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He [William Henry Harrison] did not live long enough to prove his incapacity for the office of President.

William C. Bryant

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William C. Bryant
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I hear the howl of the wind that brings The long drear storm on its heavy wings.
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Gently - so have good men taught - Gently, and without grief, the old shall glide Into the new the eternal flow of things, Like a bright river of the fields of heaven, Shall journey onward in perpetual peace.
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God hath yoked to guilt her pale tormentor,--misery.
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Still sweet with blossoms is the year's fresh prime.
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On my cornice linger the ripe black grapes ungathered Children fill the groves with the echoes of their glee, Gathering tawny chestnuts, and shouting when beside them Drops the heavy fruit of the tall black-walnut tree.
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Self-interest is the most ingenious and persuasive of all the agents that deceive our consciences, while by means of it our unhappy and stubborn prejudices operate in their greatest force.
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All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye.
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Look on this beautiful world, and read the truth in her fair page.
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Ah! never shall the land forget How gushed the life-blood of her brave -
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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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The air was fragrant with a thousand trodden aromatic herbs, with fields of lavender, and with the brightest roses blushing in tufts all over the meadows.
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The little wind-flower, whose just opened eye Is blue as the spring heaven it gazes at.
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Thine eyes are springs in whose serene And silent waters heaven is seen. Their lashes are the herbs that look On their young figures in the brook.
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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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And the blue gentian-flower, that, in the breeze, Nods lonely, of her beauteous race the last.
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A herd of prairie-wolves will enter a field of melons and quarrel about the division of the spoils as fiercely and noisily as so many politicians.
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Where are the flowers, the fair young flowers, that lately sprang and stood In brighter light and softer airs, a beauteous sisterhood?
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So they, who climb to wealth, forget The friends in darker fortunes tried. I copied them--but I regret That I should ape the ways of pride.
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To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language.
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