Who's there? who's there? who was it tried To force the entrance I've denied? An 'twere a friend, I'd gladly borne it, But no--'twas Want! I could have sworn it. I heard thy voice, old witch, I know thee!...
Where have they gone to - the little girls With natural manners and natural curls; Who love their dollies and like their toys, And talk of something besides the boys?
"Want to be whur mother is! Want to be whur mother is!" Jeemses Rivers! won't some one ever shet that howl o' his? That-air yellin' drives me wild! Cain't none of ye stop the child?...
Poet! I come to touch thy lance with mine; Not as a knight, who on the listed field Of tourney touched his adversary's shield In token of defiance, but in sign...
There is no picturesqueness and no glory, No halo of romance, in war to-day. It is a hideous thing; Time would turn grey With horror, were he not already hoary...
The beast exultant spreads the nostril wide, Snuffing a sickly hate-enkindling scent; Proud of his rage, on sudden carnage bent, He leaps, and flings the helpless guard aside....
By the Nile, the sacred river, I can see the captive hordes Strain beneath the lash and quiver At the long papyrus cords, While in granite rapt and solemn, Rising over roof and column,...
Dark spirit! who through every age Hast cast a baleful gloom; Stern lord of strife and civil rage, The dungeon and the tomb! What homage should men pay to thee, Spirit of woe and anarchy? ...
"War against Babylon!" shout we around, Be our banners through earth unfurled; Rise up, ye nations, ye kings, at the sound-- "War against Babylon!" shout thro' the world!...
Though poor and in trouble I wander alone, With rebel cockade in my hat, Though friends may desert me, and kindred disown, My country will never do that! You may sing of the Shamrock, the Thistle, the rose,...
Warble me now, for joy of Lilac-time, Sort me, O tongue and lips, for Nature's sake, and sweet life's sake, and death's the same as life's, Souvenirs of earliest summer, birds' eggs, and the first berries;...
If rich designs of sumptuous art may please, Or Nature's loftier views, august and old, Stranger! behold this spreading scene; behold This amphitheatre of aged trees, That solemn wave above thee, and around...
I. What's become of Waring Since he gave us all the slip, Chose land-travel or seafaring, Boots and chest or staff and scrip, Rather than pace up and down Any longer London town?...