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C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874., Section Eighth: the war of the Rebellion. (search)
highest pleasure, which, although ostensibly an anti-slavery dinner, was limited chiefly in its company to the literary men of London. Among the good things of that evening was a short poem written for the occasion by Wm. Beattie, M. D., the gifted and well-known author of Scotland Illustrated, etc. I do not know if it has been published. I remember some of the stanzas. It is an address from England's Poets to the Poets of America. Your Garrison has faun'd the flame, Child, Chapman, Pierpont, caught the fire, And, roused at Freedom's hallow'd name, Hark! Bryant, Whittier, strike the lyre; While here hearts myriad trumpet-toned, Montgomery, Cowper, Campbell, Moore, To Freedom's glorious cause respond, In sounds which thrill through every core. Their voice has conjured up a power No fears can daunt, no foes arrest, Which gathers strength with every hour And strikes a chord in every breast,— A power that soon in every land— On Europe's shore, on ocean's flood— Shall sm<
C. Edwards Lester, Life and public services of Charles Sumner: Born Jan. 6, 1811. Died March 11, 1874., Xli. (search)
highest pleasure, which, although ostensibly an anti-slavery dinner, was limited chiefly in its company to the literary men of London. Among the good things of that evening was a short poem written for the occasion by Wm. Beattie, M. D., the gifted and well-known author of Scotland Illustrated, etc. I do not know if it has been published. I remember some of the stanzas. It is an address from England's Poets to the Poets of America. Your Garrison has faun'd the flame, Child, Chapman, Pierpont, caught the fire, And, roused at Freedom's hallow'd name, Hark! Bryant, Whittier, strike the lyre; While here hearts myriad trumpet-toned, Montgomery, Cowper, Campbell, Moore, To Freedom's glorious cause respond, In sounds which thrill through every core. Their voice has conjured up a power No fears can daunt, no foes arrest, Which gathers strength with every hour And strikes a chord in every breast,— A power that soon in every land— On Europe's shore, on ocean's flood— Shall sm<