Once in a lifetime, we may see the… Tremble and lift, that hides symbo… The Spirit’s vision, when the sen… Sweeps the weird meaning that the… Deep in the midst of turmoil, it m…

HOW did he live, this dead man he… With the temple above his grave? He lived as a great one, from crad… He was nursed in luxury, trained i… When the wish was born, it was gra…

Trapper died—our hero—and we griev… In every heart in camp the sorrow… “His soul was red!” the Indian cr… “A white man, he!” the grim old Y… So, brief and strong, each mourner…

THE words of the lips are double… True or false, as we say or sing: But the words of the eyes that mix… Are always saying the same old thi…

o The faithful helm commands the kee… From port to port fair breezes blo… But the ship must sail the convex… Nor may she straighter go.

O THE rare spring flowers! take… Do not wait forsummer buds—they ma… Every sweet to-day sends, we are w… Roses bloom for pulling: the path…

THOSE we love truly never die, Though year by year the sad memori… A ring and flowers, types of life… Are laid upon their graves. For death the pure life saves,

On the 5th of January,!878, three of the Irish political prisoners, who had been confined since!866, were set at liberty. The released men were received by their fellow-countrymen in Lo...

ONLY a fallen horse, stretched o… Stretched in the broken shafts, an… Only a fallen horse, and a circle… Watching the 'frighted teamster go… Hold! for his toil is over—no more…

DO not praise: a smile is payment… Who shall paint the mote’s glad ra… Nay, nor smile, for blind is eyesi… From the silence, from the twiligh… Songs were born before the singer:…

THE STORY OF AN ARCTIC N… AY, ay, I’ll tell you, shipmates, If you care to hear the tale, How myself and the royal yard alon… Were left of the old Narwhale.

HER hair was a waving bronze, and… Deep wells that might cover a broo… And who, till he weighed it, could… That her heart was a cinder instea…

A MAN is not the slave of circum… Or need not be, but builder and di… He makes his own events, not time… Their logic his: not creature, but…

A GOD-LIKE face, with human lo… And tender fancy traced in every l… A god-like face, but oh, how human… Dear Keats, who love the gods the…