The Cities Of White Men

Those men build many houses:
They dig the earth, and they build;
They cut down the trees, and they build;
They work always - building.

From the elevation of the mountainside
I behold the clouds:
The clouds build many beautiful houses in the sky:
They build, and they tear down;
They build, and they dissolve. . . .

The cities of white men,
They are not beautiful like the cloud cities;
They are not vast, like the cloud cities. . . .

A wind-swept teepee
Is all the house I own. . .

poem by Anonymous Americas
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There is a Tavern in the Town

There is a tavern in the town, in the town,
And there my true love sits him down, sits him down,
And drinks his wine 'mid laughter free,
And never, never thinks of me.
Fare thee well, for I must leave thee,
Do not let this parting grieve thee,
And remember that the best of friends must part, must part.
Adieu, adieu, kind friends, adieu, adieu, adieu!
I can no longer stay with you, stay with you,
I'll hang my harp on a weeping willow tree,
And may the world go well with thee.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Lully, Lulley

Lully, lulley, lully, lulley,
The faucon hath borne my make away.
He bare him up, he bare him down,
He bare him into an orchard brown.
In that orchard there was an halle
That hanged with purpill and pall.
And in that hall there was a bede;
It was hanged with gold so rede.
And in that bed there lithe a knight,
His woundes bleding day and night.

By that bede side kneleth a may,
And she wepeth both night and day.

And by that bede side there stondeth a stone,
Corpus Christi wreten there on.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Slander

'Twas but a breath--
And yet the fair, good name was wilted;
And friends once fond grew cold and stilted,
And life was worse than death.

One venomed word,
That struck its coward, poisoned blow,
In craven whispers, hushed and low--
And yet the wide world heard.

'Twas but one whisper--one,
That muttered low, for very shame,
The thing the slanderer dared not name--
And yet its work was done.

A hint so slight,
And yet so mighty in its power,
A human soul in one short hour
Lies crushed beneath its blight.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Sighs

All night I muse, all day I cry,
Ay me!
Yet still I wish, though still deny,
Ay me!
I sigh, I mourn, and say that still
I only live my joys to kill,
Ay me !

I feed the pain that on me feeds,
Ay me!
My wound I stop not, though it bleeds,
Ay me!
Heart, be content, it must be so,
For springs were made to overflow,
Ay me!

Then sigh and weep, and mourn thy fill,
Ay me!
Seek no redress, but languish still,
Ay me!

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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When Aurelia First I Courted

When Aurelia first I courted,
She had youth and beauty too,
Killing pleasures when she sported,
And her charms were ever new;
Conquering time doth now deceive her,
Which her glories did uphold,
All her arts can ne'er retrieve her,
Poor Aurelia's growing old.

The airy spirits which invited,
Are retir'd, and move no more,
And those eyes are now benighted,
Which were comets heretofore.
Want of these abate her merits,
Yet I've passion for her name,
Only kind and am'rous spirits
Kindle and maintain a flame.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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When Christ Was Born Of Mary Fre

Christo paremus canticam,
In excelsis gloria.

When Cryst was born of Mary fre
In Bedlem in that fayre cyté,
Angellis songen with myrth and gle:
In excelsis gloria.

Herdmen beheld thes angellis bryght,
To hem apperyd wyth gret lyght,
And seyd: 'Goddys Sone is born this nyght;
In excelsis gloria.'

A king ys comyn to save kynde,
In the Scriptur as we fynde;
Therfore this song have we in mynde:
In excelsis gloria.

Then, Lord, for thy gret grace,
Graunt us in blys to se thy face,

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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A Classroom Assignment

On Freedom
By Thomas S. Sidney, aged 12 Years
October 21st, 1828

Freedom will break the tyrant's chains,
And shatter all his whole domain;
From slavery she will always free
And all her aim is liberty.

On Slavery
By George E. Allen, aged 12 Years
October 21st, 1828

Slavery, oh, thou cruel stain,
Thou does fill my heart with pain;
See my brother, here he stands
Chained by slavery's cruel hands.

Could we not feel a brother's woes,

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Sun's Last Ray

Upon the blue mountain I stood,
Upon the mountain as he sank into the Rivers of Night:
The camps of the clouds in the heavens were shining with evening fires, many-colored,
And the pools on the plain below gleamed with many reflections:
All things were made precious with the Day's last ray.

Farewell, my Father, the Shining One!
Farewell, whither thou goest,
Like an aged chieftain adorned with the splendors of many deeds!
Thou dost touch the world with many reflections,
With parting injunctions many -
Thy thought thou hast given us.

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Taps

Day is done,
gone the sun,
From the hills,
from the lake,
From the sky.
All is well,
safely rest,
God is nigh.

Go to sleep,
peaceful sleep,
May the soldier
or sailor,
God keep.
On the land
or the deep,
Safe in sleep.

Love, good night,
Must thou go,

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poem by Anonymous Americas
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