WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. Thanatopsis. To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature's teachings. Sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, March. The stormy March has come at last, With wind and clouds and changing skies; I hear the rushing of the blast That through the snowy valley flies. Autumn Woods. But 'neath yon crimson tree, Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Her blush of maiden shame. Forest Hymn. The groves were God's first temples. The Death of the Flowers. The melancholy days are come, The saddest of the year, Of wailing winds, and naked woods, The Battle-Field. Truth crushed to earth shall rise again: RALPH WALDO EMERSON. The Problem. The hand that rounded Peter's dome, He builded better than he knew. Earth proudly wears the Parthenon Hymn. At the completion of the Concord Monument. Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. Strike Marco Bozzaris. for altars and your fires; your for the green graves of your sires; God, and your native land! One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die. On the Death of Joseph Rodman Drake. Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days; None knew thee but to love thee,45 Nor named thee but to praise. Burns. Such graves as his are pilgrim-shrines, CHARLES SPRAGUE. Curiosity. Lo, where the stage, the poor, degraded stage, Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends, An incarnation of fat dividends. Centennial Ode. Stanza 22. Behold! in Liberty's unclouded blaze We lift our heads, a race of other days. To my Cigar. Yes, social friend, I love thee well, HENRY W. LONGFELLOW. A Psalm of Life. Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Art is long, and Time is fleeting.* Let the dead Past bury its dead! Lives of great men all remind us We can make our lives sublime, And, departing, leave behind us Footprints on the sands of time. *Life is short, and the art long. HIPPOCRATES, (Aphorism I.) Still achieving, still pursuing, Learn to labor and to wait. The Light of Stars. Know how sublime a thing it is It is not always May. For Time will teach thee soon the truth, There is no flock, however watched and tended, There is no fireside, howsoe'er defended, |