#Americans #XIXCentury
Is it so far from thee Thou canst no longer see, In the Chamber over the Gate, That old man desolate, Weeping and wailing sore
‘I thought before your tale began,… The Student murmured, ‘we should… Some legend written by Judah Rav In his Gemara of Babylon; Or something from the Gulistan,—
Once the Emperor Charles of Spai… With his swarthy, grave commanders… I forget in what campaign, Long besieged, in mud and rain, Some old frontier town of Flander…
A fleet with flags arrayed Sailed from the port of Brest, And the Admiral’s ship displayed The signal: ‘Steer southwest.’ For this Admiral D’Anville
It was fifty years ago In the pleasant month of May, In the beautiful Pays de Vaud, A child in its cradle lay. And Nature, the old nurse, took
Ah! what pleasant visions haunt me As I gaze upon the sea! All the old romantic legends, All my dreams, come back to me. Sails of silk and ropes of sandal,
Garlands upon his grave And flowers upon his hearse, And to the tender heart and brave The tribute of this verse. His was the troubled life,
Little sweet wine of Jurançon, You are dear to my memory still! With mine host and his merry song, Under the rose-tree I drank my fi… Twenty years after, passing that w…
I sat by my window one night, And watched how the stars grew hig… And the earth and skies were a spl… To a sober and musing eye. From heaven the silver moon shone…
Southward with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and gast blew the blast, And the east—wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice
Robert of Sicily, brother of Pope… And Valmond, Emperor of Allemain… Apparelled in magnificent attire, With retinue of many a knight and… On St. John’s eve, at vespers, pr…
It is autumn; not without But within me is the cold. Youth and spring are all about; It is I that have grown old. Birds are darting through the air,
The shades of night were falling f… As through an Alpine village pass… A youth, who bore, 'mid snow and i… A banner with the strange device, Excelsior!
Awake! arise! the hour is late! Angels are knocking at thy door! They are in haste and cannot wait, And once departed come no more. Awake! arise! the athlete’s arm
Heard a voice, that cried, “Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!” And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry