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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, John Greenleaf Whittier 64 2 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 7. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 25 3 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 23 1 Browse Search
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 6. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier) 13 1 Browse Search
George P. Rowell and Company's American Newspaper Directory, containing accurate lists of all the newspapers and periodicals published in the United States and territories, and the dominion of Canada, and British Colonies of North America., together with a description of the towns and cities in which they are published. (ed. George P. Rowell and company) 12 0 Browse Search
William Schouler, A history of Massachusetts in the Civil War: Volume 2 12 0 Browse Search
Benjamin Cutter, William R. Cutter, History of the town of Arlington, Massachusetts, ormerly the second precinct in Cambridge, or District of Menotomy, afterward the town of West Cambridge. 1635-1879 with a genealogical register of the inhabitants of the precinct. 11 1 Browse Search
Cambridge History of American Literature: volume 2 (ed. Trent, William Peterfield, 1862-1939., Erskine, John, 1879-1951., Sherman, Stuart Pratt, 1881-1926., Van Doren, Carl, 1885-1950.) 8 0 Browse Search
Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 1 8 0 Browse Search
Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 2 6 0 Browse Search
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Browsing named entities in The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier). You can also browse the collection for Amesbury (Massachusetts, United States) or search for Amesbury (Massachusetts, United States) in all documents.

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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Personal Poems (search)
d for him the three-hilled city Shall hold in memory long, Whose name is the hint and token Of the pleasant Fields of Song! For the old friends unforgotten, For the young thou hast not known, I speak their heart-warm greeting; Come back and take thy own! From England's royal farewells, And honors fitly paid, Come back, dear Russell Lowell, To Elmwood's waiting shade! Come home with all the garlands That crown of right thy head. I speak for comrades living, I speak for comrades dead! Amesbury, 6th mo., 1885. An Artist of the beautiful. George fuller. haunted Of Beauty, like the marvellous youth Who sang Saint Agnes' Eve! How passing fair Her shapes took color in thy homestead air! How on thy canvas even her dreams were truth! Magician! who from commonest elements Called up divine ideals, clothed upon By mystic lights soft blending into one Womanly grace and child-like innocence. Teacher! thy lesson was not given in vain. Beauty is goodness; ugliness is sin; Art's place i
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Occasional Poems (search)
A song of Harvest. For the Agricultural and Horticultural Exhibition at Amesbury and Salisbury, September 28, 1858. this day, two hundred years ago, The wild ac, and speaks in terms of admiration of the view from Moulton's hill opposite Amesbury. The Laurel Party so called, was composed of ladies and gentlemen in the lowe-blossomed slopes of the Newbury side of the river opposite Pleasant Valley in Amesbury. The several poems called out by these gatherings are here printed in sequencSigners. Written for the unveiling of the statue of Josiah Bartlett at Amesbury, Mass., July 4, 1888. Governor Bartlett, who was a native of the town, was a signer of the Declaration of Independence. Amesbury or Ambresbury, so called from the anointed stones of the great Druidical temple near it, was the seat of one of the ey namesake's over-sea, Where scarce a stone is left to trace The Holy House of Amesbury. A prouder memory lingers round The birthplace of thy true man here Than that
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), The tent on the Beach (search)
y Cole at cockcrow Came forth from Ipswich jail. 1865. “Here is a rhyme: I hardly dare To venture on its theme worn out; What seems so sweet by Doon and Ayr Sounds simply silly hereabout; And pipes by lips Arcadian blown Are only tin horns at our own. Yet still the muse of pastoral walks with us, While Hosea Biglow sings, our new Theocritus.” The Maids of Attitash. Attitash, an Indian word signifying huckleberry, is the name of a large and beautiful lake in the northern part of Amesbury. in sky and wave the white clouds swam, And the blue hills of Nottingham Through gaps of leafy green Across the lake were seen, When, in the shadow of the ash That dreams its dream in Attitash, In the warm summer weather, Two maidens sat together. They sat and watched in idle mood The gleam and shade of lake and wood; The beach the keen light smote, The white sail of a boat; Swan flocks of lilies shoreward lying, In sweetness, not in music, dying; Hardhack, and virgin's-bower, And whit
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), At sundown (search)
ill I saw at last through the coast-hill's gap, A city held in its stony lap, The mosques and the domes of scorched Muscat, And my heart leaped up with joy thereat; For there was a ship at anchor lying, A Christian flag at its mast-head flying, And sweetest of sounds to my homesick ear Was my native tongue in the sailor's cheer. Now the Lord be thanked, I am back again, Where earth has springs, and the skies have rain, And the well I promised by Oman's Sea, I am digging for him in Amesbury. “ His kindred wept, and his neighbors said: ‘The poor old captain is out of his head.’ But from morn to noon, and from noon to night, He toiled at his task with main and might; And when at last, from the loosened earth, Under his spade the stream gushed forth, And fast as he climbed to his deep well's brim, The water he dug for followed him, He shouted for joy: “I have kept my word, And here is the well I promised the Lord!” The long years came and the long years went, And he sat
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Poems by Elizabeth H. Whittier (search)
This little poem reached Cuba while the great explorer lay on his death-bed, and we are told that he listened with grateful tears while it was read to him by his mother. I am tempted to say more, but I write as under the eye of her who, while with us, shrank with painful deprecation from the praise or mention of performances which seemed so far below her ideal of excellence. To those who best knew her, the beloved circle of her intimate friends, I dedicate this slight memorial. J. G. W. Amesbury, 9th mo., 1874. The dream of Argyle. earthly arms no more uphold him On his prison's stony floor; Waiting death in his last slumber, Lies the doomed MacCallum More. And he dreams a dream of boyhood; Rise again his heathery hills, Sound again the hound's long baying, Cry of moor-fowl, laugh of rills. Now he stands amidst his clansmen In the low, long banquet-hall, Over grim, ancestral armor Sees the ruddy firelight fall. Once again, with pulses beating, Hears the wandering minstrel t
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Appendix (search)
e matter simply is that I am growing older. And then I dare not trust a moon seen over one's left shoulder, As I saw this with slender horns caught in a west hill pine, As on a Stamboul minaret curves the arch-impostor's sign,— So I must stay in Amesbury, and let you go your way, And guess what colors greet your eyes, what shapes your steps delay; What pictured forms of heathen lore, of god and goddess please you, What idol graven images you bend your wicked knees to. But why should I of evil dr ask of it, I can't take the task of it. P. S.—For myself, if I'm able, And half comfortable, I shall run for the seashore To some place as before, Where blunt we at least find The teeth of the East wind, And spring does not tarry As it does at Amesbury; But where it will be to I cannot yet see to. A Farewell. [Written for Mr. and Mrs. Claflin as they were about to sail to Europe.] What shall I say, dear friends, to whom I owe The choicest blessings, dropping from the hands Of trustf