My lady walks her morning round, My lady’s page her fleet greyhound… My lady’s hair the fond winds stir… And all the birds make songs for h… Her thrushes sing in Rathburn bow…

WRITTEN IN THE ALBUM… On page of thine I cannot trace The cold and heartless commonplace… A statue’s fixed and marble grace. For ever as these lines I penned,

‘To the winds give our banner! Bear homeward again!’ Cried the Lord of Acadia, Cried Charles of Estienne; From the prow of his shallop

HE had bowed down to drunkenness, An abject worshipper: The pride of manhood’s pulse had g… Too faint and cold to stir; And he had given his spirit up

IT was late in mild October, and… Had left the summer harvest-fields… The first sharp frosts had fallen,… With the hues of summer’s rainbow,… Through a thin, dry mist, that mor…

WHEN Freedom, on her natal day, Within her war-rocked cradle lay, An iron race around her stood, Baptized her infant brow in blood; And, through the storm which round…

Dark the halls, and cold the feast… Gone the bridemaids, gone the prie… All is over, all is done, Twain of yesterday are one! Blooming girl and manhood gray,

The threads our hands in blindness… No self-determined plan weaves in; The shuttle of the unseen powers Works out a pattern not as ours. Ah! small the choice of him who si…

A HARVEST IDYL. PROEM. I CALL the old time back: I bri… in tender memory of the summer day When, where our native river lapse…

Weary of jangling noises never sti… The skeptic’s sneer, the bigot’s h… Of clashing texts, the webs of cre… Round simple truth, the children g… With gilded cards their new Jerus…

No bird-song floated down the hill… The tangled bank below was still; No rustle from the birchen stem, No ripple from the water’s hem. The dusk of twilight round us grew…

Oh, thicker, deeper, darker growin… The solemn vista to the tomb Must know henceforth another shado… And give another cypress room. In love surpassing that of brother…

Around Sebago’s lonely lake There lingers not a breeze to brea… The mirror which its waters make. The solemn pines along its shore, The firs which hang its gray rocks…

Immortal Love, forever full, Forever flowing free, Forever shared, forever whole, A never-ebbing sea! Our outward lips confess the name

THE years are but half a score, And the war-whoop sounds no more With the blast of bugles, where Straight into a slaughter pen, With his doomed three hundred men,