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Showing: 21-30 results of 97

e have no means of knowing the history of Master "Ebenezer Cook, Gentleman," who, one hundred and forty-six years ago, produced the Sot-Weed Factor's Voyage to Maryland. He wrote, printed, published, and sold it in London for sixpence sterling, and then disappeared forever. We do not know certainly that Mr. Cook himself was the actual adventurer who suffered the ills described by him "in burlesque verse." Indeed, "Eben: Cook, Gent." may be a... more...

THE RAVEN. Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door."'T is some visiter," I muttered, "tapping at my chamber door—Only this, and nothing more." Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December,And each separate dying ember wrought its... more...

One hesitates to lift the veil and throw the light upon a life so hidden and a personality so withdrawn as that of Emma Lazarus; but while her memory is fresh, and the echo of her songs still lingers in these pages, we feel it a duty to call up her presence once more, and to note the traits that made it remarkable and worthy to shine out clearly before the world. Of dramatic episode or climax in her life there is none; outwardly all was placid... more...

To One Who Sleeps (Obiit, June 8th, 1894.) Tho' storm and summer shine for long have shedOr blight or bloom above thy quiet bed,Tho' loneliness and longing cry thee dead—Thou art not dead, belovèd. Still with meAre whilom hopings that encompass theeAnd dreams of dear delights that may not be.Asleep—adream perchance, dost thou forgetThe sometime sorrow and the fevered fret,Sting of salt tears and long unbreathed regret?Liest... more...

The Deacon’s Masterpiece Have you heard of the wonderful one-hoss shay,That was built in such a logical wayIt ran a hundred years to a day,And then, of a sudden, it—ah, but stay,I’ll tell you what happened without delay,Scaring the parson into fits,Frightening people out of their wits,—Have you ever heard of that, I say? Seventeen hundred and fifty-five,Georgius Secundus was then alive,—Snuffy old drone from the... more...


Introduction "Tell me, ye muses, what hath former agesNow left succeeding times to play upon,And what remains unthought on by those sagesWhere a new muse may try her pinion?" So Complained Phineas Fletcher in his Purple Island as long ago as 1633. Three centuries have brought to the development of lyric passion no higher form than that of the sonnet cycle. The sonnet has been likened to an exquisite crystal goblet that holds one sublimely... more...

The Maid of Tamalpais. This she told me in the firelightAs I sat beside her campfire,In a grove of giant redwoods,On the slope of Tamalpais.Old she was, and bent and wrinkled,Lone survivor of the Tamals,Ancient tribe of Indian people,Who have left their name and legendOn the mountain they held sacred.On the ground she sat and brooded,With a blanket wrapped around her—Sat and gazed into the campfire.On her bronze and furrowed features,On... more...

The Kings and Queens of England, From the Battle of Hastings or the Norman Conquest, to the Present Reign, Inclusive.   First, William the Norman lays claim to the crown And retains it till death; then follows his son The red headed William, whose life is cut short By a shot from his friend, when hunting for sport. Then Henry his brother takes quiet possession, As Henry the first, of the great English nation. Next Stephen, a... more...

 Bring the good old bugle, boys, we’ll sing another song,Sing it with the spirit that will start the world along,—Sing it as we used to sing it, fifty thousand strong,While we were marching through Georgia.Chorus.“Hurrah! hurrah! we bring the Jubilee!Hurrah! hurrah! the flag that makes you free!”So we sang the chorus from Atlanta to the seaWhile we were marching through Georgia. How the darkies shouted... more...

PREFACE. The numerous collections of American verse share, I think, one fault in common: they include too much. Whether this has been a bid for popularity, a concession to Philistia, I cannot say; but the fact remains that all anthologies of American poetry are, so far as I know, more or less uncritical. The aim of the present book is different. In no case has a poem been included because it is widely known. The purpose of this compilation is... more...