#Americans
At Drontheim, Olaf the King Heard the bells of Yule-tide ring… As he sat in his banquet-hall, Drinking the nut-brown ale, With his bearded Berserks hale
When the summer fields are mown, When the birds are fledged and flo… And the dry leaves strew the path; With the falling of the snow, With the cawing of the crow,
Leafless are the trees; their purp… Spread themselves abroad, like ree… Rising silent In the Red Sea of the winter suns… From the hundred chimneys of the v…
On sunny slope and beechen swell, The shadowed light of evening fell… And, where the maple’s leaf was br… With soft and silent lapse came do… The glory, that the wood receives,
Mounted on Kyrat strong and fleet… His chestnut steed with four white… Roushan Beg, called Kurroglou, Son of the road and bandit chief, Seeking refuge and relief,
In broad daylight, and at noon, Yesterday I saw the moon Sailing high, but faint and white, As a schoolboy’s paper kite. In broad daylight, yesterday,
Sir Oluf he rideth over the plain… Full seven miles broad and seven m… But never, ah never, can meet with… A tilt with him dare ride. He saw under the hill-side
O let the soul her slumbers break, Let thought be quickened, and awak… Awake to see How soon this life is past and gon… And death comes softly stealing on…
Is it so far from thee Thou canst no longer see, In the Chamber over the Gate, That old man desolate, Weeping and wailing sore
In the market—place of Bruges sta… Thrice consumed and thrice rebuild… town. As the summer morn was breaking, o… And the world threw off the darkne…
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons, Ere yet his last he breathed, To the merry monks of Croyland His drinking-horn bequeathed,— That, whenever they sat at their r…
Tuscan, that wanderest through the… With thoughtful pace, and sad, maj… Stern thoughts and awful from thy… Like Farinata from his fiery tomb… Thy sacred song is like the trump…
Never stoops the soaring vulture On his quarry in the desert, On the sick or wounded bison, But another vulture, watching From his high aerial look-out,
I shot an arrow into the air, It fell to earth, I knew not wher… For, so swiftly it flew, the sight Could not follow it in its flight. I breathed a song into the air,
A fleet with flags arrayed Sailed from the port of Brest, And the Admiral’s ship displayed The signal: ‘Steer southwest.’ For this Admiral D’Anville
