#Americans #XIXCentury
‘All the old gods are dead, All the wild warlocks fled; But the White Christ lives and re… And throughout my wide domains His Gospel shall be spread!’
Often I think of the beautiful to… That is seated by the sea; Often in thought go up and down The pleasant streets of that dear… And my youth comes back to me.
The course of my long life hath re… In fragile bark o’er a tempestuous… The common harbor, where must rend… Account of all the actions of the… The impassioned phantasy, that, va…
What an image of peace and rest Is this little church among its gr… All is so quiet; the troubled brea… The wounded spirit, the heart oppr… Here may find the repose it craves…
There is a quiet spirit in these w… That dwells where’er the gentle so… Where, underneath the white-thorn,… The wild flowers bloom, or, kissin… The leaves above their sunny palms…
I am the God Thor, I am the War God, I am the Thunderer! Here in my Northland, My fastness and fortress,
Most beautiful, most gentle! Yet… To all that gladdens the fair eart… That watched her being; the matern… That kept and nourished her; and t… That steals from our own thoughts,…
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons, Ere yet his last he breathed, To the merry monks of Croyland His drinking-horn bequeathed,— That, whenever they sat at their r…
Once on a time, some centuries ago… In the hot sunshine two Francisca… Wended their weary way, with foots… Back to their convent, whose white… Gleamed on the hillside like a pat…
By the shore of Gitche Gumee, By the shining Big-Sea-Water, At the doorway of his wigwam, In the pleasant Summer morning, Hiawatha stood and waited.
In the market—place of Bruges sta… Thrice consumed and thrice rebuild… town. As the summer morn was breaking, o… And the world threw off the darkne…
Now from all King Olaf’s farms His men-at-arms Gathered on the Eve of Easter; To his house at Angvalds-ness Fast they press,
The sea awoke at midnight from its… And round the pebbly beaches far a… I heard the first wave of the risi… Rush onward with uninterrupted swe… A voice out of the silence of the…
A handful of red sand, from the ho… Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy… The minister of Thought. How many weary centuries has it be…
I know a maiden fair to see, Take care! She can both false and friendly be… Beware! Beware! Trust her not,
