A picture memory brings to me I look across the years and see Myself beside my mother’s knee. I feel her gentle hand restrain My selfish moods, and know again

‘To the winds give our banner! Bear homeward again!’ Cried the Lord of Acadia, Cried Charles of Estienne; From the prow of his shallop

1775. No Berserk thirst of blood had th… No battle-joy was theirs, who set Against the alien bayonet Their homespun breasts in that old…

THE storm and peril overpast, The hounding hatred shamed and sti… Go, soul of freedom! take at last The place which thou alone canst f… Confirm the lesson taught of old—

AGAINST the wooded hills it sta… Ghost of a dead home, staring thro… Its broken lights on wasted lands Where old-time harvests grew. Unploughed, unsown, by scythe unsh…

HURRAH! the seaward breezes Sweep down the bay amain; Heave up, my lads, the anchor! Run up the sail again! Leave to the lubber landsmen

O dwellers in the stately towns, What come ye out to see? This common earth, this common sky… This water flowing free? As gayly as these kalmia flowers

The land, that, from the rule of k… In freeing us, itself made free, Our Old World Sister, to us brin… Her sculptured Dream of Liberty, Unlike the shapes on Egypt’s sand…

All day the darkness and the cold Upon my heart have lain, Like shadows on the winter sky, Like frost upon the pane; But now my torpid fancy wakes,

Dry the tears for holy Eva, With the blessed angels leave her; Of the form so soft and fair Give to earth the tender care. For the golden locks of Eva

She came and stood in the Old Sou… A wonder and a sign, With a look the old-time sibyls wo… Half-crazed and half-divine. Save the mournful sackcloth about…

As o’er his furrowed fields which… Beneath a coldly dropping sky, Yet chill with winter’s melted sno… The husbandman goes forth to sow, Thus, Freedom, on the bitter blas…

I HAVE been thinking of the vict… In Naples, dying for the lack of… And sunshine, in their close, damp… Where hope is not, and innocence i… Appeals against the torture and th…

RIGHT in the track where Sherma… Ploughed his red furrow, Out of the narrow cabin, Up from the cellar’s burrow, Gathered the little black people,

Not always as the whirlwind’s rush On Horeb’s mount of fear, Not always as the burning bush To Midian’s shepherd seer, Nor as the awful voice which came