague mountains and unreal sky!...
'Twas now the noon of night, and all was still, Except a hapless Rhymer and his quill. In vain he calls each Muse in order down, Like other females, these will sometimes frown;...
GR-R-R there go, my heart's abhorrence! Water your damned flower-pots, do! If hate killed men, Brother Lawrence, God's blood, would not mine kill you! What? your myrtle-bush wants trimming?...
What's a poor lass like me to do, 'At langs for a hooam ov her own? Aw'm a hale an bonny wench too, An nubdy can say aw'm heigh-flown. Aw want nawther riches nor style,...
Sometimes my heart by cruel care opprest Faints from the weight of woe upon my breast, My soul embittered far beyond belief; - As damned one, drinking galling draughts of grief,...