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Heed not the night A summer lodge amid the wild is mine, 'Tis shadowed by the tulip-tree, 'Tis mantled by the vine.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
Summer
Vine
Tree
Vines
Night
Amid
Heed
June
Tulip
Wild
Shadowed
Mines
Lodge
Mine
Lodges

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Difficulty, my brethren, is the nurse of greatness - a harsh nurse, who roughly rocks her foster children into strength and athletic proportion.
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Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -
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Eloquence is the poetry of prose.
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On rolls the stream with a perpetual sigh The rocks moan wildly as it passes by Hyssop and wormwood border all the strand, And not a flower adorns the dreary land.
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A sculptor wields The chisel, and the stricken marble grows To beauty.
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Truth crushed to earth shall rise again,- The eternal years of God are hers But Error, wounded, writhes with pain, And dies among his worshippers.
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The journalist should be on his guard against publishing what is false in taste or exceptionable in morals.
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But 'neath yon crimson tree Lover to listening maid might breathe his flame, Nor mark, within its roseate canopy, Her blush of maiden shame.
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Beautiful isles! beneath the sunset skies tall, silver-shafted palm-trees rise, between full orange-trees that shade the living colonade.
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I grieve for life's bright promise, just shown and then withdrawn.
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The right to discuss freely and openly, by speech, by the pen, by the press, all political questions, and to examine the animadvert upon all political institutions is a right so clear and certain, so interwoven with our other liberties, so necessary, in fact, to their existence, that without it we must fall into despotism and anarchy.
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War, like all other situations of danger and of change, calls forth the exertion of admirable intellectual qualities and great virtues, and it is only by dwelling on these, and keeping out of sight the sufferings and sorrows, and all the crimes and evils that follow in its train, that it has its glory in the eyes of men.
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A stable, changeless state, 'twere cause indeed to weep.
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Truth, crushed to earth, shall rise again.
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All that tread, the globe are but a handful to the tribes, that slumber in its bosom.
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