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Cape Ann (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
r ourselves alone. In the long years of thy absence Some of us have grown old, And some have passed the portals Of the Mystery untold; For the hands that cannot clasp thee, For the voices that are dumb, For each and all I bid thee A grateful welcome home! For Cedarcroft's sweet singer To the nine-fold Muses dear; For the Seer the winding Concord Paused by his door to hear; For him, our guide and Nestor, Who the march of song began, The white locks of his ninety years Bared to thy winds, Cape Ann! For him who, to the music Her pines and hemlocks played, Set the old and tender story Of the lorn Acadian maid; For him, whose voice for freedom Swayed friend and foe at will, Hushed is the tongue of silver, The golden lips are still! For her whose life of duty At scoff and menace smiled, Brave as the wife of Roland, Yet gentle as a Child. And for him the three-hilled city Shall hold in memory long, Whose name is the hint and token Of the pleasant Fields of Song! For the old friends
Bethlehem (Pennsylvania, United States) (search for this): chapter 1
fore whose awful power Thy spirit bent its trembling knee; Who, in the silent greeting flower, And forest leaf, looked out on thee, We leave thee, with a trust serene, Which Time, nor Change, nor Death can move, While with thy childlike faith we lean On Him whose dearest name is Love! 1842. To J. P. John Pierpont, the eloquent preacher and poet of Boston. not as a poor requital of the joy With which my childhood heard that lay of thine, Which, like an echo of the song divine At Bethlehem breathed above the Holy Boy, Bore to my ear the Airs of Palestine,— Not to the poet, but the man I bring In friendship's fearless trust my offering: How much it lacks I feel, and thou wilt see, Yet well I know that thou hast deemed with me Life all too earnest, and its time too short For dreamy ease and Fancy's graceful sport; And girded for thy constant strife with wrong, Like Nehemiah fighting while he wrought The broken walls of Zion, even thy song Hath a rude martial tone, a blow in e
Kitchener (Canada) (search for this): chapter 1
the heart In every tongue rehearsing. Why dream of lands of gold and pearl, Of loving knight and lady, When farmer boy and barefoot girl Were wandering there already? I saw through all familiar things The romance underlying; The joys and griefs that plume the wings Of Fancy skyward flying. I saw the same blithe day return, The same sweet fall of even, That rose on wooded Craigie-burn, And sank on crystal Devon. I matched with Scotland's heathery hills The sweetbrier and the clover; With Ayr and Doon, my native rills, Their wood-hymns chanting over. O'er rank and pomp, as he had seen, I saw the Man uprising; No longer common or unclean, The child of God's baptizing! With clearer eyes I saw the worth Of life among the lowly; The Bible at his Cotter's hearth Had made my own more holy. And if at times an evil strain, To lawless love appealing, Broke in upon the sweet refrain Of pure and healthful feeling, It died upon the eye and ear, No inward answer gaining; No heart had I to
Weimar (Thuringia, Germany) (search for this): chapter 1
rn and blinded slave? The heart has needs beyond the head, And, starving in the plenitude Of strange gifts, craves its common food,— Our human nature's daily bread. We are but men: no gods are we, To sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak, Each separate, on his painful peak, Thin-cloaked in self-complacency! Better his lot whose axe is swung In Wartburg woods, or that poor girl's Who by the Ilm her spindle whirls And sings the songs that Luther sung, Than his who, old, and cold, and vain, At Weimar sat, a demigod, And bowed with Jove's imperial nod His votaries in and out again! Ply, Vanity, thy winged feet! Ambition, hew thy rocky stair! Who envies him who feeds on air The icy splendor of his seat? I see your Alps, above me, cut The dark, cold sky; and dim and lone I see ye sitting,—stone on stone,— With human senses dulled and shut. I could not reach you, if I would, Nor sit among your cloudy shapes; And (spare the fable of the grapes And fox) I would not if I could. Keep to your<
United States (United States) (search for this): chapter 1
ical opinions. He became Professor of Civil Law in the University of Basle. The governments of Prussia, Austria, and Russia united in demanding his delivery as a political offender; and, in consequence, he left Switzerland, and came to the United States. At the time of the formation of the American Anti-Slavery Society he was a Professor in Harvard University, honored for his genius, learning, and estimable character. His love of liberty and hatred of oppression led him to seek an intervieave-trade and slavery; and had twice before made visits to this country, under impressions of religious duty. He was the father of the Right Hon. William Edward Forster. He visited my father's house in Haverhill during his first tour in the United States. the years are many since his hand Was laid upon my head, Too weak and young to understand The serious words he said. Yet often now the good man's look Before me seems to swim, As if some inward feeling took The outward guise of him. As if
Norwich (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 1
ty wrong? The human life that closed so well No lapse of folly now can stain: The lips whence Freedom's protest fell No meaner thought can now profane. Mightier than living voice his grave That lofty protest utters o'er; Through roaring wind and smiting wave It speaks his hate of wrong once more. Men of the North! your weak regret Is wasted here; arise and pay To freedom and to him your debt, By following where he led the way! “ 1853. William Forster. William Forster, of Norwich, England, died in East Tennessee, in the 1st month, 1854, while engaged in presenting to the governors of the States of this Union the address of his religious society on the evils of slavery. He was the relative and coadjutor of the Buxtons, Gurneys, and Frys; and his whole life, extending almost to threescore and ten years, was a pure and beautiful example of Christian benevolence. He had travelled over Europe, and visited most of its sovereigns, to plead against the slave-trade and slavery;
Switzerland (Switzerland) (search for this): chapter 1
the Future State. Charles Follen, one of the noblest contributions of Germany to American citizenship, was at an early age driven from his professorship in the University of Jena, and compelled to seek shelter from official prosecution in Switzerland, on account of his liberal political opinions. He became Professor of Civil Law in the University of Basle. The governments of Prussia, Austria, and Russia united in demanding his delivery as a political offender; and, in consequence, he left Switzerland, and came to the United States. At the time of the formation of the American Anti-Slavery Society he was a Professor in Harvard University, honored for his genius, learning, and estimable character. His love of liberty and hatred of oppression led him to seek an interview with Garrison and express his sympathy with him. Soon after, he attended a meeting of the New England Anti-Slavery Society. An able speech was made by Rev. A. A. Phelps, and a letter of mine addressed to the
Saint Agnes (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 1
the old friends unforgotten, For the young thou hast not known, I speak their heart-warm greeting; Come back and take thy own! From England's royal farewells, And honors fitly paid, Come back, dear Russell Lowell, To Elmwood's waiting shade! Come home with all the garlands That crown of right thy head. I speak for comrades living, I speak for comrades dead! Amesbury, 6th mo., 1885. An Artist of the beautiful. George fuller. haunted Of Beauty, like the marvellous youth Who sang Saint Agnes' Eve! How passing fair Her shapes took color in thy homestead air! How on thy canvas even her dreams were truth! Magician! who from commonest elements Called up divine ideals, clothed upon By mystic lights soft blending into one Womanly grace and child-like innocence. Teacher! thy lesson was not given in vain. Beauty is goodness; ugliness is sin; Art's place is sacred: nothing foul therein May crawl or tread with bestial feet profane. If rightly choosing is the painter's test, Thy choi
Birmingham (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 1
he influence of that hour Of converse on Rhode Island's strand Lives in the calm, resistless power Which moves our fatherland. God blesses still the generous thought, And still the fitting word He speeds And Truth, at His requiring taught, He quickens into deeds. Where is the victory of the grave? What dust upon the spirit lies? God keeps the sacred life he gave,— The prophet never dies! 1844. To my friend on the death of his Sister. Sophia Sturge, sister of Joseph Sturge, of Birmingham, the President of the British Complete Suffrage Association, died in the 6th month, 1845. She was the colleague, counsellor, and ever-ready helpmate of her brother in all his vast designs of beneficence. The Birmingham Pilot says of her: Never, perhaps, were the active and passive virtues of the human character more harmoniously and beautifully blended than in this excellent woman. thine is a grief, the depth of which another May never know; Yet, o'er the waters, O my stricken brother!
Sheffield (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 1
h pursued The path allotted him. How echoes yet each Western hill And vale with Channing's dying word! How are the hearts of freemen still By that great warning stirred! The stranger treads his native soil. And pleads, with zeal unfelt before, The honest right of British toil, The claim of England's poor. Before him time-wrought barriers fall, Old fears subside, old hatreds melt, And, stretching o'er the sea's blue wall, The Saxon greets the Celt. The yeoman on the Scottish lines, The Sheffield grinder, worn and grim, The delver in the Cornwall mines, Look up with hope to him. Swart smiters of the glowing steel, Dark feeders of the forge's flame, Pale watchers at the loom and wheel, Repeat his honored name. And thus the influence of that hour Of converse on Rhode Island's strand Lives in the calm, resistless power Which moves our fatherland. God blesses still the generous thought, And still the fitting word He speeds And Truth, at His requiring taught, He quickens into deeds.
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