The subtle power in perfume found Nor priest nor sibyl vainly learne… On Grecian shrine or Aztec mound No censer idly burned. That power the old-time worships k…

NOT unto us who did but seek The word that burned within to spe… Not unto us this day belong The triumph and exultant song. Upon us fell in early youth

The day is closing dark and cold, With roaring blast and sleety show… And through the dusk the lilacs we… The bloom of snow, instead of flow… I turn me from the gloom without,

In the minister’s morning sermon He had told of the primal fall, And how thenceforth the wrath of… Rested on each and all. And how of His will and pleasure,

The Brownie sits in the Scotchman… And eats his meat and drinks his a… And beats the maid with her unused… And the lazy lout with his idle fl… But he sweeps the floor and thresh…

FRIENDof the Slave, and yet the… Lover of peace, yet ever foremost… The need of battling Freedom call… To plant the banner on the outer w… Gentle and kindly, ever at distres…

HARRIET BEECHER STOWE’S… THE tall, sallow guardsmen their… Flaming out in their violet, yello… And behind go the lackeys in crims… And the chamberlains gorgeous in v…

A BLUSH as of roses Where rose never grew! Great drops on the bunch-grass, But not of the dew! A taint in the sweet air

Who gives and hides the giving han… Nor counts on favor, fame, or prai… Shall find his smallest gift outwe… The burden of the sea and land. Who gives to whom hath naught been…

NIGHT on the city of the Moor! On mosque and tomb, and white-wall… On sea-waves, to whose ceaseless k… The narrow harbor gates unlock, On corsair’s galley, carack tall,

Speak and tell us, our Ximena, lo… O’er the camp of the invaders, o’e… Who is losing? who is winning? are… Look abroad, and tell us, sister,… Down the hills of Angostura still…

The elder folks shook hands at las… Down seat by seat the signal passe… To simple ways like ours unused, Half solemnized and half amused, With long-drawn breath and shrug,…

Pipes of the misty moorlands, Voice of the glens and hills; The droning of the torrents, The treble of the rills! Not the braes of bloom and heather…

Up and down the village streets Strange are the forms my fancy mee… For the thoughts and things of to-… And through the veil of a closed l… The ancient worthies I see again

FAR from his close and noisome ce… By grassy lane and sunny stream, Blown clover field and strawberry… And green and meadow freshness, fe… The footsteps of his dream.