A sound of tumult troubles all the air, Like the low thunders of a sultry sky Far-rolling ere the downright lightnings glare; The hills blaze red with warnings; foes draw nigh,...
The doom is imminent of unholy hate. Hail to the light that glimmers where the leaves Are shaken by winds of dawning, and the sheaves Of hemlock swirl and scatter in the spate!...
'Tis said old Santa Claus one time Told this joke on himself in rhyme: One Christmas, in the early din That ever leads the morning in, I heard the happy children shout In rapture at the toys turned out...
What place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege? Lo! I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal; And with him horse and foot, and parks of artillery,...
What shall I do for the land that bred me, Her homes and fields that folded and fed me? - Be under her banner and live for her honour: Under her banner I'll live for her honour....
Here now forevermore our lives must part. My path leads there, and yours another way. What shall we do with this fond love, dear heart? It grows a heavier burden day by day. ...
Why has Spring one syllable less Than any its fellow season? There may be some other reason, And I'm merely making a guess; But surely it hoards such wealth Of happiness, hope and health,...
There wasn't two purtier farms in the state Than the couple of which I'm about to relate; - Jinin' each other - belongin' to Brown, And jest at the edge of a flourishin' town....
Quest. Why is a Pump like Viscount Castlereagh? Answ. Because it is a slender thing of wood, That up and down its awkward arm doth sway, And coolly spout and spout and spout away,...
Oh! What is living but moving about, Buoyed up with hope and crushed down by doubt? What is the draught of breath we harp on as life? Naught but a sip of peace, a cup full of strife - What's the use? ...
The bairns i' their beds, worn oot wi' nae wark, Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid winkin; The auld fowk lie still wi' their een starin stark, An' the mirk pang-fou o' the things they are thinkin. ...
The birds against the April wind Flew northward, singing as they flew; They sang, "The land we leave behind Has swords for corn-blades, blood for dew."
O Joy of creation To be! O rapture to fly And be free! Be the battle lost or won, Though its smoke shall hide the sun, I shall find my love, the one Born for me! ...