#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
As oft it happens in the youth of… That mists obscure the sun’s imper… Who, as he’s mounting to the dome’… Smites and dispels them with a ste… So you the vapors that begirt your…
Professor dear, I think it queer That all these good religions ('Twixt you and me, some two or th… Are schemes for plucking pigeons) I mean 'tis strange that every cha…
O hoary sculptor, stay thy hand: I fain would view the lettered sto… What carvest thou?-perchance some… And solemn fancy all thine own. For oft to know the fitting word
The Senate woke; the Chairman’s s… Was stilled, its echoes balking; The startled members dreamed no mo… For Steele, who long had held the… Had suddenly ceased talking.
Hail, peerless Pun! thou last and… Most rare and excellent bequest Of dying idiot to the wit He died of, rat-like, in a pit! Thyself disguised, in many a way
Observe, dear Lord, what lively p… Are played by sentimental cranks! First this one mounts his hinder h… And brays the chimneys off the roo… Then that one, with exalted voice,
Swains and maidens, young and old, You to me this tale have told. Where the squalid town of Dae Irks the comfortable sea, Spreading webs to gather fish,
Welcker, I’m told, can boast a fa… And honored in the service of the… Public Instruction all his mind e… He guides its methods and its wage… Prime Pedagogue, imperious and gr…
Aeronaut, you’re fairly caught, Despite your bubble’s leaven: Out of the skies a lady’s eyes Have brought you down to Heaven! No more, no more you’ll freely soa…
Precursor of our woes, historic sp… What dismal records burn upon thy… On thee I see the maculating stai… Of passengers’ commingled blood an… In this red rust a widow’s curse a…
In fair San Francisco a good man… And he wrote out a will, for he di… Said he: ‘It is proper, when maki… To stimulate virtue by comforting… So he left all his property, legal…
You promised to paint me a picture… Dear Mat, And I was to pay you in rhyme. Although I am loth to inflict you… Most easy of consciences, I’m
'Tis the census enumerator A-singing all forlorn: It’s ho! for the tall potater, And ho! for the clustered corn. The whiffle-tree bends in the bree…
Some one ('tis hardly new) has odd… The color of a trumpet’s blare is… And Joseph Emmett thinks the crim… On woman’s cheek a trumpet-note of… The more the red storm rises round…
Way down in the Boom Belt lived… A person named Petrie, he lived t… But Mr. Roselle he resided away Sing tooral iooral iooral iay. Once Mrs. Roselle in her room was…
