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THE LITTLE IRON SOLDIER
OR, WHAT AMINADAB IVISON DREAMED ABOUT.
AMINADAB IVISON started up in his bed. The great clock at the head of the staircase, an old and respected heirloom of the family, struck one.
"Ah," said he, heaving up a great sigh from the depths of his inner man,"I've had a tried time of it."
"And so have I," said the wife. "Thee's been kicking and threshing about all night. I do wonder what ails thee."
And well she might; for... more...
THE QUAKER OF THE OLDEN TIME.
THE Quaker of the olden time!How calm and firm and true,Unspotted by its wrong and crime,He walked the dark earth through.The lust of power, the love of gain,The thousand lures of sinAround him, had no power to stainThe purity within.
With that deep insight which detectsAll great things in the small,And knows how each man's life affectsThe spiritual life of all,He walked by faith and not by sight,By love and not by... more...
SNOW-BOUND.
A WINTER IDYL.
TO THE MEMORY
OF
THE HOUSEHOLD IT DESCRIBES,
THIS POEM IS DEDICATED BY THE AUTHOR.
The inmates of the family at the Whittier homestead who are referred to in the poem were my father, mother, my brother and two sisters, and my uncle and aunt both unmarried. In addition, there was the district school-master who boarded with us. The "not unfeared, half-welcome guest" was Harriet Livermore, daughter of Judge... more...
POEMS SUBJECTIVE AND REMINISCENT MEMORIES
A beautiful and happy girl,With step as light as summer air,Eyes glad with smiles, and brow of pearl,Shadowed by many a careless curlOf unconfined and flowing hair;A seeming child in everything,Save thoughtful brow and ripening charms,As Nature wears the smile of SpringWhen sinking into Summer's arms.
A mind rejoicing in the lightWhich melted through its graceful bower,Leaf after leaf, dew-moist and... more...
THE ANSWER.
Spare me, dread angel of reproof,And let the sunshine weave to-dayIts gold-threads in the warp and woofOf life so poor and gray.
Spare me awhile; the flesh is weak.These lingering feet, that fain would strayAmong the flowers, shall some day seekThe strait and narrow way.
Take off thy ever-watchful eye,The awe of thy rebuking frown;The dullest slave at times must sighTo fling his burdens down;
To drop his galley's straining oar,And... more...
RELIGIOUS POEMS
THE STAR OF BETHLEHEM
Where Time the measure of his hoursBy changeful bud and blossom keeps,And, like a young bride crowned with flowers,Fair Shiraz in her garden sleeps;
Where, to her poet's turban stone,The Spring her gift of flowers imparts,Less sweet than those his thoughts have sownIn the warm soil of Persian hearts:
There sat the stranger, where the shadeOf scattered date-trees thinly lay,While in the hot clear heaven... more...
REFORM AND POLITICS
UTOPIAN SCHEMES AND POLITICAL THEORISTS.
THERE is a large class of men, not in Europe alone, but in this country also, whose constitutional conservatism inclines them to regard any organic change in the government of a state or the social condition of its people with suspicion and distrust. They admit, perhaps, the evils of the old state of things; but they hold them to be inevitable, the alloy necessarily mingled with all... more...
THE FROST SPIRIT
He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comesYou may trace his footsteps nowOn the naked woods and the blasted fields and thebrown hill's withered brow.He has smitten the leaves of the gray old treeswhere their pleasant green came forth,And the winds, which follow wherever he goes,have shaken them down to earth.He comes,—he comes,—the Frost Spirit comes!from the frozen Labrador,From the icy bridge of the... more...
IN WAR TIME.
TO SAMUEL E. SEWALL AND HARRIET W. SEWAll, OF MELROSE.
These lines to my old friends stood as dedication in the volume which contained a collection of pieces under the general title of In War Time. The group belonging distinctly under that title I have retained here; the other pieces in the volume are distributed among the appropriate divisions.
OLOR ISCANUS queries: "Why should weVex at the land's ridiculous miserie?"So on his... more...
THE FUNERAL OF TORREY.
Charles T. Torrey, an able young Congregational clergyman, died May 9, 1846, in the state's prison of Maryland, for the offence of aiding slaves to escape from bondage. His funeral in Boston, attended by thousands, was a most impressive occasion. The following is an extract from an article written for the Essex Transcript:—
Some seven years ago, we saw Charles T. Torrey for the first time. His wife was leaning on... more...