#AmericanWriters
_Under the Disaster of the Second… They take no shame for dark defeat While prizing yet each victory won… Who fight for the Right through a… Nor pause until their work is done…
Concerning the officers of the wha… The large importance attached to t… Now, the grand distinction drawn b… Though the long period of a South… And though of all men the moody ca…
_If Luther’s day expand to Darwin… _Shall that exclude the hope—forec… Unmoved by all the claims our time… The ancient Sphinx still keeps th… shade;
Departed the pride, and the glory… The vaunt of her isles sleeps deep… That rolls o’er his corse with a h… His warriors bend over their spear… His sisters gaze upward and mourn.
Convulsions came; and, where the f… Long slept in pastoral green, A goblin-mountain was upheaved (Sure the scared sense was all dec… Marl-glen and slag-ravine.
Already we are boldly launched upo… It is some systematized exhibition… “No branch of Zoology is so much… “It is not my intention, were it i… “Unfitness to pursue our research…
_Commemorative of the Dissolution… May, 1865 What power disbands the Northern… After their steely play? The lonely watcher feels an awe
Persian, you rise Aflame from climes of sacrifice Where adulators sue, And prostrate man, with brow abase… Adheres to rites whose tenor trace…
Sailors there are of the gentlest… Yet strong, like every goodly thin… The discipline of arms refines, And the wave gives tempering. The damasked blade its beam can fl…
Skimming lightly, wheeling still, The swallows fly low Over the field in clouded days, The forest-field of Shiloh— Over the field where April rain
A seemly woman sitting by the shor… That with great sorrow and sad ago… Seemed some great misfortune to de… And loud to them for succor called… “Black his eye as the midnight sky…
And as we be sons of the earth so… Let us our father’s heritage divid… And challenge to ourselves our por… Of all the patrimony, which a few Now hold on hugger-mugger in their…
Look, the raft, a signal flying, Thin—a shred; None upon the lashed spars lying, Quick or dead. Cries the sea-fowl, hovering over,
All dripping in tangles green, Cast up by a lonely sea If purer for that, O Weed, Bitterer, too, are ye?
YOU see," said poet Blandmour, e… “Perhaps so,” said I, without equ… “Ah! to be sure—yes—well; Coulter… “Yes,” replied I, “of this sort o… “Why, do you not remember the word…
