The lords of life, the lords of life,-- I saw them pass In their own guise, Like and unlike, Portly and grim,-- Use and Surprise, Surface and Dream, Succession swift and spectral Wrong,...
Early within his workshop here, On Sundays stands our master dear; His dirty apron he puts away, And wears a cleanly doublet to-day; Lets wax'd thread, hammer, and pincers rest,...
Our fellow-countrymen in chains! Slaves, in a land of light and law! Slaves, crouching on the very plains Where rolled the storm of Freedom's war! A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood,...
Our brains ache, in the merciless iced east winds that knife us . . . Wearied we keep awake because the night is silent . . . Low drooping flares confuse our memory of the salient . . ....
Expression, throbbing utterance of the soul, Born in some bard, when with the muses' fires His feeling bursts unaw'd, above control, And to the topmost height of heaven aspires,...
The playful smiles around the dimpled mouth, That happy air of majesty and truth, So would I draw: but, oh! 'tis vain to try, My narrow genius does the power deny; The equal lustre of the heavenly mind,...
He clench'd his pamphlets in his fist, He quoted and he hinted, 'Till in a declamation-mist His argument he tint it: He gaped for't, he grap'd for't, He fand it was awa, man;...
A morning crowns the Western hill, A day begins to reign, A sun awakes o'er distant seas Shall never sleep again. The world is growing old, And men are waxing wise;...
If you rattle along like your mistress's tongue, Your speed will outrival the dart: But, a fly for your load, you'll break down on the road If your stuff has the rot, like her heart.
The winds have shower'd their rains upon the sod, And flowers and trees have murmur'd as with lips. The very silence has appeal'd to God. In man's behalf, though smitten by His rod,...
How has New England's romance fled, Even as a vision of the morning! Its rites foredone, its guardians dead, Its priestesses, bereft of dread, Waking the veriest urchin's scorning!...
Yet, even here, tho' Fiction rules the hour, There shine some genuine smiles, beyond her power; And there are tears, too--tears that Memory sheds Even o'er the feast that mimic fancy spreads,...
Dear native regions, I foretell, From what I feel at this farewell, That, wheresoe'er my steps may tend, And whensoe'er my course shall end, If in that hour a single tie Survive of local sympathy,...