General Books

The Grand Old Man of Oakworth. Come, hand me down that rustic harp,   From off that rugged wall,For I must sing another song   To suit the Muse’s call,For she is bent to sing a pœan,   On this eventful year,In praise of the philanthropist   Whom all his friends hold dear—      The Grand Old Man of Oakworth,      Beyond his eightieth year! No flattery!  My honest Muse,   Nor... more...

Old Mother Duck has hatched a broodOf ducklings, small and callow:Their little wings are short, their downIs mottled gray and yellow. There is a quiet little stream,That runs into the moat,Where tall green sedges spread their leaves,And water-lilies float. Close by the margin of the brook,The old duck made her nest,Of straw, and leaves, and withered grass,And down from her own breast. View larger... more...

BEING A WORD ON BEHALF OF PATCHOULI. AN ingenuous reviewer once described some verses of mine as "unwholesome," because, he said, they had "a faint smell of Patchouli about them." I am a little sorry he chose Patchouli, for that is not a particularly favourite scent with me. If he had only chosen Peau d'Espagne, which has a subtle meaning, or Lily of the Valley, with which I have... more...

PREFACE. In every work regard the writer's end,Since none can compass more than they intend. Pope.This volume is far indeed from being a scientific treatise On Flowers and Flower-Gardens:--it is mere gossip in print upon a pleasant subject. But I hope it will not be altogether useless. If I succeed in my object I shall consider that I have gossipped to some purpose. On several points--such as that... more...

CANTO I O'er better waves to speed her rapid courseThe light bark of my genius lifts the sail,Well pleas'd to leave so cruel sea behind;And of that second region will I sing,In which the human spirit from sinful blotIs purg'd, and for ascent to Heaven prepares. Here, O ye hallow'd Nine! for in your trainI follow, here the deadened strain revive;Nor let Calliope refuse to soundA... more...

NO doubt you have heard how the grasshoppers’ feasts“Excited the spleen of the birds and the beasts;”How the peacock and turkey “flew into a passion,”On finding that insects “pretended to fashion.”Now, I often have thought it exceedingly hard,That nought should be said of the beasts by the bard;Who, by some strange neglect, has omitted to stateThat the quadrupeds gave a magnificent... more...

CANTO XI "O thou Almighty Father, who dost makeThe heavens thy dwelling, not in bounds confin'd,But that with love intenser there thou view'stThy primal effluence, hallow'd be thy name:Join each created being to extolThy might, for worthy humblest thanks and praiseIs thy blest Spirit.  May thy kingdom's peaceCome unto us; for we, unless it come,With all our striving thither... more...

Who killed Cock Robin?With my bow and arrow,I, said the Sparrow,I kill'd Cock Robin.Who saw him die?With my little eye,I, said the Fly,I saw him die.Who caught his blood?With my little dish,I, said the Fish,I caught his blood.Who'll make his shroud?With my thread and needle,I, said the Beetle,I'll make his shroud.Who'll dig his grave?With my spade and trowel,I, said the Owl,I'll... more...

No one can have reflected on the history of genius without being impressed with a melancholy feeling at the obscurity in which the lives of the poets of our country are, with few exceptions, involved. That they lived, and wrote, and died, comprises nearly all that is known of many, and, of others, the few facts which are preserved are often records of privations, or sufferings, or errors. The cause of... more...

THE piping of our slender, peaceful reedsWhispers uncared for while the trumpets bray;Song is thin air; our hearts' exulting playBeats time but to the tread of marching deeds,Following the mighty van that Freedom leads,Her glorious standard flaming to the day!The crimsoned pavement where a hero bleedsBreathes nobler lessons than the poet's lay.Strong arms, broad breasts, brave hearts, are... more...