#Americans #XIXCentury #XXCentury
From end to end, thine avenue, Va… Rang with the cries of battle and… Brave lungs were thundering with d… And perspiration smoked along the… Sing, heavenly muse, to ears of mo…
As Death was a-riding out one day… Across Mount Carmel he took his w… Where he met a mendicant monk, Some three or four quarters drunk, With a holy leer and a pious grin,
Off Santa Cruz the western wave Was crimson as with blood: The sun was sinking to his grave Beneath that angry flood. Sir Walter Turnbull, brave and st…
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…
What! imitate me, friend? Suppose… With agony and difficulty do What I do easily-what then? You’v… A style I heartily wish _I_ had n… If I from lack of sense and you f…
Upon my desk a single spray, With starry blossoms fraught. I write in many an idle way, Thinking one serious thought. ‘O flowers, a fine Greek name ye…
High Lord of Liars, Pickering, t… Let meaner mortals bend the subjec… Thine is mendacity’s imperial crow… Alike by genius, action and renown… No man, since words could set a ch…
You may say, if you please, Johnn… Are crazy to marry your dukes and… But I’ve heard that the maids of… Greet bachelor lords with a favori… Nay, titles, ‘tis said in defense…
We heard a song-bird trilling 'T was but a night ago. Such rapture he was rilling As only we could know. This morning he is flinging
When, with the force of a ram that… Straight at the rear elevation of… The foot of Herculean Kilgore-sta… Or carnage unspeakable!-lit like a… Upon the Congressional door with…
'What’s in the paper?' Oh, it’s d… There’s nothing happening at all-a… After the war-storm. Mr. Someone’… Killed by her lover with, I think… A fire on Blank Street and some b…
I’ve sometimes wished that Ingers… To hold his tongue, nor rail again… For when he’s made a point some pi… Like Bartlett of the _Bulletin_ ‘… I brandish no iconoclastic fist,
I stood upon a hill. The setting… Was crimson with a curse and a por… And scarce his angry ray lit up th… That lay below, whose lurid gloom… Freaked with a moving mist, which,…
Why ask me, Gastrogogue, to dine (Unless to praise your rascal wine… Yet never ask some luckless sinner Who needs, as I do not, a dinner?
The soft asphaltum in the sun; Betrays a tendency to run; Whereas the dog that takes his way Across its course concludes to sta…
