#Americans
The first thing we have to say respecting what are called new views here in New England, at the present time, is, that they are not new, but the very oldest of thoughts cast into the mo...
THERE is a difference between one and another hour of life in their authority and subsequent effect. Our faith comes in moments; our vice is habitual. Yet there is a depth in those brie...
Already blushes in thy cheek The bosom—thought which thou must… The bird, how far it haply roam By cloud or isle, is flying home; The maiden fears, and fearing runs
The times, as we say—or the present aspects of our social state, theral Science, Agriculture, Art, Trade, Letters, have their root in an invisible spiritual reality. To appear in these ...
If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near;
I am the Muse who sung alway By Jove, at dawn of the first day… Star—crowned, sole—sitting, long… To fire the stagnant earth with th… On spawning slime my song prevails…
In May, when sea-winds pierced ou… I found the fresh Rhodora in the… Spreading its leafless blooms in a… To please the desert and the slugg… The purple petals, fallen in the p…
Guard well your spare moments. Th…
This is he, who, felled by foes, Sprung harmless up, refreshed by b… He to captivity was sold, But him no prison—bars would hold: Though they sealed him in a rock,
The debt is paid, The verdict said, The Furies laid, The plague is stayed, All fortunes made;
Of Merlin wise I learned a song,— Sing it low or sing it loud, It is mightier than the strong, And punishes the proud. I sing it to the surging crowd,—
A ruddy drop of manly blood The surging sea outweighs, The world uncertain comes and goes… The lover rooted stays. I fancied he was fled,—
Why should I keep holiday, When other men have none? Why but because when these are gay… I sit and mourn alone. And why when mirth unseals all ton…
Ruby wine is drunk by knaves, Sugar spends to fatten slaves, Rose and vine—leaf deck buffoons; Thunder—clouds are Jove’s festoon… Drooping oft in wreaths of dread,
THOUGH love repine, and reason… There came a voice without reply,— “'T is man’s perdition to be safe, When for the truth he ought to die…