Herman Melville
America
I Where the wings of a sunny Dome expand I saw a Banner in gladsome air- Starry, like Berenice’s Hair- Afloat in broadened bravery there; With undulating long-drawn flow, As rolled Brazilian billows go
Healed of My Hurt
Healed of my hurt, I laud the inhuman Sea Yea, bless the Angels Four that there convene; For healed I am even by the pitiless breath Distilled in wholesome dew named rosmarine.
The Enthusiast
“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him” Shall hearts that beat no base retreat In youth’s magnanimous years – Ignoble hold it, if discreet When interest tames to fears; Shall spirits
Art
In placid hours well-pleased we dream Of many a brave unbodied scheme. But form to lend, pulsed life create, What unlike things must meet and mate: A flame to melt a wind to freeze;
Immolated
Children of my happier prime, When One yet lived with me, and threw Her rainbow over life and time, Even Hope, my bride, and mother to you! O, nurtured in sweet pastoral air, And
Malvern Hill
Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill In prime of morn and May, Recall ye how McClellan’s men Here stood at bay? While deep within yon forest dim Our rigid comrades lay – Some
Falstaff's Lament Over Prince Hal Become Henry V
One that I cherished, Yea, loved as a son – Up early, up late with, My promising one: No use in good nurture, None, lads, none! Here on this settle He wore the true
The Mound by the Lake
The grass shall never forget this grave. When homeward footing it in the sun After the weary ride by rail, The stripling soldiers passed her door, Wounded perchance, or wan and pale, She left
Misgivings
When ocean-clouds over inland hills Sweep storming in late autumn brown, And horror the sodden valley fills, And the spire falls crashing in the town, I muse upon my country’s ills The tempest burning
Gettysburg
O Pride of the days in prime of the months Now trebled in great renown, When before the ark of our holy cause Fell Dagon down- Dagon foredoomed, who, armed and targed, Never his
The Maldive Shark
About the Shark, phlegmatical one, Pale sot of the Maldive sea, The sleek little pilot-fish, azure and slim, How alert in attendance be. From his saw-pit of mouth, from his charnel of maw, They
The Portent
Hanging from the beam, Slowly swaying (such the law), Gaunt the shadow on the green, Shenandoah! The cut is on the crown (Lo, John Brown), And the stabs shall heal no more. Hidden in
Shiloh
A Requiem Skimming lightly, wheeling still, The swallows fly low Over the fields in cloudy days, The forest-field of Shiloh – Over the field where April rain Solaced the parched ones stretched in pain
Chattanooga
(November, 1863) A kindling impulse seized the host Inspired by heaven’s elastic air; Their hearts outran their General’s plan, Though Grant commanded there – Grant, who without reserve can dare; And, “Well, go on