I and my chimney, two grey-headed old smokers, reside in the country. We are, I may say, old settlers here; particularly my old chimney, which settles more and more every day. Though I ...

(Indicative of the Passion of the… on the 15th Day of April, 1865) * * * Good Friday was the day Of the prodigy and crime,

Where the wings of a sunny Dome e… I saw a Banner in gladsome air– Starry, like Berenice’s Hair– Afloat in broadened bravery there; With undulating long-drawn flow,

There is a coal-black Angel With a thick Afric lip, And he dwells (like the hunted and… In a swamp where the green frogs d… But his face is against a City

The _Charles-and-Emma_ seaward sp… (Named from the carven pair at pro… He so smart, and a curly head, She tricked forth as a bride knows… Pretty stem for the port, I trow!

No sleep. The sultriness pervades… And blinds the brain-a dense oppre… As tawny tigers feel in matted sha… Vexing their blood and making apt… Beneath the stars the roofy desert…

Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill In prime of morn and May, Recall ye how McClellan’s men Here stood at bay? While deep within yon forest dim

We drop our dead in the sea, The bottomless, bottomless sea; Each bubble a hollow sigh, As it sinks forever and aye. We drop our dead in the sea,—

How often in the years that close, When truce had stilled the sieging… The soldiers, mounting on their wo… With mutual curious glance have ru… From face to face along the fronti…

Wandering late by morning seas When my heart with pain was low— Hate the censor pelted me— Deject I saw my shadow go. In elf-caprice of bitter tone

Beauty and youth, with manners swe… friends— Gold, yet a mind not unenriched ha… Whom here low violets veil from ey… But all these gifts transcended be…

Entering that gable-ended Spouter-Inn, you found yourself in a wide, low, straggling entry with old-fashioned wainscots, reminding one of the bulwarks of some condemned old craft. On on...

Fear me, virgin whosoever Taking pride from love exempt, Fear me, slighted. Never, never Brave me, nor my fury tempt: Downy wings, but wroth they beat

Hail! voyagers, hail! Whence e’er ye come, where’er ye r… No calmer strand, No sweeter land, Will e’er ye view, than the Land…

The cavalry-camp lies on the slope Of what was late a vernal hill, But now like a pavement bare– An outpost in the perilous wilds Which ever are lone and still;