Would you hear of the River-Fight?
It was two of a soft spring night;—
God’s stars looked down on all,
And all was clear and bright
But the low fog’s chilling breath—
Up the River of Death
Sailed the Great Admiral.
On our high poop-deck he stood,
And round him ranged the men
Who have made their birthright good...
Blue gulf all around us,
Blue sky overhead—
Muster all on the quarter,
We must bury the dead!
It is but a Danish sailor,
Rugged of front and form;
A common son of the forecastle,
Grizzled with sun and storm.
His name, and the strand he hailed from
We know, and there ’s nothing more!
But perhaps his...
They glare—those stony eyes!
That in the fierce sun-rays
Showered from these burning skies,
Through untold centuries
Have kept their sleepless and unwinking gaze.
Since what unnumbered year
Hast thou kept watch and ward,
And o’er the buried Land of Fear
So grimly held thy guard?
No faithless slumber snatching,...
John Brown’s body lies a-moldering in the grave,
John Brown’s body lies slumbering in his grave—
But John Brown’s soul is marching with the brave,
His soul is marching on.
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
Glory, glory, hallelujah!
His soul is marching on.
...
[April, 1861]
world, art thou ’ware of a storm?
Hark to the ominous sound;
How the far-off gales their battle form,
And the great sea-swells feel ground!
It comes, the Typhoon of Death—
Nearer and nearer it comes!
The horizon thunder of cannon-breath
And the roar of angry drums!
Hurtle, Terror sublime!...
Whereas, on certain boughs and sprays
Now divers birds are heard to sing,
And sundry flowers their heads upraise,
Hail to the coming on of spring!
The songs of those said birds arouse
The memory of our youthful hours,
As green as those said sprays and boughs,
As fresh and sweet as those said flowers.
The birds...
