DIED—Early morning of September… in the gleaming dawn of ‘name and… Hamilton J. Dunbar. Dead! Dead! Dead! We thought him ours alone;

Dear Lord, to Thee my knee is ben… Give me content— Full-pleasured with what comes to… What e’er it be: An humble roof—a frugal board,

In the jolly winters Of the long-ago, It was not so cold as now— O! No! No! Then, as I remember,

In youth he wrought, with eyes abl… Lorn-faced and long of hair— In youth—in youth he painted her A sister of the air— Could clasp her not, but felt the…

Donn Piatt—of Mac-o-chee,— Not the one of History, Who, with flaming tongue and pen, Scathes the vanities of men; Not the one whose biting wit

The boy lives on our Farm, he’s n… Afeard o’ horses none! An’ he can make 'em lope, er trot, Er rack, er pace, er run. Sometimes he drives two horses, wh…

He leant against a lamp-post, lost In some mysterious reverie: His head was bowed; his arms were… He yawned, and glanced evasively: Uncrossed his arms, and slowly put

Here’s his ragged 'roundabout’; Turn the pockets inside out: See; his pen-knife, lost to use, Rusted shut with apple-juice; Here, with marbles, top and string…

Just the airiest, fairiest slip of… With a Gainsborough hat, like a b… Tilted up at one side with the jau… And a knot of red roses sown in un… Where the shadows are lost in her…

He called her in from me and shut… And she so loved the sunshine and… She loved them even better yet tha… That ne’er knew dearth of them—my… Nature had nursed me in her lap in…

When we hear Uncle Sidney tell About the long-ago An’ old, old friends he loved so w… When _he_ was young—My-oh!— Us childern all wish _we’d 'a’_ bi…

Friends, my heart is half aweary Of its happiness to-night: Though your songs are gay and chee… And your spirits feather-light, There’s a ghostly music haunting

I’m bin a-visitun 'bout a week To my little Cousin’s at Nameless… An’ I’m got the hives an’ a new s… An’ I’m come back home where my b…

'Best time to kill a hog’s when he… Mostly folks is law-abidin’ Down on Wriggle Crick—, Seein’ they’s no Squire residin’ In our bailywick;

Sweet little myth of the nursery s… Earliest love of mine infantile br… Be something tangible, bloom in th… Into existence, as thou art addres… Hasten! appear to me, guileless an…