Works

I.

The cannon is mute and the sword in its sheath
Uncrimsoned the banner floats joyous and fair:
Yet beauty is twining an evergreen wreath,
And the voice of the minstrel is heard on the air....

Two neighbors, living on a hill,
Had each and side by side a mill.
The one was Jones, a thrifty wight
Whose mill in every wind went right.
The storm and tempest vainly spent...

The spirit-harp within the breast
A spirit's touch alone can know,
Yet thine the power to wake its rest,
And bid its echoing numbers flow.

Yes, and thy minstrel art the while,...

My pretty flower,
How cam'st thou here?
Around thee all
Is sad and sere,
The brown leaves tell
Of winter's breath,
And all but thou
Of doom and death.

The naked forest...