The Helot (Isabella Valancy Crawford Poems)
I.Low the sun beat on the land, Red on vine and plain and wood;With the wine-cup in his hand, Vast the Helot ...
I.Low the sun beat on the land, Red on vine and plain and wood;With the wine-cup in his hand, Vast the Helot ...
From his far wigwam sprang the strong North WindAnd rush'd with war-cry down the steep ravines,And wrestl'd with the giants ...
The South Wind laid his moccasins aside,Broke his gay calumet of flow'rs, and castHis useless wampun, beaded with cool dews,Far ...
My white canoe, like the silvery air O'er the River of Death that darkly rolls When the moons of the world are ...
THE FORGING OF THE SWORD.At the forging of the Sword-- The mountain roots were stirr'd, Like the heart-beats of a bird; Like flax ...
Shake, shake the earth with giant tread, Thou red-maned Titian bold;For every step a man lies dead, A cottage hearth is cold.Take ...
IF songs be sung let minstrels strike their harpsTo large and joyous strains, all thunder-wingedTo beat along vast shores. Ay, ...
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