Ye that have faced the billows and the spray Of good St. Botolph's island-studded bay, As from the gliding bark your eye has scanned The beaconed rocks, the wave-girt hills of sand,...
When rose the cry "Great Pan is dead!" And Jove's high palace closed its portal, The fallen gods, before they fled, Sold out their frippery to a mortal.
What flower is this that greets the morn, Its hues from Heaven so freshly born? With burning star and flaming band It kindles all the sunset land Oh tell us what its name may be, -...
The fount the Spaniard sought in vain Through all the land of flowers Leaps glittering from the sandy plain Our classic grove embowers; Here youth, unchanging, blooms and smiles,...
When Advent dawns with lessening days, While earth awaits the angels' hymn; When bare as branching coral sways In whistling winds each leafless limb; When spring is but a spendthrift's dream,...
What ailed young Lucius? Art had vainly tried To guess his ill, and found herself defied. The Augur plied his legendary skill; Useless; the fair young Roman languished still....
How sweet the sacred legend - if unblamed In my slight verse such holy things are named - Of Mary's secret hours of hidden joy, Silent, but pondering on her wondrous boy! Ave, Maria! Pardon, if I wrong...
Lady, life's sweetest lesson wouldst thou learn, Come thou with me to Love's enchanted bower High overhead the trellised roses burn; Beneath thy feet behold the feathery fern, - A leaf without a flower....
Is man's the only throbbing heart that hides The silent spring that feeds its whispering tides? Speak from thy caverns, mystery-breeding Earth, Tell the half-hinted story of thy birth,...
Who of all statesmen is his country's pride, Her councils' prompter and her leaders' guide? He speaks; the nation holds its breath to hear; He nods, and shakes the sunset hemisphere....
The seed that wasteful autumn cast To waver on its stormy blast, Long o'er the wintry desert tost, Its living germ has never lost. Dropped by the weary tempest's wing,...
Thou who hast taught the teachers of mankind How from the least of things the mightiest grow, What marvel jealous Nature made thee blind, Lest man should learn what angels long to know?...
Our Poet, who has taught the Western breeze To waft his songs before him o'er the seas, Will find them wheresoe'er his wanderings reach Borne on the spreading tide of English speech...
You know "The Teacups," that congenial set Which round the Teapot you have often met; The grave DICTATOR, him you knew of old, - Knew as the shepherd of another fold...