From far Dakota's ca'ons, Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, the silence, Haply to-day a mournful wail, haply a trumpet-note for heroes.
From fleeting pleasures and abiding cares, From sin's seductions and from Satan's snares, From woes and wrath to penitence and prayers, Veni in pace! ...
... O Liberty! with profitless endeavour Have I pursued thee, many a weary hour; But thou nor swell'st the victor's strain, nor ever Didst breathe thy soul in forms of human power....
O Son of mine, when dusk shall find thee bending Between a gravestone and a cradle's head--- Between the love whose name is loss unending And the young love whose thoughts are liker dread,---...
I said to heaven that glowed above, O hide yon sun-filled zone, Hide all the stars you boast; For, in the world of love And estimation true, The heaped-up harvest of the moon...
I thought and thought of thy crass clanging town To folly, till convinced such dreams were ill, I held my heart in bond, and tethered down Fancy to where I was, by force of will. ...
Sing, O daughter of heaven, of Peleus' son, of Achilles, Him whose terrible wrath brought thousand woes on Achaia. Many a stalwart soul did it hurl untimely to Hades,...
The first was like a dream through summer heat, The second like a tedious numbing swoon, While the half-frozen pulses lagged to beat Beneath a winter moon. ...
Two things thou shalt not long for, if thou love a mind serene;-- A woman to thy wife, though she were a crowned queen; And the second, borrowed money,--though the smiling lender say...
He left us; we, the hour of parting come, To Prasidamus' hospitable home, Myself and Eucritus, together wend, With young Amynticus, our blooming friend: There, all delighted, through the summer day,...
When the famed Argo now secure had passed The crushing rocks,[1] and that terrific strait That guards the wintry Pontic, the tall ship Reached wild Bebrycia's shores; bearing like gods...
Supper removed, the mother sits, And tells her tales by starts and fits. Not willing to lose time or toil, She knits or sews, and talks the while Something, that may be warnings found...
From life without freedom, say, who would not fly? For one day of freedom, oh! who would not die? Hark!--hark! 'tis the trumpet! the call of the brave, The death-song of tyrants, the dirge of the slave....