A Broadway Idyl (Mary Eliza Perine Tucker Lambert Poems)
For hours I stood upon The Bridge,1Which looms like a volcanic ridge,Above a scathing fire below.A flaming crater of burning ...
For hours I stood upon The Bridge,1Which looms like a volcanic ridge,Above a scathing fire below.A flaming crater of burning ...
Of Mr George Ruthven the tears and mournings,Amidst the giddie course of fortune's turnings,Upon his dear friend's death, Mr John ...
Three days through sapphire seas we sailed, The steady Trade blew strong and free,The Northern Light his banners paled,The Ocean Stream ...
Come forth, ye Nymphes, come forth, forsake your watry bowres,Forsake your mossy caves, and help me to lament:Help me to ...
Clouds black with thunder o'er the Southern states;North, East and West a sickening fear;The Union on the dark laps of ...
One man we claim of wrought reknown Which not the North shall care to slur;A Modern lived who sleeps in death, Calm ...
Mankinds lamentation,Of their miserable condition,By naturall corruption,Through Adams inclination,Vnto his wiues perswasion,By Serpents first suggestion,Through Sathans instigation.All Adams heyres in ...
_In praise of my friend the Author, and his Booke._TO THE READER. If thou would'st be a _States-man_, and survay Kingdomes for ...
Gazing upon the toiling seas,In gloomy rows the silent captives sate;And as the ship rode off before the breeze,They murmured ...
Oh! he's nothing but a soldier,But he's coming here tonight,For I saw him pass this morning,With his uniform so bright.He ...
By neer resemblance see that Bird betray'dWho takes the well wrought Arras for a shadeThere hopes to pearch and with ...
By neer resemblance see that Bird betray'd Who takes the well wrought Arras for a shade There hopes to pearch ...
Well Sir, 'tis granted, I said Dryden's Rhimes, Were stoln, unequal, nay dull many times: What foolish Patron, is there ...
What are thy gaines, O death, if one man ly Stretch'd in a bed of clay, whose charity Doth hereby ...
Though after Death, Thanks lessen into Praise, And Worthies be not crown'd with gold, but bayes; Shall we not thank? ...
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