In that black forest, where, when… With a snake’s stillness glides th… Darkly from sunset to the rising s… A cry, as of the pained heart of t… The long, despairing moan of solit…

How sweetly come the holy psalms From saints and martyrs down, The waving of triumphal palms Above the thorny crown The choral praise, the chanted pra…

“Put up the sword!” The voice of… Speaks, in the pauses of the canno… O’er fields of corn by fiery sickl… And left dry ashes; over trenches… With nameless dead; o’er cities st…

IN the solemn days of old, Two men met in Boston town, One a tradesman frank and bold, One a preacher of renown. Cried the last, in bitter tone:

Behind us at our evening meal The gray bird ate his fill, Swung downward by a single claw, And wiped his hooked bill. He shook his wings and crimson tai…

FROM the green Amesbury hill whi… Of that half mythic ancestor of mi… Who trod its slopes two hundred ye… Down the long valley of the Merri… Midway between me and the river’s…

MASSACHUSETTS BAY, 1760. THE robins sang in the orchard, t… blossoms grew; Little of human sorrow the buds an… knew!

WITH COPIES OF THE A… Friend of mine! whose lot was cast With me in the distant past; Where, like shadows flitting fast, Fact and fancy, thought and theme,

ACROSS the Stony Mountains, o’… The circles of our empire touch th… From slumberous Timpanogos, to Gi… Flowing down from Nuevo-Leon to… And from the mountains of the east…

Poor and inadequate the shadow-pla… Of gain and loss, of waking and of… Against life’s solemn background n… At this late hour. Yet, not untha… I call to mind the fountains by th…

AN ALGONQUIN LEGEND. HAPPY young friends, sit by me, Under May’s blown apple-tree, While these home-birds in and out Through the blossoms flit about.

BEAR him, comrades, to his grave… Never over one more brave Shall the prairie grasses weep, In the ages yet to come, When the millions in our room,

If thou of fortune be bereft, and in thy store there be but left two loaves, sell one, and with the dole, buy hyacinths to feed thy so…

ACROSS the frozen marshes The winds of autumn blow, And the fen-lands of the Wetter Are white with early snow. But where the low, gray headlands

A TALE for Roman guides to tell To careless, sight-worn travellers… Who pause beside the narrow cell Of Gregory on the Caelian Hill. One day before the monk’s door cam…