#Americans
Not ours, where battle smoke upcur… And battle dews lie wet, To meet the charge that treason hu… By sword and bayonet. Not ours to guide the fatal scythe
(SEPTEMBER, 1779) ‘Have a care!’ the bailiffs cried From their cockleshell that lay Off the frigate’s yellow side, Tossing on Scarborough Bay,
It was the morning season of the y… It was the morning era of the land… The watercourses rang full loud an… Portala’s cross stood where Porta… Had planted it when Faith was tau…
Above the pines the moon was slowl… The river sang below; The dim Sierras, far beyond, upli… Their minarets of snow. The roaring camp-fire, with rude h…
‘The sky is clouded, the rocks are… The spray of the tempest is white… The winds are out with the waves a… And I shall not tempt the sea to-… ’The trail is narrow, the wood is…
(WAR OF THE REBELLION, 188… No, I won’t,—thar, now, so! And i… And thar’s nary to tell that you f… And it’s ‘Belle, tell us, do!’ an… And 'Wot’s this yer yarn of the M…
Came the relief. ‘What, sentry, h… How passed the night through thy l… ‘Cold, cheerless, dark,—as may bef… The hour before the dawn is breaki… ‘No sight? no sound?’ ‘No; nothin…
Beg your pardon, old fellow! I th… I was dreaming just now when you s… The fact is, the musical clink Of the ice on your wine-goblet’s b… A chord of my memory woke.
(AN AERIAL RETROSPECT) What was it filled my youthful dre… In place of Greek or Latin themes… Or beauty’s wild, bewildering beam… Avitor!
No life in earth, or air, or sky; The sunbeams, broken silently, On the bared rocks around me lie,— Cold rocks with half-warmed lichen… And scales of moss; and scarce a y…
O joy of creation To be! O rapture to fly And be free! Be the battle lost or won,
We know him well: no need of prais… Or bonfire from the windy hill To light to softer paths and ways The world-worn man we honor still. No need to quote the truths he spo…
Down the picket-guarded lane Rolled the comfort-laden wain, Cheered by shouts that shook the p… Soldier-like and merry: Phrases such as camps may teach,
(BIG PINE FLAT, 1871) ‘Something characteristic,’ eh? Humph! I reckon you mean by that Something that happened in our way… Here at the crossin’ of Big Pine…
‘So she’s here, your unknown Dulc… And you really believe she would k… again?’ ‘Of course,’ he replied, ‘she woul… womankind yet