“If after every tempest come such calms, May the winds blow till they have waken'd death!”

“Thoughts shut up want air, And spoil, like bales unopen'd to the sun.”

“The cold, the changed, perchance the dead, anew, The mourn'd, the loved, the lost,--too many, yet how few!”

“The cold winds swept the mountain-height, And pathless was the dreary wild, And 'mid the cheerless hours of…”

“I strove with none, for none was worth my strife; Nature I loved; and next to Nature, Art.…”

“Strike--for your altars and your fires! Strike--for the green graves of your sires! God, and your native land!”