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Bright Island (Maine, United States) (search for this): chapter 5
and their glory round her hair. She hovers near and bends above her world-wide honored child, And the joy that heaven alone can know beams on her features mild. And so they bear him to his grave in the fullness of his years, True sage and prophet, leaving us in a time of many fears. Nevermore amid the darkness of our wild and evil day Shall his voice be heard to cheer us, shall his finger point the way. Dr. Kane in Cuba. A noble life is in thy care, A sacred trust to thee is given; Bright Island! let thy healing air Be to him as the breath of Heaven. The marvel of his daring life— The self-forgetting leader bold— Stirs, like the trumpet's call to strife, A million hearts of meaner mould. Eyes that shall never meet his own Look dim with tears across the sea, Where from the dark and icy zone, Sweet Isle of Flowers! he comes to thee. Fold him in rest, O pitying clime! Give back his wasted strength again; Soothe, with thy endless summer time, His winter-wearied heart and brain.
Amesbury (Massachusetts, United States) (search for this): chapter 5
This little poem reached Cuba while the great explorer lay on his death-bed, and we are told that he listened with grateful tears while it was read to him by his mother. I am tempted to say more, but I write as under the eye of her who, while with us, shrank with painful deprecation from the praise or mention of performances which seemed so far below her ideal of excellence. To those who best knew her, the beloved circle of her intimate friends, I dedicate this slight memorial. J. G. W. Amesbury, 9th mo., 1874. The dream of Argyle. earthly arms no more uphold him On his prison's stony floor; Waiting death in his last slumber, Lies the doomed MacCallum More. And he dreams a dream of boyhood; Rise again his heathery hills, Sound again the hound's long baying, Cry of moor-fowl, laugh of rills. Now he stands amidst his clansmen In the low, long banquet-hall, Over grim, ancestral armor Sees the ruddy firelight fall. Once again, with pulses beating, Hears the wandering minstrel t
United States (United States) (search for this): chapter 5
the radiant ranks of martyrs Notes of joy and praise he hears, Songs of his poor land's deliverance Sounding from the future years. Lo, he wakes! but airs celestial Bathe him in immortal rest, And he sees with unsealed vision Scotland's cause with victory blest. Shining hosts attend and guard him As he leaves his prison door; And to death as to a triumph Walks the great MacCallum More! Lines Written on the departure of Joseph Sturge, after his visit to the abolitionists of the United States. fair islands of the sunny sea! midst all rejoicing things, No more the wailing of the slave a wild discordance brings; On the lifted brows of freemen the tropic breezes blow, The mildew of the bondman's toil the land no more shall know. How swells from those green islands, where bird and leaf and flower Are praising in their own sweet way the dawn of freedom's hour, The glorious resurrection song from hearts rejoicing poured, Thanksgiving for the priceless gift,—man's regal crown re
Montrose (Pennsylvania, United States) (search for this): chapter 5
., 1874. The dream of Argyle. earthly arms no more uphold him On his prison's stony floor; Waiting death in his last slumber, Lies the doomed MacCallum More. And he dreams a dream of boyhood; Rise again his heathery hills, Sound again the hound's long baying, Cry of moor-fowl, laugh of rills. Now he stands amidst his clansmen In the low, long banquet-hall, Over grim, ancestral armor Sees the ruddy firelight fall. Once again, with pulses beating, Hears the wandering minstrel tell How Montrose on Inverary Thief-like from his mountains fell. Down the glen, beyond the castle, Where the linn's swift waters shine, Round the youthful heir of Argyle Shy feet glide and white arms twine. Fairest of the rustic dancers, Blue-eyed Effie smiles once more, Bends to him her snooded tresses, Treads with him the grassy floor. Now he hears the pipes lamenting, Harpers for his mother mourn, Slow, with sable plume and pennon, To her cairn of burial borne. Then anon his dreams are darker, Sound
Cuba (Cuba) (search for this): chapter 5
ned like a flower in the warmth of social communion. In the lines on Dr. Kane her friends will see something of her fine individuality,— the rare mingling of delicacy and intensity of feeling which made her dear to them. This little poem reached Cuba while the great explorer lay on his death-bed, and we are told that he listened with grateful tears while it was read to him by his mother. I am tempted to say more, but I write as under the eye of her who, while with us, shrank with painful dear him to his grave in the fullness of his years, True sage and prophet, leaving us in a time of many fears. Nevermore amid the darkness of our wild and evil day Shall his voice be heard to cheer us, shall his finger point the way. Dr. Kane in Cuba. A noble life is in thy care, A sacred trust to thee is given; Bright Island! let thy healing air Be to him as the breath of Heaven. The marvel of his daring life— The self-forgetting leader bold— Stirs, like the trumpet's call to strife, A mil<
Scotland (United Kingdom) (search for this): chapter 5
ed men. All is lost! The godless triumph, And the faithful ones and true From the scaffold and the prison Covenant with God anew. On the darkness of his dreaming Great and sudden glory shone; Over bonds and death victorious Stands he by the Father's throne! From the radiant ranks of martyrs Notes of joy and praise he hears, Songs of his poor land's deliverance Sounding from the future years. Lo, he wakes! but airs celestial Bathe him in immortal rest, And he sees with unsealed vision Scotland's cause with victory blest. Shining hosts attend and guard him As he leaves his prison door; And to death as to a triumph Walks the great MacCallum More! Lines Written on the departure of Joseph Sturge, after his visit to the abolitionists of the United States. fair islands of the sunny sea! midst all rejoicing things, No more the wailing of the slave a wild discordance brings; On the lifted brows of freemen the tropic breezes blow, The mildew of the bondman's toil the land no mor
Argyle (search for this): chapter 5
the praise or mention of performances which seemed so far below her ideal of excellence. To those who best knew her, the beloved circle of her intimate friends, I dedicate this slight memorial. J. G. W. Amesbury, 9th mo., 1874. The dream of Argyle. earthly arms no more uphold him On his prison's stony floor; Waiting death in his last slumber, Lies the doomed MacCallum More. And he dreams a dream of boyhood; Rise again his heathery hills, Sound again the hound's long baying, Cry of moor-fdy firelight fall. Once again, with pulses beating, Hears the wandering minstrel tell How Montrose on Inverary Thief-like from his mountains fell. Down the glen, beyond the castle, Where the linn's swift waters shine, Round the youthful heir of Argyle Shy feet glide and white arms twine. Fairest of the rustic dancers, Blue-eyed Effie smiles once more, Bends to him her snooded tresses, Treads with him the grassy floor. Now he hears the pipes lamenting, Harpers for his mother mourn, Slow, wit
John Quincy Adams (search for this): chapter 5
a lie! For us with steady strength of heart and zeal forever true, The champion of the island slave the conflict doth renew, His labor here hath been to point the Pharisaic eye Away from empty creed and form to where the wounded lie. How beautiful to us should seem the coming feet of such! Their garments of self-sacrifice have healing in their touch; Their gospel mission none may doubt, for they heed the Master's call, Who here walked with the multitude, and sat at meat with all! John Quincy Adams. he rests with the immortals; his journey has been long: For him no wail of sorrow, but a paen full and strong So well and bravely has he done the work he found to do, To justice, freedom, duty, God, and man forever true. Strong to the end, a man of men, from out the strife he passed; The grandest hour of all his life was that of earth the last. Now midst his snowy hills of home to the grave they bear him down, The glory of his fourscore years resting on him like a crown. The mourni
Joseph Sturge (search for this): chapter 5
nd death victorious Stands he by the Father's throne! From the radiant ranks of martyrs Notes of joy and praise he hears, Songs of his poor land's deliverance Sounding from the future years. Lo, he wakes! but airs celestial Bathe him in immortal rest, And he sees with unsealed vision Scotland's cause with victory blest. Shining hosts attend and guard him As he leaves his prison door; And to death as to a triumph Walks the great MacCallum More! Lines Written on the departure of Joseph Sturge, after his visit to the abolitionists of the United States. fair islands of the sunny sea! midst all rejoicing things, No more the wailing of the slave a wild discordance brings; On the lifted brows of freemen the tropic breezes blow, The mildew of the bondman's toil the land no more shall know. How swells from those green islands, where bird and leaf and flower Are praising in their own sweet way the dawn of freedom's hour, The glorious resurrection song from hearts rejoicing poured
Kane (search for this): chapter 5
dread of spiritual and intellectual egotism, or of her tenderness of sympathy, chastened mirthfulness, and pleasant play of thought and fancy, when her shy, beautiful soul opened like a flower in the warmth of social communion. In the lines on Dr. Kane her friends will see something of her fine individuality,— the rare mingling of delicacy and intensity of feeling which made her dear to them. This little poem reached Cuba while the great explorer lay on his death-bed, and we are told that he so they bear him to his grave in the fullness of his years, True sage and prophet, leaving us in a time of many fears. Nevermore amid the darkness of our wild and evil day Shall his voice be heard to cheer us, shall his finger point the way. Dr. Kane in Cuba. A noble life is in thy care, A sacred trust to thee is given; Bright Island! let thy healing air Be to him as the breath of Heaven. The marvel of his daring life— The self-forgetting leader bold— Stirs, like the trumpet's call to str<
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