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Samson (search for this): chapter 1
concessions vainly made. Thou shouldst have seen from Sumter's wall The star-flag of the Union fall, And armed rebellion pressing on The broken lines of Washington! No stronger voice than thine had then Called out the utmost might of men, To make the Union's charter free And strengthen law by liberty. How had that stern arbitrament To thy gray age youth's vigor lent, Shaming ambition's paltry prize Before thy disillusioned eyes; Breaking the spell about thee wound Like the green withes that Samson bound; Redeeming in one effort grand, Thyself and thy imperilled land! Ah, cruel fate, that closed to thee, O sleeper by the Northern sea, The gates of opportunity! God fills the gaps of human need, Each crisis brings its word and deed. Wise men and strong we did not lack; But still, with memory turning back, In the dark hours we thought of thee, And thy lone grave beside the sea. Above that grave the east winds blow, And from the marsh-lands drifting slow The sea-fog comes, with evermore T
Garibaldi (search for this): chapter 1
rk when the inner Was slow to renew it, And put to the Lord's work the sinner “When saints failed to do it. Never rode to the wrong's redressing A worthier paladin. Shall he not hear the blessing, ‘Good and faithful, enter in!’ “ 1867. Garibaldi. in trance and dream of old, God's prophet saw The casting down of thrones. Thou, watching lone The hot Sardinian coast-line, hazy-hilled, Where, fringing round Caprera's rocky zone With foam, the slow waves gather and withdraw, Behold'st thegh all The passes of the Spanish Pyrenees, And from the Seine's thronged banks, a murmur strange And glad floats to thee o'er thy summer seas On the salt wind that stirs thy whitening hair,— The song of freedom's bloodless victories! Rejoice, O Garibaldi! Though thy sword Failed at Rome's gates, and blood seemed vainly poured Where, in Christ's name, the crowned infidel Of France wrought murder with the arms of hell On that sad mountain slope whose ghostly dead, Unmindful of the gray exorc
Robert Burns (search for this): chapter 1
t. Ebenezer Elliott was to the artisans of England what Burns was to the peasantry of Scotland. His Corn-law Rhymes contll The tumult, hears the angels say, Well done! 1854. Burns. On Receiving a Sprig of heather in blossom. No more theswers He sang of live together. Wild heather-bells and Robert Burns! The moorland flower and peasant! How, at their mentionwith fond delay, I sought the maple's shadow, And sang with Burns the hours away, Forgetful of the meadow! Bees hummed, birdt with flowers the fields extend. 1858. The memory of Burns. Read at the Boston celebration of the hundredth anniversary of the birth of Robert Burns, 25th 1st mo., 1859. In my absence these lines were read by Ralph Waldo Emerson. How swurns The saintly harp of Olney's bard, The pastoral pipe of Burns, No discord mars His perfect plan Who gave them both a tong Scotland, with her holly, wreathe The flower he culled for Burns. Oh, stately stand thy palace walls, Thy tall ships ride t
Oliver Wendell Holmes (search for this): chapter 1
he home voices greet him in the far, Strange land that holds him; let the messages Of love pursue him o'er the chartless seas And unmapped vastness of his unknown star! Love's language, heard beyond the loud discourse Of perishable fame, in every sphere Itself interprets; and its utterance here Somewhere in God's unfolding universe- Shall reach our traveller, softening the surprise Of his rapt gaze on unfamiliar skies! 1879. Our Autocrat. Read at the breakfast given in honor of Dr. Holmes by the publishers of the Atlantic Monthly, December 3, 1879. His laurels fresh from song and lay, Romance, art, science, rich in all, And young of heart, how dare we say We keep his seventieth festival? No sense is here of loss or lack; Before his sweetness and his light The dial holds its shadow back, The charmed hours delay their flight. His still the keen analysis Of men and moods, electric wit, Free play of mirth, and tenderness To heal the slightest wound from it. And his the path
1881 AD (search for this): chapter 1
fice Seek out its great allies; Good must find good by gravitation sure, And love with love endure. And so, since thou hast passed within the gate Whereby awhile I wait, I give blind grief and blinder sense the lie: Thou hast not lived to die! 1881. In memory. James T. Fields. As a guest who may not stay Long and sad farewells to say Glides with smiling face away, Of the sweetness and the zest Of thy happy life possessed Thou hast left us at thy best. Warm of heart and clear of brain,human heart of thee; Let the mortal only be Clothed in immortality. And when fall our feet as fell Thine upon the asphodel, Let thy old smile greet us well; Proving in a world of bliss What we fondly dream in this,— Love is one with holiness! 1881. Wilson. Read at the Massachusetts Club on the seventieth anniversary of the birthday of Vice-President Wilson, February 16, 1882. the lowliest born of all the land, He wrung from Fate's reluctant hand The gifts which happier boyhood cla
Longfellow (search for this): chapter 1
n And counsel, equal to his place. With glance intuitive he saw Through all disguise of form and law, And read men like an open book; Fearless and firm, he never quailed Nor turned aside for threats, nor failed To do the thing he undertook. How wise, how brave, he was, how well He bore himself, let history tell While waves our flag o'er land and sea, No black thread in its warp or weft; He found dissevered States, he left A grateful Nation, strong and free! The poet and the children. Longfellow. with a glory of winter sunshine Over his locks of gray, In the old historic mansion He sat on his last birthday; With his books and his pleasant pictures, And his household and his kin, While a sound as of myriads singing From far and near stole in. It came from his own fair city, From the prairie's boundless plain, From the Golden Gate of sunset, And the cedarn woods of Maine. And his heart grew warm within him, And his moistening eyes grew dim, For he knew that his country's childr
1886 AD (search for this): chapter 1
eir midst a sage and seer with-drew To fitter audience, where the great dead are In God's republic of the heart and mind, Leaving no purer, nobler soul behind. 1886. To a Cape Ann Schooner. luck to the craft that bears this name of mine, Good fortune follow with her golden spoon The glazed hat and tarry pantaloon; And wher lee And Avalon's rock; make populous the sea Round Grand Manan with eager finny swarms, Break the long calms, and charm away the storms. oak Knoll, 23 3rd mo., 1886. Samuel J. Tilden. Greystone, Aug. 4, 1886. once more, O all-adjusting Death! The nation's Pantheon opens wide! Once more a common sorrow saith A strong, wise ute hand; A patriot, if a partisan, He loved his native land. So let the mourning bells be rung, The banner droop its folds half way, And while the public pen and tongue Their fitting tribute pay, Shall we not vow above his bier To set our feet on party lies, And wound no more a living ear With words that Death denies? 1886.
October, 1887 AD (search for this): chapter 1
e powerful and manly protest of Johannes Ronge against the pious fraud of the Bishop of Treves. The bold movement of the young Catholic priest of Prussian Silesia seemed to me full of promise to the cause of political as well as religious liberty in Europe. That it failed was due partly to the faults of the reformer, but mainly to the disagreement of the Liberals of Germany upon a matter of dogma, which prevented them from unity of action. Ronge was born in Silesia in 1813 and died in October, 1887. His autobiography was translated into English and published in London in 1846. strike home, strong-hearted man! Down to the root Of old oppression sink the Saxon steel. Thy work is to hew down. In God's name then Put nerve into thy task. Let other men Plant, as they may, that better tree whose fruit The wounded bosom of the Church shall heal. Be thou the image-breaker. Let thy blows Fall heavy as the Suabian's iron hand, On crown or crosier, which shall interpose Between thee and
Lee (search for this): chapter 1
emembrance of occasions, Forever lost, of serving thee. It was not mine among thy kindred To join the silent funeral prayers, But all that long sad day of summer My tears of mourning dropped with theirs. All day the sea-waves sobbed with sorrow, The birds forgot their merry trills: All day I heard the pines lamenting With thine upon thy homestead hills. Green be those hillside pines forever, And green the meadowy lowlands be, And green the old memorial beeches, Name-carven in the woods of Lee! Still let them greet thy life companions Who thither turn their pilgrim feet, In every mossy line recalling A tender memory sadly sweet. O friend! if thought and sense avail not To know thee henceforth as thou art, That all is well with thee forever I trust the instincts of my heart. Thine be the quiet habitations, Thine the green pastures, blossom-sown, And smiles of saintly recognition, As sweet and tenders thy own. Thou com'st not from the hush and shadow To meet us, but to thee we c
Thor (search for this): chapter 1
the mighty bound which the laboring mind of England has taken in our day. hands off! thou tithe-fat plunderer! play No trick of priestcraft here! Back, puny lordling! darest thou lay A hand on Elliott's bier? Alive, your rank and pomp, as dust, Beneath his feet he trod: He knew the locust swarm that cursed The harvest-fields of God. On these pale lips, the smothered thought Which England's millions feel, A fierce and fearful splendor caught, As from his forge the steel. Strong-armed as Thor, a shower of fire His smitten anvil flung; God's curse, Earth's wrong, dumb Hunger's ire, He gave them all a tongue! Then let the poor man's horny hands Bear up the mighty dead, And labor's swart and stalwart bands Behind as mourners tread. Leave cant and craft their baptized bounds, Leave rank its minster floor; Give England's green and daisied grounds The poet of the poor! Lay down upon his Sheaf's green verge That brave old heart of oak, With fitting dirge from sounding forge, And pall o
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