#Irish #XIXCentury
‘I’LL have it, I tell you! Curse… The long knife glittered, was shea… The sawyer staggered and tripped a… And falling he uttered a frightene… His face to the sky, he shuddered…
HUNGER goes sleeplessly Thinking of food; Evil lies painfully Yearning for good. Life is a confluence:
HE is coming! he is coming! in my… There is music in my blood, and it… That my love unknown comes toward… For I cannot hide the secret that… O the sweet bursting flowers! how…
LOVE’S Herald flew o’er all the… Crying: ’ Love’s altar waits for sacrifice!’ And all folk answered, like a wave… With treasured offerings and gifts…
I’D rather live in Bohemia than i… For only there are the values true… And the laurels gathered in all me… The prizes of traffic and state ar… By shrewdness or force or by deeds…
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…
THEY came in the early spring-da… With the first refreshing showers And I watched the growing beauty Of the little drooping flowers. They had no bright hues to charm m…
To toil all day and lie worn-out a… To rise for all the years to slave… And breed new broods to do no othe… In toiling, bearing, breeding—life… To myriad men, too base for man or…
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…
YE white-maned waves of the Weste… That ride and roll to the strand, Ye strong-winged birds, never forc… By the gales that sweep toward lan… Ye are symbols of death, and of ho…
NEVER nobler was the Senate, Never grander the debate: Rome’s old gods are on their trial By the judges of the state! Torn by warring creeds, the Fathe…
Nor gold, nor silver are the words… Nor rich-wrought chasing on design… But rugged relics of an unknown sp… Where fortune chanced I played on… Unthought of here the critic blame…
The Steamer ‘ Atlantic ’ Was Wre… FOR months and years, with penury… And heart-sore envy did they dare… And mite by mite was saved from ea… To buy, some future day, the God-…
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…
WHAT shall we mourn? For the pro… For the fallen cliff that fronted… For the eagle that died in the tem… Nay, not for these shall we weep;… And the golden fillet shrink back…