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South Carolina (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 6
w England birth, Still faithful to his home and hearth, Even 'midst the scornful stranger band His boast shall be of Yankee land. What State Street said to South Carolina, and what South Carolina said to State Street. [Published in The National Era, May 22, 1851.] Muttering ‘fine upland staple,’ prime ‘Sea Island finer,’ South Carolina said to State Street. [Published in The National Era, May 22, 1851.] Muttering ‘fine upland staple,’ prime ‘Sea Island finer,’ With cotton bales pictured on either retina, ‘Your pardon!’ said State Street to South Carolina; “We feel and acknowledge your laws are diviner Than any promulgated by the thunders of Sinai! Sorely pricked in the sensitive conscience of business We own and repent of our sins of remissness: Our honor we've yielded, our words we South Carolina; “We feel and acknowledge your laws are diviner Than any promulgated by the thunders of Sinai! Sorely pricked in the sensitive conscience of business We own and repent of our sins of remissness: Our honor we've yielded, our words we have swallowed; And quenching the lights which our forefathers followed, And turning from graves by their memories hallowed, With teeth on ball-cartridge, and finger on trigger, Reversed Boston Notions, and sent back a nigger!” ‘Get away!’ cried the Chivalry, busy a-drumming, And fifing and drilling, and s
Saco (Maine, United States) (search for this): chapter 6
btless, his burlesque title of ‘the Sagamore of Saco,’ which has come down to the present generatio epitaph:— ‘Here lies Boniton, the Sagamore of Saco; He lived a rogue, and died a knave, and went tows from a marsh or bog, called the ‘Heath,’ in Saco, containing thirteen hundred acres. On this bro‘The French,’ says the author of the History of Saco and Biddeford, ‘after the peace of 1713, secret ‘Father,’ she gasped, “a chieftain, known As Saco's Sachem,—Mogg Megone!” Pale priest! What pr‘The French,’ says the author of the History of Saco and Biddeford, ‘after the peace of 1713, secretubtless, his burlesque title of the Sagamore of Saco, which has come down to the present generationpitaph:— Here lies Boniton, the Sagamore of Saco; He lived a rogue, and died a knave, and went table and indefatigable author of the History of Saco and Biddeford.— Part I. p. 115. Note 14, pag The French, says the author of the History of Saco and Biddeford, after the peace of 1713, secretl<
North America (search for this): chapter 6
defatigable of that band of Jesuit missionaries who at the beginning of the seventeenth century penetrated the forests of America, with the avowed object of converting the heathen. The first religious mission of the Jesuits to the savages in North America was in 161l. The zeal of the fathers for the conversion of the Indians to the Catholic faith knew no bounds. For this they plunged into the depths of the wilderness; habituated themselves to all the hardships and privations of the natives; sdefatigable of that band of Jesuit missionaries who at the beginning of the seventeenth century penetrated the forests of America, with the avowed object of converting the heathen. The first religious mission of the Jesuits to the savages in North America was in 161l. The zeal of the fathers for the conversion of the Indians to the Catholic faith knew no bounds. For this they plunged into the depths of the wilderness; habituated themselves to all the hardships and privations of the natives; s
Hungary (Hungary) (search for this): chapter 6
rse is now his tomb to rear! 1830. Isabella of Austria. Isabella, Infanta of Parma, and consort of Joseph of Austria, predicted herown death, immediately after her marriage with the Emperor. Amidst the gayety and splendor of Vienna and Presburg, she was reserved and melancholy; she believed that Heaven had given her a view of the future, and that her child, the namesake of the great Maria Theresa, would perish with her. Her prediction was fulfilled. 'Midst the palace bowers of Hungary, imperial Presburg's pride, With the noble born and beautiful assembled at her side, She stood beneath the summer heavens, the soft wind sighing on, Stirring the green and arching boughs like dancers in the sun. The beautiful pomegranate flower, the snowy orange bloom, The lotus and the trailing vine, the rose's meek perfume, The willow crossing with its green some statue's marble hair, All that might charm the fresh young sense, or light the soul, was there! But she, a monarch's treasured
Lake Superior (New York, United States) (search for this): chapter 6
Drovers. Daniel Wheeler. My Soul and I. To my Sister. The Wife of Manoah to her Husband. The Angel of Patience. What the Voice said. A Dream of Summer. My Thanks. Randolph of Roanoke. Proem. 1848The Slaves of Martinique. The Curse of the Charter Breakers. The Wish of To-Day. Paean. The Poor Voter on Election Day. The Crisis. The Reward. The Holy Land. Worship. The Peace Convention at Brussels. 1849Calef in Boston. To Pius IX. On Receiving an Eagle's Quill from Lake Superior. Kathleen. Our State. To Fredrika Bremer. The Men of Old. The Christian Tourists. The Lakeside. Autumn Thoughts. The Legend of St. Mark. 1850The Well of Loch Maree. Ichabod. In the Evil Day. Elliott. The Hill-Top. To Avis Keene. A Sabbath Scene. Derne. Lines on the Portrait of a Celebrated Publisher. All's Well. 1851Remembrance. The Chapel of the Hermits. The Prisoners of Naples. To my Old Schoolmaster. Invocation. Wordsworth. In Peace. Kossuth. To ——. Lines wr
Saint Marks (Kansas, United States) (search for this): chapter 6
eam of Summer. My Thanks. Randolph of Roanoke. Proem. 1848The Slaves of Martinique. The Curse of the Charter Breakers. The Wish of To-Day. Paean. The Poor Voter on Election Day. The Crisis. The Reward. The Holy Land. Worship. The Peace Convention at Brussels. 1849Calef in Boston. To Pius IX. On Receiving an Eagle's Quill from Lake Superior. Kathleen. Our State. To Fredrika Bremer. The Men of Old. The Christian Tourists. The Lakeside. Autumn Thoughts. The Legend of St. Mark. 1850The Well of Loch Maree. Ichabod. In the Evil Day. Elliott. The Hill-Top. To Avis Keene. A Sabbath Scene. Derne. Lines on the Portrait of a Celebrated Publisher. All's Well. 1851Remembrance. The Chapel of the Hermits. The Prisoners of Naples. To my Old Schoolmaster. Invocation. Wordsworth. In Peace. Kossuth. To ——. Lines written after a Summer Day's Excursion. What State Street said. 1852Pictures. The Cross. First-Day Thoughts. Questions of Life. April. The Dis
Bolivar, Tenn. (Tennessee, United States) (search for this): chapter 6
ing courses on From the warns heart's pulsations. There are springs Of deep and pure affection, hidden now, Within that quiet bosom, which but wait The thrilling of some kindly touch, to flow Like waters from the Desert-rock of old. 1830. Bolivar. A dirge is wailing from the Gulf of storm-vexed Mexico, To where through Pampas' solitudes the mighty rivers flow; The dark Sierras hear the sound, and from each mountain rift, Where Andes and Cordilleras their awful summits lift, Where Cotopce. 1827Ocean. 1828The Sicilian Vespers. The Earthquake. The Song of the Vermonters. 1829The Spirit of the North. Judith at the Tent of Holofernes. Metacom. The Drunkard to his Bottle. The Past and Coming Year. 1830The Fair Quakeress. Bolivar. The Vaudois Teacher. The Star of Bethlehem. The Frost Spirit. 1831Isabella of Austria. The Fratricide. The Cities of the Plain. 1832Isabel. Stanzas: Bind up thy tresses. To William Lloyd Garrison. To a Poetical Trio in the City of Got
Alton Bay (New Hampshire, United States) (search for this): chapter 6
ame! Make way for the man with the Patriarch's name! Away with misgiving—away with all doubt, For Lincoln goes in, when the Quakers are out! A Legend of the Lake. [This poem, originally printed in the Atlantic Monthly was withheld from publication in his volumes by Mr. Whittier, in deference to living relatives of the hero of the poem. Death finally removed the restriction.] Should you go to Centre Harbor, As haply you sometime may, Sailing up the Winnepesaukee From the hills of Alton Bay,— Into the heart of the highlands, Into the north wind free, Through the rising and vanishing islands, Over the mountain sea,— To the little hamlet lying White in its mountain fold, Asleep by the lake and dreaming A dream that is never told,— And in the Red Hill's shadow Your pilgrim home you make, Where the chambers open to sunrise, The mountains, and the lake,— If the pleasant picture wearies, As the fairest sometimes will, And the weight of the hills lies on you And the water is
Sea Island (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 6
e and Indian bread. And oh! where'er his footsteps turn, Whatever stars above him burn, Though dwelling where a Yankee's name Is coupled with reproach or shame, Still true to his New England birth, Still faithful to his home and hearth, Even 'midst the scornful stranger band His boast shall be of Yankee land. What State Street said to South Carolina, and what South Carolina said to State Street. [Published in The National Era, May 22, 1851.] Muttering ‘fine upland staple,’ prime ‘Sea Island finer,’ With cotton bales pictured on either retina, ‘Your pardon!’ said State Street to South Carolina; “We feel and acknowledge your laws are diviner Than any promulgated by the thunders of Sinai! Sorely pricked in the sensitive conscience of business We own and repent of our sins of remissness: Our honor we've yielded, our words we have swallowed; And quenching the lights which our forefathers followed, And turning from graves by their memories hallowed, With teeth on ball-car
Poland (Poland) (search for this): chapter 6
shore Thy ‘Water Fowl’ no longer?—that the mean And vulgar strife, the ranting and the roar Extempore, like Bottom's should be thine,— Thou feeblest truck-horse in the Hero's line! Lost trio! —turn ye to the minstrel pride Of classic Britain. Even effeminate Moore Has cast the wine-cup and the lute aside For Erin and O'Connell; and before His country's altar, Bulwer breasts the tide Of old oppression. Sadly brooding o'er The fate of heroes struggling to be free, Even Campbell speaks for Poland. Where are ye? Hirelings of traitors!—know ye not that men Are rousing up around ye to retrieve Our country's honor, which too long has been Debased by those for whom ye daily weave Your web of fustian; that from tongue and pen Of those who o'er our tarnished honor grieve, Of the pure-hearted and the gifted, come Hourly the tokens of your master's doom? Turn from their ruin! Dash your chains aside! Stand up like men for Liberty and Law, And free opinion. Check Corruption's pride, S
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