'Twas Pentecost, the Feast of Gl… When woods and fields put off all… Thus began the King and spake: So from the halls Of ancient Hofburgh’s walls,

Sweet as the tender fragrance that… When martyred flowers breathe out… Sweet as a song that once consoled… But never will be sung to us again… Is thy remembrance. Now the hour…

When descends on the Atlantic The gigantic Storm—wind of the equinox, Landward in his wrath he scourges The toiling surges,

(Canto XXIII.) Even as a bird, ‘mid the beloved l… Quiet upon the nest of her sweet b… Throughout the night, that hideth… Who, that she may behold their lon…

Into the Silent Land! Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more dar… And shattered wrecks lie thicker o… Who leads us with a gentle hand

‘Strike the sails!’ King Olaf sai… ‘Never shall men of mine take flig… Never away from battle I fled, Never away from my foes! Let God dispose

The hour was late; the fire burned… The Landlord’s eyes were closed i… And near the story’s end a deep, Sonorous sound at times was heard, As when the distant bagpipes blow.

Come, old friend! sit down and lis… From the pitcher, placed between u… How the waters laugh and glisten In the head of old Silenus! Old Silenus, bloated, drunken,

MILES STANDISH In the Old Colony days, in Plymo… To and fro in a room of his simple… Clad in doublet and hose, and boot… Strode, with a martial air, Miles…

Four by the clock! and yet not day… But the great world rolls and whee… With its cities on land, and its s… Into the dawn that is to be! Only the lamp in the anchored bark

No hay pajaros en los nidos de ant… Spanish Proverb The sun is bright,—the air is clea… The darting swallows soar and sing… And from the stately elms I hear

The day is ending, The night is descending; The marsh is frozen, The river dead. Through clouds like ashes

TRAVELLER Why dost thou wildly rush and roar… Mad River, O Mad River? Wilt thou not pause and cease to p… Thy hurrying, headlong waters o’er

A handful of red sand, from the ho… Of Arab deserts brought, Within this glass becomes the spy… The minister of Thought. How many weary centuries has it be…

‘Thora of Rimol! hide me! hide me… Danger and shame and death betide… For Olaf the King is hunting me d… Through field and forest, through… Thus cried Jarl Hakon