Two souls diverse out of our human sight
Pass, followed one with love and each with wonder:
The stormy sophist with his mouth of thunder,
Clothed with loud words and mantled in the might
Of darkness and magnificence of night;
And one whose eye could smite...

Shall mine eyes behold thy glory, O my country? Shall mine eyes behold thy glory?
Or shall the darkness close around them, ere the sun-blaze breaks at last upon thy story?
When the nations ope for thee their queenly circle, as a sweet new sister hail thee,
Shall these...

It was the wild midnight,—
  A storm was on the sky;
The lightning gave its light,
  And the thunder echoed by.

The torrent swept the glen,
  The ocean lashed the shore;
Then rose the Spartan men,
  To make their bed in gore!


Poet: George Croly

From the German by Rossiter W. Raymond

THE WEARY night is o’er at last!
We ride so still, we ride so fast!
  We ride where Death is lying.
The morning wind doth coldly pass,
Landlord! we ’ll take another glass,
      Ere dying.


The General dashed along the road
  Amid the pelting rain;
How joyously his bold face glowed
  To hear our cheers’ refrain!

His blue blouse flapped in wind and wet,
  His boots were splashed with mire,
But round his lips a smile was set,...

          STEADY, boys, steady!
          Keep your arms ready,
God only knows whom we may meet here.
          Don’t let me be taken;
          I ’d rather awaken,
To-morrow, in—no matter where,
Than lie in that foul prison-hole—over there....

Good people all, of every sort,
  Give ear unto my song;
And if you find it wondrous short,
  It cannot hold you long.

In Islington there was a man
  Of whom the world might say,
That still a godly race he ran—
  Whene’er he went to pray...

Because I could not stop for Death—

He kindly stopped for me—

The Carriage held but just Ourselves—

And Immortality.

We slowly drove—He knew no haste,

And I had put away

My labor and my leisure too,...


Bereavement in their death to feel

Whom We have never seen —

A Vital Kinsmanship import

Our Soul and theirs — between —

For Stranger — Strangers do not mourn —

There be Immortal friends

Whom Death...


  The wind got up moaning, and blew to a breeze;

   I sat with my face closely pressed on the pane;

   In a minute or two it began to rain,

  And put out the sunset-fire in the trees.

  In the clouds' black faces broke out...