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Horeb (Ohio, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
eaves and diamond flowers! The flora of the mystic mine-world Around me lifts on crystal stems The petals of its clustered gems! What miracle of weird transforming In this wild work of frost and light, This glimpse of glory infinite! This foregleam of the Holy City Like that to him of Patmos given, The white bride coming down from heaven! How flash the ranked and mail-clad alders, Through what sharp-glancing spears of reeds The brook its muffled water leads! Yon maple, like the bush of Horeb, Burns unconsumed: a white, cold fire Rays out from every grassy spire. Each slender rush and spike of mullein, Low laurel shrub and drooping fern, Transfigured, blaze where'er I turn. How yonder Ethiopian hemlock Crowned with his glistening circlet stands! What jewels light his swarthy hands! Here, where the forest opens southward, Between its hospitable pines, As through a door, the warm sun shines. The jewels loosen on the branches, And lightly, as the soft winds blow, Fall, tinkling,
Eldorado (Arkansas, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
ough the frost-pictured panes I hear. A brightness which outshines the morning, A splendor brooking no delay, Beckons and tempts my feet away. I leave the trodden village highway For virgin snow-paths glimmering through A jewelled elm-tree avenue; Where, keen against the walls of sapphire, The gleaming tree-bolls, ice-embossed, Hold up their chandeliers of frost. I tread in Orient halls enchanted, I dream the Saga's dream of caves Gem-lit beneath the North Sea waves! I walk the land of Eldorado, I touch its mimic garden bowers, Its silver leaves and diamond flowers! The flora of the mystic mine-world Around me lifts on crystal stems The petals of its clustered gems! What miracle of weird transforming In this wild work of frost and light, This glimpse of glory infinite! This foregleam of the Holy City Like that to him of Patmos given, The white bride coming down from heaven! How flash the ranked and mail-clad alders, Through what sharp-glancing spears of reeds The brook its mu
Plymouth, N. C. (North Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
deep, O winter snow! The sweet azalea's oaken dells, And hide the bank where roses blow, And swing the azure bells! O'erlay the amber violet's leaves, The purple aster's brookside home, Guard all the flowers her pencil gives A life beyond their bloom. And she, when spring comes round again, By greening slope and singing flood Shall wander, seeking, not in vain, Her darlings of the wood. 1855. The Mayflowers. The trailing arbutus, or mayflower, grows abundantly in the vicinity of Plymouth, and was the first flower that greeted the Pilgrims after their fearful winter. The name mayflower was familiar in England, as the application of it to the historic vessel shows, but it was applied by the English, and still is, to the hawthorn. Its use in New England in connection with Epigoea repens dates from a very early day, some claiming that the first Pilgrims so used it, in affectionate memory of the vessel and its English flower association. sad Mayflower! watched by winter star
Lake Winnipesaukee (New Hampshire, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
s rising blue and cool behind, Where in moist dells the purple orchis gleams, And starred with white the virgin's bower is twined. So the o'erwearied pilgrim, as he fares Along life's summer waste, at times is fanned, Even at noontide, by the cool, sweet airs Of a serener and a holier land, Fresh as the morn, and as the dewfall bland. Breath of the blessed Heaven for which we pray, Blow from the eternal hills! make glad our earthly way! 8th mo., 1852. Summer by the Lakeside. Lake Winnipesaukee. I. Noon. white clouds, whose shadows haunt the deep, Light mists, whose soft embraces keep The sunshine on the hills asleep! O isles of calm! O dark, still wood! And stiller skies that overbrood Your rest with deeper quietude! O shapes and hues, dim beckoning, through Yon mountain gaps, my longing view Beyond the purple and the blue, To stiller sea and greener land, And softer lights and airs more bland, And skies,—the hollow of God's hand! Transfused through you, O mountain f
St. Martin (search for this): chapter 1
coldness and decay, To lend a sweetness to the ungenial day And make the sad earth happier for their bloom. 1879. St. Martin's summer. This name in some parts of Europe is given to the season we call Indian Summer, in honor of the good St. St. Martin. The title of the poem was suggested by the fact that the day it refers to was the exact date of that set apart to the Saint, the 11th of November. though flowers have perished at the touch Of Frost, the early comer, I hail the season loved so much, The good St. Martin's summer. O gracious morn, with rose-red dawn, And thin moon curving o'er it! The old year's darling, latest born, More loved than all before it! How flamed the sunrise through the pines How stretched the birchen shadoess drear the winter night shall be, If memory cheer and hearten Its heavy hours with thoughts of thee, Sweet summer of St. Martin! 1880. Storm on lake Asquam. A cloud, like that the old-time Hebrew saw On Carmel prophesying rain, began To lif
Oregon (Oregon, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
hear the tread of pioneers Of nations yet to be; The first low wash of waves, where soon Shall roll a human sea. The rudiments of empire here Are plastic yet and warm; The chaos of a mighty world Is rounding into form! Each rude and jostling fragment soon Its fitting place shall find,— The raw material of a State, Its muscle and its mind! And, westering still, the star which leads The New World in its train Has tipped with fire the icy spears Of many a mountain chain. The snowy cones of Oregon Are kindling on its way; And California's golden sands Gleam brighter in its ray! Then blessings on thy eagle quill, As, wandering far and wide, I thank thee for this twilight dream And Fancy's airy ride! Yet, welcomer than regal plumes, Which Western trappers find, Thy free and pleasant thoughts, chance sown, Like feathers on the wind. Thy symbol be the mountain-bird, Whose glistening quill I hold; Thy home the ample air of hope, And memory's sunset gold! In thee, let joy with duty join
St. George, W. Va. (West Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
hich channels vast Agioochook When spring-time's sun and shower unlock The frozen fountains of the rock, And more abundant waters given From that pure lake, ‘The Smile of Heaven,’ Tributes from vale and mountain-side.— With ocean's dark, eternal tide! On yonder rocky cape, which braves The stormy challenge of the waves, Midst tangled vine and dwarfish wood, The hardy Anglo-Saxon stood, Planting upon the topmost crag The staff of England's battle-flag; And, while from out its heavy fold Saint George's crimson cross unrolled, Midst roll of drum and trumpet blare, And weapons brandishing in air, He gave to that lone promontory The sweetest name in all his story; Of her, the flower of Islam's daughters, Whose harems look on Stamboul's waters,— Who, when the chance of war had bound The Moslem chain his limbs around, Wreathed o'er with silk that iron chain, Soothed with her smiles his hours of pain, And fondly to her youthful slave A dearer gift than freedom gave. But look! the yell
Saco River (United States) (search for this): chapter 1
with them all. A fern beside the way we went She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, While from her hand the wild, sweet scent I drank as from a cup. O potent witchery of smell! The dust-dry leaves to life return, And she who plucked them owns the spell And lifts her ghostly fern. Or sense or spirit? Who shall say What touch the chord of memory thrills? It passed, and left the August day Ablaze on lonely hills. 1884. The wood giant. from Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, From Mad to Saco river, For patriarchs of the primal wood We sought with vain endeavor. And then we said: “The giants old Are lost beyond retrieval; This pygmy growth the axe has spared Is not the wood primeval. Look where we will o'er vale and hill, How idle are our searches For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, Centennial pines and birches! Their tortured limbs the axe and saw Have changed to beams and trestles; They rest in walls, they float on seas, They rot in sunken vessels. This shorn and wasted
Alton Bay (New Hampshire, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
ds, and one in voice and look In keeping with them all. A fern beside the way we went She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, While from her hand the wild, sweet scent I drank as from a cup. O potent witchery of smell! The dust-dry leaves to life return, And she who plucked them owns the spell And lifts her ghostly fern. Or sense or spirit? Who shall say What touch the chord of memory thrills? It passed, and left the August day Ablaze on lonely hills. 1884. The wood giant. from Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, From Mad to Saco river, For patriarchs of the primal wood We sought with vain endeavor. And then we said: “The giants old Are lost beyond retrieval; This pygmy growth the axe has spared Is not the wood primeval. Look where we will o'er vale and hill, How idle are our searches For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, Centennial pines and birches! Their tortured limbs the axe and saw Have changed to beams and trestles; They rest in walls, they float on seas, They rot
New England (United States) (search for this): chapter 1
irst flower that greeted the Pilgrims after their fearful winter. The name mayflower was familiar in England, as the application of it to the historic vessel shows, but it was applied by the English, and still is, to the hawthorn. Its use in New England in connection with Epigoea repens dates from a very early day, some claiming that the first Pilgrims so used it, in affectionate memory of the vessel and its English flower association. sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, And nursed by wfted moss, To bear the winter's lingering chills, The mocking spring's perpetual loss. I dream of lands where summer smiles, And soft winds blow from spicy isles, But scarce would Ceylon's breath of flowers be sweet, Could I not feel thy soil, New England, at my feet! Xix. At times I long for gentler skies, And bathe in dreams of softer air, But homesick tears would fill the eyes That saw the Cross without the Bear. The pine must whisper to the palm, The north-wind break the tropic calm; An
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