#AmericanWriters
Where is the world we roved, Ned… Hollows thereof lay rich in shade By voyagers old inviolate thrown Ere Paul Pry cruised with Pelf a… To us old lads some thoughts come…
The chief mate of the Pequod was Starbuck, a native of Nantucket, and a Quaker by descent. He was a long, earnest man, and though born on an icy coast, seemed well adapted to endure hot...
Arms reversed and banners creped - Muffled drums; Snowy horses sable—draped— McPherson comes. But, tell us, shall we know him mo…
When tempest winnowed grain from b… And men were looking for a man, Authority called you to the van, McClellan: Along the line the plaudit ran,
q|“That darkesome glen they enter, where they find Were shronke into the jawes, as he did never dine. Southeast of Crossman’s Isle lies Hood’s Isle, or McCain’s Beclouded lsle, and upon...
“Few of us doubt, gentlemen, that human life on this earth is but a state of probation; which among other things implies, that here below, we mortals have only to do with things provisi...
Gold in the mountain, And gold in the glen, And greed in the heart, Heaven having no part, And unsatisfied men.
(Indicative of the Passion of the… on the 15th Day of April, 1865) * * * Good Friday was the day Of the prodigy and crime,
(October, 1864) Shoe the steed with silver That bore him to the fray, When he heard the guns at dawning– Miles away;
By chapel bare, with walls sea-bea… The lichened urns in wilds are los… About a carved memorial stone That shows, decayed and coral-moss… A form recumbent, swords at feet,
O Pride of the days in prime of t… Now trebled in great renown, When before the ark of our holy ca… Fell Dagon down– Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and t…
_Of The Young Master of a Wrecke… Come out of the Golden Gate, Go round the Horn with streamers, Carry royals early and late; But, brother, be not over-elate—
_For Graves at Pea Ridge, Arkans… Let none misgive we died amiss When here we strove in furious fig… Furious it was; nathless was this Better than tranquil plight,
_The Return of the Sire de Nesle… A.D. 16 My towers at last! These rovings… Their thirst is slaked in larger d… The yearning infinite recoils,
1876 Sunning ourselves in October on a… Balmy as spring, though the year w… I lading my pipe, she stirring her… My old woman she says to me,