AT THE UNVEILING OF HI… Among their graven shapes to whom Thy civic wreaths belong, O city of his love, make room For one whose gift was song.

LIFT again the stately emblem on… Give to Northern winds the Pine-… Sons of men who sat in council wit… Answering England’s royal missive… Rise again for home and freedom! s…

The Khan came from Bokhara town To Hamza, santon of renown. ‘My head is sick, my hands are wea… Thy help, O holy man, I seek.’ In silence marking for a space

‘O for a knight like Bayard, Without reproach or fear; My light glove on his casque of st… My love-knot on his spear! ’O for the white plume floating

Up the streets of Aberdeen, By the kirk and college green, Rode the Laird of Ury; Close behind him, close beside, Foul of mouth and evil-eyed,

THE land was pale with famine And racked with fever-pain; The frozen fiords were fishless, The earth withheld her grain. Men saw the boding Fylgja

He comes,– he comes,– the Frost S… You may trace his footsteps now On the naked woods and the blasted… And the brown hill’s withered brow… He has smitten the leaves of the g…

Our vales are sweet with fern and… Our hills are maple-crowned; But not from them our fathers chos… The village burying-ground. The dreariest spot in all the land

A score of years had come and gone Since the Pilgrims landed on Plym… When Captain Underhill, bearing s… From Indian ambush and Flemish wa… Left three-hilled Boston and wand…

For ages on our river borders, These tassels in their tawny bloom… And willowy studs of downy silver, Have prophesied of Spring to come… For ages have the unbound waters

Over the threshold of his pleasant… Set in green clearings passed the… In simple trust, misdoubting not t… ‘Dear heart of mine!’ he said, ‘th… To trust the Lord for shelter.’ O…

Last night, just as the tints of a… Of sunset faded from our hills and… I sat, vague listening, lapped in… To the leaf’s rustle, and the cric… Then, like that basket, flush with…

On the isle of Penikese, Ringed about by sapphire seas, Fanned by breezes salt and cool, Stood the Master with his school. Over sails that not in vain

MEN of the North-land! where’s t… Of the true-hearted and the unshac… Sons of old freemen, do we but inh… Their names alone? Is the old Pilgrim spirit quenche…

FROM gold to gray Our mild sweet day Of Indian Summer fades too soon; But tenderly Above the sea