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Browsing named entities in The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 2. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier).

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1876 AD (search for this): chapter 1
e the mystic asphodels Shall bloom the home-born flowers, And new horizons flush and glow With sunset hues of ours. Farewell! these smiling hills must wear Too soon their wintry frown, And snow-cold winds from off them shake The maple's red leaves down. But I shall see a summer sun Still setting broad and low; The mountain slopes shall blush and bloom, The golden water flow. A lover's claim is mine on all I see to have and hold,— The rose-light of perpetual hills, And sunsets never cold! 1876. The seeking of the waterfall. they left their home of summer ease Beneath the lowland's sheltering trees, To seek, by ways unknown to all, The promise of the waterfall. Some vague, faint rumor to the vale Had crept—perchance a hunter's tale— Of its wild mirth of waters lost On the dark woods through which it tossed. Somewhere it laughed and sang; somewhere Whirled in mad dance its misty hair; But who had raised its veil, or seen The rainbow skirts of that Undine? They sought it where<
1884 AD (search for this): chapter 1
urs of leaf and bee, the call Of birds, and one in voice and look In keeping with them all. A fern beside the way we went She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, While from her hand the wild, sweet scent I drank as from a cup. O potent witchery of smell! The dust-dry leaves to life return, And she who plucked them owns the spell And lifts her ghostly fern. Or sense or spirit? Who shall say What touch the chord of memory thrills? It passed, and left the August day Ablaze on lonely hills. 1884. The wood giant. from Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, From Mad to Saco river, For patriarchs of the primal wood We sought with vain endeavor. And then we said: “The giants old Are lost beyond retrieval; This pygmy growth the axe has spared Is not the wood primeval. Look where we will o'er vale and hill, How idle are our searches For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, Centennial pines and birches! Their tortured limbs the axe and saw Have changed to beams and trestles; They rest in w
1869 AD (search for this): chapter 1
irs thick with odorous bloom! Let the strange frost-work sink and crumble, And let the loosened tree-boughs swing, Till all their bells of silver ring. Shine warmly down, thou sun of noontime, On this chill pageant, melt and move The winter's frozen heart with love. And, soft and low, thou wind south-blowing, Breathe through a veil of tenderest haze Thy prophecy of summer days. Come with thy green relief of promise, And to this dead, cold splendor bring The living jewels of the spring! 1869. The pressed gentian. the time of gifts has come again, And, on my northern window-pane, Outlined against the day's brief light, A Christmas token hangs in sight. The wayside travellers, as they pass, Mark the gray disk of clouded glass; And the dull blankness seems, perchance, Folly to their wise ignorance. They cannot from their outlook see The perfect grace it hath for me; For there the flower, whose fringes through The frosty breath of autumn blew, Turns from without its face of bl
August (search for this): chapter 1
June's freshness, lapsing brook, Murmurs of leaf and bee, the call Of birds, and one in voice and look In keeping with them all. A fern beside the way we went She plucked, and, smiling, held it up, While from her hand the wild, sweet scent I drank as from a cup. O potent witchery of smell! The dust-dry leaves to life return, And she who plucked them owns the spell And lifts her ghostly fern. Or sense or spirit? Who shall say What touch the chord of memory thrills? It passed, and left the August day Ablaze on lonely hills. 1884. The wood giant. from Alton Bay to Sandwich Dome, From Mad to Saco river, For patriarchs of the primal wood We sought with vain endeavor. And then we said: “The giants old Are lost beyond retrieval; This pygmy growth the axe has spared Is not the wood primeval. Look where we will o'er vale and hill, How idle are our searches For broad-girthed maples, wide-limbed oaks, Centennial pines and birches! Their tortured limbs the axe and saw Have changed
May (search for this): chapter 1
still is, to the hawthorn. Its use in New England in connection with Epigoea repens dates from a very early day, some claiming that the first Pilgrims so used it, in affectionate memory of the vessel and its English flower association. sad Mayflower! watched by winter stars, And nursed by winter gales, With petals of the sleeted spars, And leaves of frozen sails! What had she in those dreary hours, Within her ice-rimmed bay, In common with the wild-wood flowers, The first sweet smiles of May? Yet, ‘God be praised!’ the Pilgrim said, Who saw the blossoms peer Above the brown leaves, dry and dead, ‘Behold our Mayflower here’ “God wills it: here our rest shall be, Our years of wandering o'er; For us the Mayflower of the sea Shall spread her sails no more.” O sacred flowers of faith and hope, As sweetly now as then Ye bloom on many a birchen slope, In many a pine-dark glen. Behind the sea-wall's rugged length, Unchanged, your leaves unfold, Like love behind the manly stren
1843 AD (search for this): chapter 1
l The change of cloud and wave and wind And passive on the flood reclined, I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall. But look, thou dreamer! wave and shore In shadow lie; The night-wind warns me back once more To where, my native hill-tops o'er, Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky. So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell. I bear with me No token stone nor glittering shell, But long and oft shall Memory tell Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the Sea. 1843. A dream of summer. bland as the morning breath of June The southwest breezes play; And, through its haze, the winter noon Seems warm as summer's day. The snow-plumed Angel of the North Has dropped his icy spear; Again the mossy earth looks forth, Again the streams gush clear. The fox his hillside cell forsakes, The muskrat leaves his nook, The bluebird in the meadow brakes Is singing with the brook. ‘Bear up, O Mother Nature!’ cry Bird, breeze, and streamlet free; “Our winter voices pr<
1830 AD (search for this): chapter 1
pid touch of his glazing breath, and ring to the skater's heel; And the streams which danced on the broken rocks, or sang to the leaning grass, Shall bow again to their winter chain, and in mournful silence pass. He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes! Let us meet him as we may, And turn with the light of the parlor-fire his evil power away; And gather closer the circle round, when that fire— light dances high, And laugh at the shriek of the baffled Fiend as his sounding wing goes by! 1830. The Merrimac. The Indians speak of a beautiful river, far to the south, which they call Merrimac.—--Sieur de Monts, 1604. stream of my fathers! sweetly still The sunset rays thy valley fill; Poured slantwise down the long defile, Wave, wood, and spire beneath them smile. I see the winding Powow fold The green hill in its belt of gold, And following down its wavy line, Its sparkling waters blend with thine. There's not a tree upon thy side, Nor rock, which thy returning tide As ye
1858 AD (search for this): chapter 1
rt and troubled brain! Take hope and strength from this, That Nature never hints in vain, Nor prophesies amiss. Her wild birds sing the same sweet stave, Her lights and airs are given Alike to playground and the grave; And over both is Heaven. 1858. The palm-tree. Is it the palm, the cocoa-palm, On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm? Or is it a ship in the breezeless calm? A ship whose keel is of palm beneath, Whose ribs of palm have a palm-bark sheath, And a rudder of palm it steerwine! And, in the hour of his great release, His need of the palm shall only cease With the shroud wherein he lieth in peace. ‘Allah il Allah!’ he sings his psalm, On the Indian Sea, by the isles of balm; ‘Thanks to Allah who gives the palm!’ 1858. The river path. No bird-song floated down the hill, The tangled bank below was still; No rustle from the birchen stem, No ripple from the water's hem. The dusk of twilight round us grew, We felt the falling of the dew; For, from us, ere
1862 AD (search for this): chapter 1
d the eastern flank Of the mountain, where its shadow deepest sank, Doubling the night along our rugged road: We felt that man was more than his abode, The inward life than Nature's raiment more; And the warm sky, the sundown-tinted hill, The forest and the lake, seemed dwarfed and dim Before the saintly soul, whose human will Meekly in the Eternal footsteps trod, Making her homely toil and household ways An earthly echo of the song of praise Swelling from angel lips and harps of seraphim. 1862. The Vanishers. sweetest of all childlike dreams In the simple Indian lore Still to me the legend seems Of the shapes who flit before. Flitting, passing, seen and gone, Never reached nor found at rest, Baffling search, but beckoning on To the Sunset of the Blest. From the clefts of mountain rocks, Through the dark of lowland firs, Flash the eyes and flow the locks Of the mystic Vanishers! And the fisher in his skiff, And the hunter on the moss, Hear their call from cape and cliff, Se
1872 AD (search for this): chapter 1
rth, And offer to the careless glance The clouding gray of circumstance. They blossom best where hearth-fires burn, To loving eyes alone they turn The flowers of inward grace, that hide Their beauty from the world outside. But deeper meanings come to me, My half-immortal flower, from thee! Man judges from a partial view, None ever yet his brother knew; The Eternal Eye that sees the whole May better read the darkened soul, And find, to outward sense denied, The flower upon its inmost side! 1872. A mystery. the river hemmed with leaning trees Wound through its meadows green; A low, blue line of mountains showed The open pines between. One sharp, tall peak above them all Clear into sunlight sprang: I saw the river of my dreams, The mountains that I sang! No clue of memory led me on, But well the ways I knew; A feeling of familiar things With every footstep grew. Not otherwise above its crag Could lean the blasted pine; Not otherwise the maple hold Aloft its red ensign. So up
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