NOW, for the faith that is in ye, Polander, Sclav, and Kelt! Prove to the world what the lips h… The hearts have grandly felt. Rouse, ye races in shackles!

“I am poor,” said Chunder Ali, wh… Frowned in supercilious anger at t… “I am friendless and a Hindoo: su… Here in China, where the Hindoo f… I have naught to buy your justice;…

A MAN is not the slave of circum… Or need not be, but builder and di… He makes his own events, not time… Their logic his: not creature, but…

WHAT shall we mourn? For the pro… For the fallen cliff that fronted… For the eagle that died in the tem… Nay, not for these shall we weep;… And the golden fillet shrink back…

AN INCIDENT OF THE F… NO song of a soldier riding down To the raging fight from Winchest… No song of a time that shook the e… With the nations’ throe at a natio…

‘You gave me the key of your heart… Then why do you make me knock?’ ‘O, that was yesterday, Saints ab… And last night—I changed the lock…

Nor gold, nor silver are the words… Nor rich-wrought chasing on design… But rugged relics of an unknown sp… Where fortune chanced I played on… Unthought of here the critic blame…

GOD makes a poet: touches soul an… And lips and heart, and sends him… His fellows hearing, own the true… And crown him daily with the love… The king a lord makes, by a parchm…

LASHED to the planet, glaring a… An eagle at his heart—the Pagan C… Why is it, Mystery? O, dumb Dark… Have always men, with loving heart… Made devils of their gods?

THOSE are vulgar things we pay f… While the precious and the peerles… Common debts are scored and cancel… But the debts from men to ages, th… Always see, the noblest nations ke…

“HE is false to the heart!' she s… He promises fair as a tree in blos… The fruit is rotten ere ripe. Tea… All withered and wasted! and still… Comfort? There is no comfort when…

Oh! no! I would not love again E’en had I still the power given; I would not risk its pain and fear… E’en though its joys were taste of… A breath may blight the heart we p…

ONCE I had a little sweetheart In the land of the Malay,— Such a little yellow sweetheart! Warm and peerless as the day Of her own dear sunny island,

THE kindly words that rise within… And thrill it with their sympathet… But die ere spoken, fail to play t… And claim a merit that is not thei… The kindly word unspoken is a sin,…

‘SHE is dead!’ they say; 'she is… Her mother has kissed her clay-col… Her blue eyes show through the wax… Her grave is dug, and its heap of… ‘She is dead!’ they say to the peo…