I took the clock down from the shelf; "At eight," said I, "I shoot myself." It lacked a MINUTE of the hour, And as I waited all a-cower, A skinful of black, boding pain,...
What is yonder white thing in the forest? Is it snow, or can it swans perchance be? Were it snow, ere this it had been melted, Were it swans, they all away had hastend....
Yet at the last, ere our spearmen had found him, Yet at the last, ere a sword-thrust could save, Yet at the last, with his masters around him, He spoke of the Faith as a master to slave....
When anxious Spain, along her rocky shore, From cliff to cliff returned the sea-fight's roar; When flash succeeding flash, tremendous broke The haze incumbent, and the clouds of smoke,...
Turn to Britannia's triumphs on the main: See Nelson, pale and fainting, 'mid the slain, Whilst Victory sighs, stern in the garb of war, And points through clouds the rocks of Trafalgar!...
(Mr Norman Dewar, commission merchant, a native of Glengarry, Canada who had been assisting Captain McCabe as commissary of the Memphis Relief Committee, died of yellow fever after three days illness A brave and gentle nature, ...
What news to all alike brings startling sorrow? And he is dead, the vigorous chieftain dead? Nor e'en for him would death still brook to-morrow? No more shall followers vaunt and foemen dread;...
The long winter wanes. On the wings of the spring come the geese and the mallards; On the bare oak the red-robin sings, and the crocus peeps up on the prairies, And the bobolink pipes, but he brings...
Waileth a woman, "O my God!" A breaking heart in a broken breath, A hopeless cry o'er her heart-hope's death! Can words catch the chords of the winds that wail, When love's last lily lies dead in the vale!...
Down the broad Ha-Ha W'k-pa[BS] the band took their way to the Games at Ke'za[8] While the swift-footed hunters by land ran the shores for the elk and the bison. Like mag's[BT] ride the birchen canoes...
"They run! they run!" - "Who run?" Not they Who faced that decimating fire As coolly as if human ire Were rooted from their hearts; They run, while he who led the way So bravely on that glorious day,...
When I shall go Into the narrow home that leaves No room for wringing of the hands and hair, And feel the pressing of the walls which bear The heavy sod upon my heart that grieves,...
'Tis here we invade the valley, Away from the realms of breath, And, in most successful sally, We enter the gates of death; So, stand in the last line steady, 'Tis here our true glory lies;...