(FOUNDED ON A NEW ZEALAND MYTH.) In the Morning of Time, when his fortunes began, How bleak, how un-Greek, was the Nature of Man...

The soft wind from the south land sped, He set his strength to blow, From forests where Adonis bled, And lily flowers a-row: He cr...

'A French writer (whom I love well) speaks of three kinds of companions,--men, women, and books.' ~ Sir John Davys. Th...

WITH KIRK'S 'SECRET COMMONWEALTH' O Louis! you that like them maist, Ye're far frae kelpie, wraith, and ghaist, ...

No, the Muse has gone away, Does not haunt me much to-day. Everything she had to say Has been said! 'Twas not much at any time...

The Haunted Homes of England, How eerily they stand, While through them flit their ghosts--to wit, The Monk with the Red Hand, The...

"Take short views."--Sydney Smith The Fays that to my christ'ning came (For come they did, my nurses taught me), ...

People of Peace! a peaceful man, Well worthy of your love was he, Who, while the roaring Garry ran Red with the life-blood of Dundee...

Though Keats rhymed "ear" to "Cytherea," And Morris "dawn" to "morn," A worse example, it is c...

'Delusive Nymph, farewell!' How oft we've said or sung, When balls evasive fell, Or in the jaws of 'Hell,' Or ...

The honour of a loyal boy, The courage of a paladin, With maiden's mirth, the soul of joy, These dwelt her happy breast within. ...

To brave Mark Twain, across the sea, The years have brought his jubilee; One hears it half with pain, That fifty years have passed a...

Dark, dark was the day when we looked on Culloden And chill was the mist drop that clung to the tree, The oats of the harvest hung hea...

From Jules Lemaître Thy mouth is fresh as cherries on the bough, Red cherries in the dawning, and more white Than milk or whit...

(AFTER ALBERT GLATIGNY.) The winter is upon us, not the snow, The hills are etched on the horizon bare, The skies are iron gre...

Whan suthern wunds gar spindrift flee Abune the clachan, faddums hie, Whan for the cluds I canna see The bonny lift, I'd fain ...

There are laddies will drive ye a ba' To the burn frae the farthermost tee, But ye mauna think driving is a', Ye may heel he...

Quem tu, Melpomene, semel. The man whom once, Melpomene, Thou look'st on with benignant sight, Shall never at the Isthmus ...

Far in the Past I peer, and see A Child upon the Nursery floor, A Child with books upon his knee, Who asks, like Oliver, for more! ...

In torrid heats of late July, In March, beneath the bitter bise, He book-hunts while the loungers fly,-- He book-hunts, though Decem...