The dirge is played, the throbbing death-peal rung, The sad-voiced requiem sung; On each white urn where memory dwells The wreath of rustling immortelles Our loving hands have hung,...
I like, at times, to hear the steeples' chimes With sober thoughts impressively that mingle; But sometimes, too, I rather like - don't you? - To hear the music of the sleigh bells' jingle. ...
Ere yet the warning chimes of midnight sound, Set back the flaming index of the year, Track the swift-shifting seasons in their round Through fivescore circles of the swinging sphere! ...
Once more, ye sacred towers, Your solemn dirges sound; Strew, loving hands, the April flowers, Once more to deck his mound. A nation mourns its dead, Its sorrowing voices one,...
Behold the shape our eyes have known! It lives once more in changeless stone; So looked in mortal face and form Our guide through peril's deadly storm.
She twirled the string of golden beads, That round her neck was hung, - - My grandsire's gift; the good old man Loved girls when he was young; And, bending lightly o'er the cord, And turning half away,...
As through the forest, disarrayed By chill November, late I strayed, A lonely minstrel of the wood Was singing to the solitude I loved thy music, thus I said, When o'er thy perch the leaves were spread...
Slow toiling upward from' the misty vale, I leave the bright enamelled zones below; No more for me their beauteous bloom shall glow, Their lingering sweetness load the morning gale;...
Pride of the sister realm so long our own, We claim with her that spotless fame of thine, White as her snow and fragrant as her pine! Ours was thy birthplace, but in every zone...
You 'll believe me, dear boys, 't is a pleasure to rise, With a welcome like this in your darling old eyes; To meet the same smiles and to hear the same tone...
Facts respecting an old arm-chair. At Cambridge. Is kept in the College there. Seems but little the worse for wear. That 's remarkable when I say It was old in President Holyoke's day....
Three paths there be where Learning's favored sons, Trained in the schools which hold her favored ones, Follow their several stars with separate aim; Each has its honors, each its special claim....
Welcome, thrice welcome is thy silvery gleam, Thou long-imprisoned stream! Welcome the tinkle of thy crystal beads As plashing raindrops to the flowery meads, As summer's breath to Avon's whispering reeds!...
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...
New England, we love thee; no time can erase From the hearts of thy children the smile on thy face. 'T is the mother's fond look of affection and pride, As she gives her fair son to the arms of his bride. ...