#AmericanWriters
The new world honors him whose lof… For England’s freedom made her ow… Whose song, immortal as its theme,… Their common freehold while both w…
FRIENDof the Slave, and yet the… Lover of peace, yet ever foremost… The need of battling Freedom call… To plant the banner on the outer w… Gentle and kindly, ever at distres…
‘O for a knight like Bayard, Without reproach or fear; My light glove on his casque of st… My love-knot on his spear! ’O for the white plume floating
THE winding way the serpent takes The mystic water took, From where, to count its beaded la… The forest sped its brook. A narrow space 'twixt shore and sh…
NOT unto us who did but seek The word that burned within to spe… Not unto us this day belong The triumph and exultant song. Upon us fell in early youth
AN ALGONQUIN LEGEND. HAPPY young friends, sit by me, Under May’s blown apple-tree, While these home-birds in and out Through the blossoms flit about.
Some die too late and some too soo… At early morning, heat of noon, Or the chill evening twilight. Th… Whom the rich heavens did so endow With eyes of power and Jove’s own…
The Eagle, stooping from yon snow… For the wild hunter and the Bison… In the changed world below; and fi… Their graven semblance in the eter…
‘To the winds give our banner! Bear homeward again!’ Cried the Lord of Acadia, Cried Charles of Estienne; From the prow of his shallop
I have not felt, o’er seas of sand… The rocking of the desert bark; Nor laved at Hebron’s fount my ha… By Hebron’s palm-trees cool and d… Nor pitched my tent at even-fall,
‘BRING out your dead!’ The midn… Heard and gave back the hoarse, lo… Harsh fell the tread of hasty feet… Glanced through the dark the coars… Her coffin and her pall.
O strong, upwelling prayers of fai… From inmost founts of life ye star… The spirit’s pulse, the vital brea… Of soul and heart! From pastoral toil, from traffic’s…
FROM gold to gray Our mild sweet day Of Indian Summer fades too soon; But tenderly Above the sea
OUR fellow-countrymen in chains! Slaves, in a land of light and law… Slaves, crouching on the very plai… Where rolled the storm of Freedom… A groan from Eutaw’s haunted wood…
SCARCE had the solemn Sabbath-b… Ceased quivering in the steeple, Scarce had the parson to his desk Walked stately through his people, When down the summer-shaded street