The way was long, the hill was ste… My footing scarcely I could keep. The night enshrouded me in gloom, I heard the ocean’s distant boom The trampling of the surges vast

Charles Main, of Main & Winc… With friendly ear the chit-chat of… Who knows you not, yet knows that… Travel two roads that have a commo… We journey forward through the tim…

A famous conqueror, in battle brav… Who robbed the cradle to supply th… His reign laid quantities of human… He fell upon the just and the unju…

Pennoyer, Governor of Oregon, Casting to South his eye across t… Of his dominion (where the Palmip… With leathers 'twixt his toes, pad… Amphibious) saw a rising cloud of…

Did I believe the angels soon wou… You, my beloved, to the other shor… And I should never see you any mo… I love you so I know that I shoul… Into dejection utterly, and all

‘O son of mine age, these eyes los… Be eyes, I pray, to thy dying sir… ‘O father, fear not, for mine eyes… I read through a millstone at dead… ‘My son, O tell me, who are those…

He held a book in his knotty paws, And its title grand read he: 'The Chronicles of the Kings’ it… By the History Companee. 'I’m a monarch,' he said

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…

I dreamed that I was poor and sic… Broken in hope and weary of my lif… My ventures all miscarrying-naught… For all my labor in the heat and s… And in my heart some certain thoug…

False to his art and to the high c… God laid upon him, Markham’s rebe… Beats all in vain the harp he touc… It yields a jingle and it yields n… No more the strings beneath his fi…

Christmas, you tell me, comes but… One place it never comes, and that… Here, in these pages no good wishe… No well-worn greetings tediously r… For Christmas greetings are like…

Now o’ nights the ocean breeze Makes the patient flinch, For that zephyr bears a sneeze In every cubic inch. Lo! the lively population

The moon in the field of the keel-… Was watching the growing tide: A luminous peasant was driving his… And he offered my soul a ride. But I nourished a sorrow uncommon…

The Swan of Avon died-the Swan Of Sacramento’ll soon be gone; And when his death-song he shall c… Stand back, or it will kill you to…

I drew aside the Future’s veil And saw upon his bier The poet Whitman. Loud the wail And damp the falling tear. 'He’s dead-he is no more!' one cri…