Onward rolls the Royal River, proudly sweeping to the sea, Dark and deep and grand, forever wrapt in myth and mystery. Lo he laughs along the highlands, leaping o'er the granite walls;...
Have ye heard of Fort Donelson's desperate fight, Where the giant Northwest bared his arm for the right, Where thousands so bravely went down in the slaughter, And the blood of the West ran as freely as water;...
When Mollie and I were married from the dear old cottage-home, In the vale between the hills of fir and pine, I parted with a sigh in a stranger-land to roam, And to seek a western home for me and mine. ...
The day of truth is dawning. I behold O'er darksome hills the trailing robes of gold And silent footsteps of the gladsome dawn. The morning breaks by sages long foretold;...
Monarch of Hannah's rocking-chair, With unclipped beard and unkempt hair, Sitting at ease by the kitchen fire, Nor heeding the wind and the driving sleet, Jo Lumpkin perused the Daily Liar...
Lo the lights in the "Teepee-W'kan!" 'tis the night of the W'kan Wac'pee. Round and round walks the chief of the clan, as he rattles the sacred Ta-sh'-kay; [81] Long and loud on the Ch'n-che-ga [81]...
O Mollie, I would I possessed such a heart; It enchants me so gentle and true; I would I possessed all its magical art, Then, Mollie, I would enchant you. ...
I know thou art true, and I know thou art fair As the rose-bud that blooms in thy beautiful hair; Thou art far, but I feel the warm throb of thy heart; Thou art far, but I love thee wherever thou art. ...
I am growing old and weary Ere yet my locks are gray; Before me lies eternity, Behind me but a day. How fast the years are vanishing! They melt like April snow: It seems to me but yesterday...
When madly raged religious war O'er all the Magyar land And royal archer and hussar Met foemen hand to hand, A princess fair in castle strong The royal troops defied...
When the meadow-lark trilled o'er the leas and the oriole piped in the maples, From my hammock, all under the trees, by the sweet-scented field of red clover, I harked to the hum of the bees,...
'Tis the moon of the sere, falling leaves. From the heads of the maples the west-wind Plucks the red-and-gold plumage and grieves on the meads for the rose and the lily;...
'Twas sunrise; the spirits of mist trailed their white robes on dewy savannas, And the flowers raised their heads to be kissed by the first golden beams of the morning. The breeze was abroad with the breath...