[Tennyson continued. Ring out wild bells to the wild sky. In Memoriam. cv. Ring out, ring out my mournful rhymes, But ring the fuller minstrel in. Ibid. Ring out old shapes of foul disease, Ring out the narrowing lust of gold; And thus he bore without abuse And soil'd with all ignoble use. One God, one law, one element, Ibid. Ibid. cx. FRANCES ANNE KEMBLE. A sacred burden is this life ye bear, But onward, upward, till the goal ye win. Lines addressed to the Young Gentlemen leaving the Whittier. Poe. - Layard. 525 JOHN G. WHITTIER. The hope of all who suffer, The Mantle of St. John De Matha. Making their lives a prayer. On receiving a Basket of Sea Mosses. For of all sad words of tongue or pen, The saddest are these: "It might have been !" Maud Muller. EDGAR A. POE. 1811-1849. Perched upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door, Perched, and sat, and nothing more. The Raven. Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door! Quoth the Raven: "Nevermore." Ibid. A. H. LAYARD. I have always believed that success would be the inevitable result if the two services, the army and the navy, had fair play, and if we sent the right man to fill the right place. Speech, January 15, 1855. Hansard, Parl. Debates, 526 Sprague. Greene. - Cranch. CHARLES SPRAGUE. Lo, where the stage, the poor, degraded stage, Holds its warped mirror to a gaping age. Curiosity. Through life's dark road his sordid way he wends, An incarnation of fat dividends. Behold in Liberty's unclouded blaze We lift our heads, a race of other days. Ibid. Centennial Ode. St. 22. Yes, social friend, I love thee well, In learned doctors' spite; Thy clouds all other clouds dispel, And lap me in delight. To my Cigar. ALBERT G. GREENE. 1802-1867. Old Grimes is dead, that good old man,— We ne'er shall see him more : He used to wear a long black coat, Old Grimes. CHRISTOPHER P. CRANCH. Thought is deeper than all speech; Stanzas. RALPH WALDO EMERSON. Not from a vain or shallow thought Out from the heart of Nature rolled The burdens of the Bible old. The Problem. The hand that rounded Peter's dome, And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew ;- Earth proudly wears the Parthenon Ibid. Ibid. Ibid. Good-bye, proud world! I'm going home : Good-Bye. What are they all in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet? Ibid. If eyes were made for seeing, Then Beauty is its own excuse for being. The silent organ loudest chants The master's requiem. The Rhodora. Dirge. Here once the embattled farmers stood, And fired the shot heard round the world. Hymn, sung at the Completion of the Concord Monumeni. Strike Strike FITZ-GREENE HALLECK. for your altars and your fires ; God, and your native land! Marco Bozzaris. Come to the bridal chamber, Death! That close the pestilence are broke, With banquet song, and dance, and wine; And thou art terrible, the tear, 'The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; Ibid. The thanks of millions yet to be. Ibid. One of the few, the immortal names, Green be the turf above thee, Friend of my better days; Ibid. |