Browsing named entities in The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier). You can also browse the collection for Sea Island (Georgia, United States) or search for Sea Island (Georgia, United States) in all documents.

Your search returned 2 results in 2 document sections:

The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Appendix (search)
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
The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 4. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Index of first lines (search)
rth's wrong and evil, II. 213. Maiden! with the fair brown tresses, IV. 16. Make, for he loved thee well, our Merrimac, IV. 298. Maud Muller on a summer's day, i. 148. Men! if manhood still ye claim, III. 98. Men of the North-Land! where's the manly spirit, III. 40. Men said at vespers: All is well, IV. 195. 'Midst the men and things which will, II. 182. 'Midst the palace bowers of Hungary, imperial Presburg's pride, IV. 352. Muttering fine upland staple, prime Sea Island finer, IV. 399. My ear is full of summer sounds, II. 213. My garden roses long ago, IV. 219. My heart was heavy, for its trust had been, II. 109. My lady walks her morning round, i. 373. My old Welsh neighbor over the way, i. 314. My thoughts are all in yonder town, II. 301. Nauhaught, the Indian deacon, who of old, i. 304. 'Neath skies that winter never knew, IV. 204. Never in tenderer quiet lapsed the day, i. 322. Night on the city of the Moor, III. 155.