#Americans #XIXCentury
Eyes so tristful, eyes so tristful… Heart so full of care and cumber, I was lapped in rest and slumber, Ye have made me wakeful, wistful! In this life of labor endless
At Drontheim, Olaf the King Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring… As he sat in his banquet-hall, Drinking the nut-brown ale, With his bearded Berserks hale
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…
Far and wide among the nations Spread the name and fame of Kwasi… No man dared to strive with Kwasi… No man could compete with Kwasind… But the mischievous Puk—Wudjies,
NOW had the season returned, when… And the retreating sun the sign of… Birds of passage sailed through th… Desolate northern bays to the shor… Harvests were gathered in; and wil…
Well pleased all listened to the t… That drew, the Student said, its… And marrow from the ancient myth Of some one with an iron flail; Or that portentous Man of Brass
In the ancient town of Bruges, In the quaint old Flemish city, As the evening shades descended, Low and loud and sweetly blended, Low at times and loud at times,
'Hads’t thou stayed, I must have… That is what the Vision said. In his chamber all alone, Kneeling on the floor of stone, Prayed the Monk in deep contritio…
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…
The day is done, and the darkness Falls from the wings of Night, As a feather is wafted downward From an eagle in his flight. I see the lights of the village
Spake full well, in language quain… One who dwelleth by the castled R… When he called the flowers, so blu… Stars, that in earth’s firmament d… Stars they are, wherein we read ou…
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…
Simon Danz has come home again, From cruising about with his bucca… He has singed the beard of the Ki… And carried away the Dean of Jaen And sold him in Algiers.
What is this I read in history, Full of marvel, full of mystery, Difficult to understand? Is it fiction, is it truth? Children in the flower of youth,
Soon as the story reached its end, One, over eager to commend, Crowned it with injudicious praise… And then the voice of blame found… And fanned the embers of dissent
