Poems: By John G. Whittier, Illus. by H. Billing |
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Page 11
... priest Left us the man . A shrewd , sagacious merchant , To whom the soiled sheet found in Crawford's inn , Giving the latest news of city stocks - And sales of cotton had a deeper meaning Than the great presence of the awful mountains ...
... priest Left us the man . A shrewd , sagacious merchant , To whom the soiled sheet found in Crawford's inn , Giving the latest news of city stocks - And sales of cotton had a deeper meaning Than the great presence of the awful mountains ...
Page 49
... , Each colored like a topaz gem ; And the tall maple wears with them The coronal which autumn gives , The brief , bright sign of ruin near , The hectic of a dying year ! The hermit priest , who lingers now On the Bald 7 MOGG MEGONE . 49.
... , Each colored like a topaz gem ; And the tall maple wears with them The coronal which autumn gives , The brief , bright sign of ruin near , The hectic of a dying year ! The hermit priest , who lingers now On the Bald 7 MOGG MEGONE . 49.
Page 50
... priest , who lingers now On the Bald Mountain's shrubless brow , The grey and thunder - smitten pile Which marks afar the Desert Isle , * While gazing on the scene below , May half forget the dreams of home , That nightly with his ...
... priest , who lingers now On the Bald Mountain's shrubless brow , The grey and thunder - smitten pile Which marks afar the Desert Isle , * While gazing on the scene below , May half forget the dreams of home , That nightly with his ...
Page 63
... priest What proud and lofty dreams , What keen desires , what cherished schemes , What hopes , that time may not recall , Are darkened by that chieftain's fall ! Was he not pledged , by cross and vow , To lift the hatchet of his sire ...
... priest What proud and lofty dreams , What keen desires , what cherished schemes , What hopes , that time may not recall , Are darkened by that chieftain's fall ! Was he not pledged , by cross and vow , To lift the hatchet of his sire ...
Page 64
... , secretly promised to supply the Indians with arms and ammunition , if they would renew hostilities . Their principal agent was the celebrated Ralle , the French Jesuit . " p . 215 . MOGG MEGONE . PART III . Ан , weary Priest 64 POEMS .
... , secretly promised to supply the Indians with arms and ammunition , if they would renew hostilities . Their principal agent was the celebrated Ralle , the French Jesuit . " p . 215 . MOGG MEGONE . PART III . Ан , weary Priest 64 POEMS .
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Common terms and phrases
altar angels beauty beneath blessed blood bondman's breath breeze brow calm Castine chain cloud cold curse dank and lone dark daughters dead dream earth evil faith Faneuil Hall fathers fear feel fetters fire flowers Freedom glance God's grave green grey Hall hand hateful bands hath hear heard heart Heaven hills holy human Indian Jesuit John Bonython land light lips look Massachusetts Mogg Megone mountain murmur Narragansett Bay night Norridgewock Northern eagle o'er pale Passaconaway Pennacook prayer priest Quaker rice-swamp dank rock round Rouville Sachem Saugus Scamman scorn shade shadow shame shore shrine slave slavery Slavery's smile sold and gone song soul spirit stood sunset sunshine sweet tears thee thine thought thrill toil TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE tree trembling truth turn unto voice wall wampum waters wave weary Weetamoo wigwam wild wind wood words wrong
Popular passages
Page 170 - Our fathers to their graves have gone; Their strife is past, their triumph won; But sterner trials wait the race Which rises in their honored place; A moral warfare with the crime And folly of an evil time. So let it be. In God's own might We gird us for the coming fight, And, strong in Him whose cause is ours In conflict with unholy powers, We grasp the weapons He has given,— The Light, and Truth, and Love of Heaven.
Page 316 - O'er the rabble's laughter ; And, while Hatred's fagots burn, Glimpses through the smoke discern Of the good hereafter. Knowing this, that never yet Share of Truth was vainly set In the world's wide fallow ; After hands shall sow the seed, After hands from hill and mead Reap the harvests yellow. Thus, with somewhat of the Seer, Must the moral pioneer From the Future borrow; Clothe the waste with dreams of grain, And, on midnight's sky of rain, Paint the golden morrow 1
Page 262 - s rest in his still countenance ! He mocks no grief with idle cheer, Nor wounds with words the mourner's ear ; But ills and woes he may not cure He kindly trains us to endure. Angel of Patience ! sent to calm Our feverish brows with cooling...
Page iii - I LOVE the old melodious lays Which softly melt the ages through, The songs of Spenser's golden days, Arcadian Sidney's silvery phrase, Sprinkling our noon of time with freshest morning dew.
Page 163 - GONE, gone, — sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone. Where the slave-whip ceaseless swings, Where the noisome insect stings, Where the fever demon strews Poison with the falling dews. Where the sickly sunbeams glare Through the hot and misty air, — Gone, gone, — sold anii gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone, From Virginia's hills and waters, — Woe is me, my stolen daughters ! Gone, gone, — sold and gone, To the rice-swamp dank and lone.
Page 133 - OUR fellow-countrymen in chains! Slaves — in a land of light and law! Slaves — crouching on the very plains Where rolled the storm of Freedom's war! A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood — A wail where Camden's martyrs fell — By every shrine of patriot blood, From Moultrie's wall and Jasper's well!
Page 145 - JUST God ! — and these are they Who minister at Thine altar, God of Right ! Men who their hands with prayer and blessing lay On Israel's Ark of light ! "WTiat ! preach and kidnap men ? Give thanks — and rob Thy own afflicted poor ? Talk of Thy glorious liberty, and then Bolt hard the captive's door...
Page 139 - I love thee with a brother's love, I feel my pulses thrill, To mark thy spirit soar above The cloud of human ill. My heart hath leaped to answer thine, And echo back thy words, As leaps the warrior's at the shine And flash of kindred swords...
Page 150 - Is this the land our fathers loved, The freedom which they toiled to win ? Is this the soil whereon they moved ? Are these the graves they slumber in ? Are we the sons by whom are borne The mantles which the dead have worn ? And shall we crouch above these graves, With craven soul and fettered lip...
Page 247 - He comes — he comes — the Frost Spirit comes ! — from the frozen Labrador — From the icy bridge of the Northern seas, which the white bear wanders o'er — "Where the fisherman's sail is stiff with ice, and the luckless forms below In the sunless cold of the lingering night into marble statues grow!