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Concord (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
nd An unwitting triumph find. 1843. The bridal of Pennacook. Winnepurkit, otherwise called George, Sachem of Saugus, married a daughter of Passaconaway, the great; Pennacook chieftain, in 1662. The wedding took place at Pennacook (now Concord, N. H.), and tile ceremonies closed with a great feast. According to the usages of the chiefs, Passaconawav ordered a select number of his men to accompany the newly-married couple to the dwelling of the husband, where in turn there was anothelling down, And wolves of heresy prowling free. But the years went on, and brought no wrong; With milder counsels the State grew strong, As outward Letter and inward Light Kept the balance of truth aright. The Puritan spirit perishing not, To Concord's yeomen the signal sent, And spake in the voice of the cannon-shot That severed the chains of a continent. With its gentler mission of peace and good-will The thought of the Quaker is living still, And the freedom of soul he prophesied Is gospe
Highland County (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
, death's between us And the wrong and shame we dread.” Oh, they listened, looked, and waited, Till their hope became despair; And the sobs of low bewailing Filled the pauses of their prayer. Then up spake a Scottish maiden, With her ear unto the ground: “Dinna ye hear it?—dinna ye hear it? The pipes oa Havelock sound!” Hushed the wounded man his groaning; Hushed the wife her little ones; Alone they heard the drum-roll And the roar of Sepoy guns: But to sounds of home and childhood The Highland ear was true;— As her mother's cradle-crooning The mountain pipes she knew. Like the march of soundless music Through the vision of the seer, More of feeling than of hearing, Of the heart than of the ear, She knew the droning pibroch, She knew the Campbell's call: “Hark! hear ye no MacGregor's, The grandest oa them all!” Oh, they listened, dumb and breathless, And they caught the sound at last; Faint and far beyond the Goomtee Rose and fell the piper's blast! Then a burst of wi
Finland (Finland) (search for this): chapter 3
. His journal shows him to have been destitute of common gratitude and Christian charity. He threw himself upon the generous hospitality of the Friends wherever he went, and repaid their kindness by the coarsest abuse and misrepresentation. saintly familist, whose word As law the Brethren of the Manor heard, Announced the speedy terrors of the Lord, And turned, like Lot at Sodom, from his race, Above a wrecked world with complacent face Riding secure upon his plank of grace! Haply, from Finland's birchen groves exiled, Manly in thought, in simple ways a child, His white hair floating round his visage mild, The Swedish pastor sought the Quaker's door, Pleased from his neighbor's lips to hear once more His long-disused and half-forgotten lore. For both could baffle Babel's lingual curse, And speak in Bion's Doric, and rehearse Cleanthes' hymn or Virgil's sounding verse. And oft Pastorius and the meek old man Argued as Quaker and as Lutheran, Ending in Christian love, as they bega
Marblehead (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
tily thank thee for a copy of thy History of Marblehead. I have read it with great interest and thirom one of my early schoolmates, a native of Marblehead. I supposed the story to which it referrede that ever was sped Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead! Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart, Tarrethered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead! Body of turkey, head of owl, Wings a-droopthered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead! Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur That wreck shter, wife and maid, Looked from the rocks of Marblehead Over the moaning and rainy sea,— Looked for thered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead! Through the street, on either side, Up flethered and carried in a cart By the women of Marblehead! 1857. The sycamores. Hugh Tallanthe souls of fishers starving on the rocks of Marblehead. All day they sailed: at nightfall the pleaAlong our rocky shore, The Wishing Bridge of Marblehead May well be sung once more. An hundred year[4 more...]
Lucknow (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
n the river's winding shores, Stand the Occidental plane-trees, Stand Hugh Tallant's sycamores. 1857. The pipes at Lucknow. An incident of the Sepoy mutiny. pipes of the misty moorlands, Voice of the glens and hills; The droning of the t are dear;— Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch O'er mountain, loch, and glade; But the sweetest of all music The pipes at Lucknow played. Day by day the Indian tiger Louder yelled, and nearer crept; Round and round the jungle-serpent Near and nearer dust-cloud To plaided legions grew, Full tenderly and blithesomely The pipes of rescue blew! Round the silver domes of Lucknow, Moslem mosque and Pagan shrine, Breathed the air to Britons dearest, The air of Auld Lang Syne. O'er the cruel roll of song is dear. Sweet sounds the Gaelic pibroch O'er mountain, glen, and glade; But the sweetest of all music The Pipes at Lucknow played 1858. Telling the bees. A remarkable custom, brought from the Old Country, formerly prevailed in the ru
Sandwich, Mass. (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
gold of Ophir. Sacred, inviolate, unto whom all things Should minister, as outward types and signs Of the eternal beauty which fulfils The one great purpose of creation, Love, The sole necessity of Earth and Heaven For weeks the clouds had raked the hills And vexed the vales with raining, And all the woods were sad with mist, And all the brooks complaining. At last, a sudden night-storm tore The mountain veils asunder, And swept the valleys clean before The besom of the thunder. Through Sandwich notch the west-wind sang Good morrow to the cotter; And once again Chocorua's horn Of shadow pierced the water. Above his broad lake Ossipee, Once more the sunshine wearing, Stooped, tracing on that silver shield His grim armorial bearing. Clear drawn against the hard blue sky. The peaks had winter's keenness; And, close on autumn's frost, the vales Had more than June's fresh greenness. Again the sodden forest floors With golden lights were checkered, Once more rejoicing leaves in wind
Chesapeake Bay (United States) (search for this): chapter 3
aid, ‘except to go to my God. Death is merely ascending from a lowerand narrower chamber to one higher and holier.’ In 1679, Peter Sluyter and Jasper Dankers were sent to America by the community at the Castle of Wieward. Their journal, translated from the Dutch and edited by Henry C. Murphy, has been recently published by the Long Island Historical Society. They made some converts,and among them was the eldest son of Hermanns, the proprietor of a rich tract of land at the head of Chesapeake Bay, known as Bohemia Manor. Sluyter obtained a grant of this tract, and established upon it a community numbering at one time a hundred souls. Very contradictory statements are on record regarding his headship of this spiritual family, the discipline of which seems to have been of more than monastic manifested more interest in the world's goods than became a believer in the near Millennium. He evinces in his journal an overweening spiritual pride, and speaks contemptuously of other profe
Lisbon, Grafton County, New Hampshire (New Hampshire, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
He sought an alcove of his cool hareem, Where, far beneath, he heard the Jumna's stream Lapse soft and low along his palace wall, And all about the cool sound of the fall Of fountains, and of water circling free Through marble ducts along the balcony; The voice of women in the distance sweet, And, sweeter still, of one who, at his feet, Soothed his tired ear with songs of a far land Where Tagus shatters on the salt sea-sand The mirror of its cork-grown hills of drouth And vales of vine, at Lisbon's harbor-mouth. The date-palms rustled not; the peepul laid Its topmost boughs against the balustrade, Motionless as the mimic leaves and vines That, light and graceful as the shawl-designs Of Delhi or Umritsir, twined in stone; And the tired monarch, who aside had thrown The day's hard burden, sat from care apart, And let the quiet steal into his heart From the still hour. Below him Agra slept, By the long light of sunset overswept: The river flowing through a level land, By mango-groves
Burlington (Vermont, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
only understood, which is suited to the common capacities of mankind, as to six days of progressive work, by which I understand certain long and competent periods of time, and not natural days.’ It was sometimes made a matter of reproach by the Anabaptists and other sects, that the Quakers read profane writings and philosophies, and that they quoted heathen moralists in support of their views. Sluyter and Dankers, in their journal of American travels, visiting a Quaker preacher's house at Burlington, on the Delaware, found ‘a volume of Virgil lying on the window, as if it were a common hand-book; also Helmont's book on Medicine (Ortus Mledicince, id est Initia Physica inaudita progressus medicine novus in morborum ultionam ad vitam longam), whom, in an introduction they have made to it, they make to pass for one of their own sect, although in his lifetime he did not know anything about Quakers.’ It would appear from this that the half-mystical, halfscientific writings of the alchemist<
Cambria (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 3
swept shoreward, ith their silver-sided haul, Midst the shouts of dripping fishers, He was merriest of them all. When, among the jovial huskers, Love stole in at Labor's side, With the lusty airs of England, Soft his Celtic measures vied. Songs of love and wailing lyke-wake, And the merry fair's carouse; Of the wild Red Fox of Erin And the Woman of Three Cows, By the blazing hearths of winter, Pleasant seemed his simple tales, Midst the grimmer Yorkshire legends And the mountain myths of Wales. How the souls in Purgatory Scrambled up from fate forlorn, On St. Even's sackcloth ladder, Slyly hitched to Satan's horn. Of the fiddler who at Tara Played all night to ghosts of kings; Of the brown dwarfs, and the fairies Dancing in their moorland rings! Jolliest of our birds of singing, Best he loved the Bob-o-link. ‘Hush!’ he'd say, “the tipsy fairies! Hear the little folks in drink!” Merry-faced, with spade and fiddle, Singing through the ancient town, Only this, of poor Hugh Tall
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