The Present Crisis.

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

On the Capture of Fugitive Slaves near Washington.

Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way,

Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold.

To the Dandelion.

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.