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142. I said I stood upon thy grave, III. 171. I shall not soon forget that sight, II. 98. I sing the Pilgrim of a softer clime, i. 322. Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, II. 52. I spread a scanty board too late, II. 178. Is this the land our fathers loved, III. 35. Is this thy voice whose treble notes of fear, III. 104. It chanced that while the pious troops of France, III. 343. It is done, III. 254. Its windows flashing to the sky, i. 217. It was late in mild October, and the long autumnal rain, III. 308. I wait and watch; before my eyes, II. 132. I wandered lonely where the pine-trees made, II. 81. I would I were a painter, for the sake, II. 57. I would not sin, in this half-playful strain, IV. 227. I would the gift I offer here, III. 289. I write my name as one, II. 179. John Brown of Ossawatomie spake on his dying day, IV. 106. Just God! and these are they, III. 38. Know'st thou, O slave-cursed land, III. 228. Last nigh
October 12th (search for this): chapter 6
the sky, Where the spray of the cataract sparkles on high, Lonely and sternly, save Mogg Megone? Mogg Megone, or Hegone, was a leader among the Saco Indians, in the bloody war of 1677. He attacked and captured the garrison at Black Point, October 12th of that year; and cut off, at the same time, a party of Englishmen near Saco River. From a deed signed by this Indian in 1664, and from other circumstances, it seems that, previous to the war, he had mingled much with the colonists. On this te 6, page 249. The reference is to Bayard Taylor's poem, The Song of the Camp. Note 7, page 357. Mogg Megone, or Hegone, was a leader among the Saco Indians, in the bloody war of 1677. He attacked and captured the garrison at Black Point, October 12th of that year; and cut off, at the same time, a party of Englishmen near Saco River. From a deed signed by this Indian in 1664, and from other circumstances, it seems that, previous to the war, he had mingled much with the colonists. On this
hose charioteer, II. 330. Behind us at our evening meal, II. 271. Believe me, Lucy Laroom, it gives me real sorrow, IV. 405. Beneath the low-hung night cloud, i. 352. Beneath the moonlight and the snow, II. 164. Beneath thy skies, November, III. 192. Beside a stricken field I stood, III. 223. Beside that milestone where the level sun, II. 168. Between the gates of birth and death, IV. 312. Bind up thy tresses, thou beautiful one, IV. 356. Bland as the morning breated man! Down to the root, IV. 41. Summer's last sun nigh unto setting shines, IV. 314 Sunlight upon Judaea's hills, II. 195. Sweetest of all childlike dreams, II. 59. Take our hands, James Russell Lowell, IV. 152. Talk not of sad November, when a day, II. 93. Tauler, the preacher, walked, one autumn day, i. 141. Thank God for rest, where none molest, III. 259. Thank God for the token! one lip is still free, III. 47. Thanks for thy gift, IV. 54. The age is dull and
eer, Or the flip that wellnigh made Glad his funeral cavalcade; Weary prose, and poet's lines, Flavored by their age, like wines, Eulogistic of some quaint, Doubtful, puritanic saint; Lays that quickened husking jigs, Jests that shook grave periwigs, When the parson had his jokes And his glass, like other folks; Sermons that, for mortal hours, Taxed our fathers' vital powers, As the long nineteenthlies poured Downward from the sounding-board, And, for fire of Pentecost, Touched their beards December's frost. Time is hastening on, and we What our fathers are shall be,— Shadow-shapes of memory! Joined to that vast multitude Where the great are but the good, And the mind of strength shall prove Weaker than the heart of love; Pride of graybeard wisdom less Than the infant's guilelessness, And his song of sorrow more Than the crown the Psalmist wore! Who shall then, with pious zeal, At our moss-grown thresholds kneel, From a stained and stony page Reading to a careless age, With a patient
ake upon a vaster sea The unreturning voyage, my friends to me. 1882. Winter roses. In reply to a flower gift from Mrs. Putnam's school at Jamaica Plain. my garden roses long ago Have perished from the leaf-strewn walks; Their pale, fair sisters smile no more Upon the sweet-brier stalks. Gone with the flower-time of my life, Spring's violets, summer's blooming pride, And Nature's winter and my own Stand, flowerless, side by side. So might I yesterday have sung; To-day, in bleak December's noon, Come sweetest fragrance, shapes, and hues, The rosy wealth of June! Bless the young hands that culled the gift, And bless the hearts that prompted it; If undeserved it comes, at least It seems not all unfit. Of old my Quaker ancestors Had gifts of forty stripes save one; To-day as many roses crown The gray head of their son. And with them, to my fancy's eye, The fresh-faced givers smiling come, And nine and thirty happy girls Make glad a lonely room. They bring the atmosphere o
At sundown To E. C. S. Poet and friend of poets, if thy glass Detects no flower in winter's tuft of grass, Let this slight token of the debt I owe Outlive for thee December's frozen day, And, like the arbutus budding under snow, Take bloom and fragrance from some morn of May When he who gives it shall have gone the way Where faith shall see and reverent trust shall know. The Christmas of 1888. Low in the east, against a white, cold dawn, The black-lined silhouette of the woods was. In such an atmosphere of youth I half forget my age's truth; The shadow of my life's long date Runs backward on the dial-plate, Until it seems a step might span The gulf between the boy and man. My young friends smile, as if some jay On bleak December's leafless spray Essayed to sing the songs of May. Well, let them smile, and live to know, When their brown locks are flecked with snow, Tis tedious to be always sage And pose the dignity of age, While so much of our early lives On memory's pla
ensitive 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 such Quattle-bumming; “With your April-fool slave hunt! Just wait till December Shall see your new Senator stalk through the Chamber, And Puritan heresy prove neither dumb nor Blind in that pestilent Anakim, Sumner!” A Fremont Campaign song. Sound now the trumpet warningly! The storm is rolling nearer, The hour is striking clearer, In the dusky dome of sky. If dark and wild the morning be, A darker morn before us Shall fling its shadows o'er us If we let the hour go by. Sound we then the trumpet chorus! Sound the onset wild and high! Country and Liberty! Freed
kipper sailed out of the harbor mouth, i. 392. The sky is ruddy in the east, III. 302. The soul itself its awful witness is, II. 329. The South-land boasts its teeming cane, III. 333. The storm and peril overpast, III. 269. The storm-wind is howling, IV. 328. The subtle power in perfume found, II. 89. The summer warmth has left the sky, II. 72. The sunlight glitters keen and bright, II. 14. The suns of eighteen centuries have shone, III. 275. The sun that brief December day, II. 135. The sweet spring day is glad with music, IV. 120. The sword was sheathed: in April's sun, IV. 286. The tall, sallow guardsmen their horsetails have spread, III. 356. The tent-lights glimmer on the land, III. 230. The threads our hands in blindness spin, II. 311. The time of gifts has come again, II. 64. The tossing spray of Cocheco's fall, i. 400. The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed, II. 339. The wave is breaking on the shore, III. 63.
December 25th (search for this): chapter 6
hn C. Fremont. A Word for the Hour. Ein feste Burg ist unser Gott. Cobbler Keezar's Vision. Our River. A Legend of the Lake. 1862Amy Wentworth. At Port Royal. The Cry of a Lost Soul. Mountain Pictures. To Englishmen. The Watchers. The Waiting. The Battle Autumn of 1862. Astraea at the Capitol. 1863The Proclamation. The Answer. To Samuel E. Sewall and Harriet W. Sewall. A Memorial. Andrew Rykman's Prayer. The Countess. Barbara Frietchie. Anniversary Poem. Hymn sung at Christmas by the Scholars of St.Helena's Island, S. C. Mithridates at Chios. 1864The Vanishers. What the Birds said. The Brother of Mercy. The Wreck of Rivermouth. Bryant on his Birthday. Thomas Starr King. Hymn for the Opening of Thomas Starr King's House of Worship. Lines on leaving Appledore. 1865Revisited. To the Thirty-ninth Congress. The Changeling. The Grave by the Lake. Kallundborg Church. Hymn for the Celebration of Emancipation at Newburyport. Laus Deo. The Mantle of St.
December 25th (search for this): chapter 8
cipation at Newburyport, III. 257. Hymn for the House of Worship at Georgetown, IV. 188. Hymn for the Opening of Plymouth Church, IV. 200. Hymn for the Opening of Thomas Starr King's House of Worship, IV. 186. Hymn of the Children, IV. 209. Hymn of the Dunkers, II. 312. Hymn: O Holy Father! just and true, III. 54. Hymn: O Thou, whose presence went before, III. 29. Hymns of the Brahmo Somaj, II. 340. Hymns from the French of Lamartine, II. 200. Hymn sung at Christmas by the Scholars of St. Helena's Island, S. C., III. 238. Ichabod, IV. 61. In Memory, IV. 146. In Peace, IV. 69. In Quest, II. 299. In Remembrance of Joseph Sturge, IV. 102. In School-Days, II. 162. Inscriptions, II. 322. In the Evil Days, III. 163. In the Old South, i. 371. Invocation, II. 235. Isabel, IV. 355. Isabella of Austria, IV. 351. Italy, III. 360. I was a Stranger, and ye took me in, IV. 204. John Underhill, i. 354. Jubilee Singers,
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