The Poetical Works of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Complete

hanged; the torc

mmits with the

crimson, the tal

rest o'er emb

ickle lent the

wed beneath hi

wood-dove shelt

ed for the con

entry walked hi

smiled or Ama

trels sung their

aeus called al

es, when fiery

cents from their

ashes from the

lances, in the

reamers, whos

h trifles like

ct the passion

abre as they s

siasts, whose

w-drops caught i

ll the radiant

bust to make yo

ntry bares the

unished or for

d nation bids

eagle through th

orts the bannere

scowling to the

past; in vain

ailings to the

kind! with all

wrath thy de

pest wakes the

chest all tha

sin has the p

sinews of th

pulses in the

tions tremble

beneath the moo

leaming through t

ed, save where t

tower, of mid

atched; no self

is lids the a

ept, for thought

lashes, wet wit

fferings and her

is memory like

insult, each re

his heart and k

ded; and the

world the war-so

nd the smiles o

eaths festoon t

ips outward her

navy basks up

mes our meek-e

roses their

n return tho

crimsoned with t

trampled by th

reddened round

lyre may wake

ilence of our

flag its tripl

legions peal th

German close th

r shadows floats

h joy, the camps'

es shout, "God

llows with our

nthem pipes a

se, when comes

illsides with h

ask; but since

atelier with it

, which some, pe

tte or cobweb

ur when patriot

Britain strove

istened to the

ll answered to

followed o'er hi

lag, our brave

attic, on a

poilers with his