TELL me, ye wingèd winds,
    That round my pathway roar,
  Do ye not know some spot
    Where mortals weep no more?
  Some lone and pleasant dell,
    Some valley in the west,
  Where, free from toil and pain,
    The weary soul may rest...

The Day returns, my bosom burns;
  The blissful day we twa did meet;
Though winter wild in tempest toiled,
  Ne’er summer sun was half sae sweet.
Than a’ the pride that loads the tide,
  And crosses o’er the sultry line,—
Than kingly robes, and...

From the French by Henry Francis Cary
Addressed to his deceased wife, who died in childbed at the age of twenty-two

TO make my lady’s obsequies
  My love a minster wrought,
And, in the chantry, service there
  Was sung by doleful thought;
The tapers...

The Work of the sun is slow,
But as sure as heaven, we know;
    So we ’ll not forget,
    When the skies are wet,
There ’s green grass under the snow.

When the winds of winter blow,
Wailing like voices of woe,
    There are April showers...

When freedom from her home was driven,
  ’Mid vine-clad vales of Switzerland,
She sought the glorious Alps of heaven,
And there, ’mid cliffs by lightnings riven,
  Gathered her hero-band.

And still outrings her freedom-song,
  Amid the glaciers...

Written after Seeing Millet’s World-Famous Painting
 “God made man in His own image,
  In the image of God made He him.”
—GENESIS. i. 27.    

BOWED by the weight of centuries he leans
Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground,
The emptiness of ages in...

[The Spanish-American War, 1898]
A CHEER and salute for the Admiral, and here ’s to the Captain bold,
And never forget the Commodore’s debt when the deeds of might are told!
They stand to the deck through the battle’s wreck when the great shells roar and screech—
...

From the Italian by John Edward Taylor
THE MIGHT of one fair face sublimes my love,
For it hath weaned my heart from low desires;
Nor death I heed, nor purgatorial fires.
Thy beauty, antepast of joys above,
Instructs me in the bliss that saints approve;...

To a Friend Dying
THEY tell you that Death ’s at the turn of the road,
  That under the shade of a cypress you ’ll find him,
And, struggling on wearily, lashed by the goad
  Of pain, you will enter the black mist behind him.

I can walk with you up to the...