Where go the poet's lines?

Answer, ye evening tapers !
Ye auburn locks, ye golden curls,
Speak from your folded papers !

The Poet's Lot.
Thine eye was on the censer,
And not the hand that bore it.

Lines by a Clerk. Their discords sting through Burns and Moore, Like hedgehogs dressed in lace.

The Music-Grinders.
You think they are crusaders, sent

From some infernal clime,
To pluck the eyes of Sentiment,

And dock the tail of Rhyme,
To crack the voice of Melody,
And break the legs of Time.

Ibid.
And, since, I never dare to write
As funny as I can.

The Height of the Ridiculous. Yes, child of suffering, thou mayst well be sure, He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor !

Urania. And, when you stick on conversation's burrs, Don't strew your pathway with those dreadful urs.

Ibid. You hear that boy laughing? - you think he's

all fun; But the angels laugh, too,at the good he has done; The children laugh loud as they troop to his call, And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all !

The Boys.

Boston State-house is the hub of the Solar System. You could n't pry that out of a Boston man if you had the tire of all creation straightened out for a crowbar.

The Autocrat of the Breakfast-table, p. 143.

ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 1809 – 1865. With malice towards none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to see the right. Second Inaugural Address.

That this nation, under God, shall have a new birth of freedom, and that government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.

Speech at Gettysburg, Nov. 19th, 1863.

THEODORE PARKER. 1810-1860.

There is what I call the American idea.... This idea demands, as the proximate organization thereof, a democracy, that is, a government of all the people, by all the people, for all the people ; of course, a government of the principles of eternal justice, the unchanging law of God: for shortness' sake I will call it the idea of Freedom. Speech at the New England Anti-Slavery Convention,

Boston, May 29, 1850.

JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL.

'T is heaven alone that is given away, 'T is only God may be had for the asking.

The Vision of Sir Launfal. And what is so rare as a day in June ?

Then, if ever, come perfect days; Then heaven tries the earth if it be in tune, And over it softly her warm ear lays.

Ibid.
This child is not mine as the first was,

I cannot sing it to rest,
I cannot lift it up fatherly

And bless it upon my breast;
Yet it lies in my little one's cradle,

And sits in my little one's chair,
And the light of the heaven she's gone to
Transfigures its golden hair.

The Changeling.
Be noble! and the nobleness that lies
In other men, sleeping, but never dead,
Will rise in majesty to meet thine own.

Sonnet iv. Ed. 1865. To win the secret of a weed's plain heart.

Sonnet xxv. Two meanings have our lightest fantasies, One of the flesh, and of the spirit one.

Sonnet xxxiv. Ed. 1844. Earth's noblest thing, a woman perfected.

Once to every man and nation comes the mo

ment to decide, In the strife of Truth with Falsehood, for the

good or evil side; Some great cause, God's new Messiah offering

each the bloom or blight, Parts the goats upon the left hand, and the

sheep upon the right; And the choice goes by forever 'twixt that dark

ness and that light. The Present Crisis.

Truth forever on the scaffold, Wrong forever on

the throne.

Ibid.

Ibid.

Then to side with Truth is noble when we share

her wretched crust, Ere her cause bring fame and profit, and 't is

prosperous to be just; Then it is the brave man chooses, while the

coward stands aside, Doubting in his abject spirit, till his Lord is

crucified. Before man made us citizens, great Nature made us men.

The Capture. Ez fer war, I call it murder, —

There you hev it plain an’ flat;
I don't want to go no furder
Than my Testyment fer that.

The Biglow Papers. No. i.
An' you've gut to git up airly
Ef you want to take in God.

Laborin' man an' laborin' woman

Hev one glory an' one shame, Ev'y thin' thet 's done inhuman Injers all on 'em the same.

The Biglow Papers. No.i. We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage.

Ibid. No. iii. But John P.

Robinson he Sez they didn't know everythin' down in Judee.

Ibid. Of my merit On thet point you yourself may jedge ; All is, I never drink no sperit, Nor I haint never signed no pledge.

Ibid. No. vii. Under the yaller-pines I house,

When sunshine makes 'em all sweet-scented, An' hear among their furry boughs The baskin' west-wind purr contented.

Ibid. No. x. Second Series, Wut 's words to them whose faith an' truth

On War's red techstone rang true metal,
Who ventered life an' love an' youth
For the gret prize o' death in battle?

Ibid. Zekle crep' up quite unbeknown

An' peeked in thru' the winder, An' there sot Huldy all alone,

'Ith no one nigh to hender. The Courtin'.