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Ariana (search for this): chapter 2
is thoughts have sown In the warm soil of Persian hearts: There sat the stranger, where the shade Of scattered date-trees thinly lay, While in the hot clear heaven delayed The long and still and weary day. Strange trees and fruits above him hung, Strange odors filled the sultry air, Strange birds upon the branches swung, Strange insect voices murmured there. And strange bright blossoms shone around, Turned sunward from the shadowy bowers, As if the Gheber's soul had found A fitting home in Iran's flowers. Whate'er he saw, whate'er he heard, Awakened feelings new and sad,— No Christian garb, nor Christian word, Nor church with Sabbath-bell chimes glad, But Moslem graves, with turban stones, And mosque-spires gleaming white, in view, And graybeard Mollahs in low tones Chanting their Koran service through. The flowers which smiled on either hand, Like tempting fiends, were such as they Which once, o'er all that Eastern land, As gifts on demon altars lay. As if the burning eye of B
Bearcamp River (New Hampshire, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
Voyage of the Jettie. The picturesquely situated Wayside Inn at West Ossipee, N. H., is now in ashes; and to its former guests these somewhat careless rhymes may be a not unwelcome reminder of pleasant summers and autumns on the banks of the Bearcamp and Chocorua. To the author himself they have a special interest from the fact that they were written, or improvised, under the eye and for the amusement of a beloved invalid friend whose last earthly sunsets faded from the mountain ranges of Ossipee and Sandwich. A shallow stream, from fountains Deep in the Sandwich mountains, Ran lakeward Bearcamp River; And, between its flood-torn shores, Sped by sail or urged by oars No keel had vexed it ever. Alone the dead trees yielding To the dull axe Time is wielding, The shy mink and the otter, And golden leaves and red, By countless autumns shed, Had floated down its water. From the gray rocks of Cape Ann, Came a skilled seafaring man, With his dory, to the right place; Over hill and pla
Derby, Conn. (Connecticut, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
while that manhood's power Is vainer than my boyhood's dream. Years have passed on, and left their trace, Of graver care and deeper thought; And unto me the calm, cold face Of manhood, and to thee the grace Of woman's pensive beauty brought. The school-boy's humble name has flown; Thine, in the green and quiet ways Of unobtrusive goodness known. And wider yet in thought and deed Diverge our pathways, one in youth; Thine the Genevan's sternest creed, While answers to my spirit's need The Derby dalesman's simple truth. For thee, the priestly rite and prayer, And holy day, and solemn psalm; For me, the silent reverence where My brethren gather, slow and calm. Yet hath thy spirit left on me An impress Time has worn not out, And something of myself in thee, A shadow from the past, I see, Lingering, even yet, thy way about; Not wholly can the heart unlearn That lesson of its better hours, Not yet has Time's dull footstep worn To common dust that path of flowers. Thus, while at times
Portsmouth, Va. (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
a necessary resource in the long winter evenings. My father when a young man had traversed the wilderness to Canada, and could tell us of his adventures with Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn in the French villages. My uncle was ready with his record of hunting and fishing and, it must be confessed, with stories which he at least half believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. My mother, who was born in the Indian-haunted region of Somersworth, New Hampshire, between Dover and Portsmouth, told us of the inroads of the savages, and the narrow escape of her ancestors. She described strange people who lived on the Piscataqua and Cocheco, among whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my possession the wizard's conjuring book, which he solemnly opened when consulted. It is a copy of Cornelius Agrippa's Magic printed in 1651, dedicated to Dr. Robert Child, who, like Michael Scott, had learned the art of glammorie In Padua beyond the sea, and who is famous in the annals of Ma
Milton, Mass. (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
geful clime, Plant for their deathless heritage The fruits and flowers of time. We shape ourselves the joy or fear Of which the coming life is made, And fill our Future's atmosphere With sunshine or with shade. The tissue of the Life to be We weave with colors all our own, And in the field of Destiny We reap as we have sown. Still shall the soul around it call The shadows which it gathered here, And, painted on the eternal wall, The Past shall reappear. Think ye the notes of holy song On Milton's tuneful ear have died? Think ye that Raphael's angel throng Has vanished from his side? Oh no!—We live our life again; Or warmly touched, or coldly dim, The pictures of the Past remain,— Man's works shall follow him! 1842. Ego. Written in the album of a Friend. on page of thine I cannot trace The cold and heartless commonplace, A statue's fixed and marble grace. For ever as these lines I penned, Still with the thought of thee will blend That of some loved and common friend, Who
Cuba (Cuba) (search for this): chapter 2
the lands of the sun, The vines of the gourd and the rich melon run, And the rock and the tree and the cottage enfold, With broad leaves all greenness and blossoms all gold, Like that which o'er Nineveh's prophet once grew, While he waited to know that his warning was true, And longed for the storm-cloud, and listened in vain For the rush of the whirlwind and red fire-rain. On the banks of the Xenil the dark Spanish maiden Comes up with the fruit of the tangled vine laden; And the Creole of Cuba laughs out to behold Through orange-leaves shining the broad spheres of gold; Yet with dearer delight from his home in the North, On the fields of his harvest the Yankee looks forth, Where crook-necks are coiling and yellow fruit shines, And the sun of September melts down on his vines. Ah! on Thanksgiving day, when from East and from West, From North and from South come the pilgrim and guest, When the gray-haired New-Englander sees round his board The old broken links of affection restore
Pennsylvania (Pennsylvania, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
chooses not the tone That through its trembling threads is blown; The patient organ cannot guess What hand its passive keys shall press. Through wish, resolve, and act, our will Is moved by undreamed forces still; And no man measures in advance His strength with untried circumstance. As streams take hue from shade and sun, As runs the life the song must run; But, glad or sad, to His good end God grant the varying notes may tend! 1877. Hymn of the Dunkers. Kloster Kedar, Ephrata, Pennsylvania (1738). Sister Maria Christina sings. wake, sisters, wake! the day-star shines; Above Ephrata's eastern pines The dawn is breaking, cool and calm. Wake, sisters, wake to prayer and psalm! Praised be the Lord for shade and light, For toil by day, for rest by night! Praised be His name who deigns to bless Our Kedar of the wilderness! Our refuge when the spoiler's hand Was heavy on our native land; And freedom, to her children due, The wolf and vulture only knew. We praised Him when to
Dubris (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 2
-telling was a necessary resource in the long winter evenings. My father when a young man had traversed the wilderness to Canada, and could tell us of his adventures with Indians and wild beasts, and of his sojourn in the French villages. My uncle was ready with his record of hunting and fishing and, it must be confessed, with stories which he at least half believed, of witchcraft and apparitions. My mother, who was born in the Indian-haunted region of Somersworth, New Hampshire, between Dover and Portsmouth, told us of the inroads of the savages, and the narrow escape of her ancestors. She described strange people who lived on the Piscataqua and Cocheco, among whom was Bantam the sorcerer. I have in my possession the wizard's conjuring book, which he solemnly opened when consulted. It is a copy of Cornelius Agrippa's Magic printed in 1651, dedicated to Dr. Robert Child, who, like Michael Scott, had learned the art of glammorie In Padua beyond the sea, and who is famous in the
Quaker (West Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 2
and bay The ducks' black squadron anchored lay, And heard the wild-geese calling loud Beneath the gray November cloud. Then, haply, with a look more grave, And soberer tone, some tale she gave From painful Sewel's ancient tome, Beloved in every Quaker home, Of faith fire-winged by martyrdom, Or Chalkley's Journal, old and quaint,— Gentlest of skippers, rare sea-saint!— Who, when the dreary calms prevailed, And water-butt and bread-cask failed, And cruel, hungry eyes pursued His portly presenche brief autocratic way Of one who, prompt at Duty's call, Was free to urge her claim on all, That some poor neighbor sick abed At night our mother's aid would need. For, one in generous thought and deed, What mattered in the sufferer's sight The Quaker matron's inward light, The Doctor's mail of Calvin's creed? All hearts confess the saints elect Who, twain in faith, in love agree, And melt not in an acid sect The Christian pearl of charity! So days went on: a week had passed Since the great
Israel (Israel) (search for this): chapter 2
shepherd seer, Nor as the awful voice which came To Israel's prophet bards, Nor as the tongues of cloven flamescending, With Zion's holiest anthems blending! On Israel's bleeding bosom set, The heathen heel is crushing tation up? A sad and thoughtful youth, I went With Israel's early banishment; And where the sullen Chebar cre o'er my spirit, dark and slow, The shadow crept of Israel's woe As if the angel's mournful roll Had left its flowers. Before me, in a vision, rose The hosts of Israel's scornful foes,— Rank over rank, helm, shield, ande-winged, with his song of praise. “Rejoice o'er Israel's broken chain, Gray mother of the mighty slain! Relow lament, Like that sad wail along thy side Which Israel's mournful prophet sent! Nor thrilled within that get's ear; Read in my heart a still diviner law Than Israel's leader on his tables saw! There let me strive witAs when it saw in fire and cloud The angels walk in Israel's van! Or when from Ezion-Geber's way It saw the l
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