v,--^. H^rnm tl^t Htbrarg of 2lfqupati|pJi by lytm tn tl|p library of l^nnttton m^taio^xml S>rmtttary 9 Price, $3.50. LEAVES of Grass. Washington, D. C. 1871. e\v-York: J. S. REDFIKLD, Pubmshkk, 140 Fulton St., (up .'^tairs.) W(7.^,-/\Yh^4". LEAVES 9f Washington, D. C. 1871. See Advertisement at end of this Volume. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by WALT IFHITMAN, In the O^ce rf the Librarian of Congress, at Washinzton. Electrotnied by Smith & McDougal, S2 Beekman Street, New York. COJ^TEMTS. fSCEIPTIONS. One's-Self T Sino-. . page As I Ponder'd iiTsiJencs 1 In Cabin'd Ships at Sea. . ]. To Foreign Lands ° To a Historian .. . ^^ For Him I Sing .'; M When I read tlio Book \^ Beginning my Studies J? To Thee Old Cause !. r ■'.■'.'.V^V^V^'.'.V.'.'.'.'.'.'. it arting from Paumanok . „ le Ship Starting i;^ ifoldedout of the Folds.... ~J )You 28 alt Whitman. . . .V. .V. .V. 28 ws for Creations 29 sor'd y<5 93 iLDEEN OF Adam. To the Garden the World. ... o'r ^'^ From Pent-up Aching Rivers n? I Sing the Body Electric Ji A Woman Waits for Me i^X Spontaneous Me iJVi* One Hour to Madness and joy. V.\ We Two— How long M"e were Foo'l'd \\, Out of the Eolling Ocean, the Crowd \\i Native Moments i..f. Once I pass'd through a Populous City.' i ?7 Facing West from California's Shores 117/ Ai^es and Ages, Returning at Intervals 1 iq Hymen ! O Hymenee ! . . . . 1:t?, As Adam, Early" in the Morning.' '.'. ija^ THeard You Solemn-sweet Pipes of the'Organ.'.'.'; m I am He that Aches with Love 1. .......'. .'....'. lib Him that was Crucified ... i <-„ •fectious '■'^ 130 :.AMUS. In Paths Untrodden .„ Scented Herbage of My Breas't.' .■..■.■.■;.■■. J.~J ^t'-VT «°'' ■'"■^'- ^5^'^^PS me now in Hand .' ." .' .".'.■. '. ". '. ■.■;;. Isf Th|.M,singmgm Spring .:::'.'.'.:::'.'.'.:: 11 Not Heaving from My "Ribiyd Breast 'Only: ;:::■.■.■.■.; fl Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances. ilS The Base of all Metaphysics. .. . . 3S Recorders Ages Hence '.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'.'. 130 iv Contents. Catamus. „ , ^-u T. ^^v' . When I heard at the Close of the Day. ^,1 Are you the New person, drawn toward Me ? ';; Koots and Leaves Themscl ves Alone ^-^ Kot llcat FJam^;^^ up and Consumes :f;< Trickle, Drops ■ ':?, City of Oryies ;};| Behold this Swarthy 1> aec ; :}'J- I saw in Louisiana a Live Oak Growing i^ To a Slranijer • • • • • • • This moment, Yearning and Thougntlul I hear it was Charged against Me • :jj The Prairie-Grass Dividing \V Wo Two Boys Toircther Clinging ^-V A Promise to Califoniia I3* Here the Frailest Leaves of Me I'iS When I peruse the Conquer'd Fame !•« What think You I take my Pen in Hand ? M A Glimpse J^ Ko Labor-Saving Machine J'j A Leaf for Hand in Hand }M To the East and to the West i|i Earth ! my Likeness ! |U I DreamM in a Dream 1 j] Fast Anchor'd, Eternal. O Love i^j Sometimes with One I Love I'jj That Shadow, n.y Likeness 1- ; Among tlie Multitude 14. To a Western Boy 1 '•* 0 You Whom 1 Often and Silently come 11- Full of Life, ^'ow l-t Saint an Monde _■ If; A Child's Amaze ' ISj The Runner 15! Beautiful Women l^' Mother and Babe 151 Thought 15 American Fotiilla<.;e 15 Song of the Broad-Axe 1^ Song of the Open Road I'l Leaves of Grass. 1 sit and Look Out 1 Me Importurbe 13 As I lay with my Head in your Lap, Camcrado 10 Crossing Brooklyn Ferry 10 With Antecedents 12 The Answerer. Now list to my Morning's Eomanza 2C The Indications 2( Poets to Come 2C I Hear America Singing 2( The City Dead House 2( A rarrri-PicI ure Carol of Occupations 2( Thouchts ... 2 The Sleepers . 9 Carol of Words Ah Poverties, Wincinga and Sulky Retreats S Leaves op Grass. A Boston Ballad, lS.->4 2 Year of Meteors, 18o9-'60 2 Contents. y V Broadway Pageant '^'iSo suggestions ^^^ Sreatare the Myths ......'.'.'. „,„ Thought '.'..'.".'.'.■.■.■.'.'.■.■.'.■.■.'.■■. v..'.". ?ro tEATES OF Grass. There was a Child went Forth t-^o Loncfincrg for Home j^_ Think of the Soul '. .'. j-^" You Felons on Trial in Coui'ts i^l To a Common Prostitute f^^ I was Looking a Louir While „"« ToaPresident J^X To The States '.'.'.■.'.'.".'.".'.■.".■.■.' '. '. '.'\\\ gtO )eum-Taps. Drum-Taps „ . . 1861 fi\ Beat ! Beat ! Drums ! '.'.'.V. ~y* From Paumanok Starting. i..r. Rise, O Davs ^t'*' City of Ships ■. .■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■.■;. 'ifl The Centenarian's Story ~J!n An Army Corps on the March. . .'.".'." ii.,. Cavalry Crossing a Ford ii.y. Bivouac on a Mountain Side. iii^ By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame iij. Come up from the Fields, Father. ii-l Vigil Stransje I Kept on the Field ooa A March iu'the Ranks, Hard-prest. 7^ Sight in Camp f. •;; ^81 Not the Pilot, &c. . . . 282 As Toilsome I Wander'd... S? Year that Trembled. . . . SSf The Dresser 284 Long, too Long, O Land !...'.. ~°^ Give me the Splendid, Silent Sun... oqq Dirge for Two Veterans ^° Over the Carnage gjjj The Artilleryman's Vision. . ....'. i'^'z I saw Old General at Bay i;['i O Tan-faced Prairie Boy . . ... ,' ~; ^ Look Down, Fair Moon „;;^ Reconciliation '/.'. ~;;5 Spirit whose Work is Done. . .'.". i^,f. How Solemn as One by One oi lil Not Youth Pertains to Me. ... ifl To the Leaven'd Soil They Trod £98 lAVES OF GeASS. Manhattan Streets I Saimter'd,' Pondering. lfy> AllisTrnth " %)-;i ^'"i-^*^^ ■•■.■.•.::;::::::;::;;:::;:;;:::::::::;:::: j^^ iECHES NOW THE War IS OVER As I sat Alone by Blue Ontario's shores .... onq Pioneers ! O Pioneers 1 ^ Respondez ! °i' Turn, O Libertad °|| Adieu to a Soldier ^i* As I walk These Broad, Majestic Days' Hi Weave in. Weave in. My Hardy Life. qoo Race of Veterans ^;y. O Sun of Real Peace '. * T.y. 340 vi Contents. Leaves of Grass. iiagb Tins Compost 341 Unnamed Lauds 3-13 Manuahatta 'Ho Ola Ireland 348 To Oratists! 3-t7' Solid, Ironical, Rolling Orb 3-l!3 Bathed in War's Perfume. Bathed in War's Perfume 34,) Delicate Cluster 34) Song of tha Banner at Day-Break 35 J Ethiopia Saluting the Colors rA-7 Lo ! Yictress on the PeaIvS S,VS World, Take Good Notice 3a8 Thick-Sprinkled Bunting 350 A Hand-Mirror... 3C0 Germs 3(Ju ' L3AVES OF Grass. O Me ! O Life ! 301 Thoughts Sfil Beginners 3fi:i Sjnos of Insitrrection. Still, though the One I sing 3C3 To a foil'd European Rcvolutionaire S(i3 France, the 18th year of Thes;; Stateti 365 Europe, the Tid and TSd years of These States 8(;7 Walt Whitman's Caution SC!) To a Certain Cautatrice 309 Leaves of Grass. To You — 370 SoNos OF Parting. As the Time Draws Nigh 373 Years of the Modern 373 Thoughts. 375 Song at Sunset . 377 When I heard the Learn'd Astronomer ] /,[ ggO To Rich Givers ^SO Thought ■;. . ■;.■.■;; sso So Long gsi Leaves of Grass. \ ONE'S-SELF I SING. ^ One's-Self I sing — a simple, separate Person ; Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse. ^ Of Physiology from top to toe I sing ; Not physiognomy arlone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse — I say the Form complete is worthier far ; The Female equally with the male I sing. ^ Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power. Cheerful — for freest action form'd, under the laws di- vine. The Modern Man I sinir. AS I PONDER'D IN SILENCE. 1 As I ponder'd in silence. Returning uj)on my poems, considering, lingering long, A phantom arose before me, with distrustful aspect. Terrible in beauty, age, and powei-, 8 Leaves of Grass. The genius of poets of old lands, As to me directing like flame its eyes, With finger pointing to many immortal songs. And menacing voice. What singest thou ? it said ; Know'sl thou not, there is but one theme for ever-enduring hards? And that is the theme of War, the fortune of battles. The making of perfect soldiers ? Be it so, then I answer'd, / too, haughty SJiade, also sing war — and a longer and greater one than any. Waged in my book with varying fortune — ivtth fight, ad- vance, and retreat — Victory diferr'd and ivavering, ( Yet, methinhs, certain, or as good as certain, at the last,) — The field the world ; For life and death— for the Body, and for the eternal Soul, Lo ! I too am come, chanting the chant if battles, I, above all, promote brave soldiers. IN CABIN'D SHIPS AT SEA. In cabin'd ships, at sea, The boundless blue on every side expanding, "With whistling winds and music of the waves — the large imperious waves — In such. Or some lone bark, buoy'd on the dense marine, Where, joyous, full of faith, spreading white sails. She cleaves the ether, mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or under many a star at night, By sailors young and old, haply will I, a reminiscence of the laud, be read. In full rapport at last. Insckiptions. Here are our thoughts — voyagers' thoughts, Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them be said ; Tlie sky overarches here — we feel the undidaling deck be- neath our feet. We feel the long pulsation — ebb and flow of endless mo- tion ; Tlie tones of unseen mystery — the vague and vast sugges- tions of the briny world — the liquid-flowing sylla- bles, Tlie perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the mclan- choly rhythm, The boundless vista, and the horizon far and dim, are all here, And this is Ocean's pioem. Then falter not, O book ! fulfil your destmy ! You, not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too, as a lone bark, cleaving the ether — purpos'd I know not whither — yet ever full of faith. Consort to every ship that sails — sail you ! Bear forth to them, folded, my love — (Dear mariners ! for you I fold it here, in every leaf ;) Speed on, my Book ! spread your white sails, my little bark, athwart the imperious waves ! Chant on — sail on — bear o'er the boundless blue, fi'om me, to every shore. This song for mariners and all their ships. TO FOREIGN LANDS. I HEARD that you ask'd for something to prove this puzzle, the New World, And to define America, her athletic Democracy ; Therefore I send you my poems, that you behold in them what you wanted. 10 Leaves of Grass. TO A HISTORIAN. YoTJ wlio celebrate bygones ! Y/lio have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races — the life that has exhibited itself ; Who have treated of man as the ci'eature of politics, aggregates, rulers and priests ; I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself, in his own rights, Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself, (the great pride of man in himself ;) Chanter of PersonaHty, outlining what is yet to be, I i)roject the history of the future. - , —f\/\w\f/\jv\fir* FOR HIM I SING. Foe him I sing, I raise the Present on the Past, (As some perennial tree, out of its roots, the present on the past :) "With time and space I him dilate— and fuse the im- mortal laws, To make himself, by them, the law unto himself. WHEN I READ THE BOOK. When I read the book, the biography famous. And is this, then, (said I,) what the author calls a man's life ? And so will some one, when I am dead and gone, write my life ? Inschiptions. 11 (As if any man really knew aught of my life ; Why, even I myself, I often think, know little or noth- ing- of my real life ; Only a few hints — a few diffused, faint clues and indi- rections, I seek, for my own use, to trace out here.) BEGINNING MY STUDIES. Beginning my studies, the first step i)leas'd me so much. The mere fact, consciousness — these forms — the power of motion. The least insect or animal — the senses — eyesight — love ; The first step, I say, aw'd me and pleas'd me so much, I have hardly gone, and hardly wish'd to go, any far- ther. But stop and loiter all the time, to sing it in extatic sonafs. • TO THEE, OLD CAUSE! ' To thee, old Cause ! Thou peerless, passionate, good cause ! Thou stern, remorseless, sweet Idea ! Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands ! After a strange, sad war — great war for thee, (I think all war through time was really fought, and ever will be really fought, for thee ;) These chants for thee — the eternal march of thee. ^ Thou orb of many orbs ! Thou seething principle ! Thou well-kept, latent germ ! Thou centre ! 12 Leaves or Gf.ass. Around the idea of tliee tlie strange sad war revolv- ing, "With all its angry and vehement play of causes, (With yet unknown results to come, for thrice a thou- sand years,) These recitatives for thee — my Book and the War are one, Merged in its spirit I and mine — as the contest hinged on thee. As a wheel on its axis turns, this Book, unwitting to itself. Around the Idea of thee. Leaves of Grass. Starting from Paumanok. ' Staeteng from fisli-sliape Paumanok, vvlicre I v/as born, Well-begotten, and rais'cl by a perfect mother ; After roaming many lands — lover of populous pave- ments ; Dweller in Mannaliatta, my city — or on southern sa- vannas ; Or a soldier camp'd, or carrying my knapsack and gun — or a miner in California ; Or rude in my home in Dakota's woods, my diet meat, my di'ink from the spring ; Or withdrawn to muse and meditate in some deep re- cess. Far from the clank of crowds, intervals passing, rapt and happy ; Aware of the fresh free giver, the flowing l^Iissouri — aware of mighty Niagara ; Aware of the bulfaL herds, grazing the plains — the hirsute and strong-breasted bull ; Of earth, rocks, Fifth-month flowers, experienced — stai's, rain, snow, my amaze ; Having studied the mockiug-bii'd's tones, and the mountain-hawk's. And heard at dusk the unrival'd one, the hermit thrush from the swamp-cedars, Solitai-y, singing in the West, I strike up for a Nov/ World. il Le-vves of Geass. 2 - Victory, union, faith, identity, time, The indissokible compacts, riches, mystery. Eternal progress, the kosmos, and the modern reports. ^ This, then, is life ; Here is what has come to the surface after so many throes and convulsions. ■* How curious ! how real ! Underfoot the divine soil — overhead the sun. ^ See, revolving, the globe ; The ancestor-continents, away, j^Toup'd together ; The present and future continents, north and south, with the isthmus between. ^ See, vast' trackless spaces ; As in a dream, they change, they swiftly fill ; Countless masses debouch upon them ; They are now cover'd with the foremost people, arts, institutions, kuov/n. ' See, projected, through time, For me, aa audience interminable. ^ With firm and regular step they wend — they never stop, Successions of men, Americanos, a hundred millions ; One generation playing its part, and passing on ; Another generation playing its part, and i^assing on in its tm'n, "With faces turn'd sideways or backward towards me, to listen. With eyes retrospective towards me. 3 " Americanos! conquerors! marches humanitarian ; Foremost ! centmy marches ! Libertad ! masses ! For you a programme of chants. SxARrn-ia Fr.o:j pAUiUi:;oK. 15 "^ Clianta of tlia prairies ; Chants of the long-running Mississippi, and dovrn to the Mexican sea ; Chants of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Iowa, Wisconsin and Minnesota ; Chants going forth from the centre, from Kansas, and thence, equi-distant, Shooting in pulses of fire, ceaseless, to vivify all. 4 '' In the Year 80 of The States, My tongue, every atom of my blood, form'd from this soil, this air. Born here of parents born here, from parents the same, and their parents the same, I, now thu"ty-six years old, in perfect health, begin, Hoping to cease not till death. '- Creeds and schools in abeyance, (Retiring back a while, sufficed at what they arc, but never forgotten,) I harboi", for good or bad — I permit to speah, at every hazard, Narare now without checli, with original energy. '^ Take my leaves, America ! take them, South, and take them, North ! Make welcome for them everywhere, for they are your o^m offspring ; Surround them. East and West! for they would sur- round you ; And you precedents ! connect lovingly with them, for they connect lovingly with you. '^ I conn'd old times ; I sat studying at the feet of the great masters : Now, if eligible, O that the great masters might return and study me ! 16 Leaves of Grass. '^ la tlie name of These States, shall I scoru the an- tique ? Why These are the children of the antique, to jus- tify it. 6 '" Dead poets, philosophs, priests. Martyrs, artists, inventors, governments long since, Language-shapers, on other shores. Nations once powerful, now reduced, withdrawn, or desolate, I dare not proceed till I respectfully credit what you have left, wafted hither : I have j)erused it — ov/n it is admirable, (moving awhile among it ;) Think nothing can ever be greater — nothing can ever deserve more than it deserves ; Regarding it all intently a long while — then dismiss- ing it, I stand in my place, with my own day, here. " Here lands female and male ; Here the heir-ship and heiress-ship of the world — here the flame of materials ; Here Spirituality, the translatress, the opeuly-avow'd. The ever-tending, the finale of visible forms ; The satisfier, after due long- waiting, now advancing, Yes, here comes my mistress, the Soul. '« The Soul : Forever and forever — longer than soil is brown and solid — longer than water ebbs and flows. '^ I will make the poems of materials, for I think they are to be the most spiritual poems ; And I will make the poems of my body and of mor- tality, For I think I shall then supply myself with the poems of my Soul, and of immortality. Starting from Paumanok. 17 *" I will make a song for These States, that no one State may under any circumstances be subjected to another State ; And I will make a song that there shall be comity by day and by night between all The States, and between any two of them ; And I will make a song for the ears of the President, full of weapons v/ith menacing points, And behind the weajjons countless dissatisfied faces : — And a song make I, of the One form'd out of aU ; The fang'd and glittering One whose head is over all ; Resolute, warlike One, including and over all ; (However high the head of any else, that head is over ah.) -' I will aclcnowledge contemporary lands ; I wiU trail the whole geography of the globe, and sa- lute courteously every city large and small ; And employments ! I will put in my poems, that with you is heroism, upon lacd and sea ; And I will report aU heroism from an American point of view. "'■ I will sing the song of comj^anionship ; I will show what alone must finally compact These ; I believe These are to found their own ideal of manly love, indicating it in me ; I wiU therefore let flame from me the burning fires that were threatening to consume me ; I will lift what has too long kept down those smoulder- ing fires ; I will give them complete abandonment ; I will write the evangel-poem of comrades, and of love ;' (For who but I should understand love, with all its sor- row and joy ? And who but I should be the jDoet of comrades?) 8 ^^ I am the credulous man of quahties, ages, races ; I advance from the people in their own spirit ; Here is what sings unrestricted faith. 18 Leaves oe Grass. *** Omnes ! Omnes ! let others ignore what they may ; I make the poem of evil also — I commemorate that part also ; I am myself just as much evil as good, and my nation is — And I say there is in fact no evil ; (Or if there is, I say it is just as important to you, to the land, or to me, as anything else.) '^ I too, following many, and follow'd by many, inau- gurate a Religion — I descend into the arena ; (It may be I am destin'd to utter the loudest cries there, the winner's pealing shouts ; Who knows ? they may rise from me yet, and soar above every thing.) ^® Each is not for its own sake ; I say the whole earth, and all the stars in the sky, are for Religion's sake. ^^ I say no man has ever yet been half devout enough ; None has ever yet adored or worship'd half enough ; None has begun to think how divine he himseK is, and how certain the future is. ^^ I say that the real and permanent" grandeur of These States must be their Religion ; Otherwise there is no real and permanent grandeur* : (Nor character, nor life worthy the name, vvithout Reli- gion ; Nor land, nor man or vv'oman, without Religion.) 9 ^^ What are you doing, young man ? Are you so earnest — so given up to literature, science, art, amours? These ostensible realities, politics, points? Your ambition or business, whatever it may be ? '" It is well — Against such I say not a word — I am their poet also ; Starting feom Paumanok. 19 But behold ! such swiftly subside — buint up for Reli- giou's sake ; For not all matter is fuel to heat, impalpable flame, the essential life of the earth, Any more than such are to Religion. 10 ^' "What do you seek, so joensive and silent ? What do you need, Camerado ? Bear son ! do you think it is love ? ^' Listen, dear son — listen, America, daughter or son ! It is a painful thing to love a man or v/oman to excess — and yet it satisfies — it is great ; But there is something else very great — it makes the whole coincide ; It, magoificent, beyond materials, with continuous hands, sweeps and provides for all. 11 ^^ Know you ! solety to drop in the earth the germs of a greater Religion, The following chants, each for its kind, I sing. ^ My comrade ! For you, to share with me, two greatnesses — and a third one, rising inclusive and more resplendent. The greatness of Love and Democracy — and the great- ness of Religion. ^° Melange mine own ! the unseen and the seen ; Mysterious ocean where the streams empty ; Prophetic spirit of materials shifting aud flickering around me ; Living being!?, identities, nov/ doubtless near us, in the air, that we know not of ; Contact daily and hourly that will not release me ; These selecting — these, in hints, demanded of me. 20 Leaves of Gkass. ^^ Not lie, witli a daily kiss, onward from cliildhood kissing me, Has winded and twisted around me that which holds me to him, Any more than I am held to the heavens, to the spir- itual world. And to the "identities of the Gods, my lovers, faithful and true. After what they have done to me, suggesting themes. ^' O such themes ! Equalities ! O amazement of things ! O divine average ! O warblings under the sun — usher'd, as now, or at noon, or setting ! 0 strain, musical, flowing through ages — now reaching hither ! 1 take to your reckless and composite chords — I add to them, and cheerfully pass them forward. 12 '® As I have walk'd in Alabama my morning walk, I have seen where the she-bird, the mocking-bird, sat on her nest in the briers, hatching her brood. "^ I have seen the he-bird also ; I have paused to hear him, near at hand, inflating his throat, and joyfully singing. *° And while I paused, it came to me that what he really sang for was not there only, Nor for his mate, nor himself only, nor all sent back by the echoes ; But subtle, clandestine, away beyond, A charge transmitted^, and gift occult, for those being born. 13 ^' Democracy ! Near at hand to you a throat is now inflating itself and joyfully singing. Stakting from Paujianok. 21 " Ma femme ! For the brood beyond us and of us, For those who belong here, and those to come, I, exultant, to be ready for them, will now shake out carols stronger and haughtier than have ever yet been heard upon earth. ^ I will make the songs of passion, to give them their way, And your songs, outlaw'd offenders — for I scan you with kindi'ed eyes, and carry you with me the same as any. ** I will make the true poem of riches. To earn for the body and the mind whatever adheres, and goes forward, and is not di"opt by death, ^ I will effuse egotism, and show it underlying all — and I will be the bard of personality ; And I will show of male and female that either is but the equal of the other ; And sexual organs and acts ! do you concentrate in me — for I am determin'd to tell you with courageous clear voice, to prove 3'ou illustrious ; And I will show that there is no imperfection in the present — and can be none in the future ; And I wiU show that whatever happens to anybody, it may be turn'd to beautiful results — and I will show that nothing can happen more beautiful than death ; And I will thread a thread through my poems that time and events are compact, And that all the things of the universe arc perfect mii-a- cles, each as profoiuid as any. *® I will not make poems with reference to j)arts ; But I will make leaves, poems, poemets, songs, says, thoughts, with reference to ensemble : And I will not sing with reference to a day, but with reference to all days ; And I will not make a poem, nor the least part of a poem, but has reference to the Soul ; 22 Leaves of Geacs. (Because, having looli'd at the objects of the universe, I find there is no one, nor any particle of one, but has reference to the Soul.) 1^ ■^^ "Was somebody ashing to see the Soul ? See ! your own shape and countenai:ice — persons, sub- stances, beasts, the trees, the iiiuning rivers, the rocks and sands. ■^^ All hold spiritual joys, and afterwards loosen them : How can the real body ever die, and be buried ? ■*' Of your real bod}', and any man's or woman's real body, Item for item, it will elude the hands of the corpse- cleaners, and pass to fitting spheres, Carrying w^iat has accrued to it from the moment of birth to the moment of death. ^^ Not the types set up by the printer return theii' im- pression, the meaning, the main concern. Any more than a man's substance and life, or a wo- , man's substance and life, return in the body and the Soul, Indifferently before death and after death. ^' Behold ! the body includes and is the meaning, the main concern — and includes and is the Soul ; "Whoever you are ! how superb and how divine is youi* body, or any part of it. 15 '- Whoever you are ! to you endless announcements. " Daughter of the lands, did j'ou wait for your poet ? Did you wait for one with a flowing mouth and indica- tive hand ? ^' Toward the male of The States, and toward the fe- male of The States, Live words — v/ords to the lands. Stakting fro:.i Paumanok. 23 ^° O the lands ! interlink'd, food-yielding lands ! Land of coal and iron ! Land of gold ! Lands of cot- ton, sngar, rice ! Land of wheat, beef, pork ! Land of v/ool and hemp ! Land of the apple and grajoe ! Land of the pastoral plains, the grass-fields of the •world ! Land of those sweet-air 'd interminable plateaus !. Land of the herd, the garden, the healthy house of adobie ! Lands where the northwest Columbia winds, and where the south w^ect Colorado winds ! Land of the eastern Chesapeake ! Land of the Dela- ware ! Land of Ontario, Erie, Huron, Michigan ! Land of the Old Thirteen ! Massachusetts land ! Land of Vermont and Connecticut ! Land of the ocean shores ! Land of sierras and peaks ! Land of boatmen and sailors ! Fishermen's land ! Inextricable lands ! the clutch'd together ! the passion- ate ones ! The side by side ! the elder and younger brothers ! the bouy-iimb'd ! The great women's land ! the feminine ! the experienced sisters and the inexperienced sisters ! Far breath'd land ! Arctic braced ! Mexican breez'd ! the diverse ! the compact ! The Pennsylvanian ! the Virginian ! the double Caro- linian ! 0 all and each "well-loved by me ! my intrepid nations ! O 1 at any rate include you all w-ith perfect love ! 1 cannot be discharged- from you I not from one, any sooner than another ! 0 Death ! O for all that, I am yet of you, unseen, this hour, with iri'epressiblo love. Walking New England, a friend, a traveler, Splashing my bare feet in the edge of the summer rip- ples, on Paumanok's sands. Crossing the prairies — dv/elhng again in Chicago — dwelling in every town, Observing shows, births, improvements, structures, arts, 24: Leaves of Geass. Listening to the orators and the oratresses in public halls, Of and through The States, as during life — each man and woman my neighbor, The Louisianian, the Georgian, as near to me, and I as near to him and her, The MississipiDian and Ai'kansian yet with me — and I yet with any of them ; Yet upon the plains west of the spinal river — yet in my house of adobie, Yet returning eastward — ^yet in the Sea-Side Stats, or in Maryland, Yet Kanadian, cheerily braving the winter — the snow and ice welcome to me, Yet a true son either of Maine, or of the Granite State, or of the Narragansett Bay State, or of the Empire State ; Yet sailing to other shores to annex the same — yet Tv^elcoming every new brother ; Hereby applying these leaves to the new ones, from the hour they unite with the old ones ; Coming among the new ones myself, to be their com- panion and equal — coming personally to you now ; Enjoining you to acts, characters, spectacles, with me. 16 ^•^ With me, with firm holding — yet haste, haste ou. " For your life, adhere to me ! Of all the men of the earth, -I only can unloose yon and toughen you ; I may have to be persuaded many times before I con- sent to give myself really to you — but what of that ? Must not Nature be persuaded many times ? ^^ No dainty dolce affettuoso I ; Bearded, sun-burnt, gray-neck'd, forbidding, I have arrived. SrARTING FROM PaDMANOK. 25 To be wrestled with as I pass, for tlie solid prizes of the universe ; For such I afford whoever cau persevere to win them. 17 ^" On my way a moment I pause ; Here for you ! and here for America ! Still the Present I raise aloft— Still the Futui'e of The States I harbinge, glad and sublime ; And for the Past, I pronounce w^hat the air holds of the red aborigines. ^^ The red aborigines ! Leaving natural breaths, sounds of rain and winds, calls as of birds and animals in the woods, syllabled to us for names ; Okonee, Koosa, Ottawa, IMonongahela, Sauk, Natchez, Chattahoochee, Kaqueta, Oronoco, Wabash, Miami, Saginaw, Chippewa, Oshkosh, Yfalla- WaUa; Leaving such to The States, they melt, they depart, charging the water and the land v.'ith names. 18 " 0 expanding and swift ! 0 henceforth, Elements, breeds, adjustments, turbulent, quick, and audacious ; A world j)i'in3al again — Vistas of glory, incessant and branching ; A new race, dominating previous ones, and grander far — with new contests, Kew politics, new literatures and religions, new in- ventions and arts. ^^ These ! my voice announcing — I will sleep no more, but arise ; You oceans that have been calm within me! how I feel you, fathomless, stirring, preparing unpre- cedented waves and storms. 26 Leaves of Gkass. 19 "^ -See ! steamers steaming through my poems ! See, in my poems immigrants continually coming and landing ; See, in arriere, the wigwam, the trail, the hunter's hut, the flat-boat, the maize-leaf, the claim, the rude fence, and the backwoods village ; See, on the one side the Western Sea, and on the other the Eastern Sea, how they advance and retreat upon my poems, as upon their own shores. See, pastures and forests in my poems — See, animals, wild and tame — See, beyond the Kanzas, count- less herds of bufialo, feeding on short curly . grass ; See, in my poems, cities, solid, vast, inland, with paved streets, with iron and stone edifices, ceaseless vehicles, and commerce ; See, the many-cylinder'd steam printing-press — See, the electric telegraph, stretching across the Continent, from the AVestern Sea to Manhat- tan ; See, through Atlantica's depths, pulses American, Europe reaching — pulses of Europe, duly re- tuim'd ; See, the strong and quick locomotive, as it departs, panting, blowing the steam-whistle ; See, ploughmen, ploughing farms — See, miners, dig- ging mines — See, the numberless factories ; See, mechanics, busy at theii' benches, with tools — See from among them, superior judges, philo- sophs. Presidents, emerge, di'est in working- dresses ; See, lounging through the shops and fields of The States, me, well-beloVd, close-held by day and night ; Hear the loud echoes of my songs there ! Read the hints come at last. Stakting from Paumanok. 27 20 " O Camerado close ! O you and mc at last — and us two only. *^^ O a word to clear one's path abead endlessly ! 0 something extatic and uudemoustrable ! 0 music wild ! O now I triumph — and you shall also ; O hand in hand — O wholesome pleasure — O one more desii'er and lover ! O to haste, firm holding — to haste, haste on, with me. THE SHIP STARTING. Lo ! THE unbounded sea ! On its breast a Ship starting, spreading all her sails — an ample Ship, carrying even her moonsails ; The pennant is flying aloft, as she speeds, she speeds so stately — below, emulous waves press forward, They surround the Ship, with shining ciu'ving motions, and foam. 28 Leaves of Geass. UNFOLDED OUT OF THE FOLDS. Untolded out of the folds of the woman, man comes unfolded, and is always to come unfolded ; Unfolded only out of the superbest woman of the earth, is to come the superbest man of the earth ; Unfolded out of the friendliest woman, is to come the fi'iendliest man ; Unfolded only out of the perfect body of a woman, can a man be form'd of perfect body ; Unfolded only ou.t of the inimitable poem of the wo- man, can come the poems of man — (only thence have my poems come ;) Unfolded out of the strong- and arrogant woman I love, only thence can appear the strong and arrogant man I love ; Unfolded by brawny embraces fi'om the well-muscled woman I love, only thence come the brawny em- braces of the man ; Unfolded out of the folds of the woman's brain, come all the folds of the man's brain, duly obedient ; Unfolded out of the justice of the woman, all justice is unfolded ; Unfolded out of the sympathy of the woman is all sym- pathy : A man is a great thing upon the earth, and through eternity — but everj' jot of the greatness of man is unfolded out of woman. First the man is shaped in the woman, ho can then be shaped in himself. -^so&Sj&Ss**- TO YOU. Stbanger ! if you, passing, meet me, and desire to speak to me, why should you not sjieak to me ? And why should I not speak to you ? Leaves of Grass. WALT WHITMAN. * I CELEBRATE mjself ; And what I assume you sliall assume ; For every atom belonging to me, as good belongs to you. - I loafe and invite my Soul ; I lean and loafe at my ease, observing a spear of sum- mer grass. ^ Houses and rooms are full of perfumes — the shelves are crowded with perfumes ; I breathe the fragrance myself, and know it and like it ^ The distillation would intoxicate me also, but I shall not let it. ■* The atmosphere is not a perfume — it has no taste of the distillation — it is odorless ; It is for my mouth forever — I am in love with it ; I will go to the bank by the wood, and become undis- guised and naked ; I am mad for it to be in contact with me. 2 ^ The smoke of my own breath ; Echoes, ripples, buzz'd whispers, love-root, silk-thread, crotch and vine ; My respiration and inspiration, the beating of my hearty the passing of blood and air through my lungs ; 30 Le^wes of GeaslS. The sniff of green leaves and dry leaves, and of the shore, and dark-color'd sea-rocks, and of hay in the barn ; The sound of the belch'd words of my voice, words loos'd to the eddies of the wind ; A few light kisses, a few embraces, a reaching around of arms ; The play of shine and shade on the trees as the supi)le boughs wag ; The delight alone, or in the rush of the streets, or along the fields and hill-sides ; The feeling of health, the full-noon trill, the song of me rising from bed and meeting the sun. ^ Have you reckon'd a thousand acres much ? have jon reckon'd the earth much ? Have you j^ractis'd so long to learn to read ? Have you felt so proud to get at the meaning of poems ? ' Stop this day and night with me, and you shall pos- sess the origin of all poems ; You shall possess the good of the earth and sun — (there are milhons of suns left ;) ¥ou shall no longer take things at second or third hand, nor look through the ej^es of the dead, nor feed on the spectres in books ; You shall not look through my eyes either, nor take things fi'om me : You shall listen to all sides, and filter them from your- self. ^ I have heard what the talkers were talking, the talk of the beginning and the end ; But I do not talk of the beginning or the end. ^ There was never any more inception than there is now, Nor any more youth or age than there is novr ; Walt Whitman. 31 And will never be any more perfection than there is now, Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now. '" Urge, and urge, and urge ; Always the procreant urge of the world. " Out of the dimness opposite equals advance — always substance and increase, always sex ; Always a knit of identity — always distinction — always a breed of life. " To elaborate is no avail — learn'd and uulearn'd feel that it is so. '^ Sure as the most certain sure, plumb in the uprights, well entretied, braced in the beams. Stout as a horse, affectionate, haughty, electrical, I and this mystery, here we stand. '■* Clear and sv/eet is my Soul, and clear and sweet is all that is not my Soul. " Lack one lacks both, and the unseen is jjrovcd by the seen. Till that becomes unseen, and receives proof in its turn. '^ Showing the best, and dividing it from the worst, age vexes age ; Knowing the perfect fitness and equanimity of things, while they discuss I am silent, and go l?atho and admire myself. " Welcome is every organ and attribute of me, and of any man hearty and clean ; Not an inch, nor a particle of an inch, is vile, and none shall be less familiar than the rest. _ 32" Leaves oe Ghass. '* I am satisfied — I see, dance, langli, cing ; As the liiiggiug and loving Bed-fellow sleeps at my side tlarough the night, and withdraws at the peej) of the day, with stealthy tread. Leaving me baskets cover'd with white towels, swelling the house with theii* plenty, Shall I postpone my acceptation and realization, and scream at my eyes. That they turn from gazing after and down the road. And forthwith cijiher and show me a cent, Exactly the contents of one, and exactly the contents of two, and which is ahead ? " Trippers and askers surround me ; Peoj)le I meet — the effect upon me of my early life, or the ward and city I live in, or the nation, The latest dates, discoveries, inventions, societies, authors old and new. My dinner, dross, associates, looks, compliments, dues, The real or fancied indifference of some man or woman I love. The sickness of one of my folks, or of myself, or ill- doing, or loss or lack of money,* or depressions or exaltations ; Battles, the horrors of fratricidal war, the fever of doubtful news, the fitful events ; These come to mo days and nights, and go fi'cr^ me again. But they arc not the Me myfjelf. ^ Apart from the pulling and hauling stands what I am ; Stands amused, complacent, compassionating, idle, uni- tary ; Looks down, is erect, or bends an arm on an impalpable certain rest. Looking with side-curved head, curious what will come next ; "Walt Whitmait. 33 Both in and out of the game, and watching and won- dering at it. ■' Backward I see in my own days where I sweated through fog with hnguists and contenders ; I have no mockings or arguments — I witness and wait. °- I beheve in you, mj^ Soul — the other I arn must not abase itself to you ; And you must not be abased to the other. °^ Loafe with me on the grass — loose the stop from your throat ; E'ot words, not music or rhyme I want — not custom or lecture, not even the best ; Only the lull I like, the hum of your valved voice. '* I mind how once we lay, such a transparent summer morning ; How you settled your head athwart my hij)s, and gently turn'd over upon me, And parted the shirt fi'om my bosom-bone, and plunged your tongue to my bare-stript heart. And reach'd till you felt my beard, and reach'd till you held my feet. ^^ Swiftly arose and spreael around me the peace and knowledge that pass all the argument of the earth ; And I know that the hand of God is the promise of my own. And I know that the spirit of God is the brother of my own ; And that all the men ever born are also my brothers, and the womeu my sisters and lovers ; And that a kelson of the creation is love ; And limitless are leaves, stiff or drooping in the fields ; And brown ants in the little wells beneath them ; And mossy scabs of the worm fence, and heap'd stones, elder, muUcn and poke-weed. 34 Le-vvls or Grass. 6 *° A cliild said, What is the gras3 ? fetching it to rae with , full hands ; How could I answer the child ? I do not know what it is, any more than he. " I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven. "** Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord, A scented gift and remembrancer, designedlj^ dropt, Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say, Whose ? •" Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation. "° Or I guess it is a uniform hieroglyjDhic ; And it means. Sprouting alike in broad zones and nar- row zones. Growing among black folks as among white ; Kanuck, Tuckahoe, Congressman, Cuff, I give them the same, I receive them the same. ^' And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves. ^- Tenderly will I iise you, curling grass ; It may be you transpire fi'om the breasts of young men ; It may be if I had known them I would have loved them ; It may be you are from old people, and from women, and from offspring taken soon out of their mothers' laps ; And here you are the mothers' laps. *^ This grass is very dark to be fi-om the white heads of old mothers ; Darker than the colorless beards of old men ; Dark to come from under the faint red roofs of mouths. Walt WniTMAN. 35 ^01 perceive riter a,ll so many uttering tongues ! And I perceive they do not come from tlie roofs of mouths for nothing. ^ I wish I could translate the hiaats about the dead young men and women, And the hints about old men and mothers, and the olTspring taken soon out of their lajDs. "^ What do you think has become of the j^oung and old men ? And what do you think has become of the women and children ? ^' They are alive and well somewhere ; The smallest sprout shows there is really no death ; And if ever there was, it led forward life, and does not wait at the end to arrest it. And ceas'd the moment hfe appear' d. "^ All goes onward and outward — nothing collapses ; And to die is different from what any one su^Dposed, and luckier. ^" Has any one supposed it lucky to be born ? I hasten to inform him or her, it is just as lucky to die, and I know it. ** I pass death with the dying, and birth with the nev>'- wash'd babe, and am not contain'd between my hac and boots ; And peruse manifold objects, no two alike, and every one good ; The earth good, and the stars good, and their adjuncts all good. ■*' I am not an earth, nor an adjunct of an earth ; I am the mate and companion of people, all just as immorta,l and fathomless as myself ; (They do not know how immortal, but I know.) 36 Leavks of Geass. ^- Every kind for itself aud its own — for me mine, malo and female ; I''or me tliose tliat have been boys, and that fove women ; For me the man that is loroiid, and feels bow it stings to be slighted ; For me the svveet-beart and tbe old maid — for mo mothers, and the mothers of mothei*s ; For me li}3S that have smiled, eyes that have shed tears ; For me cliildrcn, and the begetters of children. ^^ Undrapo ! you are not guilty to me, nor stale, nor discarded ; I see through the broadcloth and gingham, whether or no ; And am around, tenacious, acquisitive, tireless, and cannot be shaken away. 8 ^ The little one sleeps in its cradle ; I Hft the gauze, and look a long time, and silently brush away flies with my hand. *^ The youngster and the red-faced giii tui'n aside x\p the bushy hill ; I peeringly view them from the top. ^^ The suicide sprawls on the bloody floor of the bed- room ; I witness the corpse. with its dabbled hair — I note where the pistol has fallen. " The blab of the pave, the tires of carts, sluff of boot- soles, talk of the promcnaders ; The heavy omnibus, the driver with his interrogating thumb, the clank of the shod horses on the granite floor ; The snow-sleighs, the clinking, shouted jokes, pelts of snow-balls ; Walt Whitman. 3t The hiirralis ici* popiilar favorites, the fury of rous'd mobs ; The flai^ of the cnrtain'd littei', a sick man inside, borne to the hospital ; The meeting- of enemies, the sudden oath, the blows and fall ; The excited crowd, the policeman with his star, quickly working his passage to the centre of the crowd ; The impassive stones that receive and return so many echoes ; What gToans of over-fed or haK-starv'd who fall sun- struck, or in fits ; What exclamations of women taken suddenly, who hurry home and give birth to babes ; ■WTiat liviug and buried speech is always vibrating here — what howls restrain'd by decorum ; Arrests of criminals, slights, adulterous offers made, acceptances, rejections with convex lips ; I mind them or the show or resonauco of them — I come, and I depart. ''^ The big doors of the country barn stand open and ready ; The dried grass of the harvest- time loads the slow- di'awn wagon ; The clear light plays on the brovv^ gray and green intertinged ; The armfiils are pack'd to the sagging- mow. ^' I am there — I help — I came stretch'd atop of the load ; I felt its soft jolts — one leg reclined on the other ; I jump from the cross-beams, and seize the clover and timothy. And roll head over heels, and tangle my hair full of wisps. 10 ^" Alonf^, far in the wilds and mountains, I hunt, 38 Leaves of Grass. Wandering, amazed at my own Uglitness and glee ; In the late afternoon claoosing a safe spot to pass the night, Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh-kill'd game ; FalHng asleep on the gather'd leaves, with my dog and gun by my side. " The Yankee clipper is nnder her sky-s^ils — she cuts the sparkle and scud ; M-j eyes settle the land — I bend at her prow, or shout joyously from the deck. ^'- The boatmen and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me ; I tuclc'd my trowser-ends in my boots, and went and had a good time : (Yon should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.) " I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far west — the bride was a red girl ; Her father and his friends sat near, cross-legged and dumbly smoking — they had moccasins to their feet, and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders ; On a bank lounged (he trapper — he was drest mostly in skins — his luxuriant beard and curls protected his neck — he held his bride by the hand ; She had long eyelashes — her head was bare — her coarse straight locks descended upon her voluptuous limbs and reach'd to her feet. ^' The runaway slave came to my house and stopt out- side ;. I heard his motions crackling the tvv'igs of the wood- pile ; Through the svv'ung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak. And went where he sat on a log, and led him in and assured him. Walt Whitmah. 39 Aud brouglit water, and fill'd a, tub for bis sweated body and bruis'd feet, And gave bim a room that enter'd from my own, and gave bim some coarse clean clothes. And remember perfectl}' well bis revolving eyes and his awkwardness. And remember putting plasters on the galls of bis neck and ankles ; He staid with me a Aveek before he was recuperated and pass'd north ; (I had bim sit next mo at table — my fire-lock lean'd in the corner.) 11 *' Twenty-eight young men bathe by the shore ; Twenty-eight young men, and all so friendly : Twenty-eight years of womanly life, and all so lone- some. ^'^ She owns the fine house by the rise of the bank ; She hides, handsome and richly drest, aft the blinds of the window. ''' Which of the young men does she like the best? Ah, the homeliest of them is beautiful to her. ^* Where are you off to, lady ? for I see you ; You splash in the v/ater there, yet stay stock still in your room. ^■•' Dancing and laughing along the beach came the twenty-ninth bather ; The rest did not see her, but she saw them and loved them. "" The beards of the young men glisten'd with wet, it ran from their long hair : Little streams pass'd all over their bodies. " An unseen hand also pass'd over their bodies ; It descended tremblingly from their temples and ribs. 40 Leaves of Grass. ®^ The young men float on their "backs — their white bel- lies bulge to the sun — they do not ask who seizes fast to them ; They do not know who puffs and declines with pendant and bending arch ; They do not think whom they souse with spray. 12 ^^ The butcher-boy puts off his killing clothes, or sharpens his knife at the stall in the market ; I loiter, enjoying his repartee, and his shuffle and break-down. " Blacksmiths with grimed and hairy chests environ the anvil ; Each has his main-sledgc — they are aU out — (there is a great heat in the fire.) ^^ From the cinder-strcw'd threshold I foUow their movements ; The lithe sheer of then- waists plays even with their massive arms ; Over-hand the hammers swing — over-hand so slow — over-hand so sure : They do not hasten — each man hits in his place. 13 •^^ The negro holds firmly the reins of his four horses ■ — the block swags underneath on its tied-over chain ; The negro that drives the dray of the stone-yard — steady and tall he stands, pois'd on one leg on the string-piece ; His blue shirt exposes his ample neck and breast, and loosens over liis hip-band ; His glance is calm and commanding — he tosses the slouch of his hat away from his forehead ; The sun falls on his crispy hair and moustache — falls on the black of his polish'd ami iiorfoct limbs. WiVLT Whitman. 41 " I beliold the picturesque giant, and love biin — and I do not stop there ; I go with the team also. ^^ In me the earesser of life wherever moving — back- ward as well as forward slueing ; To niches aside and junior bending. "^ Oxen that rattle the yoke and chain, or halt in the leafy shade! what is that you express in your eyes? It seems to me more than all the print I have read in my life. '° My tread scares the wood-drake and wood-duck, on my distant and day-long ramble ; They rise together — they slowly circle around. " I believe in those wing'd purposes. And acknowledge red, yellow, white, playing within me, And consider green and violet, and the tufted crown, intentional ; And do not call the tortoise unworthy because she is not something else ; And the jay in the woods never studied the gamut, yet trills pretty well to me ; And the look of the bay mare shames silliness out of me. 14 '- The wild gander leads his flock through the cool night ; Ya-honl- ! he says, and sounds it down to me like an invitation ; (The pert may suppose it meaningless, but I listen close ; I find its pm-pose and place up there toward the wintrj sky.) 42 Leaves of Geass. " The sliarp-lioof d moose of the north, the cat on the house-sill, the chickadee, the prairie-dog, The litter of the grunting sow as they tug at her teats, The brood of the turkey-hen, and she with her half- spread wings ; I see in them and myself the same old law. " The press of my foot to the earth springs a hundred affections ; They scorn the best I can do to relate them. " I am enamour'd of growing out-doors. Of men that live among cattle, or taste of the ocean or Avoods, Of the builders and steerers of ships, and the wielders of axes and mauls, and the drivers of horses ; I can eat and sleep with them week in and week out. '^ What is commonest, cheapest, nearest, easiest, is Me ; Me going in for my chances, spending for vast returns ; Adoi'ning myself to bestow myself on the first that v\'ili take me ; Not asking the sky to co vn down to my good will ; Scattering it freely forevcj. 15 " The pure contralto sings in the organ loft ; The carpenter dresses his plank — the tongue of his foreplane whistles its wild ascending lisp ; The married and unmarried children ride home to their Thanksgiving dinner ; The pilot seizes the king-pin — he heaves dovt'n with a strong arm ; The mate stands braced in the whale-boat — lance and harpoon are ready ; The duck-shooter walks by silent and cautious stretches ; The deacons are ordain'd with cross'd hands at the altar ; The spinning-girl retreats and advances to the hum of the bii? v/he:l ; Walt Whitman. 43 The farmei' stops by the bars, as he walks on a First- day loafe, and looks at the oats and rye ; The lunatic is carried at last to the asyluni, a confirm'd case, (He will never sleep any more as ho did in the cot in his mother's bed-room ;) The jonr printer with gray head and gaunt jaw3 works at his ease. He tui'ns his quid of tobacco, while his ejes, blurr wiLh the manuscript ; The malform'd limbs are tied to the surgeon's table. What is removed drops horribly in a pail ; The quadroon girl- is sold at the auction-stand — the drunkard nods by the bar-room stove ; The machinist rolls up his sleeves — the policeman trav- els his beat — the gate-keeper marks who pass ; The young fellow di'ives the express-wagon — (I love him, though I do not know him ;) The half-breed straps on his light boots to compete in the race ; The western turkey-shooting draws old and young — some lean on their rifles, some sit on logs, Out from the crowd steps the marksman, takes his position, levels his piece ; The groups of newly-come immigrants cover the wharf or levee ; As the woolly-pates hoe in the sugar-field, the overseer views them from his saddle ; The bugle calls in the ball-room, the gentlemen run for their partners, the dancers bow to each other ; The youth lies awake in the cedar-roof 'd garret, and harks to the musical rain ; The Wolverine sets traps on the creek that helps fill the Huron ; The squaw, wrapt in her yellow-hemm'd cloth, is offer- ing moccasins and bead-bags for sale ; The connoisseur peers along the exliibition-gallery with half-shut eyes bent sideways ; As the deck-hands make fast the steamboat, the plank is throvv^n for the shore-going passengers ; 41 _ Leaves of Grass. The young sister holds out the skein, while the elder sister -winds it off in a ball, and stops now and then for the knots ; The one-year wife is recovering and happy, having a week ago borne her first child ; The cleau-hair'd Yankee girl works with her sewing- macliine, or in the factory or miU ; The nine months' gone is in the partui'ition chamber, her faintness and pains are advancing ; The paving-man leans on his two-handed rammer — ^the reporter's lead flies swiftly over the note-book — the sign-painter is lettering with red and gold ; The canal boy trots on the tow-path — the book-keeper counts at his desk — the shoemaker waxes his thread ; The conductor beats time for the band, and all the per- formers follow him ; The child is baptized — the convert is making his first professions ; The regatta is sj^read on the bay — the race is begun — how the white sails sparkle ! The drover, watching his di'ove, sings out to them that would stray ; The pedler sweats with his x^ack on his back, (the pur- chaser higgling about the odd cent ;) The camera and plate are prepared, the lady must sit for her daguerreotj'pe ; The bride unrumples her white dress, the minute-hand of the clock moves slowly ; The opium-eater reclines with rigid head and just- open'd lips ; The prostitute draggles her shawl, her bonnet bobs on her tipsy and pimpled neck ; The crowd laugh at her blackguard oaths, the men jeer and wink to each other ; (Miserable ! I do not laugh at youi* oaths, nor jeer you ;) The President, holding a cabinet council, is surrounded by the Great Secretaries ; On the piazza walk three matrons stately and friendly with twined arms : Walt Whitman. 45 The crew of tlie fish-smack pack repeated layers of hal- ibut in the hold ; The Missourian crosses the plains, toting his wares and his cattle ; As the fare-collector goes through the train, he gives notice by the jingling of loose change ; The floor-men are laying the floor — the tinners are tinning the roof — the masons are calling for mortar ; In single file, each shouldering his hod, pass onward the laborers ; Seasons pursuing each other, the indescribable crowd is gather'd — it is the Fourth of Seventh-month — (What salutes of cannon and small arms !) Seasons pursuing each other, the plougher ploughs, the mower mows, and the winter-grain falls in the ground ; Oft on the lakes the pike-fisher watches and waits by the hole in the frozen surface ; The stumps stand thick round the clearing, the squatter strikes deep with his axe ; Flatboatmen make fast, towards dusk, near the cotton- wood or pekan-trees ; Coon-seekers go through the regions of the Red river, or through those di'ain'd by the Tennessee, or through those of the Arkansaw ; Torches shine in the dark that hangs on the Chatta- hooche or Altamahaw ; Patriarchs sit at sapper with sons and grandsons and great-grandsons around them ; In walls of adobie, in canvas tents, rest hunters and trappers after their daj^'s sport ; The city sleeps, and the country sleeps ; The living sleep for their time, the dead sleep for their time ; The old husband sleeps by his wife, and the young hus- band sleeps by his wife ; And these one and all tend inward to me, and I tend outward to them ; And such as it is to be of these, more or less, I am. 4:6 Leaves of Geass. 16 '^ I am of old and young, of tlie foolisli as much as the wise ; Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal as "well as paternal, a child as well as a man, Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse, and stuff 'd with the stuff' that is fine ; One of the Great Nation, the nation of many nations, the smallest the same, and the largest the same ; A southerner soon as a northerner — a planter non- chalant and hospitable, down by the Oconee I live ; A Yankee, bound my own way, ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth, and the stern- est joints on earth ; A Kentuckian, walking the vale of the Elkhorn, in my deer-skin leggings — a Louisianian or Georgian ; A boatman over lakes or baj'S, or along coasts — a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye ; At home on Kanadian snow-shoes, or up in the bush, or with fishermen off' Newfoundland ; At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking ; At home on the hills of Vermont, or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch ; Comrade of Californians — comrade of free north-west- erners, (loving their big proportions ;) Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen — comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat ; A learner with the simj)lest, a teacher of the thought- fuUest ; A novice beginning, yet esperieut of myriads of sea- sons ; Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and reh- gion ; A farmei', mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker ; A prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest. " I resist anything better than my own diversity ; TValt WniTMiVN. 47 I breathe the ah', but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck np, and am in my place. ^^ (The moth and the fish-eggs are in their place ; The suns I see, and the suns I cannot see, are in their place ; The palpable is in its j)lace, and the impalpable is in its place.) 17 ^' These are the thoughts of all men in all ages and lands — they are not original with me ; If they are not yoiu's as much as mine, they are nothing, or next to nothing ; If they are not the riddle, and the untying of the riddle, they are nothing ; If they are not just as close as they are distant, they are nothing. ®^ This is the grass that gi'ows •wherever the land is, and the water is ; This is the common air that bathes the globe. 18 ^^ With music strong I come — with my cornets and my drums, I play not marches for accepted victors only — I i^lay great marches for conquer'd and slain persons. ^^ Have you heard that it was good to gain the day ? I also say it is good to fall — battles are lost in the same spirit in which they are won. ^^ I beat and pound for the dead ; I blow through my embouchui-es my loudest and gayest for them. ^^ Vivas to those who have fail'd ! And to those whose war-vessels sank in the sea ! And to those themselves who sank in the sea ! 48 LEiV\'E3 OF Gbass. And to all generals that lost engagements ! and all over- come heroes ! And the numberless unknown heroes, equal to the greatest heroes known. 19 ^' This is the meal equally set — this is the meat for natural hunger ; It is for the wicked just the same as the righteous — I make appointments with all ; I will not have a single person shghted or left away ; The kept-woman, sponger, thief, are hereby in\dted ; The heavy- lipp'd slave is invited — the venerealee is in- vited : There shall be no difference between them and the rest. *^ This is the press of a bashful hand — this is the float and odor of hau' ; This is the touch of my lips to yovu's — this is the mur- mur of yearning ; This is the far-off dej^th and height reflecting my own face ; This is the thoughtful merge of myself, and the outlet again. ^' Do you guess I have some intricate ^mrpose ? Well, I have — for the Fourth-month showers have, and the mica on the side of a rock has. ^^ Do you take it I would astonish? Does the daylight astonish? Does the early redstart, twittering through the woods? Do I astonish more than they? *' This hour I tell things in confidence ; I might not tell everbody, but I will tell you. 20 '■ "Who goes there ? hankering, gross, mystical, nude ; How is it I extract strength from the beef I eat ? Y\^ALT Whitijan. 49 ^^ What is a man, anyhow? What am I? What are yon ? ^^ All I mark as my ov.n, you shah offset it vrifch yoiir own; Else it were time lost Hstening to me. " I do not snivel that snivel the world over. That months are vacnums, and the ground hut wallowr and filth ; . That hfe is a suck and a sell, and nothing remains at the end but threadbare crape, and tears. °° Whimpering and truckling fold with powders for invalids — conformity goes to the fourth-remov'd ; I wear my hat as I j^lease, indoors or out. ^' WTiy should I pray ? Why should I venerate and be ceremonious ? ®^ Having pried through the strata, analyzed to a hair, counsell'd with dioctors, and calculated close, I find no sweeter fat than sticks to my own bones. "'' In all people I see myself — none more, and not one a barley-corn less ; And the good or bad I say of myself, I say of them. '"" And I know I am solid and sound ; To me the converging objects of the universe perpetu- ally flow ; All are written to me, and I must get what the writing means. '°' I know I am deathless ; I know this orbit of mine cannot be swept by the car- penter's compass ; I know I shall not pass like a child's carlacue cut v^ith a burnt stick at night. '"'^ I know I am august ; 3 50 Leaves of Geas.3. I do not trouble my spiiit to vindicate itself or be understood ; I see tliat the elementary laws never apologize ; (I reckon I behave no prouder than the level I plant my house by, after all.) '"^ I exist as I am — that is enough ; If no other in the world be aware, I sit content ; And if each and all be aware, I sit content. '°^ One world is aware, and by far the largest to me, and that is myself ; And whether I come to my own to-day, or in ten thousand or ten million years, I can cheerfully take it now, or with equal cheerfulness I can wait. i«5 jyjy foothold is tenon'd and mortis'd in granite ; I laugh at what you call dissolution ; And I know the amx)htude of time. 21 '■'* I am the poet of the Body ; And I am the poet of the Soul. '" The pleasures of heaven are with me, and the pains of hell are vdth me ; The first I gTaft and increase upon myself — the latter I translate into a new tongue. '*^ I am the poet of the woman the same as the man ; And I say it is as great to be a v,'oman as to be a man ; And I say there is nothing greater than the mother of men. "* I chant the chant of dilation or pride ; "SVe have had ducking and deprecating about enough ; I show that size is only development. "* Have you outstript the rest? Are vou the Presi- dent? Wai.t vTeitvi^:. 51 It is a trifle — ihex ^dU more than arriTe tliere, eveij one, and stiH pass on. • I am he that "walks "with the tender and growing night; I can to the earth and sea, half-held by the night. ' - Press close, hare-bosom'd night I Press dose, mag- netic, nonrishiag night I yi^-'-it of south winds I night of the large few stars I Sdll- no Jding night ! mad, nated, sammer night. Sinile.. O Yoltrptnons, cool-breath'd earth ! Earth of the slnmbering and hquid trees ; Earth of departed sunset ! earth of the motmtains, misty-topt I Earth of the vitreotis pour of thi full nooTi. just tinged with blue ! Earth of shine and dart, mottling the tide of the river I Earth of the limpid gray of clouds, brighter and clearer for my sate ! Far-swooping elbovr'd earth I rich, apple-blossom'd earth: Smib, for your lover com.es ! ' Frpdigal, you have given me love I Therefore I to you give love ! 0 uzispeatable, passaonate love ! 22 ■ Tou sea I I resign myself to you also — I guess what you mean ; 1 behold from the beach your crooted inviting fingers ; I believe you refuse to go bact -without feeling of me ; lYe must have a turn together — I undres — ^hurry me out of sight of the land : Cnshion me soft, roct me in billowy drowse ; Dash me with amorous wet — 1 can repay you. ■ Sea of stretch'd CTOund-swells I 52 Leaves of Grass. Sea breathing broad and convulsive breaths ! Sea of the brine of hfe ! sea of unshovell'd yet always- ready graves ! Howler and scooper of storms ! capricious and dainty sea ! I am integral with you — I too am of one phase, and of all phases. 117 Partaker of influx and efflux I — extoller of hate and conciliation ; Extoller of amies, and those that sleep in each others' arms. "^ I am he attesting sympathy ; (Shall I make my list of things in the house, and skip the house that supports them ?) "' I am not the poet of goodness only — I do not decline to be the poet of wickedness also. ^■" "Washes and razors for foofoos — for me freckles and a bristhng beard. '■' "What blurt ia this about virtue and about vice ? Evil propels me, and reform of evil propels me — I stand indifferent ; My gait is no fault-finder's or rejecter's gait ; I moisten the roots of all that has grown. '^'^ Did you fear some scrofula out of the unflagging pregnancy ? Did you guess the celestial laws are yet to be work'd over and rectified ? ^'-^ I find one side a balance, and the antipodal side a balance ; Soft doctrine as steady help as stable doctrine ; Thoughts and deeds of the present, our rouse and eai-ly start. W/VLT Whitman. 53 '-* This miiiute that comes to me over the past decil- lions, There is no better than it and now. '-^ What behaved well in the past, or behaves well to- day, is not such a wonder ; The wonder is, always and always, how there can be a mean man or an infidel. 23 '-^ Endless unfolding oi words of ages ! And mine a word of the modern — the word En-Masse. '■' A word of the faith that never balks ; Here or hi^nceforward, it is all the same to me — I accept Time, absolutely. '■^ It alone is without flaw — it rounds and completes all; That mystic, bafSing wonder I love, alone completes aU. '-' I accept reahty, and dare not question it ; Materialism first and last imbuing, '^^ Hurrah for positive science ! long live exact demon- stration ! Fetch stonecrop, mixt with cedar and branches of lilac ; This is the lexicographer — this the chemist — this made a gTammar of the old cartouches ; These mariners put the ship through dangerous un- hnown seas ; This is the geologist — this works with the scalpel — and this is a mathematician. '^' Gentlemen ! to you the first honors always : Your facts are Tiseful and real — and yet they are not my dwelling ; (I but enter by them to an area of ray dwelling.) 54 Leaves of Grass. '^- Less the reminders of properties told, my words ; And more the reminders, they, of life untold, and of freedom and extrication, And make short account of neuters and geldings, and favor men and women fully equipt, And beat the gong of revolt, and stop with fugitives, and them that plot and conspire. 24 '"^ "Walt "Whitman am I, a Kosmos, of mighty Manhat- tan the son. Turbulent, ileshy and sensual, eating, drinking and breeding ; No sentimentalist — no stander above men and women, or aj)ait from them ; No more modest than immodest. "' Unscrew the locks fi'om the doors! Unscrew the doors themselves from their jambs ! 135 "\\r|iQgYei^. degrades another degrades me ; And whatever is done or said returns at last to me. 136 Through me the afflatus surging and surging — through me the ctu'rent and index. '^^ I speak the pass-word primeval — I give the sign of democracy ; By God ! I will accept nothing which all cannot have their counterpart of on the same terms. 138 Through me many long dumb voices ; Voices of the intei'minable generations of slaves ; Voices of prostitutes, and of deform'd persons ; Voices of the diseas'd and despairing, and of thieves and dwarfs ; Voices of cycles of preparation and accretion, And of the threads that connect the stars — and of wombs, and of the father-stuff, And of the rights of them the others are down uj)on ; Walt Whitman. 55 Of tlie trivial, flat, foolish, despised, Fog in the air, beetles rolling balls of dung. 139 Throiigli me forbidden voices ; Voices of sexes and lusts — voices veil'd, and I remove the veil ; Voices indecent, by me clarified and transfigur'd. "° I do not press my fingers across my mouth ; I keep as delicate around the bowels as around the head and heart ; Copulation is no more rank to me than death is. '^' I beheve in the flesh and the appetites ; Seeing, hearing, feeling, are miracles, and each part and tag of me is a miracle. "- Divine am I inside and out, and I make holy what- ever I touch or am touch'd fi'om ; The scent of these arm-pits, aroma finer than prayer ; This head more than churches, bibles, and all the creeds. '■" If I v/orship one thing more than another, it shall be the spread of my own body, or any part of it. '" Translucent mould of me, it shall be you ! Shaded ledges and rests, it shall be jou ! Eirm masculine colter, it shall be you. "" Whatever goes to the tilth of me, it shall be you ! You my rich blood ! Your milky stream, pale strippings of my life. "•^ Breast that presses against other breasts, it shall be you ! My brain, it shall be your occult convolutions. '■" Root of wash'd sweet flag! timorous pond-snipe! nest of guarded duplicate eggs ! it shall be you ! 56 Lkwes of Geass. Mix'd tussled hay of bead, bsard, brawn, it shall be you! Trickhug sap of maple ! fibre of manly wheat ! it shall be you ! '"^ Sun so generous, it shall be you ! Vapors lighting and shading my face, it shall be you ! You sweaty brooks and dews, it shall be you ! Winds who30 soft-tickhng genitals rub against me, it shall be you ! Broad, muscular fields ! branches of live oak ! loving lounger in my winding paths ! it shall be you ! Hands I have taken — face I have kiss'd — mortal I have ever touch'd ! it shall be you. ''" I dote on myself — there is that lot of me, and all so luscious ; Each moment, and whatever happens, thrills me with joy- '^"01 am wonderful! I cannot tell how my ankles bend, nor whence the cause of my faintest wish ; Nor the cause of the fi'iendsbip I emit, nor the cause of the friendship I take again. '^' That I walk up my stoop ! I pause to consider if it really be ; A morning-glory at my window satisfies me more than the metaphysics of books. '" To behold the day-break I The little light fades the immense and diaphanous shadows ; The air tastes good to my palate. '"" Hefts of the moving world, at innocent gambols, silently rising, freshly exuding, Scoo'inj oblicfuely high and low. * Walt \Vhit:,ian. 57 '" Something I cannot sec puts upward libidinous prongs ; Seas of bi'iglit juice suffuse heaven. '^- The earth by the sky staid with — the daily close of their junction ; The heav'd challenge from the east that moment over my head ; The mocking taunt, See then whether you shall be master ! 25 '^^ Dazzling and tremendous, how quick the sun-rise would kill me, If I could not now and always send sun-rise out of me. '" We also ascend, dazzling and ti'emendous as the sun ; "We found our own, O my Soul, in the calm and cool of the daybreak. 155 jyjy voice goes after what my eyes cannot reach ; With the twirl of my tongue I encompass worlds, and volumes of w^orlds. '"' Speech is the twin of my vision — it is unequal to measm'e itself ; It j)rovokes me forever ; It says sarcastically, Walt, you contain enough — loJnj don't you let it out, then ? '^" Corns now, I will not be tantalized — you conceive too much of articulation. "' Do you not know, O speech, how the buds beneath you are folded ? Waiting in gloom, protected by frost ; The dirt receding before my prophetical screams ; 1 underlying causes, to balance them at last ; 58 Leaves of Gkass. My knowledge my live parts — it keeping tally with the meaning of things, Happixkss — which, whoever hears me, let him or her set out in search of this clay. ^" My final merit I refuse you — I refuse putting from me what I really am ; Encompass w^orkls, but never try to encompass me ; I crowd youi' sleekest and best by simply looking to- ward you. 163 Writing and talk do not prove me ; I carry the plenum of proof, and everything else, in my face ; With the hush of my lips I wholly confound the skep- tic. 26 '^* I think I will do nothing now but listen, To accrue what I hear into myself — to let sounds con- tribute toward me. '^* I hear bravuras of birds, bustle of growing wheat, gossip of flames, clack of sticks cooking my meals ; I hear the sound I love, the sound of the human voice ; I hear all sounds running together, combined, fused or following ; Sounds of the city, and sounds out of the city — sounds of the day and night ; Talkative young ones to those that like them — the loud laugh of work-people at their meals ; The angry base of disjointed friendship — the faint tones of the sick ; The judge with hands tight to the desk, his pallid lips pronouncing a death-sentence ; The heave'e'yo of stevedores unlading ships by the wharves — the refrain of the anchor-lifters ; Walt Whitman. 59 The ring of alarm-bells — the cry of fire — the whirr of swift-streaking- engines and hose-carts, with pre- monitory tinkles, and color'd lights ; The steam-whistle — the solid roll of the train of ap- proaching cars ; The slow-march play'd at the head of the association, marching two and two ; (They go to guard some corpse — the flag-tops are draped with black muslin.) "'^ I hear the violoncello, ('tis the young man's heart's complaint ;) I hear the key'd cornet — it ghdes quickly in through my ears ; It shakes mad-sweet pangs through my belly and breast. '" I hear the chorus — it is a grand opera Ah, this indeed is music ! This suits me. "^^ A tenor large and fresh as the creation fills me ; The orbic flex of his mouth is pouring and filling me full. '^^ I hear the train'd soprano — (what work, with hers, is this ?) The orchestra whirls me wider than Uranus flies ; It wrenches such ardors from me, I did not know I possess'd them ; It sails me — I dab with bare feet — they are Hck'd 'by the indolent waves ; I am exposed, cut by bitter and angry hail — I lose my breath, Steep 'd amid honey 'd morphine, my windpipe throt- tled in fakes of death ; At length let up again to feel the puzzle of puzzles. And that we call Being. GO LiiAVEs OF Geass. '■"' To be, in any form —-what is that ? TRound and round we go, ail of us, and ever come back thither ;) If nothing lay more develop'd, the quahaug in its cal- lous shell were enough. '"' Mine is no callous shell ; I have instant conductors all over me, whether I pass or stop ; _They seiza every object and lead it harmlessly through- me. ''- I merely stir, press, feel with my fingers, and am liappy ; To touch my person to some one ckc's is about as m.uch as I can stand. 28 "" Is this then a touch ? quivering me to a new iden- tity, Flames and ether making a rxish for my veins, Treacherous tip of me reaching and crowding to help them, My flesh and blood plajdng out lightning to strike Vi-hafc is hardly different from myself ; On all sides prurient provokers stiffening my limbs, Straining the udder of my heart for its withheld drip. Behaving licentious toward me, taking no denial, Depriving mo of my best, as for a j)urpose, UiJbuttouing my clothes, holding me by the bare waist. Deluding my confusion Vt'ith the calm of the sunlight and pasture-fields. Immodestly sliding the fellow-senses away, They bribed to swap off' with touch, and go and graze at the edges of me ; No consideration, no regard for m.y draining strength or my anger ; Fetching the rest of the herd around to enjoy them a while, Walt Whitman. 61 Then all Tiniting- to stand on a beadland and worry '"■* The sentries desert every other part of me ; They have left me helpless to a red marauder ; They all come to the headland^ to witness and assist against me. '•^ I am given up by traitors ; I talk wildly —I have lost my wits — ^I and nobody else am the greatest traitor ; I went myself lirst to the headland— my own hands car- ried me there. '"^ You villain touch ! what are you doing ? My breath is tight in its throat ; Unclench your floodgates ! you are too much for me. 29 '"' Blind, loving, wresthng touch! sheath'd, hooded, sharp-toothM touch ! Did it make you ache so, leaving me ? ^'^ Parting, track'd by aiTiving — perpetual payment of perpetual loan ; Rich, showering rain, and recompense richer after- ward. "' Sprouts take and accumulate — stand by the curb prolific and vital : Landscapes, projected, mascuhne, full-sized and golden. 30 '«" AU truths wait in all things ; They neither hasten thuir own delivery, nor resist it ; They do not need the obstetric forceps of the surgeon ; The insignificant is as big to me as any ; (What is less or more than a touch?) 62 Leaves of Grass. '^' Logic and sermons never convince ; The damp of the niglit drives deeper into my soul. '^- Only wliat proves itself to every man and woman is so ; Only what nobody denies is so. '^^ A minute and a drop of me settle my brain ; I believe the soggy clods shall become lovers and lamps, And a compend of compends is the meat of a man or woman, And a summit and flower there is the feeling they have for each other, And they are to branch boundlessly out of that lesson until it becomes omnilic, And until every one shall dehght us, and we them. 31 '" I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey- work of the stars, And the pismire is equally perfect, and a grain of sand, and the egg of the wren. And the tree-toad is a chef-d'ceu'STe for the highest. And the running blackberry would adorn the parlors of heaven, And the narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery, And the cow crunching with depress'd head surpasses any statue, And a mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels, And I could come every afternoon of my life to look at the farmer's girl boiling her iron tea-kettle and baking short-cake. '^° I find I incorporate gneiss, coal, long-threaded moss, fruits, grains, esculent roots. And am stucco'd v/ith quadrupeds and birds all over, Walt Whitman. 63 And have distanced ■what is behind me for good rea- sons, And call anything close again, when I desire it. '''* In' vain the speeding or sh5-ness ; In vain the plutonic rocks send their old heat against my approach ; In vain the mastodon retreats beneath its own powder'd bones ; ' In vain objects stand leagues off, and assume manifold shapes ; In vain the ocean settling in hollows, and the great monsters lying low ; In vain the buzzard houses herself v>'ith ihe sky ; In vain the sualie slides through the creejDers and logs ; In vain the elk takes to the inner passes of the woods ; In vain the razor-bill'd auk sails far north to Labrador ; I follow quickly, I ascend to the nest in the fissui'e of the chff. '^' I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contain'd ; I stand and look at them long and long. !8s ijij^ey (^Q j2ot sweat and whine abotit their condition ; They do not lie aw^ake in the dark and weej) for theii- sins ; They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God ; Not one is dissatisfied — not one is demented with the mania of owning things ; Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago ; Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth. '^' So they show their relations to me, and I accept them ; They bring me tokens of myself — they evince them plainly in their possession. 64 Leaves of Grass. "" I wonder wbere they get those tokens : Did I pass that way huge times ago, and neghgently drop them ? Myself moving forward then and now and forever, Gathering and showing more always and with velo'eity, Infinite and omnigenous, and the like of these among them ; Not too exclusive toward the reachers of my remem- brancers ; Picking out hero one that I love, and now go with him on brotherly terms. '"' A gigantic beauty of a stallion, fresh and responsive to my caresses, Head high in the forehead, wide between the ears, Limbs glossy and sujoi^le, tail dusting the ground. Eyes full of sjoarkling wickedness — ears finely cut, flex- ibly moving. '"^ His nostrils dilate, as my heels embrace him ; His well-built limbs tremble with pleasure, as we race around and return. ''" I but use you a moment, then I resign you, stallion ; Why do I need your paces, when I myself out-gallop them ? Even, as I stand or sit, passing faster than you. 33 '^^ O swift v/iud ! O space and time ! now I see it is true, what I guessed at ; "What I guess'd when I loaf 'd on the grass ; "What I guess'd while I lay alone in my bed. And again as I walk'd the beach under the pahng stars of the morning. "^ My ties and ballasts leave me — I travel — I sail — my elbows rest in the sea-gaps ; I skirt the sierras — my palms cover continents ; I am afoot with my vision. Walt Whitman. Go "' By tlie cit^^'s quadrangnlar houses — in log liiits — campiag with lumbermen ; Along the ruts of the turnpike — along the dry gulch and rivulet bed ; Weeding my onion-patch, or hoeing rows of carrots and parsnips — crossing savannas — trailing in forests ; Prospecting — gold-digghig — girdling the trees of a new purchase ; ' Scorch'd anhle-deep by the hot sand — hauling my boat down the shallow river ; Where the panther walks to and fro on a limb overhead — where the buck turns furiously at the hunter ; "Where the rattlesnake suns his flabby length on a rock — where the otter is feeding on fish ; Y/here the alligator in his tough pimples sleeps by the bayou ; Wliere the black bear is searching for roots or honey — where the beaver pats the mud v/ith his paddle- shaped tail ; Over the growing sugar — over the yellovz-flower'd cotton plant — over the rice in its low moist field ; Over the sharp-peak'd farm house, with its scallop'd scum and slender f_.hoots from the gutters ; Over the western persimmon — over the long-leaVd corn — over the delicate blue-flower flax ; Over the white and brown buckwheat, a hummer and buzzer there with the rest ; Over the dusky green of the rye as it ripples and shades in the breeze ; Scaling mountains, pulling myself cautiously up, hold- ing on by low scragged limbs ; Yv'alking the path v/orn in the grass, and beat through the leaves of the brush ; Yv^here the quail is whistling betwixt the woods and tlio wheat-lot ; Where the bat flies in the Seventh-month eve — where the great gold-bug drops through the dark ; Where flails keep time on the barn floor ; Where the brook puts oat of the roots of the old tree and flov/3 to the mcadov/ ; 6G Leaves of Grass. YvTiere cattle stand and shake away flies with the tremu- lous shuddering of their hides ; Where the cheese-cloth hangs in the kitchen — where andirons straddle the hearth-slab — where cob- webs fall in festoons fi'om the rafters ; Where trip-hammers crash — where the press is whirling its cylinders ; Wherever the human heart beats with terrible throes under its ribs ; Where the pear-shaped balloon is floating aloft, (float- ing in it myself, and looking composedly down ;) Where the life-car is drawn on the slip-noose — where the heat hatches pale-green eggs in the dented sand ; Where the she-whale swims with her calf, and never forsakes it ; TVTiere the steam-ship trails hind-ways its long pennant of smoke ; Where the fin of the shark cuts like a black chip out of the water ; WTiere the half-burn'd brig is riding on unknown cur- rents, Where shells grow to her slimy deck — where the dead are corrupting below ; Where the dense-starr'd flag is borne at the head of the regiments ; Apxjroaching Manhattan, up by the long-stretching island ; Under Niagara, the cataract falling like a veil over my countenance ; Upon a door-step — upon the horse-block of hard wood outside ; Upon the race-course, or enjoying picnics or jigs, or a good game of base-ball ; At he-festivals, with blackguard gibes, ironical license, bull-dances, drinking, laughter ; At the cider-mill, tasting the sweets of the brown mash, sucking the juice through a straw ; At apple-peelings, wanting kisses for all the red fruit I find; Walt "Whitman. 67 At musters, beach-parties, friendly bees, liuskings, house-raisings : Where the mocking-bircT sounds his dehcious gurgles, cackles, screams, weeps ; Where the hay-rick stands in the barn-yard — where the dry-stalks are scattered — where the brood-cow waits in the hovel ; Where the bull advances to do his masculine work — where the stud to the mare — where the cock is treading the hen ; TVTiere the heifers browse — where geese nip their food v/ith short jerks ; Whei-c sun-down shadows lengthen over the limitless and lonesome prairie ; Where herds of buffalo make a crawling si)read of the square miles far and near ; Where the humming-bu'd shimmers — ^where the neck of the long-lived swan is ciu'ving and winding ; YvTiere the laughing-gull scoots by the shore, where she laughs her near-human laugh ; Where bee-hives range on a gi'ay bench in the garden, half hid by the high weeds ; Vv'here band-neck'd partridges roost in a ring on the ground with their heads out ; Where burial coaches enter the arch'd gates of a cemetery ; Yv^'here winter wolves bark amid wastes of snow and icicled trees ; Where the yellow-crown'd heron comes to the edge of the marsh at night and feeds upon small crabs ; Where the splash of swimmers and divers cools the warm noon ; Where the katy-did works her chromatic reed on the Avalnut-tree over the well ; Through patches of citrons and cucumbers with silver- wired leaves ; Through the salt-lick or orange glade, or under conical firs ; Through the gymnasium — through the curtain'd saloon — through the office or public hall ; 63 Leaves of Grass. Pleas'd with the native, and pleas'd witli the foreign — pleas' d with the new and old ; Pleas'd with women, the homely as well as the hand- some ; Pleas'd with the quaheress as she j)uts off her bonnet and talks melodiously ; Pleas'd with the tune of the chou- of the whitc-wash'd church ; Pleas'd with the earnest words of the sweating Metho- dist preacher, or any preachei* — impress'd seri- ously at the camp-meeting : Looliing in at the shop-windows of Broadway the whole forenoon — Hatting the flesh of my nose on the thick plate-glass ; Wandering the same afternoon with my face turn'd up to the clouds, My right and left arms round the sides of two friends, and I in the middle : Coming home with the silent and dark-cheeh'd bush- boy — (behind me he rides at the drape of the day ;) Far from the settlements, studying the print of animals' feet, or the moccasin print ; By the cot in the hospital, reaching lemonade to a feverish patient ; Nigh the cofiin'd corpse vrhen all is still, examining with a candle : Voyaging to every port, to dicker and adventure ; Hurrying with the modern crowd, as eager and fickle as any ; Hot toward one I hate, ready in iiij madness to knife him ; Solitary at midnight in my back yard, my thoughts gone from me a long while ; "Walking the old hills of Judea, with the beautiful gentle God by my side ; Speeding tlu-otigh space — speeding through heaven and the stars ; Speeding amid the seven satellites, and the broad riug, and the diameter of eighty thousand miles ; Walt Whitman. 69 Speeding with, tail'd meteors — throwing lire-balls like the rest ; Carrying the crescent child that carries its own full mother in its belly ; Storming, enjoying, planning, loving, cautioning. Backing and lilhng, appearing and disappearing ; I tread day and night such roads. '" I visit the orchards of spheres, and look at the product : And look at quintillions ripen'd, and look at quintillions green. "^ I fly the flight of the fluid and swallowing sotd ; My course runs below the soundings of plummets. "^ I help myself to material and immaterial ; No gxiai'd can shut me off, nor law prevent me. "'^° I anchor my ship for a little while only ; My messengers continually cruise away, or bring their returns to me. -"' I go hunting polar furs and the seal — leaping chasms with a pike-pointed staff — cHnging to topples of brittle and blue. ^"'^ I ascend to the foretruck ; I take my place late at night in the crow's-nest ; We sail the arctic sea — it is plenty light enough ; Through the clear atmosphere I stretch around on the wonderful beauty ; The enormous masses of ice pass me, and I pass them — the scenery is plain in all directions ; The white-topt mountains show in the distance — I fling out my fancies toward them ; (We are approaching some great battle-field in which we are soon to be engaged ; We pass the colossal outposts of the encampment — we pass with still feet and caution ; 70 Leaves of Gbass. Or we are entering by the suburbs some vast and ruin'd city ; The blocks and fallen architecture more than all the hving cities of the globe.) ""' I am a free companion — I bivouac by invading watchfires. "•" I turn the bridegi'oom out of bed, and stay with the bride myseK ; I tighten her aU night to my thighs and lips. -"' My voice is the wife's voice, the screech by the rail of the stairs ; They fetch my man's body up, di'ipping and drown'd. ^"^ I understand the large hearts of heroes, The courage of present times and all times ; How the skipper saw the crowded and rudderless wreck of the steam-ship, and Death chasing it up and down the storm ; How he knuckled tight, and gave not back one inch, and was faithful of days and faithful of nights. And chalk'd in large letters, on a board, Be cf good cheer, ive ivill not desert you : How he follow'd with them, and tack'd with them — and would not give it up ; How he saved the drifting company at last : How the lank loose-gown'd women look'd when boated from the side of their prepared graves ; How the silent old-faced infants, and the lifted sick, and the sharp-lipp'd unshaved men : All this I swallow — ^it tastes good — I hke it well — it becomes mine ; I am the man — I suffer'd — I was there. ■'" The disdain and calmness of olden martyrs ; The mother, condemn'd for a witch, burnt with dry wood, her childi'en gazing on ; The hounded slave that flags in the race, leans by the fence, blowing, cover'd with sweat ; "Walt "Whitman, 71 Tlie twinges that sting like needles bis legs and neck — • the murderous buckshot and the bullets ; All these I feel, or am. -°^ I am the hounded slave, I wince at the bite of the dogs. Hell and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the marksmen ; I clutch the rails of the fence, my gore diibs, thinn'd with the ooze of mj skin ; I fall on the weeds and stones ; The riders spur their unwilling horses, haul close, Taunt my dizzy ears, and beat me violently over the head with whip-stocks. ^"^ Agonies are one of my changes of garments ; I do not ask the wounded person how he feels — I my- self become the wounded person ; My hurts turn livid u^Don me as I lean on a cane and observe. ^'" I am the mash'd £reman with breast-bone broken ; Tumbling walls buiied me in their debris ; Heat and smoke I insjoired — I heard the yelling shouts of my comrades ; I heard the distant click of their picks and shovels ; They have clear'd the beams away — they tenderly lift me forth. ^'^ I lie in the night air in mj^ red shii-t — the pervading hush is for my sake ; Painless after all I lie, exhausted but not so unhappy ; "VVhite and beautiful are the faces around me — the heads are bared of their fire-caps ; The kneeUng crowd fades with the light of the torches. -'- Distant and dead resuscitate ; They show as the dial or move as the hands of me — I am the clock myself. 72 Leaves of Geass. "^ I am an old artillerist — I tell of my fort's bombard- meut ; I am there a^ain. "'' Again the long roll of the drummers ; Again the attacking camion, mortars ; Again, to my hstening ears, the cannon responsive. *'^ I take part — I see and hear the v/hole ; The cries, curses, roar — the plaudits for •well-aim'd shots ; The ambulanza slowly passiug, trailing its red drip ; Workmen searching after damages, making indispen- sable repairs ; The fall of grenades through the rent roof — the fan- shaped explosion ; The whizz of limbs, heads, stone, wood, iron, high in the air. *'° Again gurgles the mouth of my dying general — he furiously waves with his hand ; He gasps through the clot, Hind not me— mind — the entrenchments. 34 -" Now I tell what I knew in Texas in my early youth ; (I tell not the fall of Alamo, Not one escaped to tell the fall of Alamo, The hundred and fifty are dumb yet at Aiamo ;) 'Tis the tale of the murder in cold blood of four hun- dred and twelve young men. "® Retreating, they had form'd in a hoUow square, with their baggage for breastworks ; Nine hundred hves out of the siu'rounding enemy's, nine times their number, was the price they took in advance ; Their colonel was wounded and their ammunition gone ; They treated for an honorable capitiilation, receiv'd writing and seal, gave np their arms, and march'd back prisoners of war. Walt Whit?jan. 73 -'' They were the glory of the race of rangers ; Matchless vrith horse, rifle, song, snj)per, coixrtship, Large, turbulent, generous, handsome, proud, and affec- tionate, Bearded, sunburnt, drest in the free costume of hun- ters. Not a single one over thirty years of age. ^•° The second First-day morning they were brought out in squads, and massacred — it was beautiful early summer ; The work commenced about five o'clock, and was over by eight. -■' None obey'd the command to kneel ; Some made a mad and helpless rush — some stood stark and straight ; A few fell at once, shot in the temple or heart — the liv- ing and dead lay together ; The maim'd and mangled dug in the dirt — the new- comers saw them there ; Some, half-kill'd, attempted to crawl av/ay ; These were despatch'd with bayonets, or Ibatter'd with the blunts of muskets ; A youth not seventeen years old seiz'd his assassin till two more came to release him ; The three were all torn, and cover'd with the boy's blood. --'^ At eleven o'clock began the burning of the bodies : That is the tale of the murder of the four hundred and twelve young men. 35 ■" Would you bear of an old-fashion'd sea-fight ? Would you learn who won by the light of the moon and stars ? List to the story as my grandmother's father, the sailor, told it to me. 7-1 Lk-wks of Grass. ^■■' Our foe was no skulk in his ship, I tell you, (said he;) His was the surly English pluck — and there is no tougher or truer, and never was, and never v.ill be ; Along the lower'd eve he came, horribly raking us. -■° We closed with him — the yards entangled — the can- non touch'd ; ' My captain lash'd fast with his own hands. "'^ We had receiv'd some eighteen pound shots under the water ; On our lov>^er-gun-deck two large pieces had burst at the first fire, killing all around, and blowing up overhead. '2'' Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark ; Ten o'clock at night, the full rnoon well up, our leaks on the gain, and five feet of water reported ; The master-at-arms loosing the prisoners confined iu the after-hold, to give them a chance for them- selves. K8 ijij^Q transit to and from the magazine is now stopt by the sentinels. They see so many strange faces, they do not know whom to trust. '-" Our frigate takes fire ; The other asks if we demand quarter ? If our colors are struck, and the fighting is done ? ^"^ Now I laugh content, for I hear the voice of my little captain. We have not struck, he composedly cries, ice have just begun ow part of the fighting. *"'' Only three guns are in use ; One is directed by the captain himself against the ene- my's main-mast ; Tvvo, weU served with grape and canister, silence his musketry and clear his decks. Walt Whitman. "75 ^"- The tops alone second the lire of this little battery, especially the main-top ; They hold out bravely during the whole of the action. •^^ Not a moment's cease ; The lealcs gain fast on the pumps — the fire eats toward the powder-magazine. ■'* One of the pumps has been shot away — it is gene- rally thought we are sinking. '"'' Serene stands the little captain ; He is not hurried — his voice is neither high nor low ; His eyes give more light to us than our battle-lan- terns. 2M Toward twelve at night, there in the beams of the moon, they surrender to us. ""'' Stretch'd and still lies the midnight ; Two gTeat hulls motionless on the breast of the dark- ness ; Ova- vessel riddled and slowly sinking — preparations to pass to the one we have conquer'd ; The captain on the cj^uarter-deck coldly giving his orders through a countenaQce white as a sheet ; Near by, the corpse of the child that serv'd in the cabin ; The dead face of an old salt with long white hair and carefully curl'd whiskers ; The flames, spite of all that can be done, flickering aloft and below ; The husky voices of the two or three officers j^et fit for duty ; Formless stacks of bodies, and bodies by themselves — dabs of flesh upon the masts and spars, Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe of waves. 76 LexVVEs of Gr.Ass. Black and impassive guns, litter of po^d:r-parcels, stroug scent. Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells of sedgy grass and fields by the shore, death-messages given in charge to survivors, The hiss of the surgeon's knife, the gnawing teeth of his saw, "Wheeze, cluck, swash of falling blood, short wild scream, and long, dull, tapering groan ; These so — these irretrievable. 37 scs Q Qi^ipjgi; J This is mastering me ! In at the conquer'd doors they crowd. I am possess'd. -^^ I embody all presences outlaw'd or suffering ; See myself in prison shaped like another man. And feel the dull unintcrmitted pain. 24.J Yox me the keepers ot convicts shoulder their car- bines and keep vv^atch ; It is I let out in the morning, and baiT'd at night. "' Not a mutineer walks haudcuff'd to jail, but I am handcuff'd to him and walk by his side ; (I am less the jolly one there, and more the silent one, vrith sweat on my tvv^itching lips.) "- Not a youngster is taken for larceny, but I go up too, and am tried and sentenced. "' Not a cholera patient lies at the last gasp, but I also lie at the last gasp ; My face is ash-color'd — my sinews gnarl — away from me people retreat. ^" Askers embody themselves in me, and I am embo- died in them ; I project my hat, sit shame-facod, and beg. Walt Whitman. 77 38 ■*^ Enough ! enougli ! enongli ! Somehow I have been stann'd. Stand back ! Give me a little time beyond my cuff'd head, slumbers, dreams, gaping ; I discover myself on the verge of a usual m.istake. '^^ That I could forget the mockers and insults ! That I could forget the triclcling tears, and the blows of the bludgeons and hammers ! That I could look with a separate look on my ov\ai cru- cifixion and bloody crov,ning. -"'' I remember now ; I resume the overstaid fraction ; The grave of rock multiplies what has been confided to it, or to any graves ; Corpses rise, gashes heal, fastenings roll from mc. -^ I troop forth replenish'd with supreme power, one of an average unending procession ; Inland and sea-coast we go, and we pass all boundary lines ; Our swift ordinances on their way over the whole earth ; The blossoms we wear in our hats the grov/th of thou- sands of years. "'" Eleves, I salute you ! come forward ! Continue your annotations, continue your questionings. 39 C50 rjj^Q friendly and flowing savage. Who is he ? Is he waiting for civilization, or past it, and master- ing it P ^^' Is he some south-westerner, rais'd out-doors ? Is he Kanadian ? 78 LEiWES OF GExVSS. Is lie from the Mississippi country ? Iowa, Oregon, California ? the mountains ? prairie-life, bush- life ? or from the sea ? 252 "VVherever he goes, men and women accept and de- sire him ; They desire he should like them, touch them, speak to then:!, stay with them. "^" Behavior lawless as snow-flakes, words simple as grass, uncomb'd head, laughter, and naivete. Slow-stepping feet, common features, common modes and emanations ; They descend in new forms from the tips of his fingers ; They arc wafted with the odor of his body or breath — th'-y fly out of the glance of his eyes. 40 251 Flaunt of the sunshine, I need not yoiir bask, — lie over ! You light sur laces only — I force surfaces and depths also. ^^° Earth ! you seem to look for something at my hands ; Say, old Top-knot! vrhat do you want? *^^ Man or vvoman! I might tell how I like you, but cannot ; And might tell v/hal it is in me, and what it is in you, but cannot ; And might tell that pining I have — that pulse of my nights and days. '" Behold ! I do not give lectures, or a httlo charity ; "When I give, I give myself. 558 You there, impotent, loose in the knees ! Open your scarf 'd chops till I blow grit within you ; Spread your palms, and lift the flaps of your pockets ; "Walt Whitman. 79 I am not to be denied — I compel — I liave stores plenty and to spare ; And anything I have I bestow. *" I do not ask wlio you are — that is not so important to me ; You can do nothing, and be nothing, but what I will infold you. '^^ To cotton-field drudge or cleaner of privies I lean ; On his right cheek I put the family kiss, And in my soul I swear, I never will deny him. '" On women fit for conception I start bigger and nimbler babes ; (This day I am jetting the stuff of far more arrogant republics.) ^^- To any one dying — thither I speed, and twist the knob of the door ; Turn the bed-clothes toward the foot of the bed ; Let the physician and the priest go home. ^''^ I seize the descending man, and raise him with re- sistless will. -*" O desp.iiver, here is my neck ; By God! you shall not go down! Hang your whole v/eight upon me. -"■ I dilate you Vv^iih tremendous breath — I buoy you up ; Every room of the hoiise do i fill with an arm'd force, Lovers of me, bafilers of graves. •"'Sleep! I and they keep guard all night ; Not doubt — not decease shall dare to lay finger upon you ; I have embraced you, and henceforth possess you to myself ; 80 Leaves of Grass. And when yoti rise in the morning you v/ill find what I tell you is so. 41 ^" I iim he bringing help for the sick a.s they pant on their backs ; And for strong upright men I l:'ring 3'et more needed help. ^°^ I heard what was said of the universe ; tieard it and heard it of several thousand years : It is middling well as far as it goes, — But is that all ? ^•'^ Magnifying and applying corns I, Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters, Taking myself the exact ditnensions of Jehovah, Lithographing Kronos, Zsu3 his son, and Hercides his grandson ; Buying drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus, Brahma, Buddha, In my portfolio placing Manito loose, Allah 0:1 a leaf, the crucifix engraved, With Odin, and the hideous-faced Mexitli, and every idol and image ; Taking them all for vv^hat they are worth, and not a cent more ; Admitting they were alive and did the work of their days ; (They bore mites, as for unficilg'd birds, v,dio have novr to rise and ily and sing for themselves ;) Aceei^ting the rough deific sketches to fill out better in myself — bestowing them freely on each man and woman I see ; Discovering as much, or more, in a framer framing a house ; Putting higher claims for him there v/ith his roll'd-up sleeves, driving the mallet and chisel ; Not objecting to special revelations — considering a curl of smoke, or a hair on the back of my hand, just as curiouo as any revelation ; Walt Whitman. 81 Lads filiold of fire-engines and hook-and-la,dder ropes DO less to me than the Gods of the antique wars ; Minding their voices peal through the crash of destruc- tion, Their brawny limbs passing safe over eharr'd laths — their white foreheads whole and unhurt out of tlie flames : By the mechanic's wife with her babe at her nipple in- terceding for every person born ; Three scythes at harvest whizzing in a row from three lusty angels v^'ith shirts bagg'd out at their waists ; The snag-tooth'd hostler with red hair redeeming sius past and to come, Selling all he possesses, traveling on foot to fee lawyers for his brother, and sit by him while he is tried for forgery ; "V^Tiat was strewn in the amplest strewing the square rod about me, and not filling the square rod then ; The biill and the bug never worship'd half enough ; Dung and dirt more admirable than was dream'd ; The supernatural of no account — myself waiting my time to be one of the Supremes ; The day getting ready for me when I shall do as much good as the best, and be as prodigious : By my life-lumps ! becoming pJready a creator ; Putting myself here and nov/ to the ambush'd womb of the shadows. 42 ^''^ A call in the midst of the crowd ; My own voice, orotund, sweeping, and final. "' Come my children ; Come my boys and g'h'ls, my women, household, and intimates ; Now the performer launches his nerve — he has pass'd his prelude on the reeds within. "■ Easily written, loose-finger'd chords ! I feel the thrum of vour climax and close. 82 Leaves of Gsaso. ^" My head slues round on my neck ; Music rolls, but not from the organ ; Folks are around mc, but they are no household of mine. "^ Ever the hard, unsnnk ground ; Ever the eaters and drinkers — ever the upTrard and downward sun — ever the air and the ceaseless tides ; Ever myself and my neighbors, refreshing, wicked, real ; Ever the old inexplicable query — ever that thorn'd thumb — that breath of itches and thirsts ; Ever the vexer's liool ! hoot ! till we find where the sly one hides, and bring him forth ; Ever love— ever the sobbing liquid of life ; Ever the bandage under the chin — ever the tressels of death. -'^ Here and there, v.'ith dimes on the eyes, walking ; To feed the greed of the beUy, the brains liberally spooning ; Tickets buying, taking, selling, but in to the feast never once going ; Many sweating, ploughing, thrashing, and then the chaff for payment receiving ; A few idly owning, and they the wheat continually claimiug. "*' This is the city, and I am one of the citizens ; Whatever interests the rest interests me — politics, wars, markets, newspapers, schools. Benevolent societies, improvements, banks, tariffs, steamships, factories, stocks, stores, real estate, and personal estate. ■" The little plentiful mannikins, skipping around in collars and tail'd coats, I am aware who they are — (they are positively not Vv^orms or fleas.) Walt Whit?iIan. 83 ^'^ I acknowledge the duplicates of myself — the weakest and shallowest is deathless with me ; What I do and say, the same waits for them ; Every thought that flounders in me, the same flounders in them. '-'^ I know perfectly well my own egotism ; I know my omnivorous lines, and will not write any less ; And would fetch you, whoever you are, flush with myself. •®^ No words of routine are mine. But abruj)tly to question, to leap beyond, yet nearer bring : This printed and bound book — but the printer, and the printing-office boy? The well-taken photographs — but yoiu' wife or friend close and solid in yoiu* arms? The black ship, mail'd with iron, her mighty guns in her turrets — but the pluck of the captain and engineers ? In the houses, the dishes and fare and furniture — but the host and hostess, and the look out of their eyes? The sky up there — yet hei'e, or next door, or across the way? The saints and sages in history — but you yourself? Sermons, creeds, theology — but the fathomless human brain. And what is reason ? and what is love ? and what is life ? 43. •^' I do not despise you, priests ; My faith is the greatest of faiths, and the least of faiths. Enclosing v,'orship ancient and modern, and all between ancient and modern. Believing I shall come again upon the earth after five thousand years, Waiting responses from oracles, honoring the Gods, saluting the sun, 84: Lea\t;3 of Gkass. Making a fetish of tlie first rock or stiiinp, powwowing' with sticks in the circle of obis, Helping the lama or brahmin as ho trims the lamps of the idols, Dancing yet through the streets in a phaUic proces- sion— rapt and austere in the woods, a gj-'m-ac- sophist, Drinking mead from the skull-cup — to Shastas and Vedas admirant — minding the Koran, Walking the teokallis, spotted with gore from the stone and knife, beating the serpent-skin di'vun, Accepting the Gospels — accepting him that was cruci- fied, knowing assnredly that he is divine, To the mass kneeling, or the puritan's prayer rising, or sitting patiently in a pew. Ranting and frothing in my insane crisis, or waiiiug- dead-like till my spirit arouses me, Looking forth on pavement and land, or outside cf pavement and land, Belonging to the winders of the circuit of circuits. *^^ One of that centripetal and centrifugal gang, I turn. and talk, Kke a man leaving charges before a journey. ^'^^ Dovxii-hearted doubters, dull and excluded, Frivolous, sullen, moping, angry, affected, dishcartcu'd^ atheistical ;. I know eveiy one of you — I know the sea cf torment, doubt, despair and unbelief. ■^ How the flukes splash ! How they contort, rapid as lightning, with spasms, and spouts of blood 1 -^' Be at peace, bloody fiiukes of doubters and sullen mopers ; I take my place among you as much as among any ; The past is the push of you, me, all, precisely the same, And what is yet untried and afterward is for you, me, all, precis^jcly the same. Walt Yv'hitman, 85 "**" I do not know what is untried and afterward ; But I know it will in its turn prove sufficient, and ean- ]iot fail. -®' Eacli who passes is consider' d — each v/lio stops is consider'd — not a single one can it fail. '^^ It cannot fail- the young man who died and v^as buried, Nor the youug woman who died and Vv-as put by his side. Nor the little child that peep'd in at the door, and then drew back, and was never seen again, Nor the old man v/ho has lived without purpose, and faels it with bitterness worse than gall, Nor him in the poor house, tubercled by lum and tho bad disorder. Nor the numberless sbughter'd and v/reck'd — nor tho brutish koboo call'cl the ordure of humanity, Nor the sacs merely floating with open mouths for food to slip in, Nor anything in the eiirth, or down in the oldest graves of the earth. Nor anything in the mjTiads of spheres — nor one of the myriads of myriads that inhabit them, Nor the present — nor the least wisp that is knovm. 44 '^^ It is time to explain myself — Let us stand up. 29-> "What is known I strip away ; I launch all men and women forward with mo into the Unknown. "^^ The clock indicates the moment — but what does eter- nity indicate? ^"^ We have thus far exhausted trillions of winters and summers ; There are trillions ahead, aiKl trillions ahead of them. 86 Leaves of Gkass. -^^ Births have brought us richness and variety, And other births will bring us richness and variety. -'"' I do not call one greater and one smaller ; That which fills its period and place is equal to any. ■"^ Were mankind murderous or jealous upon you, my brother, my sister? I am sorry for j'ou — they are not miu'derons or jealous upon me ; All has been gentle with mc — I keep no account with lamentation ; (What have I to do with lamentation ?) •^° I am an acme of things accomplish'd, and I an en- closer of things to be. 2" My feet strike an apex of the apices of the stairs ; On every step bunches of ages, and larger bunches t)e- tween the steps ; All below duly travel'd, and still I mount and mount. -°^ Rise after rise bow the phantoms behind me ; Afar dov/n I see the huge tirst Nothing — I know I was even there ; I vfaitcd unseen and always, and slept through the leth- argic mist, And took my time, and took no hurt from tlie fetid carbon. .-" Long I was hugg'd close — long and long. ^-^ Immense have been the preparations for me. Faithful and friendly the arms that have help'd me. ^'" Cj^cles ferried my cradle, rowing and rowing Uke cheerful boatmen ; For room to me stars kept aside in their own rings ; They sent influences to look after what was to hold me. Walt Whit^ian. 87 ^°- Before I v-'as boru out of my motlier, generations guided nic ; My embryo Las never been torpid — nothing could over- lay it. S03 jjiq^. jj. ^ViQ nebula cohered to an orb, The long slow strata piled to rest it on, Vast vegetables gave it sustenance, Monstrous sauroids transj^orted it in their mouths, and deposited it with care. ^" All forces have been steadily employ'd to complete and delight me ; Now on this spot I stand with my robust Soul. 45 ""^ O span of youth ! Ever-push'd elasticity ! O manhood, balanced, florid, and full. 205 T^jy lovers suffocate me ! Crowding my lips, thick in the pores of my skin, Jostling me through streets and public halls — coming naked to me at night. Crying by day Ahoy ! from the rocks of the river — swinging and chii'ping over my head, Calling my name fi"om flower-beds, vines, tangled under- brush, Lighting on ever_y moment of my life. Bussing my body with soft balsamic busses, Noiselessly passing handfuls out of their hearts, and giving them to be mine. ^°' Old age superbly rising ! 0 welcome, ineffable grace of dying days ! 3t>s Every condition promulges not only itself — it pro- niulges what grows after and out of itself. And the dark hush, promulges as much as any. ^°^ I oiDen my scuttle at night and see the far-sprinkled systems, 88 Leaves of Gsass. AnJ all I sac, multiplied as higli as I can cipher, edge but the rim of the farther systems. ""• "Wider and wider they spread, expanding, always ex- panding, Outward and outw.ird, and forever outward. ^" My sun has his sun, and round him obediently v^rheels, He joins with his partners a grouiD of superior circuit, And greater sets follow, making specks of the greatest inside them. ^''- There is no stoppage, and never can be stoppage ; If I, you, and the worlds, and ail beneath or upon their surfaces, were this moment reduced back to' a pallid float, it would not avail in the long run ; "VYe should surely bring up again where we now stand, And as surely go as much farther — and then farther and farther. ^'^ A few quadrillions of eras, a few octillions of cubic leagues, do not hazard the span, or make it im- patient ; They are but parts — anything is but a part. ^^^ See ever so far, there is limitless space outside of that ; Count ever so much, there is limitless time around that. 315 -^ij rendezvous is appointed — it is certain ; The Lord will be there, and wait till I come, on perfect terms ; (The great Camerado, the lover true for vhom I pine, v/ill be there.) 46 ^'® I know I have the best of time and space, and was never measured, and never will be measured. ^" I tramp a perpetual journey — (come listen all !) My signs are a rain-proof coat, r^ood shoes, and a staff cut from the woods ; Walt Whitman. 83 No friend of mine talie^ his ease in my cliair ; I have no chair, no church, no philosophy ; I lead no man to a dinner-table, libi'aiy, or exchange ; But each man and each woman of you I lead upon a knoll. My left hand hooking you round the waist, My right hand pointing to landscapes of continents, and a plain public road. ^'^ Not I — not any one else, can travel that road for you, You must travel it for yourself. ^'^ It is not far — it is within reach ; Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know ; Perhaps it is every where on water and on land. • ^■° Shoulder your duds, dear son, and I v/ill mine, and let us hasten forth, Wonderful cities and fi'ee nations we shall fetch as v/e go. '"*' If you tire, give me both burdens, and rest the chuff of your hand on my hip. And in due time you shall repay the same service to me ; For after vre start, wo never lie by again. ^-- This day before dawn I ascended a hill, and look'd at the crowded heaven. And I said to my Sioirit, When ice become the enfohlers of those orbs, and the pleasure and knowledge of everything in them, shall we be filVd and satisfied then ? And my Spirit said. No, we but level that lift, to pa^s and continue beyond. ^-^ You are also asking me questions, and I hear you ; I answer that I cannot answer — you mu4 find out for yourself. yO Leaves of Grass. ^■^ Sit a while, dear son ; Here are biscuits to eat, and here is milk to drink ; But as soon as you sleep, and renew yourself in sweet clothes, I kiss you with a good-bye kiss, and open the gate for your egress hence. ^'^ Long enough have you dream'd contemptible dreams; Now I wash the gum fi'om your eyes ; You must habit yourself to the dazzle of the light, and of every moment of your Hfe. '^^ Long have you timidly waded, holding a plank by the shore ; Now I will you to be a bold swimmer, To jump oii" in the midst of the sea, rise again, nod to me, shout, and laughingly dash with youi* hau*. 47 ^-' I am the teacher of athletes ; He that by me spreads a wider breast than my own, proves the width of my own ; He most honors my style who learns under it to destioy the teacher. ^-^ The boy I love, the same becomes a man, not through derived jDOwer, but in his own right, Wicked, rather than virtuous out of conformity or fear. Fond of his sv/eetheart, relishing well his steak. Unrequited love, or a slight, cutting him v^'orse than sharp steel cuts. First-rate to ride, to fight, to hit the bull's eye, to sail a skiiF, to sing a song, or play on the banjo, Preferring scars, and the beard, and faces pitted with small-]:>ox, over all latherers, And those well tann'd to those that keep out of the sun. ^'■^ I teach straying from me — yet who can stray from me? I follow you, whoever you are, from the j)rcserit hour ; My words itch at your ears till you imderstand them. I Walt Whitman. 91 ^^° I do not say these things for a dollar, or to fill uj) the time while I wait for a boat ; It is you talking just as much as myself— I act as the tongue of you ; Tied in your mouth, in mine it begins to be loosen'd. ^^' I swear I will -never again mention love or death in- side a house, And I swear I will never translate myself at all, only to him or her who privately stays with me in the open air. ^^- If you would understand me, go to the heights or water-shore ; The nearest gnat is an explanation, and a drop or mo- tion of waves a key ; The maul, the oar, the hand-saw, second my words. ^■'^ No shutter'd room or school can commune with me, But roughs and little childi'eu better than they. ^" The young mechanic is closest to me — he knows me well ; The woodman, that takes his axe and jug with him, shall take me vv^ith him all day ; The farm-boy, ploughing in the field, feels good at the sound of my voice ; In vessels that sail, my words sail — I go with fishermen and seamen, and love them. ^■^^ The soldier camp'd, or upon the march, is mine ; On the night ere the pending battle, many seek me, and I do not fail them ; On the solemn night (it may be their last,) those that know me, seek mo. 3315 ^ly fr^(,Q p^^-jjg ^q ^|-^q i^imtcr's facc, when he lies down alone in his blanket ; The driver, thinking of me, does not mind the jolt of his wagon ; 92 Leaves of Grass. The young mother and old mother comprehend me ; The girl and the wife rest the needle a moment, and forget where they are ; Thej and all would resume what I have told them. 48 ""'' I have said that the soul is not more than the body, And I have said that the body is not more than the soul; And nothing, not God, is greater to one tlian one's- self is, And Vv'hoever walks a furlong without symi^athy, walks to his own funeral, di'est in his shroud, And I or you, pocketless of a dime, may purchase the pick of the earth, And to glance with an eye, or show a baan in its pod, confounds the learning of all times, And there is no trade or employment but the young man follov/ing it may become a hero. And there is no object so soft but it makes a hub for the Avheei'd universe, And I say to any man or woman, Let your soul stand cool and composed before a million universes. ^^ And I say to mankind, Be not curious about God, For I, who am curious about each, am not curious about God; (No array of terms can say how much I am at peace about God, and about death.) ^^^ I hear and behold God in every object, yet under- stand God not in the least. Nor do I understand v/ho there can be more wonderful than myself. ■"^^ Why should I wish to see God better than this day ? I see something of God each hour of the twenty-foiu-, and each moment then ; In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass ; I find letters from God dropt in the street — and every one is sign'd by God's name, Walt Whitman. 93 And I leave tliem -n-liere they are, for I know that wheresoe'er I go, Others will punctually come forever and ever. 49 ^" And as to you Death, and you bitter hug of mortal- ity, it is idle to try to alarm me. ^■*'- To his work without flinching the accoucheur comes; I see the elder-hand, pressing, receiving, supporting ; I rechne by the sills of the exquisite flexible doors. And mark the outlet, and mark the relief and escape. '^^ And as to you, Corpse, I think you arc good mamu'e — but that does not offend me ; I smell the v/hite roses sweet-scented and growing, I reach to the leafy lips — I reach to the polish'd breasts of melons. '^ And as to you Lif _^, I reckon you arc the leavings of many deaths ; (No doubt I have died myself ten thousand times before.) "'^ I hear you whispei'ing there, O stars of heaven ; O suns ! O grass of graves ! O perpetual transfers and promotions If you do not say anything, how can I say anything ? ^^ Of the turbid pool that lies in the autumn forest. Of the moon that descends the steeps of the soughing twilight. Toss, sparlvles of day and dusk ! toss on the black stems that decay in the muck ! Toss to the moaning gibberish of the dry limbs. ^' I ascend from the moon, I ascend fi'om the night ; I perceive that the ghastly glimmer is noondaj' sunbeams reflected ; And debouch to the steady and central fi'om the off- spring great or small. 94 Leaves of Geass. 50 ^^^ There is that in me — I do not know what it is — but I know it is in me. 3w ■^Yrench'd and sweaty — calm and cool then my body becomes ; I sleep — I sleep long. ^^° I do not know it— it is without name — it is a word unsaid ; It is not in any dictionary, utterance, symbol. ^^' Something it swings on more than the earth I swing on ; To it the creation is the friend v/hose embracing awakes 352 pci-i^aps I might tell more. Outlines ! I plead for my brothers and sisters. "53 Dq yoQ gee, O my brothers and sisters ? It is not chaos or death — it is form, union, plan — it is eternal hfe — it is Happiness. 51 354 ijij^Q pg^g^ r^j^^ present Vv^lt — I have nll'd them, emp- tied them, And proceed to fiU my next fold of the future. ^'^ Listener up there ! Here, you ! What have you to confide to me ? Look in my face, while I snuff the sidle of evening ; Talk honestly — no one else hears you, and I stay only a minute longer. ^'^ Do I contradict myself ? Very well, then, I contradict myself ; (I am large — I contain multitudes.) ^" I concentrate toward them that are nigh — I wait on the door-slab. Walt Whitman. 95 35S Who Las clone his day's work ? Wlio will soonest be tlirougli with his suiDper ? Who v/ishes to walk with me ? S59 YiiH you speak before I am gone ? Will you prove already too late ? 52 ^^^ The spotted hawk swoops by and accuses me — he complains of my gab and my loitering. ^^' I too am not a bit tamed — I too am untranslatable ; I sound my barbaric yawp over the roofs of the world. ^^- The last scud of day holds back for me ; It flings my likeness after the rest, and true as any, on the shadow'd wilds ; It coaxes me to the vapor and the dusk. "•'^ I depart as air — I shake my white locks at the run- av/ay sun ; I eSuse my flesh in eddies, and drift it in lacj jags, ^" I bequeathe myself to the dirt, to grow from the grass I love ; If you want me again, look for me under your boot- soles. ^^^ You will hardly know who I am, or what I mean ; But I shall be good health to you nevertheless. And filter and fibre youi' blood. ^^^ Failing to fetch me at first, keep encouraged ; Missing me one place, search another ; I stop somewhere, waiting for you. 96 Leaves of Grass. Laws for Creations. ' Lav/s for Creations, For strong artists and leaders — for fresh broods of teachers, and perfect Hterats for America, For noble savans, and coming musicians. "^ All must have reference to the ensemble of the world, and the compact truth of the vt^orld ; There shall be no subject too pronounced — All works shall illustrate the divine law of indirections ^ "What do you suppose Creation is ? "What do you suppose will satisfy the Soul, except to walk fi-ee, and own no superior? "What do you suppose I would intimate to you in a hun- dred ways, but that man or woman is as good as God? And that there is ?io God any more divine than Your- self? And that that is what the oldest and newest myths finally mean ? And that you or any one must approach Creations through such lav/s ? VISOR'D. A mask — a perpetual natural disguiser of herself, Concealing her face, concealing her form. Changes and transformations every hoiu", every mo- ment. Falling ux^on her even when she sleeps. Leaves of Grass. To THE Garden, the World. To THE gai'deu, tlie world, anew ascending, Potent mates, daugliters, sons, pi-eluding, The love, tlie life of their bodies, meaning and being, Curious, here behold ray resurrection, after slumber ; The revolving cycles, in their wide sweep, having brought me again. Amorous, mature — all beautiful to me — all wondrous ; My limbs, and the quivering lire that ever plays through them, for reasons, most wondrous ; Existing, I peer and penetrate still. Content with the present — content v/ith the past. By my side, or back of me. Eve following. Or in front, and I following her just the same. From Pent-up Aching Rivers. From pent-up, aching livers ■; From that of myself, without which I were nothing ; From what I am determin'd to make illustrious, even if I stand sole among men ; From my own voice resonant — singing the phallus, Singing the song of procreation, 5 98 Leaves of Gp.ass. Singing the need of superb children, and therein superb grown people, Singing the muscular lu'ge and the blending, Singing the bedfellow's song, (0 resistless yearning ! O for any and each, the body correlative attracting ! 0 for you, whoever you are, your correlative body ! 0 it, more than ail else, you delighting !) — From the hungry gnaw that cats mo night and day ; From native moments — from bashful pains — Singing them ; Singing something yeb unfound, though I have dili- gently sought it, many a long year ; Singing the true song of the Soul, fitful, at random ; Singing wliat, to the Soul, entirely redeem'd her, the faithful one, even the prostitute, who detain'd me when I went to the city ; Singing the song of prostitutes ; Renascent with grossest Nature, or among animals ; Of that — of them, and what goes with them, my poems informing ; Of the smell of apples and lemons — of the pahing of birds, Of the wet of woods — of the lapping of waves. Of the mad pushes of waves upon the land — I them chanting ; The overture lightly sounding — the strain anticipat- ing- • The welcome nearness — the sight of the perfect body ; The swimmer swimming nalied in the bath, or motion- less on his bade Tying and floating ; Tiie female form approaching— I, pensive, love-flesh tremulous, aching ; The divine list, for myself or you, or for any one, mak- The face — the limbs — the index from head to foot, and what it arouses ; The mystic deliria — the madness amorous — the utter abandonment ; (Harli close, and still, what I now whisper to you, 1 lovs yon— O you entirely possess me, Chtlbrex 0? Adatj. 99 0 I wish that you and I escape from the rest, and go utterly off — O free and lawless, Two hawks iu the air — two fishes swimming in the sea not more lawless than we ;) ■ — The furious storm through me careering — I passion- ately trembUng ; The oath of the inseparableness of two together — of the woman that loves me, and whom I love more than my life — that oath swearing ; (O I wilHngly stake all, for you ! O let me be lost, if it must be so ! O you and I — what is it to us what the rest do or think ? What is all else to us ? only that we enjoy each other, and exhaust each other, if it must be so :) — From the master — the pilot I yield the vessel to ; The general commanding me, commanding all — from him permission taking ; From time the programme hastening, (I have loiter'd too long, as to is ;) From ses — From the warp and fi-om the woof ; (To talk to the perfect girl who understands me, To waft to her these from my own lips — to effuse them from my own body ;) From privacy — from frequent repinings alone ; From plenty of persons near, and yet the right person not near ; From the soft sliding of hands over me, and thrusting of fingers through my hair and beard ; From the long sustain'd kiss upon the mouth or bosom ; From the close pressure that makes me or any man drunk, fainting with excess ; From what the divine husband know^s — fi'om the work of fatherhood ; From exultation, victory, and relief — from the bedfel- lov/'s embrace in the night ; From the act-poems of eyes, hands, hips, and bosoms. From the cling of the trembling arm. From the bending curve and the clinch. From side by side, the pliant coverlid off-throwing. 100 Leaves o? Grass. From the one so unwilling to liave me leave — and me just as unwilling to leave, (Yet a moment, O tender waiter, and I return ;) — From tlie hour of shining stars and dropping dews, From the night, a moment, I, emerging, flitting out. Celebrate you, act diviue — and you, children prepared for. And you, stalwart loins. I SING THE BODY ELECTRIC. 1 ' I SING the Body electric ; The armies of those I love ongirth me, and I engirth them ; They wall not let me off till I go with them, respond to them. And discorrupt them, and charge them full wiLh the charge of the Soul. ^ Was it doubted that those who corrupt their own bodies conceal themselves ? " And if those who defile the living are as bad as they who defile the dead ? And if the body does not do as much as the Soul ? ibid if the body were not the Soul, what is the Soul? " The love of the Body of man or. woman balks ac- count— the body itself balks account.'; That of the male is perfect, and that of the: female is' perfect. ."; 1 :>;.'.:'; i . . -'•. '. ■* The expression of the face balks accouiit ; Childeen of Adam. 101 But the expression of a v;ell-made man ai^pears not only in bis face ; Ifc is in liis limbs and joints also, it is curiously in the joints of his hips and wrists ; It, is in his walk, the carriage of his neck, the flex of his waist and knees — di-ess does not hide him ; The strong, sweet, supple quality he has, strikes through the cotton and flannel ; To see him pass conveys as much as the best poem, perhaps more ; You linger to see his back, and the back of his neck and shoulder-side. ^ The sprawl and fulness of babes, the bosoms and heads of woriien, the folds of their dress, their style as we pass in the street, the contour of their shape downwards, The swimmer naked in the swimming-bath, seen as he swims through the transparent green-shine, or lies with his face up, and rolls silently to and fro in the heave of the water. The bending forward and backward of rowers in row- boats — the horseman in his saddle, Girls, mothers, house-keepers, in all their performances, The group of laborers seated at noon-time with their open dinner-kettles, and their wives waiting. The female soothing a child — the farmer's daughter in the garden or cow-yard. The young fellow hoeing corn — the sleigh-driver guiding his six horses through the crowd, The wrestle of wrestlers, two apprentice-boys, quite grown, lusty, good-natured, native-born, out on the vacant lot at sun-down, after work, The coats and caps thrown down, the embrace of love and resistance. The upper-hold and under-hold, the hair rumpled over and blinding the eyes ; The march of firemen in their own costumes, the play of masculine muscle through clean-setting trow- sers and v/aist-straps, 102 Leaves op Geass. The slow return from the fire, the pause when the bell strikes suddenly again, and the listening on the alert, The natural, perfect, varied attitudes — the bent head, the curv'd neck, and the counting ; Such-like I love — I loosen myself, pass freely, am at the mother's breast with the httle child, Swim with the swimmers, wrestle with wrestlers, march in line v/ith the firemen, and j)ause, listen, and count. 3 *^ I knew a man, a common farmer — the father of five sons ; And in them were the fathers of sons — and in them Vv^ere the fathers of sons. '' Tins man vfas cf v,-onderful vigor, calmness, beauty of person ; The shape of his head, the pale yellow ai I whif:e of his hair and beard, and the immeasurable mean- ing of his black eyes — the richness and breadth of his manners, These I used to go and visit him to see— he was wise also ; He was six feet tall, he was over eighty years old — his sons were massive, clean, bearded, tan-faced, handsome ; They and his daughters loved him — all who saw him loved him ; They did not love him by allowance — they loved him w^ith personal love ; He drank water only — the blood show'd like scarlet through the clear -brown skin of his face ; He was a frequent gunner and fisher -he sail'd his boat himself — ^he had a fine one presented to him by a ship-joiner — he had fowling-pieces, presented to him by men that loved him ; When he went with his five sons and many grand-sons to hunt or fish, you would pick him out. as the most beautiful and vigorous of the gang, Children of Adam. 103 You would wish long and long to be with him — you would wish to sit by him in the boat, that you and he might touch each other. ^ I have psrceiv'd that to be with those I like is enough. To stop in company with the rest at evening is enough, To be surrounded by beautiful, cuiious, breathing, laughing flesh is enough, To pass among them, or touch any one, or rest my arm ever so lightly round his or her neck for a mo- ment— what is thi-', then ? I do not ask any more delight — I swim in it, as in a sea. ® There is something in staying close to men and women, and looking on them, and in the contact and odor of them, that pleases the soul v.-ell ; All things pleaie the soul^but these please the soul well. '" This is the female form ; A divine nimbus exhales from it from head to foot ; It attracts with fierce undeniable attraction ! I am cli'awn by its breath as if I were no more than a helpless vapor — all falls aside but myself and it ; Books, art, religion, time, the visible and solid earth, the atmosphere and the clouds, and what was expected of heaven or fear'd of hell, are nov7 consumed ; Mad filaments, ungovernable shoots play out of it — the response hkewise ungovernable ; Hair, bosom, hips, bend of legs, negligent falhng hands, all diffused — mine too diffused ; Ebb stung by the flow, and flow stung by the ebb — love-flesh swelling and dehciously aching ; Limitless limpid jets of love hot and enormous, quiver- ing jelly of love, white-blovv' and delirious juice ; Bridegroom night of love, working surely and softly into the prostrate dawn ; 104 Leaves oe Geass. Undulating into tlae willing and yielding day, Lost in the cleave of the clasping and sweet-tiesh'd day. " This is the nucleus — after the child is born of woman, the man is born of woman ; This is the bath of birth — this is the merge of small and large, and the outlet again. '- Be not ashamed, women — your privilege encloses the rest, and is the exit of the rest ; You are the gates of the body, and you are the gates of the soul. '^ The female contains all qualities, and tempers them — she is in her place, and moves with perfect balance ; She is all things duly veil'd — she is both passive and active ; She is to conceive daughters as well as sons, and sons as well as daughters. '^ As T see my soul reflected in nature ; As I see through a mist, one with inexpressible com- pleteness and beauty. See the bent head, and arms folded over the breast — the female I see. '^ The male is not less the soul, nor more — ^he too is in his place ; He too is all qualities — he is action and power ; The flush of the kiiown universe is in him ; Scorn becomes him well, and appetite and defiance be- come him well ; The wildest largest passions, bliss that is utmost, sor- row that is utmost, become him well — pride is for him ; The full-spread pride of man is calming and excellent to the soul ; Knowledge becomes him — ^he likes it alvvays — he brings everything to the.test of himself ; Childeen of Adam. 105 'iVhatever the stirvej, whatever the sea and (he sail, he strikes soundings at last only here ; (Where else does he strike soundings, except here ?) '" The man's body is sacred, and the woman's body is sacred ; No matter w^ho it is, it is sacred ; Is it a slave ? Is. it one of the dull- faced immigrants just landed on the wharf ? Each belongs here or anywhere, just as much as the w^cU-off — ^just as much as you ; Each has his or her place in the procession. '' (All is a procession ; The imiverse is a procession, w'ith measiu'ed and beau- tiful motion. ) '^ Do you know^ so mucli yourself, that you call the slave or the dull-face ignorant ? Do 3'ou suppose you have a right to a good sight, and he or she has no right to a sight? Do you think matter has cohered together from its dif- fuse float— and the soil is on the surface, and water runs, and vegetation sprouts. For you only, ancl not for him and her ? '^ A man's Body at auction ; I help the auctioneer — the sloven does not half know his business. ^^ Gentlemen, look on this wonder ! Whatever the bids of the bidders, they cannot be high enough for it ; For it the globe lay preparing cpiintillions of years, v.'ithout one animal or plant ; For it the revolving cycles truly and steadily roll'd. *" In this head the aU-baffling brain ; In it and below it, the makings of heroes. lOo Leaves of Grass. ^^ Examine these limbs, red, black, or white — they are so cunning in tendon and nerve ; They sha,ll be stript, that you maj see them. "' Exquisite senses, life-lit eye:^, plucl:, volition. Flakes of breast-muscle, pliant back-bone and neck, flesh not iiabby, good-sized arms and legs, And wonders within there yet. -^ Within there runs blood, The same old blood! The same red-running blood ! There swells and jets a heart — there all passions, de- sires, reaehings, aspirations ; Do you think they are nob there because they are not express'd in parlors and lecture-rooms ? -^ This is not only one man — this is the father of tho:o who shall be fathers in their turns ; In him the start of populous states and rich republics ; Of him countless immortal lives, with countless embod- iments and enjoyments. ^^ How do you know who shall come from the offspring of his offspring through the centuries? "Who might you find you have come from yourself, if you could trace back through the centuries ? " A woman's Body at auction ! She too is not only herself — she is the teeming mother of mothers ; She is the bearer of them that shall grov/ and be mates to the mothers. ■^ Have you ever loved the Body of a woman ? Have you ever loved the Body of a man ? Your father — where is your father ? Your mother — is she living ? have you been much with her ? and has she been much with you ? Childri;:^ of iiDAM. 107 — Do you not see tliat these are exactly the same to all, in all nations and times, all over the eai'th ? ^" If any thing is sacred, the human body is sacred, And the glory aud sweet of a man, is the token of man- hood untainted ; And in man or ^Yoman, a clean, strong, firm-fibred body, is beautiful as the most beautiful face. ^^ Have you seen the fool that corrupted his own live body ? or the fool that corruptedher own live body ? For they do not conceal themselves, and cannot conceal themselves. 9 ^' O my Body ! I dare not desert the likes of you in other men and women, nor the likes of the parts of you ; I believe the likes of you are to stand or fall with the likes of the Soul, (and that they are the Soul ;) I believe the likes of you shall stand or fall with my poems— and that they are poems, T'.Im's, woman's, child's, youth's, wife's, husband's, mother's, father's, young man's, youog woman's poems ; Head, neck, hair, ears, drop and tympan of the ears. Eyes, eye-fringes, iris of the eye, eye-brows, and the waking or sleeping of the lids. Mouth, tongue, lips, teeth, roof of the mouth, jaws, and the jav^^-hinges. Nose, nostrils of the nose, and the partition. Cheeks, temples, forehead, chin, thi'oat, back of the neck, neck-slue. Strong shoulders, manly beard, scapula, hind-shoulders, and the ample side-round of the chest. Up)per-arm, arm-pit, elbow-socket, lower-arm, arm- sinews, arm-bones. Wrist and wrist-joints, hand, palm, knuckles, thumb, fore-finger, finger-balls, finger-joints, finger-nails. Broad breast-front, curhng hair of the breast, breast- bone, breast-side, 108 . Leaves of Grass..' Ribs, bel'ij^ bacli-bone, joints of the'baclc-boiae, : - Hip.3, hip-sockets, liip-strcug-th, inward and outward round, mau-balls, man-root, Strong set of tliiglis, welt carrying the trunk above, Leg-libres, knee, knee-pan, upper-leg, under leg, Ankles, instep, foot-ball, toes, toe-joints, the heel ; Ail attitudes, all the shapeliness, all the belongings of my or your body, or of any one's bod^^, male or female, The lung-sponges, the storaach-sac, the bowels sweet and clean, The brain in its folds inside the skull-frame. Sympathies, hsart-valves, palate-valves, sexuality, ma- ternity. Womanhood, and all that is a woman — and the man that comes from woman, The womb, the teats, nipples, breast-milk, tears, laugh- ter, weeping, love-looks, love-perturbations and risings, The voice, articulation, language, whispering, shouthig- aloud. Food, drink, pulse, digestion, sv.'eat, sleej), walking, swimming. Poise on the hips, leaping, reclining, embracing, arm- curA^ing and tightening, Tbe continual changes of the ilex of the mouth, and around the eyes, The skin, the sun-burnt shade, freckles, hair. The curious sympathy one feels, when feeling with the hand the naked meat of the body, The cii'cling rivers, the breath, and breathing it in and out. The beauty of the waist, and thence of the hips, and thence downward toward the knees. The thin red jellies within you, or within me — the bones, and the marrow in the bones. The exquisite realization of health ; O I say, these are not the parts and poems of the Body only, but of the Soul, O I say nov/ these are the Soul! Childken or Adam. 109 A Woman Waits for Me. ' A Vk'OMAN waits for me — she contains all, nothing is lacking, Yet all were lacldng, if sex were lacting, or if the mois- ture of the right man were laching. - Sex contains all, Bodies, Souls, meanings, proofs, purities, delicacies, re- sults, promulgations, Songs, commands, health, pride, the maternal mystery, the seminal milk ; All hopes, benefactions, bestowals. All the passions, loves, beauties, delights of the earth, All the governments, judges, gods, follow'd x^ei'sons of the earth, These are eontain'd in sex, as parts of itself, and justi- ficaiions of itself. ^ Yv^ithout shame the man I lite knows and avows the deliciousness of his sex, Without shame the woman I like knows and avows herrj. * Now I v/ill dismiss myself from impassive women, I will go stay with her vv'ho waits for me, and with those women that are warm-blooded and sufficient for me ; I see that they understand me, and do not deny me ; I see that they are worthy of me — I will be the robust husband of those women. '^ They are not one jot less than I am. They are tann'd in the face by shining suns and blow- ing winds. Their flesh has the old divine suppleness and strength, They know how to swim, row, ride, wrestle, shoot, run, strike, retreat, advance, resist, defend them- selves. 110 Leaves of Grass. They are ultimate in tlicir own riglit — they are cahn, clear, well-possess'd of themselves. ^ '■ I droLYf you close to me, you women ! I cannot let you go, I would do you good, I am for you, and you are for me, not only for our own sake, but for others' sakes ; Envelop'd in you sleep greater heroes and bards, They refuse to awake at the touch of any man but me. ' It is I, you women — I make my way, I am stern, acrid, large, undissuadable — but I love you, I do not hurt you any more than is necessary for you, I poiu- the- stuff to vstart sons and daughters fit for These States — I press with slow rude muscle, I brace myself effectually — I listen to no entreaties, I dare not withdraw till I deposit what has so long accumulated within me. ^ Through 5'ou I drain the pent-up rivers of myself, In you I wrap a thousand onward years. On you I graft the grafts of the best-beloved of me and America, The drops I distil upon you shall grow fierce and ath- letic girls, new artists, musicians, and singers. The babes I beget upon you are to beget babes in their turn, I shill demand perfect men and v,'onien out of my love- spendings, I shall expect them to interpenetrate with others, as I and you interpenetrate now, I shall count on the fruits of the gushing showers of them, as I count on the fruits of the gushing showers I give now, I shall look for loving crops fi'om the birth, life, death, immortality, I plant so lovingly now. CHILDr.ElT OF Al>A?J. Ill Spontaneous Me. Spontaneous rae, ISTaturo, The loving day, the mounting sun, the friend I arn happy with. The arm of my. friend ha,nging idly over my shoulder, The liill-side whiten'd with blossoms of the mountain ash. The same, late in autumn — the hues of red, yellow, drab, purple, and Hglit and dark green. The rich coverlid of the grass — animals and birds — the private untrimm'd bank — the primitive ap- ples— the pebble-stones, Beautiful dripping fi-agments — the negligent hst of one after another, as I happen to call them to mo, or think of them. The real poems, (what v/e call poems being merety pic- tures,) The poems of the privacy of the night, and of men like me, This poem, drooping shy and unseen, that I always carry, and that all men carry, (Know, once for all, avow'd on purpose, w^herever are men like me, are oui' lusly, lurking, masculine poems ;) Love-thoughts*, love-juice, love-odor, love-yielding, love- climbers, and the climbing sap. Arms and hands of love — lips of love — ^phallic thumb of love — breasts of love — ^bellies press'd and glued together with love, Earth of chaste love — life tbat is only Hfe after love. The body of my love — the body of the woman I love — the body of the man — the body of the earth. Soft forenoon airs that blow from the south-west. The hairy wild-bee that murmurs and hankers up and down — that gxipes the full-gi'own lady-flower, curves upon her with amorous firm legs, takes his will of her, and holds himself tremulous aud tight till he is satisfied, 112 Leaves of Grass. Tiie wet of woods througli tlie earlj hours, Two sleepers at night lying close together as they sleep, one with an arm slanting down across and below the waist of the other, The smell of apples, aromas from ernsh'd sage-plan 1, mint, birch-bark, The boy's longings, the glow and pressui'e as he con- fides to me wliat he was dreaming. The dead leaf whirhng its spii'al whii-1, and falling still and content to the ground, The no-form'd stings that sights, people, objects, sting me with. The hubb'd sting of myself, stinging me as much as it ever can any one. The sensitive, orbic, underlapp'd brothers, that only privileged feelers may be intimate where tbey are, The curious roamer, the hand, roaming all over the body — the bashful withdrawing of flesh where the fingers soothingly pause and edge them- selves. The limpid liquid within the young man. The vexed corrosion, so pensive and so painful. The torjnent — the irritable tide that will not be at rest. The like of the same I feel — the hke of the same in others, The young man that flushes and flushes, and the young- woman that flushes and flushes. The young man that wakes, deep at night, the hot hand seeking to repress what would master him ; The mystic amorous night — the strange half-welcome pangs, visions, sweats. The pulse pounding through palms and trembhng en- circling fingers — the young man all color'd, red, ashamed, angry ; The souse upon me of my lover the sea, as I lie willing and naked. The merriment of the twin-babes that crawl over the grass in the sun, the mother never turning her vigilant eyes from them, Children of Adam. 113 The waluufc-trunk, the walnut-husks, and the ripening or ripsu'd long-round walnuts ; The continence of vegetables, birds, animals, The consequent meanness of me should I skulk or find myself indecent, while birds and animals never once skulk or find themselves indecent ; The great chastity of paternity, to match the great chastity of maternity, The oath of procreation I have sworn— my Adamic and fresh daughters. The greed that eats me day and night with hungry gnaw, till I saturate v/hat shall produce boys to fill mj' place when I am through, The wholesome relief, repose, content ; And this bunch, pluck'd at random from myself ; It has done its work — I toss it carelessly to fall where it may. One Hour to Madnzss and Joy. ' One hour to madness and joy ! O furious ! O confine me not ! (What is this that frees me so in storms? What do my shouts amid lightnings and raging winds mean ?) ■ O to dvinlc the mystic deliria deeper than any other man ! 0 savage and tender achmgs ! (I bequeath them to yoa, my children, 1 tell them to you, for reasons, O bridegroom and bride.) •' O to be yielded to you, whoever you are, and you to be yielded to me, in defiance of the world ! O to return to Paradise ! O bashful and feminme ! O to di-aw 5-0U to ms — ^to plant on you for the first time the lips of a deteroin'd man ! 114 Leaves of Grass. ■* O tlie puzzle — the tlirice-tied knot — the deep and dark pool ! O all untied and illumin'd ! O to speed where there is space enough and air enough at last ! O to be absolv'd from pre\ious ties and conventions — I from mine, and you from yours ! O to find a new unthought-of nonchalance with the best of natujre ! O to have the gag remov'd from one's mouth ! O to have the feeling, to-day or any day, I am sufficient as I am ! ^ O something unprov'd ! something in a trance ! O madness amorous ! O trembliug ! O to escape utterly from others' anchors and holds ! To drive free ! to love free ! to dash reckless and dan- gerous To court destruction with taunts — with invitations ! To ascend — to ieiip to the heavens of the love indicated to mo ! To rise thither vvith my inebriate Soul ! To be lost, if it must be so ! To feed the remainder of life with one hour of fulness and fi'eedom ! With one brief hour of madness and joy. We Two — How long We were Fool'd. We two — how long we were fool'd ! Now transmuted, we swiftly escape, as Natui'e escapes ; We are Nature — long have we been absent, but now we I'eturn ; We become plants, leaves, foliage, roots, bark ; We are bedded in the ground — v»'e are rocks ; We are oaks — v/e grow in the openings side by side ; We browse — we are two among the wild herds, spon- taneous as anv ; Childkex or Adam. 115 We are two fislies swimming- in tlie sea together ; We are wliat the locust blossoms are — we drop scent around the lanes, mornings and evenings ; We are also the coarse smut of beasts, vegetables, mmerals ; We are two jtredator}^ hawks — we soar above, and look down ; We are two res^^lendent suns — we it is who balance ourselves, orbic and stellar — w^e are as two comets ; We prowl fang'd and foiu"- footed in the woods — v,e spi'ing on prey ; We are two clouds, forenoons and afternoons, driving- overhead ; We are seas mingling — yi>fr&2>S*»— O HYMEN! O HYMENEE ! O HYMEN ! O hymenee ! Why do you tantalize me thus? O why sting me for a swift moment only ? AVhy can j'ou not continue ? O why do you now cease ? Is it because, if you continued beyond the swift mo- ment, you would soon certainly kill me? AS ADAM, EAKLY IN THE MOENING. As Adam, early in the morning. Walking forth from the bower, refresh'd with sleejj ; Behold me where I pass — hear my voice — approach. Touch me — touch the palm of your hand to my Body as I pass ; Be not afraid of my Body. Childeen of x\dam. 119 I Heard You, Solemn-sweet Pipes of the Organ. I HKARD you, solemn-sweet pipes of the organ, as last Sunday morn I pass'cl tlie cburch ; Winds of autumn ! — as I walk'd the woods at dusk, I heard your long-stretch'd sighs, up above, so mournful ; I heard the perfect Italian tenor, singing at the opera — I heard the soprano in the midst of the quartet singing ; . . . Heart of my love ! — you too I heard, murmuring low, through one of the wrists around my head ; Heard the pulse of you, when all was still, ringing little bells last night under my ear. I AM HE THAT ACHES WITH LOVE. I AM he that aches with amorous love ; Does the earth gravitate ? Does not all matter, aching, attract all matter ? So the Body of me, to all I meet, or know. 120 Leaves of Grass. To Him that was Crucified. My spirit to yours, dcnr brother ; Do not mind because many, sounding your name, do not understand you ; I do not sound your name, but I understand you, (tliere are others also ;) I specify you with joy, 0 my comrade, to sahite you, and to sahite those who are with you, before and since — and those to come also. That we all labor together, transmitting the same charge and succession ; "We few, equals, indifferent of lands, indifferent of times ; We, enclosers of all continents, all castes — allowers of all theologies, Compassionaters, perceivers, rapport of men, "We walk silent among disputes and assertions, but reject not the disputers, nor any thing that is asserted ; "We hear the bawling and ,din — we are reach'd at by divisions, jealousies, recriminations on every side. They close peremptorily upon us, to surround us, my comrade. Yet v/e walk unheld, free, the whole earth over, jour- neying up and down, till we make our inefface- able mark upon time and the diverse eras. Till we saturate time and eras, that the men and wo- men of races, ages to come, may xn'ove brethren and lovers, as we are. Perfections. Only themselves understand themselves, and the like of themselves, As Souls only understand Souls. Leaves of Grass. CALAMUS. In Paths Untrodden. In paths imtrocTclen, In the growth hj margins of poncl-waterp, Escaped from the life that exhibits itself, From all the standards hitherto publish'd — from the pleasures, profits, emditions, conformities, "WTaich too long I was ofiering to feed my sonl ; Clear to me, now, standards not yet publish'd — clear to me that my Soul, That the Soul of the man I speak for, feeds, rejoices most in comrades ; Here, by myself, away from the clank of the world. Tallying and talk'd to here by tongues aromatic, No longer abash'd — for in this secluded spot I can re- spond as I Yvould not dare elsewhere. Strong upon me the life that does not exhibit itself, yet contains all the rest, Resolv'd to sing no songs to-day but those of manly attachment. Projecting them along that substantial life,- Bequeathing, hence, types of athletic love. Afternoon, this delicious Ninth-month, in my forty-first year, I proceed, for all who are, or have been, young men, To tell the secret of my nights and days, To celebrate the need of comrades. G 122 Leaves of Gkass. Scented Herbage of My Breast. Scented herbage of my bi'east. Leaves from you I yield, I write, to be perused best afterwards, Tomb-leaves, body-leaves, growing up above me, above death. Perennial roots, tall leaves — O the winter shall not freeze you, deHcate leaves, Every year shall you bloom again — Out from where you retifed, you sliall emerge again ; 0 I do not know whether many, passing by, will dis- cover you, or inhale your faint odor — but I be- lieve a few will ; O slender leaves ! O blossoms of my blood ! I permit you to tell, in your own way, of the heart that is under you ; O burning and throbbing — surely all will one day be accomplish 'd ; 0 I do not know what you mean, there underneath yourselves — you are not happiness. You are often more bitter than I can bear — you biu-n and sting me, Yet you are very beautiful to me, you faint-tinged roots — you make me think of Death, Death is beautiful from you — (what indeed is finally beautiful, except Death and Love ?) —0 I think it is not for life I am chanting here my chant of lovers — I think it must be for Death, For how calm, how solemn it grows, to ascend to the atmosphere of lovers. Death or life I am then indifferent — my Soul declines to prefer, 1 am not sure but the high Soul of lovers welcomes death most ; Indeed, O Death, I think now these leaves mean pre- cisely the same as you mean ; Grow up taller, sweet leaves, that I may see ! grow up out of my breast ! Calamus. 123 Spring away from the couceal'd lieart there ! Do not fold yourself so in yonr pink-tinged roots, timid leaves ! Do not remain down there so ashamed/ herbage of my breast ! Come, I am determiu'd to unbare this broad breast of mine — I have long enough stifled and choked : — Emblematic and capricious blades, I leave you — now you serve me not ; Away ! I will say what I have to say, by itself, I will escape from the sham that was projiiosed to me, I will sound myself and comrades only — I will never again utter a call, only their call, I will raise, with it, immortal reverberations through The States, I will give an example to lovers, to take permanent shape and will through The States ; Through me shall the words be said to make death exhilarating ; Give me yoiu" tone therefore, O Death, that I may ac- cord with it. Give me yourself — for I see that you belong to me now above all, and are folded insej)arably together — you Love and Death are ; Nor vvill I allow you to balk me any more with Vv'hat I was calhng life, For now it is convey'd to me that you are the purports essential, That you hide in these shifting forms of life, for reasons — and that they are mainly for you, That you, beyond them, come forth, to remain, the real reality, That behind the mask of materials you patiently wait, no matter how long, That you will one day, perhaps, take control of all, That you will perhaps dissipate this entire show of appearance. That may-be you are what it is all for — but it does not last so very long ; !6ut you wiU last very long. 12-1 Leaves of Geass. Whoever you are, Holding me now in Hand. ^ Whoevee you are, holding me now in hand, "Without one thing, all will be useless, I give you fair warning, before you attempt me further, I am not what you supposed, but far different. - Who is he that v/ould become my follower ? Who would sign liimself a candidate for my affections ? ^ The way is suspicious — the result uncertain, perhaps destructive ; You would have to give up all else — I alone would ex- pect to be your God, sole and exclusive, Your novitiate would even then be loilg and exhausting, The whole past theory of your life, and all conformity to the lives around you, would have to ])e aban- don'd ; Therefore release me ncv/, before troubling yourself any further — Let go jonr hand from my shoulders, Put me down, and depart on your vray. * Or else, by stealth, in some wood, for trial, Or back of a rock, in the open air, (For in any roof 'd room of a house I emerge no!; — nor in company, And in libraries I lie as one dumb, a gawk, or unborn, or dead,) But just possibly with j'ou on a high hill — first watch- ing lest any person, for miles around, approach imawares, Or possibly with you sailing at sea, or on the beach of the sea, or some quiet island, Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you, Wath the comrade's long-d\velling kiss, or the new hus- band's kiss, For I am the new husband, and I am the comrade. ^ Or, if you will, thrusting me beneath your clothing. Calamus, 125 "Where I may feel the throbs of j-our heart, or rest upon yoiu- hip, Carry me when you go forth over land or sea ; For thus, merely touching you, is enough— is best. And thus, touching you, would I silently sleep and be carried eternally. ® But these leave's conning, you con at peril. For these leaves, and me, you will not understand. They will elude you at first, and still more afterward — I will certainly elude yon. Even while you should think you had unquestionably caught me, behold ! Already you see I have escaped from you. ' For it is not for what I have put into it that I have v/ritten this book. Nor is it by reading it you will acquire it, Nor do those know me best who admire me, and vaunt- iugly praise me, Nor wiU the candidates for my love, (unless at most a very few,) prove victorious. Nor will my poems do good only — they will do just as much evil, perhaps more ; For all is useless v/ithout that which you may guess at many times and not hit — that v/hich I hinted at ; Therefore release me, and depart on your way. lAWyWAA/w. — . These I, Singing in Spring. These, I, singing in spring, collect for lovers, (For who but I should understand lovers, and all their sorrow and joy ? And who but I should be the poet of comrades ?) Collecting, I traverse the garden, the v/orld — but soon I pass the gates. 123 Leaves of Grass. Now along tlie pond-side — now wading in a little, fear- ing not tlie wet, Now by the post-and-rail fences, where the old stones thrown there, pick'd from the fields, have accu- mulated, (Wild-flowers and vines and weeds come up through the stones, and partly cover them — Beyond these I pass,) Far, far in the forest, before I think whore T go. Solitary, smelling the earthy smell, stopping now and then in the silence, Alone I had thought — yet soon a troop gathers around me, Some walk by my side, and some behind, and some em- brace my arms or neck. They, the spirits of dear friends, dead or alive — thicker they come, a great crowd, and I in the middle. Collecting, dispensing, singing in spring, there I wander with them. Plucking something for tokens — tossing tov^-ard vv'hoever is near me ; Here ! lilas, with a branch of pine. Here, out of my pocket, some moss which I pnll'd off a live-oak in Florida, as it hung trailing down. Here, some pinks and laurel leaves, and a handful of sag-e. And here v/hat I now dravv^ from the water, wading in the pond-side, (O here I last saw him that tenderly loves me — and re- turns again, never to separate from me. And this, O this shall henceforth be the token of com- rades— this Calamus-root shall. Interchange it, youths, with each other! Let none render it back!) And twigs of maple, and a bunch of wild orange, and chestnut. And stems of currants, and plum -blows, and the aro- matic cedar : These, I, compass'd around by a thick cloud of spirits. Wandering, point to, or touch as I pass, or throw them loosely from me, Calamus. 127 Indicating to eacli one what lie sliall have — giving some- tliing to each ; But what I drew from the water by the pond-side, that I reserve, I will give of it — but only to them that love, as I my- self am capable of loving. A Song, Come, I will make the continent indissoluble ; I will make the most sjilendid race the sun ever yet shone upon ; I will make divine magnetic lands, ,»v With the love of comrades. With the life-lonff love of comrades. I will plant companionship thick as trees along all the rivers of America, and along the shores of the great lakes, and all over the prairies ; I will make inseparable cities, Vtdth their arms about each other's necks ; By the love of comrades. By the manly ]ove of comrades. For you these, from me, O Democracy, to serve you, ma femme ! I'or you ! for you, I am trilling these songs, In the love of comrades, In the high-tov/ering love of comrades. 128 Leaves of Grass. Not Heaving from my Ribb'd Breast only. Not lieaymg from my ribb'd breast only ; Not in sighs at night, in rage, dissatisfied "vrith myself ; Not in those long-drawn, iU-supprest sighs ; Not in many an oath and promise broken ; Not in my wilful and savage soul's volition ; Not in the subtle nourishment of the air ; Not in this beatiug and pounding at my temples and wrists ; Not in the curious systole and diastole within, v/hich Vr'ill one day cease ; Not in many a hungry wish, told to the sties only ; Not in cries, laughter, defiances, thrown from me when alone, fur in the wilds ; Not in husky pantmgs through clench'd teeth ; Not in sounded and resounded, words — chattering words, echoes, dead words ; Not in the murmurs of my dreams while I sleep, Nor the other murmurs of these incredible dreams of everyday; Nor in the limbs and senses of my body, that take you and dismiss you continually — Not there ; Not in any or all- of them, O adhesiveness! O pulse of my life ! Need I that you exist and show yourself, any more than in these song's. Of the Terrible Doubt of Appearances. Of the terrible doubt of appearances, Of the uncertainty after all — that vre may be deluded, That may-be reliance and hope are but speculations after all, Tliat may-be identity beyond the grave is a beautiful fable only, Calajics. 129 May-be the tilings I perceive — the animals, plants, men, hills, shining and flowing waters. The skies of day and night — colors, densities, forms — May-be these nrq, (as doubtless they are,) only apparitions, and the real something has yet to be known ; (How often they dart out of themselves, as if to con- found me and mock me ! How often I tliinli neither I know, nor any man knoAvs, aught of them ;) May -be seeming to me wdiat they are, (as doubtless they indeed but seem^) as from my present point of view — And might prove, (as of course they would,) naught of what they appear, or naught any how, fi'om entirely changed points of vievv^ ; — To me, these, and the like of these, are curiously an- swer'd by my lovers, my dear friends ; "\Mien he whom I love travels with me, or sits a long while holding me by the hand, Allien the subtle air, the impalpable, the sense that words and reason hold not, surround us and pervade us. Then I am charged with untold and untellable wisdom. — I am silent — I require nothing further, I cannot answer the question of appearances, or that of identity beyond the grave ; But I walk or sit indifferent — I am satisfied. He ahold of my hand has completely satisfied me. The Base of all Metaphysics. ' And now, gentlemen, A word I give to remain in your memories and minds, As base, and finale too, for all metaphysics. " (So, to the students, the old professor, At the close of his crov/ded course.) 139 Le-vveo of Grass. ^ Having studied the new and antique, the Greek and Germanic systems, Kant having studied and stated — Fichte and Schelhng and Hegel, Stated the lore of Plato — and Socrates, greater than Plato, And greater than Socrates sought and stated — Christ divine having studied long, I see reminiscent to-day those Greek and Germanic systems, See the philosophies all — Christian churches and tenets see. Yet underneath Socrates clearly see — and underneath Clnist the divine I see, The dear love of man for his comrade — the attraction of friend to friend. Of the well-married husband and wife — of children and parents, Of city for city, and land for land. Recorders Ages Hence. Recorders ages hence ! Come, I will take you down underneath this impassive exterior — I will tell you Vv4iat to say of me ; Publish my name and hang up my picture as that of the tenderest lover, The friend, the lover's portrait, of whom his friend, his lover, was fondest, Who was not proud of his songs, but of the measure- less ocean of love within him — and freely pour'd it forth, "Who often walk'd lonesome walks, thinking of his dear fi'iends, his lovers. Who pensive, away from one he lov'd, often lay sleep- less and dissatisfied at night. Calamus. 131 Who knew too vrell the sict, sick dread lest tlie one lie lov'd miglit secretly be indifferent to liim, Whose happiest days were far away, through fields, in woods, on hills, he and another, wandering hand in hand, they twain, apart from other men. Who oft as he saunter'd the streets, curv'd with his arm the shoulder of his friend — y/hile the arm of his friend rested ui:>on him also. WHEN I HEAKD AT THE CLOSE OF THE DAY. When I heard at the close of the day how my name had been receiv'd with plaudits in the capitol, still it was not a happy night for me that fol- low'd ; And else, when I carous'd, or when my plans were accomplish'd, still I was not happy ; But the day when I rose at dawn from the bed of per- fect health, refresh'd, singing, inhaling the ripe breath of autumn, When I saw the full moon in the >\-est grow pale and disappear in the morning light. When I wander'd alone over the beach, and undress- ing, bathed, laughing with the cool Vv^aters, and savf the sun rise. And when I thought how my dear friend, my lover, was on his way coming, O then I was happy ; 0 then each breath tasted sweeter — and all that day my food nourish'd me more— and the beautiful day pass'd well. And the next came with equal joy — and with the next, at evening, came my friend ; And that night, while all was still, I heard the waters roll slowly continually up the shores, 1 heard the hissing rustle of the liquid and sands, as directed to me, whispering, to congratulate me. t-o 132 Leaves of Gkass. For tlie one I lovo most lay sleeping by me under tli same cover in the cool night, la the stillness, in the autumn moonbeams, his face vf inclined toward me, And his arm lay ligLtly around my breast— and that night I was happy. Are You the Is'ew Person drawn toward Me? Aee you the nev/ person drawn toward me? To begin with, take vv^arning — I am surely far difierent from what you suppose ; Do you suppose you v/ill lind in me your ideal ? Do you think it so easy to have me become your lover? Do you think the friendship of me would be unalloy'd satisfaction ? Do you think I am trusty and faithful ? Do you see no further than this facade — this smooth and tolerant manner of me ? Do you suppose yourself advancing on real ground to- v.'ard a real heroic man ? Have yoti no thought, O dreamer, that it may be all maya, illusion ? Roots and Leaves Themselves Alone, Roots and leaves themselves alone are these ; Scents brought to men and women from the wild woods, and from the pond-side, Breast-sorrel and jDinks of love — fingers that wind around tighter than vines. Gushes from the throats of birds, hid in the foliage of trees, as the sun is risen : Calaimuj.. 133 Breezes of land and love — breezes set from living shores out to you on tlie living sea — to you, O sailors ! E'rost-mellow'd berries, and Third-month tvv'igs, ofier'd fresh to young joersons wandering cut in the fields when the winter breaks up. Love-buds, put before you and within you, whoever you are. Buds to bo unfolded on the old terms ; If 3-0U bring the warmth of the sun to them, they will open, and bring form, color, perfume, to you ; If you become the aliment and the v/et, they will iDecome flowers, fruits, tall branches and trees. Not Fleat Flames up and Consumes. Not heat flames up and consumes. Not sea-waves hurry in and out. Not the air, delicious and dry, the air of the ripe sum- mer, bears lightly along white down-balls of myriads of seeds, "Wafted, sailing gracefully, to drop where they may ; Not these— O none of these, more than the flames of me, consuming, bui'ning for his love whom I love ! O none, more than I, hurrying in and out : — Does the tide hurry, seeking something, and never give up ? 0 1 the same ; O nor dowu-baUs, nor perfumes, nor the high, rain- emitting clouds, are borne through the open air, Any more than my Soul is borne through the open air, Wafted in all directions, O love, for friendship, for you. 134 Leaves of Grass. Trickle, Drops. Trickle, drops! my blue veins leaving! O drops of me ! trickle, slow droj)s, Candid, from me falling- — drij), bleeding drops, From wounds made to free you whence you were prison'd. From my face — from my forehead and lips. From my breast — from within where I vvas conceal' d — press forth, red drops — confession drojDS ; Stain every page — stain every song I sing, every word I say, bloody drops ; Let them know youi' scarlet heat — let them glisten ; Saturate theai with youi'self, all ashamed and wet ; Glow upon all I have written, or shall Vv^rite, bleeding drops ; Let it all be seen in your light, blushing drops. City of Oro;ies. City of orgies, walks and joys ! City whom that I have lived and sung in your midst will one day make you illustrious. Not the j)ageants of you — not your shifting tableaux, youi' spectacles, repay me ; Not the interminable rows of your houses — nor the shij)s at the v/harves. Nor the processions in the streets, nor the bright win- dov/s, with goods in them ; Nor to converse with learn'd persons, or bear my share in the soiree or feast ; Not those — but, as I pass, O Manhattan ! your frequent and swift flash of eyes offering me love. Offering response to my own — these repay me ; Lovers, continual lovers, only repay mo. Calamus. 135 Behold this Swarthy Face. Behold this swartliy face — these gray eyes, This beard — the white v/ool, unclipt upon my neck, My brown hands, and the silent manner of me, without charm ; Yet comes one, a Manhattan ese, and ever at parting, kisses me hghtly on the lips with robust love, x\nd I, on the crossing of the sti'eet, or on the ship's deck, give a kiss in retiu'n ; "VVe observe that salute of American comrades, land and sea, "We are those two natural and nonchalant persons. -•»d3^ S>2'0«'^— I saw in Louisiana a Live-Oak Growing. I SAW in Louisiana a Hve-oak growing, All alone stood it, and the moss hung down from the branches ; Without any companion it grew there, uttering joyous leaves of dark green. And its look, rude, unbending, lusty, made me think of myself ; But I wonder'd how it could utter joyous leaves, stand- ing alone there, without its friend, its lover near — for I knew I could not ; And I broke oft" a twig with a certain number of leaves upon it, and twined around it a little moss. And brought it away — and I have placed it in sight in my room ; It is not needed to remind me as of my own dear friends, (For I believe lately I think of little else than of them ;) Yet it remains to me a curious token — it makes me think of manly love ; For all that, and though the live-oak glistens there in Louisiana, solitary, in a wide flat space. Uttering joyous leaves all its life, without a friend, a lo\er, near, I know very well I could not. , 13G Leaves of Geass. TO A STRANGER. pAssiNa stranger! you do not know how longingly I look npon you, You must be be I was seeking, or slie I was seeking, (it comes to me, as of a clream,) I liave somewhere surely lived a life of joy with you. All is recall'd as Vv^e flit by each other, fluid, afl'ectionatc, chaste, matured, You grew up Vv'ith me, were a boy with me, or a girl with me, I ate with you, and slept with you — ^your body has be- come not 3'ours only, nor left my body mine only, You give me the pleasure of your eyes, face, flesh, as vie pass — you take of my beard, breast, hands, in return, I am not to speak to you — I am to think of you when I sit alone, or wake at night alone, I am to wait — I do not doubt I am to meet you again, I am to see to it that I do not lose you. This Moment, Yearning and Thoughtful. This moment yearning and thoughtful, sitting alone, It seems to me there are other men in other lands, yearning- and thoughtful ; It seems to me I can look over and behold them, in Germany, Italy, France, Spain — or far, far away, in China, or in Russia or India — talking other dialects ; And it seems to me if I could know those men, I should become attached to them, as I do to men in my OAvn lands ; 0 I know we should be brethren and lovers, 1 know I should bo happy with Ihsm. Calamus. 137 I Hear it was Charged Against Me. I HiLVR it was'cliarged against me that I sought to de- stroy institutions ; But really I am neither for nor against institutions ; (What indeed have I in common with them ? — Or what with the destruction of them ?) Only I will establish in the Mannahatta, and in every city of These States, inland and seaboard, And in the fields and woods, and above every keel, little or large, that dents the water. Without edifices, or rules, or trustees, or any argu- ment. The institution of the dear love of comrades. The Prairie-Grass Dividing. The prairie-grass dividing — its special odor breathing, I demand of it the spiritual corresponding. Demand the most copiou!^ and close companionship of men, Demand the blades to rise of vrords, acts, beings. Those of the open atmosphere, coarse, sunlit, frcoh, nutritious, Those that go their own gait, erect, stepping with free- dom and command — leading, not following. Those with a never-quell'd audacity — those with svrcet and lusty fiesh, clear of taint, Tliose that look carelessly in the faces of Presidents and Governors, as to say. Who are yoic ? Those of earth-born passion, simple, never-coustrain'd, never obedient. Those of inland America. 138 Leaye3 of Gkass. We Two Boys Together Clinging. We two boys together clinging, One the other never leaving, Uj) and down the roads going — North and Sonth excur- sions making, Power enjoying — elbows stretcliing — fingers clutching, Arm'd and fearless — eating, drinking, sleeping, loving, No law less than ourselves owning — sailing, soldiering, thieving, threatening, Misers, menials, priests alarming — air breathing, water drinking, on the turf or the sea-beach dancing, Cities wa-enchiug, ease scorning, statutes mocking, fee- bleness chasing. Fulfilling our foray. A Promise to California. A PROMISE to California, Also to the great Pastoral Plains, and for Oregon : Sojourning east a whOe longer, soon I travel toward you, to remain, to teach robust American love ; For I know very well that I and robust love belong among you, inland, and along the Western Sea ; For These States tend inland, and toward tlio Western Sea — and I will also. Here the Frailest Leaves of Me. Here the frailest leaves of me, and yet niy strongest- lasting : Here I shade and hide my thoTiglits — I myself do not expose them. And yet they expose mc more than all my other poems. Calamus. 139 When I Peruse the Conquer'd Fame. When I peruse the conquer'd fame of heroes, and the victories of mighty generals, I do not envy the generals, Nor the President in his Presidency, nor the rich in his great house ; But when I hear of the brotherhood of lovers, how it was with them, How through life, through dangers, odium, unchanging, long and long. Through yoiith, and through middle and old age, how unfaltering, how affectionate and faithful they were, Then I am pensive — I hastily walk away, fill'd with the bitterest envy. What Think You I take my Pen in Hand? What think you I take my pen in hand to record ? The battle-ship, perfect-model'd, majestic, that I saw pass the ofiing to-day under full sail ? The splendors of the past day ? Or the splendor of the night that envelops me ? Or the vaunted glory and growth of the great city sj)read around me ? — No ; But I record of two simple men I saw to-day, on the pier, in the midst of. the crowd, parting the part- ing of dear friends ; The one to remain hung on the other's neck, and pas- sionately kisss'd him. While the one to depart, tightly prest the one to remain in his arms. 140 Leaves of Geass. A Glimpse. A GLIMPSE, tiirougii an interstice caught, Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around tlie stove, late of a winter niglit — And I nnremark'd, seated in a corner ; Of a youtli who loves me, and whom I love, silently ap- proaching, and seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand ; A long while, amid the noises of coming and going — of drinking and oath and smutty jest. There we two, content, happy in being together, speak- ing little, perhaps not a word. No Labor-Saving Machine. No labor-saving machine. Nor discovery have I made ; Nor xnll I be able to leave behind me any wealthy be- quest to found a hospital or library, / Nor reminiscence of any deed of courage, for America, / Nor literary success, nor intellect — nor book for the book-shelf ; Only a fev/ carols, vibrating through the air, I h ave. For comrades and lovers. A LEx\F FOE HAND IN HAND. A Leaf for hand in hand! You natural persons old and j^onng ! You on the Mississippi, and on all the branches and bayous of the Mississippi ! You friendly boatmen and mechanics ! You roughs ! You twain! And all processions moving a,long the streets ! I v/ish to infuse myself among you till I see it com- mon for you to walli hand in hand ! Calamus. 141 TO THE EAST AND TO THE \¥EST. To the East and to the West ; To the man of the Seaside State, and of Pennsylvania, To the Kauadiau of the North — to the Southerner I loYe ; These, with perfect trust, to depict you as rnyself — the germs are in all men ; I believe the main purport of These States is to found a superb friendship, exalte, previously unknown, Because I perceive it waits, and has been always wait- ing, latent in all men. Earth ! My Likeness ! Eakth ! my likeness ! Though you look so impassive, ample and spheric there, I now suspect that is not all ; I now suspect there is something fierce in you, eligible to burst forth ; For an athlete is enamour'd of me — and I of him ; But toward him there is something fierce and terrible in me, eligible to burst forth, I dare not tell it in words-^not even in these songs. I DREAM'D IN A DREAM. I deeam'd in a dream, I saw a city invincible to the attacks of the whole of the rest of the earth ; I dream'd that was the new City of Fi-iends ; Nothing was greater there than the quality of robust love — it led the rest ; It was seen every hour in the actions of the men of thcat city, And in all their looks and words. 142 Leaves of Grass. FAST ANCHOK-D, El^EENAL, 0 LOVE! Fast-anchor'd, eternal, O love ! O womau I love ! 0 bride ! O wife ! more resistless than I can tell, the thought of you ! — Then sej^arate, as clisembodied, or another born, Ethereal, the last athletic reality, my consolation ; 1 ascend — I float in the regions of your love, O man, O sharer of my roving life. Sometimes with One I Love. Sometimes with one I love, I fill myself with rage, for fear I effuse unreturn'd love ; But now I think there is no unreturn'd love — the pay is certain, one way or another ; (I loved a certain person ardently, and ray love was not return'd ; Yet out of that, I have written these songs.) That Shadow, my Likeness. That shadow, my likeness, that goes to and fi'o, seek- ing a livelihood, chattering, chaffering ; How often I find myself standing and looking at it where it flits ; How often I question and doubt whether that is really me ; — But in these, and among my lovers, and caroling my songs, O I never doubt whether that is really me. Calamus. 143 AMONG THE MULTITUDE. ' Among tlie men and -women, tlie multitude, I perceive one picking me out by secret and divine signs, Acknowledging none else — not parent, wife, liusband, brother, child, any nearer than I am ; Some are baffled — But that one is not — that one knows me. ^ Ah, lover and perfect equal ! I meant that you should discover me so, by my faint indirections ; And I, when I meet you, mean to discover you by the like in you. TO A WESTERN BOY. O EOT of the West ! To you many things to absorb, I teach, to help you become eleve of mine : Yet if blood like mine circle not in your veins ; If you be not silently selected by lovers, and do not silently select lovers, Of what use is it that you seek to become eleve of mine ? O YOU WHOM I Often and Silently Come. 0 YOU whom I often and silently come where you are, that I may be with you ; As I walk by your side, or sit near, or remain in the same room with you. Little you know the subtle electric fire that for your sake is playing within me. 144 Leaves of Grass. Full of Life^ Now. ' Full of life, now, compact, visible, I, forty years old the Eighty-third Year of The States, To one a century hence, or any number of centuries hence. To you, yet unborn, these, seeking you. ^ When you read these, I, that was visible, am become invisible ; Now it is you, compact, visible, realizing my poems, seeking me ; Fancying how happy you were, if I could be with you, and become your comrade ; Be it as if I were with 3'ou. (Be not too certain but I am now with you.) Leaves of Grass. SALUT AU MONDE! ' O TAKE my liand, Walt Whitman ! Such gliding wonders ! such sights and sounds ! Such join'd unended links, each hook'd to the next ! Each answering all — each sharing the earth with all. - What widens within you, Walt Whitman ? What waves and soils exuding ? W^h-at climes ? what persons and lands are here ? Who are the infants ? some playing, some slumbering? Who are the girls ? who are the married women ? Who are the groups of old men going slowly with their arms about each other's necks '? What rivers are these ? what forests and fruits are these ? What are the mountains call'd that rise so high in the mists ? What myriads of dwellings are they, fiU'd with dwellers ? ^ Within me latitude widens, longitude lengthens ; Asia, Africa, Europe, are to the east — Ameiica is pro- vided for in the west ; Banding the bulge of the earth winds the hot equator, Curiously north and south turn the axis-ends ; Within me is the longest day — the sun vvheels in slant- ing rings— it does not set for months ; 7 140 Leavks of Grass. Stretcli'cl in duo time witliin me the midnight sun just rises above the horizon, and sinks again ; Within me zones, seas, cataracts, plants, volcanoes, groups, Malaysia, Polynesia, and the great West Indian islands. 3 ' What do you hear, Walt Whitman ? ° I hear the workman singing, and the farmer's vrife singing ; I hear in the distance the sounds of children, and of animals early in the day ; I hear quick rifle-cracks from the riflemen of East Ten- nessee and Kentucky, hunting on hills ; I hear emulous shouts of Australians, pursuing the ^yild horse ; I hear the Spanish dance, with castanets, in the chestnut shade, to the rebeck and guitar ; I hear continual echoes from the Thames ; I hear fierce French hberty songs ; I hear of the Italian boat-sculler ihe musical recitative of old poems ; I hear the Virginia plantation-chorus of negroes, of a harvest night, in the glare of pine-knots ; I hear the strong baritone of the 'loDg-sh ore-men of Mannahatta ; I hear the stevedores unlading the cargoes, aud singing ; I hear the screams of the water-fowl of solitary north- west lakes ; I hear tbe rustling pattering of locusts, as they strike the grain and gi'ass with the showers of their terrible clouds ; I hear the Coptic refrain, toward sundown, pensively falling on the breast of the black venerable vast mothei', the Nile ; I hear the bugles of raft-tenders on the streams of Kanada ; I hear the chirp of the Mexican muleteer, and the bells of the mule ; Saxut au Monde! 147 I hear the Arab inuezziu, calling from the top of the mosque ; I hear the Cliristian priests at the altars of their churches — I hear the responsive base aud soprano ; I hear the v/ail of utter despair of the white-hair'd Irish grand-parents, when they learn the death of their grandson ; I hear the cry of the Cossach, and the sailor's voice, putting to sea at Okotsk ; I hear the wheeze of the slave-coSe, as the slaves march on — as the husky gangs pass on by tvv'os and threes, fasten'd together with wrist-chains and ankle-chains ; I hear the entreaties of women tied up for punishment —I hear the sibilant whisk of thongs through the air ; I hear the Hebrew reading his records and psalms ; 1 hear the rhythmic myths of the Greeks, and the strong legends of the Eomans ; I hear the tale of the divine life and bloody death of the beautiful God — the Christ ; I hear the Hindoo teaching his favorite pupij. the loves, wars, adages, transmitted safely to this day, fi'om poets who wrote thi'ee thousand years asfo. ® What do you see, Walt Whitman ? Who are they you salute, and that one after another salute you? ^ I see a great round wonder rolling through the air ; I see diminute farms, hamlets, ruins, grave-yards, jails, factories, palaces, hovels, huts of barbarians, tents of nomads, upon the surface ; I see the shaded part on one side, where the sleepers are sleeping — and the sun-lit part on the other side, I see the curious silent change of the hght and shade, 1-13 LEAVES or GiiAss. I so'j disiaut lands, as real and near to tlio inliabitants of them, as my laud is to me. * I see plenteous v/aters ; I sea mountain peaks — I see the sierras of Andes and AlleghauLGS, where they range ; I S30 plainly the Himalayas, CLian Shahs, Altays, Grhauts ; I see the giant pinnacles of Elbruz, Kazbek, Bazardjusi, I see the Rocky Mountains, and the Peak of Winds ; I see the Styrian Alps, and the Karnac AIjds ; I see the Pyrenees, Balks, Carpathians — and to the norLh the Dofrafields, and off at sea Mount Hecla ; I see Vesuvius and Etna — I see the Anahuacs ; I see the Mountains of the Moon, and the Snow Mountains, and the Pied Mountains of ]\Iada- gas 3ar ; I see tie Vermont hills, and the long string of Cor- dilleras ; I see the vast deserts of "Western America ; I see the Lybian , Arabian, and Asiatic deserts ; I see huge dreadful Arctic and Antarctic icebergs ; I see the superior oceans and the inferior ones — the Atlantic and Pacific, the sea of Mexico, the Brazilian sea, and the sea of Peru, Tha Japan waters, those of Hindostan, the China Sea, and the Gulf of Guinea, The spread of the Baltic, Caspian, Bothnia, the British shores, and the Bay of Biscay, The clear-suiin'd Mediterranean, and from one to an- other of its islands. The inland fresh-tasted seas of North America, The White Sea, and the sea around Greenland. ® I behold the mariners of the ^vorld ; Some are in storms — some in the night, with the watch on the look-oiit ; Some drifting helplessly — some with contagious dis- eases. Salut au Monde! 149 '" I behold the sail and steamships of (ho v/(3rld, some in clusters in port, some on their voyages ; Some double the Cape of Storms — some Gape Verde, — others Cape Guardaiui, Bon, or Bajadore ; Others Dondra Head — others pass the Straits of Sun- da — others Cape Lopatka — others Behring's Straits ; Others Cape ' Horn — others sail the Gulf of Mexico, or along Cuba or Hayti — others Hudson's Bay or Baffin's Bay ; Others pass the Straits of Dover — others enter the Wash — others the Firili of Solway — others round Cape Clear — others the LaiKl's End ; Others traverse the Zuyder Zee, or the Seheld ; Others add to the exits and entrances at Sandy Hooh ; Others to the comers and goers at Gibraltar, or the Dardanelles ; Others sternly push their way through the northern v/inter-paclvs ; Others descend or ascend the Obi or the Lena ; Others the Niger or the Congo — others the Indus, the Burampooter and Cambodia ; Others wait at the v/harves of Manhattan, steam'd up, ready to start ; Wait, swift aad swarthy, in the ports of Australia ; Wait at Liverpool, Glasgow, Dublin, Marseilles, Lis- bon, Naples, Hamburg, Bremen, Bordeaux, the Hague, Copenhagen ; Wait at Valparaiso, Rio Janeiro, Panama ; Wait at their moorings at Boston, Philadelphia, Balti- raore, Charleston, New Orleans, Galveston, San Francisco. " I see the tracks of the rail-roads of the earth ; I see them welding State to State, city to city, through North America ; I see them in Great Britain, I see them in Europe ; I see them in Asia and in Africa. 150 Leaves of Graj;s. ^■- I see the electric telegraplis of the earth ; I see tlie filaments of the news of tlie Tvars, cleatlis, losses, gains, passions, of my race. '^ I see the long river-stripes of the earth ; I see where the Mississippi flows — I see where the Co- lumbia flows ; I see the Great River, and the Falls of Niagara ; I see the Amazon and the Paraguay ; I see the four great rivers of China, the Amour, the Yellow River, the Yiang-tse, and the Pearl ; I see v/here the Seine flows, and where the Danube, the Loire, the Pthone, and the Guadalquiver flow ; I see the windings of the Volga, the Dnieper, the Oder ; I see the Tuscan going down the Arno, and the Vene- tian aloiag the Po ; I see the Gxcch. seaman sailing out of Egina haj. 6 " I see the site of the old empire of Assyria, end that of Persia, and that of India ; I see the falling of the Ganges over the high rim of Saukara. ^^ I see the place of the idea of the Deity incarnated by avatars in human forms ; I see the spots of the successions of priests on the earth — oracles, sacrificers, brahmins, sabians, lamas, monks, muftis, exhorters ; I see where druids walked the groves of Mona — I see the mistletoe and vervain ; I see the temples of the dSaths of the bodies of Gods — I see the old signifiers. '^ I see Christ once more eating the bread of his last supper, in the midst of youths and old persons ; I see where the strong divine young man, the Herculss, tpil'd faithfully and long, and then died ; Salut au Mo:-;de ! 151 I S03 tli3 place of tlie inaosent ricli life and hapless fate of tli3 beautiful nocturnal son, the lull-limb'd ]]acclau3 ; I see Knepli, blooming, drest in blue, Aritli tlio crown of feathers on his head ; I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-beloved, saying to the people. Do not iveep for me, This is not my true country, I have lived hanish'd from my true country — / now go hack there, I return to the celestial sphere, ivhere every one goes in his [urn. " I see the battle-fields of the earth — jid^s grows upon them, and blossoms and corn ; I see the tracks of ancient and modern expoditions. '^ I see the nam3l933 masonries, venerable messages of the unhnown events, heroes, records of the earth. " I see the places of the sagas ; I see pins-trees and fir-trees torn by northern blasts ; I see granite boulders and cliifs — I see green meadows and lakes ; I see the burial-cairns of Scandinavian warrioi's ; I sse thein raised high v/ith stones, by ths marge of resLless oceans, that the dead men's spirits, when they wearied of their quiet graves, might rise up through the mounds, and gaze on the tossing bil- lov/s, and bo refrcsh'd by storms, immensity, lib- erty, action. '" I see the steppes of Asia ; I see the tumuli of Mongolia — I sse th« tents of Kal- mucks and Baskirs ; I see the nomadic tribes, with herds of oxen and cows ; I sse ths table-lands notch'd with ravines — I see the jungles and deserts ; I see the camel, the v/ild steed, the bustard, the fat- tail'd sheep, the antelope, and the burrowing wolf. 152 LEAVES OF Grass. ^' I see tlio bigli-lands of Abyssinia ; I see floclis of goats feeding, and see the fig-tree, tama- rind, date, And see fields of teff-wlieat, and see tlie places of ver- dure and gold. '■^' I see the Brazilian vaquero ; I see the Bolivian ascending Mount Sorata ; I see the Wacho crossing the plains — I see the incom- parable rider of horses v»^ith his lasso on his arm ; I see over the pampas the pursuit of wild cattle for their hides. 8 ■^ I cee little and large sea-dots, some inhabited, some uninhabited ; I see two boats with nets, lying oli the sjhore of Pau- raanolr, quite still ; I see ten fishermen waiting — they discover now a thick ..school of mossbonkers — they drop the join'd seine-ends in the water, The boats separate — they diverge and row off, each on its rounding coui'se to the beach, enclosing the mossbonkers ; The net is .drawn in by a windlass by those who stop ashore. Some of the fishermen lounge in their boats — others stand negligently ankle-deep in the water, pois'd on strong legs ; The boats are partly drawn up — the water slaps against them ; On the sand, in heaps and winrov/s, well out from the water, lie the green-baek'd spotted mossbonkers. 9 • ^^ I see the despondent red man in the west, lingering about the banks of Moingo, and about Lake Pepin ; Sali;t au Monde! 153 He has heard the quail and beheld the honey-bee, and sadly prepared to depart. -^ I see the regions of snow and ice ; I see the sharp-eyed Samoiede and the Finn ; I see the seal-seeker in his boat, poising his lance ; I see the Siberian on his slight-built sledge, di'awn by dogs ; I see the j)orpoise-hunters — I see the whale-crevrs of the South Pacific and the North Atlantic ; I see the cliifs, glaciers, torrents, valleys, of Switzerland — I mark the long winters, and the isolation. ^^ I see the cities of the earth, and make myself at ran- dom a part of them ; I ara a real Parisian ; I am a habitan of Vienna, St. Petersburg, Berlin, Con- stantinople ; I am of Adelaide, Sidney, Melbourne ; I am of London, Manchester, Bristol, Edinburgh, Lim- erick ; I am of Madrid, Cadiz, Barcelona, Oporto, Lyons, Brus- sels, Berne, Frankfort, Stuttgart, Turin, Florence] I belong in Moscow, Cracow, Warsaw — or northward in Christiania or Stockholm — or in Siberiuu Irkutsk — or in some street in Iceland ; I descend ux^on all those cities, and rise from thorn again. 10 ^' I see vapors exhaling from unexplored countries ; I see the savage tyx^es, the bow and arrow, the poison'd splint, the fetish, and the obi. ^* I see African and Asiatic towns ; I see Algiers, Tripoli, Derne, Mogadore, Timbuctoo, Monrovia ; I see the swarms of Pekin, Canton, Benares, Delhi, Calcutta, Yedo ; I see the Kruman in his hut, and the Dahoman and Ashantee-man in their huts ; 154 JuEAVEo o? Gr.Ass. I see the Tvirk snioliing opium in Aleppo ; I see the picturesque crowds at the fairs of Khivaj and those of Herat ; I see Telieran — I see Muscat and Medina, and the inter- vening sands— I see the caravans toiling onward; I see Egyj)t and the Egyptians — I see the pyi'amids and obelisks ; I look on chisel'd histories, songs, j)hilosophies, cut in slabs of sand-stone, or on granite-blocks ; I see at Memphis murnmy-pits, containing mummies, embalm'd, swathed in linen cloth, lying there many centimes ; I look on the fall'n Theban, the large-ball'd eyes, the side-drooping neck, the hands folded across the breast. °^ I see the menials of the earth, laboring ; I see the prisoners in the prisons ; I see the defective human bodies of the earth ; I see the blind, the deaf and dumb, idiots, hunchbacks, lunatics ; I see the pirates, thieves, betrayers, murderers, slave- makers of the earth ; I see the helpless infants, and the heljoless old men and women. "° I see male and female everywhere ; I see the serene brotlierhood of philosophs ; I see the constructiveness of my race ; I see the results of the perseverance and industry of my race ; I see ranks, colors, barbarisms, civilizations — I go among them — I mix indiscriminately. And I salute all the inhabitants of the earth. 11 "' You, whoever you are ! You daughter or son of England! You of the mighty Slavic tribes and empires ! you Russ in Russia ! S.iLUT AU Moi^ide! 155 You dim-descended, black, divine-soul'd African, large, fine-headed, nobly-form'd, superbly destin'd, on equal terms with, me ! You Norwegian ! Swede ! Dane ! Icelandei- ! you Prus- sian! You Spaniard oi Spain ! you Portuguese ! You Frenchwoman and I'renchman of France! You Beige I y6u liberty-lover of the Netherlands I You sturdy Austrian ! j^ou Lombard I Hun ! Bohemian ! farmer of Styria ! You neighbor of the Danube I You working-man of the Ehine, the Elbe, or the Weser ! you working-woman too! You Sardinian ! you Bavarian ! Swabian ! Saxon ! Wal- lachian ! Bulgarian ! You citizen of Prague ! Pioman ! Neapolitan ! Greek ! You lithe matador in the arena at Seville ! You mountaineer living lawlessly on the Taurus or Caucasus ! You Bokh horse-herd, watching your mares and stal- lions feeding ! Y^ou beautiful-bodied Persian, at full speed in the sad- dle, shooting arrows to the mark ! You Chinaman and Chinawoman of China ! you Tartar of Tartary! You v^^omen of the earth subordinated at your tasks ! You Jew journeying in jonr old age through every risk, to stand once on Syrian groiuid ! You other Jews waiting in all lands for your Messiah! You thoughtful Armenian, pondering by some stream of tbe Euphrates I you peering amid the ruins of Ninevah I you ascending Moimt Ararat ! You foot-worn pilgrim welcoming the far-away sparkle of the minarets of Mecca ! You sheiks along the stretch from Suez to Bab-el-man- deb, ruhng your families and tribes ! You olive-grower tending your fi-uit on fields of Naz- areth, Damascus, or Lake Tiberias ! You Thibet trader ou the wide inland, or bargaining in the shops of Lassa ! 156 Leaves of Grass. You Japanese man or woman ! joii liver in Madagas- car, Ceylon, Sumatra, Borneo ! All you continentals of Asia, Africa, Europe, Australia, indifferent of place ! All you on the numberless islands of the archipelagoes of the sea ! And yon of centuries lience, when you listen to me ! And you, each and everyv/here, whom I specify not, but include just the same ! Health to you ! Good will to you all — from me and Amorica sent. °'^ Each of us inevitable ; Each of us limitless — each of us v/ith his or her right upon the earth ; Each of us allow'd the eternal purports of the earth ; Each of us here as divinely as any is here. 12 "" You Hottentot Vv^ith chching p:daie ! You woolly- hair'd hordes ! You ov.'n'd persons, dropping sweat-drops or blood- drops ! You human forms with the fathomless ever-impressive countenances of brutes ! I dare not refuse you— the scope of the v/orld, and of time and space, are upon me. ^^ You poor hoboo whom the meanest of the rest look down upon, for all your glimmering language and spirituality ! You low expiring aborigines of the hills of Utah, Ore- gon, California! You dwarf 'd Kamtschatkan, Greenlander, Lapp J You Austral negro, naked, red, sooty, with proirusivc lip, grovelhng, seeking yom' food ! You Cafti-e, Berber, Soudanese ! You haggard, uncouth, untutor'd, Bedowee ! You plague-swarms in Madras, Nankin, Kaubul, Cairo ! You bather bathing in the Gancfes ! S..LUX Au Mo-ch! 157 You beuiglited roamer of Amazonia ! you Patagoniau ! you Fejee-mau ! You peon of Mexico ! you slave of Carolina, Texas, Tennessee ! I do not prefer otliers so very mucli before you either ; I do not say one vv^ord against you, away back there, where you stand ; (You will come forward in due time to my side.) "'' My spirit has pass'd in compassion and determina- tion around the whole earth ; I have look'd for equals and lovers, and found them ready for me in all lands ; I think some divine rapport has equalized rne with them. 13 "' O vapors ! I think I have risen with you, and moved avv^ay to distant continents, and fallen down there, for reasons ; I think I have blown with you, O winds ; 0 v/aters, I have finger'd every shore wuth you. ''' I have run through what any river or strait of the globe has run through ; 1 have taken my stand on the bases of peninsulas, and on the high embedded rocks, to cry thence. ^^ Salut au monde ! What cities the light or warmth penetrates, I penetrate those cities myself ; All islands to which birds wing their V7ay, I wing my way myself. =" Toward all, I raise high the perpendicular hand — I make the signal, To remain after me in sight forever. For all the haunts and homes of men. 158 Leaves of Geas;j. A Child's Amaze. Silent find amazed, even wlieii a little boy, I remember I heard the preacher every Sunday put Grod in his statements, As contending against some being or influence. The Runner. On a flat road runs the Vv'ell-train'd runner ; He is lean and sinewy, with muscular legs ; He is thinly clothed — he leans forward as he runs, "With lightly closed fists, and arms partially rais'd. Beautiful Women. Women sit, or move to and fro — some old, some young ; The young are beautiful — but the old are more beauti- fiol than the young. Mother and Babe. I SEE the sleeping babe, nestling the breast of its mother ; The sleeping mother and babe— hush'd, I study them long and long. Thought. Of obedience, faith, adhesiveness *, As I stand aloof and loolc, there is to me something profoundly aliecting in large masses of men, fol- Ipwing the lead of those who do not believe in Leaves of Grass. American Feuillage. A-MEKicA filwnys ! Always our own feuillage ! Always Florida's green peninsula ! Always tlie priceless delta of Louisiana ! Always the cotton-lields of Alabama and Texas ! Always California's golden bills and hollows — and tlio silver mountains of New Mexico ! Always sof:- breath'd Cuba ! Always the vast slope drain'd by the Southern Sea — inseparable with the slopes drain'd by the East- ern and Western Seas ; The area the eighty-third year of These States — the three aud a half milhons of square miles ; The eighteen thousand miles of sea-coast and bay-coast on the main — the thirty thousand miles of river navigation, The seven millions of distinct families, and the same niunber of dwellings — Alw^ays these, and more, branching forth into numberless branches ; Always the free range and diversity ! always the conti- nent of Democracy ! Always the prairies, pastures, forests, vast cities, trav- elers, Kanada, the snows ; Always these compact lands — lands tied at the hips with the belt stringing the huge oval lakes ; Always the West, with strong native persons — the in- creasing density there — the habitans, friendly, threatening, ironical, scorning invaders ; All sights, South, North, East — all deeds, promiscu- ously done at all times, 169 Lj:ave3 ov Gkass. All characters, movements, growths — a few uoticefl, iiiyriacls unnoticed. Through Mannahatta's streets I walking, these things gathering ; On interior rivers, by night, in the glare of pine knots, steamboats wooding up ; Sunlight by day on the valley of the Susquehanna, and on the valleys of the Potomac and Rappahannock, and the valleys of the Roanoke and Delaware ; In their northerly wilds, beasts of prey haunting the Adivondacks, the hills — or lapping the Saginaw waters to drink ; In a lonesome inlet, a sheldrake, lost from the flock, sitting on the water, rocking silently ; In farmers' barns, oxen in the stable, their harvest labor done — ihey rest standing — they are too tired ; Afar on arctic ice, the she-walrus lying drowsily, while her cubs play around ; The hav/k sailing vv'here men have not yet saikd — the farthest polar sea, ripply, crystalline, open, be- yond the floes ; White ch-iffc spooning ahead, where the ship in the tem- pest dashes ; On solid land, w^hat is done in citier', as the bells all strike midnight together ; In primitive woods, the sounds there also sounding — the howl of the wolf, the scream of the panther, and the hoarse bellow of the elk ; In winter beneath the hard blue ice of Mooseliead Lake — in summer visible through the clear waters, the great trout swimming ; In lower latitudes, in warmer air, in the Carolinas, the large black buzzard floating slowly, high beyond the tree tops. Below, the red cedar, festoon'd with tylandria — the pines and cypresses, growing out of the white sand that spreads far and flat ; Rude boats descending the big Pedee — climbing plants, parasites, with color'd flowers and berries, envel- oping huge trees. Am^uican FkuillagKo IGl Tlie waving- drapery on the live oak, trailing- long and low, noiselessly waved by tlie wind ; The camp of Georgia wagoners, just after dark — the siipper-fires, and the cooking and eating by whites and negroes. Thirty or forty great wagons — the mules, cattle, horses, feeding from troughs, The shadows, gleams, up under the leaves of the old sycamore-trees — the flames — -with the black smoke from the pitch-pine, curling and rising ; Southern fishermen fishing — the sounds and inlets of North Carolina's coast — the shad-fishery and the herring-fishery — the large sweep-seines — the windlasses on shore work'd by horses — the clear- ing, curing, and packing-houses ; Deep in the forest, in piney woods, turpentine dropping* fi-om the incisions in the trees — There are the turpentine works, There are the negroes at work, in good health — the ground in all directions is cover'd with pine straw : — In Tennessee and Kent'.icky, slaves busy in the coal- ings, at the forge, l>y the furnace-blaze, or at the corn-shucking ; In Virginia, the planter's son returning after a long- absence, joyfully welcom'd and kiss'd by the aged mulatto nurse ; On rivers, boatmen safely rnoor'd at night-fall, in their boats, under shelter of high banks. Some of the younger men dance to the sound of the banjo or fiddle — others sit on the gunvv^ale, smok- ing- and talking- ; Late in the afternoon, the mocking-bird, tlie American mimic, singing in the Great Dismal Swamp — there are tiie greenish waters, the resinous odor, the plenteous moss, the cyprcso tree, and the juniper tree ; • — Northward, young men of Mannahatta — the target, company from an excursion returning homo at evening — the musliet-muzzles all bear bunches of liovrci'3 presented by v/omen ; 162 Leaves of Gkass. Children at play — or ou his father's lap a young boy fallen asleep, (how his lips move ! how he smiles in his sleep !) The scout riding on horseback over the plains west of the Mississippi — he ascends a knoll and sweeps his eye around ; California life — the miner, bearded, dress'd in his rude costume — the stanch California friendship — the sweet air — the graves one, in passing, meets, solitary, just aside the horse-path ; Down in Texas, the cotton-field, the negro-cabins — drivers di'iving mules or oxen before rude carts — cotton bales piled on banks and wharves ; Encircling all, vast-darting, up and wide, the American Soul, with equal hemispheres — one Love, one Dilation or Pride ; — ^In arriere, the peace-talk with the Iroquois, the abo- riguies — the calumet, the pipe of good-will, arbi- tration, and indorsement, The sachem blowing the smoke first toward the sun and then toward the earth. The drama of the scalp-dance enacted with painted faces and guttural exclamations. The setting out of the war-part}^ — the lor:g and stealthy march. The single-file — the swinging hatchets — the surprise and slaughter of enemies ; — AH the acts, scenes, ways, persons, attitudes of These States — reminiscences, all institutions. All These States, compact — Every square mile of These States, without excepting a particle— you also — me also, Me pleas'd, rambling in lanes and country fields, Pau- manok's fields. Me, observing the spiral flight of two little j^ellow but- terflies, shufliiiig between each other, ascending high in the air ; The darting swallow, the destroyer of insects — the fall traveler southward, but returning northward early in the spring ; American Feuillage. 1G3 The country boy at the close of the day, di'iving the heixl of cows, and shoiitrng to them as they loiter to browse by the road-side ; The city wharf — Boston, I'hiladelphia, Baliimore, Charleston, New Orleans, San Francisco, The departing ships, when the sailors heave at the capstan ; — Evening — me in my room — the setting sun, The S2tting summer sun shining in my open window, showing the swarm of flies, suspended, balancing in the air in the centre of the room, darting athwart, up and down, casting swift shadows in speehs on the opposite "wall, wiiere the shine is ; The athletic American matron speaking in public to crowds of listeners ; Males, females, immigrants, combinations — the copious- ness— the individuality of The States, each for itself — the money-makers ; Factories, machinery, the mechanical forces — the wind- lass, lever, pulley — All certainties. The certainty of space, increase, freedom, futurity, In space, the sporades, the seatter'd islands, the stars — on the firm earth, tlie lands, my lands ; 0 lands! all so dear to me — what you are, (whatever it is,) I become a pare of that, whatever it is ; Southward there, I screaming, with wings slow flapj)ing, with the myriads of gulls wintering along the coasts of Florida — or in Louisiana, with pelicans breeding ; Othcrvt"ays, there, atwixt the banks of the Arkansaw, the Rio Grande, the Nueces, the Brazos, the Tombig- bee, the Ked River, the Saskatchawan, or the Osage, I with the spriug waters laughing and skipping and running ; Northward, on the sands, on some shallow bay of Pau- manok, I, with parties of snowy herons wading in the w^et to seek worms and aquatic plants ; Retreating, triumphantly twittering, the king-bird, from piercing the crow with its bill, for amusement — And I triumphantly twittering ; 16i Leaves ojp Geass. The migrating flock of wild geese alighting in autumn to refresh themselves — the body of the flock feed — the sentinels outside move around with erect heads watching, and are i'rom time to time re- liev'd by other sentinels — And I fseding and taking turns with the rest ; In Kanadia^i forests, the moose, largo as an ox, corner'd by hunters, rising desperately on his hind-feet, and }.ilungiug with his fore-feet, the hoofs as sharp as knives — And I, plunging at the hunters, corner'd and desperate ; In the Mannahatta, streets, piers, shipj)ing, store-houses, and the countless workmen working in the shops, And I too of the Mannahatta, singmg thereof — and no less in m^^self than the whole of the Mannahatta in itself. Singing the song of These, my ever-united lands — my body no more inevitably united, part to part, and made one identity, any more than my lands are inevitably united, and made One identity ; Nativities, climates, the grass of the gTeat Pastoral Plains ; Cities, labors, death, animals, products, war, good and evil — these me, The3e affording, in all their particulars, endless feuil- lage to me and to America, how can I do less than pass the clew of the union of them, to afford the like to yon? Whoever you are ! how can I but ofifer you divine leaves, that you also be eligible as I am ? How can I bnt, as here, chanting, invite you for yoiu'- self to collect bouquets of the incomparable feuilla^e of These States? Leaves of Grass. Song of the Broad- Axe. ' TVej^pon, shapely, naked, wan! Head from the mother's bowels drawn ! Wooded flesh and metal bone ! limb only one, and lip only one ! Gray-blue leaf by red-heat grown ! helve produced from a little seed sown! Eesting- the grass amid and upon. To be lean'd, and to lean on. ^ Strong shapes, and attributes of strong shajies — mas- culine trades, sights and sounds ; Long varied train of an emblem, dabs of music ; Fingers of the organist skipping staccato over the keys of the great organ. ' Welcome are all earth's lands, each for its land ; Welcome are lands of pine and oak ; Welcome are lands of the lemon and fig ; Welcome are lands of gold ; Welcome are lands of wheat and maize — welcome those of the grape ; Welcome are lands of sugar and rice; Welcome the cotton-lands — welcome those of the white potato and sweet potato ; Welcome are mountains, flats, sands, forests, prairies ; 166 Leaves of Gkasj. Welcome tlie rich borders of rivers, table-lands, open- ings ; Welcome the measureless grazing-lands — welcome the teeming soil of orchards, flax, honey, hemp ; Welcome just as much the other more hard-faced lands; Lands rich as lands of gold, or vfheat and fruit lands ; Lands of mines, lands of the manly and rugged ores ; Lands of eoal, copper, lead, tin, zinc ; Lands of Ieon ! lands of the make of the axe ! ■* The log at the wood-pile, the axe supported by it ; The sylvan hut, the vine over the doorway, the space clear'd for a garden, The irregular tapping of rain down on the leaves, after the storm is luU'd, The wailing and moaning at intervals, the thought of the sea. The thought of ships struck in the storm, and put on their beam ends, and the cutting away of masts; The sentiment of the huge timbers of old-faishion'd houses and barns ; The remember'd print or narrative, the voyage at a venture of men, families, goods, Tlie disembarkation, the founding of a new city. The voyage of those who sought a New England and found it — the outset anyv/here, The settlements of the Arkansas, Colorado, Ottawa, Willamette, The slow progress, the scant fare, the axe, rifle, saddle- bags ; The beauty of all adventurous acd daring persons. The beauty of wood-boys and wood-men, with their clear untrimm'd faces, The beauty of independence, departure, actions that rely on themselves. The American contempt for statutes and ceremonies, the boundless impatience of restraint, The loose drift of character, the inkhng through ran- dom types, the solidification ; Song of the Beoad-Axe. 167 TLe butcbor in the slaiigliter-house, tlie hands aboard schooners and sloops, the raftsman, the pioneer, Liimbermeu in their winter camp, day-break in the woods, stripes of snow on the hmbs of trees, the occasional snapping, The glad clear sound of one's own Toice, the merry song, the natin-al life of the woods, the strong day's work, - The blazing fire at night, the sweet taste of snpper, the talk, the bed of hemlocli: boughs, and the bear- skin ; — The house-builder at work in cities or anyv/here, The preparatory jointing, squaring, sawing, mortising, The hoist-up of beams, the push of them in their places, la;^dng them regular. Setting the studs by their tenons in the mortises, accord- ing as they were prepared. The blows of mallets and hammers, the attitudes of the men, their curv'd limbs, Bending, standing, astride the beams, didving in pins, holding on by posts and braces, Tlie hook'd arm over the plate, the other arm wielding the axe. The floor-men forcing the planks close, to be nail'd. Their postures bringing their weapons downward on the bearers. The echoes resounding through the vacant building ; The huge store-house carried up in the city, well under way. The six framing-men, two in the middle, and two at each end, carefully bearing on their shoulders a heavy stick for a cross-beam, The crowded line of masons with trowels in their right hands, rapidly laying the long rjide-wall, two hundred feet from front to rear, The flexible rise and fall of baclcs, the continual click of the trowels striking the bricks, The bricks, one after another, each laid so workman- like in its place, and set with a knock of the trov/el-handle. 168 Leave3 of Gr.As:^. Tlie piles of materials, the morcar on tlic mortar-boarcls, and the steady replenishing' by the hod-men ; — Spar-makers in the spar-yard, the swarming row of well-grown apprentices, The swing of their axes on the square-hew'd log, shaping it toward the shape of a mast, The brisk short crackle of the steel driven slantingly into the pine. The butter-color'd chips flying oil in great flakes and slivers. The limber motion of brawny yoimg arms and hips in easy costumes ; The constructor of wharves, bridges, jiiers, buik-heads, floats, stays against the sea ; — The cit}' fireman — the fire that suddenly bursts forth in the close-pack'd square. The arriving engines, the hoarse shouts, the nimble stepping and daring, The strong command through the fire-trumpets, the falling in line, the rise and fall of the arms forcing the water. The slender, spasmic, blue-white jets — the bringing to bear of the hooks and ladders, and their execution, The crash and cut away of connecting vrood-work, or through floors, if the fire smoulders under them. The crowd with their lit faces, watching — the glare and dense shadows ; — The forger at his forge-furnace, and the user of ii'on after him, The maker of the axe large and small, and the welder and temperer. The chooser breathing his breath on the cold steel, and trying the edge with his thumb. The one who clean-shapes the handle, and sets it firmly in the socket ; The shadowy processions of the portraits of the past users also. The primal patient mechanics, the architects and en- gineers. The far-off Assyrian edifice and Mizra edifice, Song cf the Bp.oad-A:?:e. 169 The Eoman lictors precadiDg the consuls, The antique Earoj)ean warrior with his axe in combat, The uphfted arm, the clatter of blows on the helmetcd head, The death-howl, the limpsey tumbling body, the rush of fi'iend and foe thither, The siege of revolted lieges determin'd for liberty. The summons to surrender, the battering at castle' gates, the truce and parley ; The sack of an old city in its time. The bursting in of mercenaries and bigots tumultuously and disorderly. Roar, flames, blood, druntenness, madness, Goods freely rifled from houses and temples, screams of women in the gripe of brigands, Craft and thievery of camp-followers, men running, old l^ersons despairing. The hell of war, the cruelties of creeds. The list of all executive deeds and words, just or unjust, The power of personality, just or unjust. ^ Muscle and pluck forever ! What invigorates life, invigorates death, And the dead advance as much as the living advance, And the future is no more uncertain than the present. And the roughness of the earth and of man encloses as much as the delicatesse of the earth and of man. And nothing endures but personal qualities. * "WTiat do you think endures ? Do you think the gTcat city endures ? Or a teeming manufacturing state ? or a prepared con- stitution ? or the best built steamships ? -Or hotels of granite and iron ? or any chef-d'oeuvres of engineering, forts, armaments '? ' Away ! These are not to be cherisli'd for themselves ; They till their hoiu", the dancers dance, the musicians play for them ; 170 L2AVE3 CF Gkass. The bIiotv passes, all docs well enough of course, All does very well till one flash of defiance. * The great city is that which has the greatest man or woman ; If it be a few ragged huts, it is still the greatest cily in the whole world. ^ The place where the great city stands is not the place of stretch'd wharves, docks, manufactures, deposits of produce, Nor the place of ceaseless salutes of new comers, or the anchor-lifters of the departing, Nor the place of the tallest and costliest buildings, or shops selHng goods fi*om the rest of the earth, Nor the place of the best libraries and schools — nor the place where money is plentiest. Nor the place of the most numerous population. '" Where the city stands v^'ith the brawniest breed of orators and bards ; Where the city stands that is beloved by these, and loves them in return, and understands them ; Where no monuments exist to heroes, but in the com- mon words and deeds ; Where thrift is in its place, and prudence is in its place ; Where the men and women think lightly of the laws ; Where the slave ceases, and the master of slaves ceases ; Where the populace rise at once against the never- ending audacity of elected persons ; Where fierce men and women pour forth, as the sea to the whistle of death pours its sw^eeping and un- rijit waves ; Where outside authority enters always after the preced- ence of inside authority ; Where the citizen is always the head and ideal — and President, Mayor, Governor, and what not, arc agents for pay ; Where children are taught to bo laws to themselves, and to depend on thtniselves ; Song of the l3noAD-Ax£. 171 "Svlierc equanimity is ilkistrated in affairs ; Where speculations on the Soul are encouraged ; Where women walk in public processions in the streets, the same as the men, V»^here they enter the public assembly a.nd take places the same as the men ; Where the city of the faithfulest friends stands ; Where the city' of the cleanliness of the sexes stands ; Where the city of the healthiest fathers stands ; W^here the city of the best-bodied mothers stands. There the great city stands. 6 '^ How beggarly appear arguments before a defiant deed! How the floridness of the materials of cities shrivels before a man's or woman's look ! '^ All waits, or goes by default, till a strong being ajD- pears ; A strong being is the proof of the race, and of the abil- ity of the universe ; When he or she appears, materials are overaw'd. The dispute on the Soul stojDS, The old customs and phrases are confronted, turn'd back, or laid away. '^ W^hat is your money-making now? what can it do now? What is your respectability now ? What are your theology, tuition, society, traditions, statute-books, now? Wliere are your jibes of being now? Where are your cavils about the Soul now ? " A sterile landscape covers the ore — there is as good as the best, for all the forbidding appearance ; There is the mine, there are the miners ; The forge-furnace is there, the melt is accomplish'd ; the hammers-men are at hand with their tongs and hammers ; What always served, and always serves, is at hand. 172 Leaves of Gkas?. '° Than tliis, nothing has better served — it has served all : Served the fluent-tonguod and subtle-sensed Greek, and long ere the Greek : Served in building the buildings that last longer than any; Served the Hebrew, the Persian, the most ancient Hin- dostanee ; Served the mound-raiser on the Mississippi — served those whose relics remain in Cent]-al America ; Served Albic temples in woods or on plains, with un- hewn pillars, and the druids ; Served the artificial clefts, vast, high, silent, on the snow-cover'd hills of Scandinavia ; Served those who, time out of mind, made on the gran- ite walls rough sketches of the sun, moon, stars, ships, ocean-waves ; Served the paths of the irruptions of the Goths — served the pastoral tribes and nomads ; Served the long, long distant Kelt — served the hardy jDirates of the Baltic ; Served before any of those, the venerable and harmless men of Ethiopia ; Served the making of helms for the galleys of pleasure, and the making of those for war ; Served all great works on land, and all great works on the sea ; For the mediaeval ages, and before the mediaeval ages ; Served not the living only, then as now, but served the dead. '® I see the European headsman ; He stands mask'd, clothed in red, with huge legs, and strong naked arms. And leans on a ponderous axe. '' (Whom have you slaughter'd lately, European heads- man? Whose is that blood upon you, so wet and sticky ?) I see the clear sunsets of the martyrs ; Song of the Beoad-Ase. 173 I see from tlie scaffolds tlie descending ghosts, Ghosts of dead lords, nncrown'd ladies, impeach'd min- isters, rejected kings. Rivals, traitors, poisoners, disgraced chieftains, and the rest, " I see those who in any land have died for the good cause ; - The seed is spare, nevertheless the crop shall never run out ; (Mind you, O foreign kings, O priests, the crop shall never run out.) •" I see the blood wash'd entirely away from the axe ; Both blade and helve are clean ; They spirt no more the blood of Euro2)ean nobles — they clasp no more the necks of queens. '•' I see the headsman withdraw and become useless ; I see the scaffold untrodden and mouldy — I see no longer any axe upon it ; I see the mighty and friendly emblem of the power of my own race — the newest, largest race. 9 ■- (America ! I do not vaunt my love for you ; I have what I have.) '^ The axe leaps ! The solid forest gives fluid utterances ; They tumble forth, they rise and form, Hut, tent, landing, survey, Flail, plough, pick, crowbar, spade, Shingle, rail, prop, wainscot, jamb, lath, panel, gable. Citadel, ceiling, saloon, academy, organ, exhibition- house, library. Cornice, trellis, pilaster, balcony, window, shutter, tur- ret, porch. Hoe, rake, pitch-fork, pencil, wagon, staff, saw, jack- plane, mallet, wedge, rounce. 174 Leaves of Geass. Chair, tub, lioop, table, wiclcet, vane, sasb, floor. Work -box, chest, string'd instrument, boat, frame, and what not, Capitols of States, and capitol of the nation of States, Long stately rows in avenues, hospitals for orphans, or for the XDOor or sick, Manhattan steamboats and clippers, taking the measure of all seas. ** The shapes arise ! Shapes of the using of axes anyhow, and the users, and all that neighbors them. Cutters down of wood, and haulers of it to the Penob- scot or Kennebec, Dwellers in cabins among the Cahfornian mountains, or by the little lakes, or on the Columbia, Dwellers south on the banks of the Gila or Eio Grande — friendly gatherings, the characters and fun, Dwellei'S up north in Minnesota and by the Yellowstone river — dwellers on coasts and ofl" consts. Seal-fishers, whalers, arctic seamen breaking passages throiigh the ice. '^ The shapes arise ! Shapes of factories, arsenals, foundries, markets ; Shapes of the two-threaded tracks of railroads ; Shapes of the sleej)ers of bridges, vast fi'ameworks, girders, arches ; Shapes of the fleets of barges, tows, lake and canal craft, river craft. -" The shapes arise ! Ship-j'ards and dry-docks along the Eastern and Vt^est- ern Seas, and in many a bay and by-place, The live-oak kelsons, the pine planks, the spars, the hackmatack-roots for knees. The ships themselves on then- ways, the tiers of scaf- folds, the workmen busy outside and inside. The tools lying around, the great auger and litib iiuger, the adze, bolt, line, square, gouge, {;nd bead- plane. Song of the Ehoad-Axe. 175 10 ^ The sliapes arise ! The shape measur'd, saw'cT, jack'd, join'd, stain'd, The cofiin-shape for the dead to lie within in his shroud ; The shape got out in posts, in the bedstead posts, in the posts of tiie bride's bed ; The shape of the little troiigh, the shape of the rockers beneath,, the shape of the babe's cradle ; The shape of the floor-planks, the floor-planks for dancers' feet ; The shape of the planks of the family home, the home of the friendly parents and children, The shape of the roof of the home of the happy young man and woman — the roof over the well-married young man and woman, The roof over the supper joyously eook'd by the chaste wife, and joyously eaten by the chaste husband, content after his day's work. -^ The shapes arise ! The shape of the prisoner's place in the court-room, and of him or her seated in the place ; The shape of the liquor-bar lean'd against by the young rum-drinker and the old rum-drinker ; The shape of the shamed and angry stairs, trod by sneaking footsteps ; The shape of the sly settee, and the adulterous un- wholesome coi^ple ; The shape of the gambling-board with its devilish v;in- nings and losings ; The shape of the step-ladder for the convicted and sen- tenced murderer, the mtu'derer with haggard face and pinion'd arms, The sheriff at hand with his deputies, the silent and white-lipp'd crovvd, the dangling of the rope. -' The shapes arise ! Shapes of doors giving many exits and entrances ; The door passing the dissever'd friend, flush'd and in haste ; The door that admits good news and bad news ; 176 Leaves oir Grass. The door -whence the son left home, confident and pufc'd up ; The door he euter'd again from a long and scandalous absence, diseas'd, broken down, without inno- cence, without means. 11 ^' Her shape arises, She, less guarded than ever, yet more guarded than ever ; The gross and soil'd she moves among do not make her gross and soil'd ; She knows the thoughts as she passes — nothing is con- ceal'd from her ; She is none the less considerate or friendly therefor ; She is the best belov'd — it is without exception — she has no reason to fear, and she does not fear ; Oatlis, quarrels, hiccupp'd songs, smutty expressions, are idle to her as she passes ; She is silent — she is possess'd of herself — they do not offend her ; She receives them as the laws of nature receive them — she is strong. She too is a law of nature — there is no law stronger than she is. 12 "' The main shapes arise ! Shapes of Democracy, total — result of centuriea ; Shapes, ever projecting other shapes ; Shapes of turbulent manly cities ; Shapes of the friends and home-givers of the whole earth, Shapes bracing the earth, and braced with the whole earth. I Leaves of Grass. Song of the Open Road. ' Afoot aud ligat-liearted, I take to the oj^en road. Healthy, free, the world before me, The long- brown j)ath before me, leading wherever I choose. ■ Henceforth I ask not good-fortune — I myself am good- fortune ; Henceforth I whimper no more, postpone no more, need nothing, Strong' and content, I travel the open road. ^ The earth — that is sufficient ; I do not want the constellations any nearer ; I know they are '.'ery well where they are ; I know they suffice for those who belong to them. * (Still here I carry my old delicious burdens ; I carry them, men and women — I carry them with me wherever I go ; I swear it is impossible for me to get rid of them ; I am fih'd with them, and I will fill them in return.) ' You road I enter upon and look around ! I believe you are not all that is here ; I believe that much unseen is also here. 178 Leaves cf Gka3S. ^ Here tlie prof otind lesson of reception,' neither prefer- ence or denial ; The black with his woolly head, the felon, the discas'd, the illiterate per sod, are not denied ; The birth, the hasting after the physician, the beggar's tramp, the drunkard's stagger, the laughing party of mechanics, The escaped youth, the rich person's carriage, the fop, the elo23ing couple, The early raarket-man, the hearse, the moving of fur- niture into the tov/n, the return back from the town, They pass — I also pass — anything passes — none can be interdicted ; None but are accepted — none but are dear to me. ' You air that serves me with breath to sjieak ! You objects that call from diffusion my meanings, and give them shape ! You light that wraps me and all things in dehcate equable showers ! You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the road- sides ! I think you are latent with unseen existences — you are so dear to me. ^ You flagg'd walks of the cities ! you strong cui'bs at the edges ! You femes I you planks and posts of wharves ! you timber-lined sides! you clistant ships! You rows of houses ! you wiudow-pierc'd facades I you roofs ! You porches and entrances! you copings and iron guards ! You windows whose transparent shells might expose so much ! You doors and ascending steps ! you arches ! You gray stones of interminable pavements ! you trod- den crossings ! Song oy the Op::n 1io.'u). 179 From all that has been near yon, I believe yon have im- parted to j'oni'selves, and nov/ wonld impart the same secretly to me ; From the living and the dead I think yon have peopled 3'oiu' impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. ^ The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The jjicture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping v.'here it is not wanted. The cheerful voice of the public road — the gs^j fresh sentiment of the road. '" O highway I travel ! O public road ! do you say to me, Do not leave me ? Do you say. Venture not ? If you leave me, you are lost ? Do you sa,y, I am already prepared — 1 am iDeil-heaten and undented — adhere to me? " 0 public road! I say back, I am not afraid to leave you — yet I love you ; You express me better than I can express myself ; You shall be more to me than my poem. '• I thiiik heroic deeds were all conceiv'd in the open air, and all great poems also ; I think I could stop here myself, and do miracles ; (My judgments, thoughts, I henceforth try by the open air, the road ;) I think whatever I shall meet on the road I shall like, and whoever beholds me shall like me ; I think whoever I see must be hapx^y. 5 '^ From this hour, fi-eedom ! From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, Groing where I list, my own master, total and absolute. 180 Leaves of Geass. Listening tootliers, and considering well what they say, Pausing, searching; receiving, contemj)lating, Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me. " I inhale great draughts of space ; The east and the west are mine, and the north and the south are mine. '^ I am liu'ger, better than I thought ; I did not knov/ I held so much goodness. '^ All seems beautiiul to me , I can repeat over to men and women. You have done such good to me, I v/ould do the same to yovi. " I will recruit for myself and you as I go ; I will scatter myself among men and women as I go ; I will toss the ncv/ gladness and roughness among them ; Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me ; Whoever accepts me, he or she shall be blessed, and shall bless ms. 6 '^ Now if a thousand perfect men v/ere to appear, it would not amaze me ; Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear' d, it would not astonish me. '^ Now I sec the secret of the making of ihe best per- sons, It is to grov/ in the open air, and to eat and sleep with the earth. ^° Here a great personal deed has room ; A great deed seizes upon the hearts of the whole race of men, Its effusion of sti-eugth and will overvrhelm^ liw, and mocks all authority and nil argument against it. SoNa OF THi; Open Road. 181 ■^' Here is the test of wisdom ; Wisdom is not finally tested in schools ; Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it, to an- other not having it ; Wisdom is of the Son!, is not susceptible of proof, is its own proof. Applies to all stages and objects and qualities, and is content,- Is the certainty of the reality and immortality of things, and the excellence of things ; Something there is in the float of the sight of things that provokes it out of the Soul. ■- Now I reexamine philosophies and religions, They may prove well in lecture-rooms, yet not prove at all under the spacious clouds, and along the landscape and flowing currents. ■^ Here is realization ; Here is a man tallied — he realizes here what he has in him ; The past, the future, majesty, love — if they are vacant of you, you are vacant of them. '^ Only the kernel of every object nourishes ; Where is he who tears off the husks for you and me ? Where is he that undoes stratagems and envelopes for you and me ? •' Here is adhesiveness — it is not previously fashion'd — it is aprojDOS ; Do yon know what it i?, as you pass, to be loved by strangers ? Do you know the talk of those tiu'ning eye-balls ? ^^ Here is the efclux of the Soul ; The efflux of the Soul comes from within, through em- bower'd gates, ever provoking questions : These yearnings, why are they? These thoughts in the darkness, why are they ? 182 Leaves oe Gdass. Why are tliere men and women tliat while they are nigh me, the sun-hght expands my blood ? Why, when they leave me, do my pennants of joy cinli flat and lank? Why are there trees I never walk under, but large and melodious thoughts descend upon me ? (I think they hang there winter and summer on those trees, and always drop fruit as I pass;) Vv^'hat is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers? What with some di'iver, as I ride on the seat by his side ? What with some fisherman, drawing his seine by the shore, as I walk by, and pause ? What gives me to be free to a woman's or man's good- will ? What gives them to be free to mine ? " The efilus of the Soul is happiness — here is happi- ness ; I think it pervades the open air, waiting at all times ; Now it flows unto us — we are rightly' charged. "^ Here rises the fluid and attaching character ; The fluid and attaching character is the freshness and sweetness of man and woman ; (Tho herbs of the morning sj^rout no fresher and sweeter every day out of the roots of themselves, than it sprouts fresh and sweet continually out of itself.) " Toward the fluid and attaching character exudes the sweat of the love of young and old ; From it falls distill'd the charm that mocks beauty and attainments ; Toward it heaves the shuddering longing ache of contact. 9 "'' Allons ! whoever you are, come travel with me ! Traveling with me, vou find what never tires. Song of the Open Road. 183 "' The earth never tires ; The earth is rude, silent, incomj^rehensible at first— Kature is rude and incomprehensible at first ; Be not discouraged — keep on — there are divine things, well envelop'd ; I swear to you there are divine things more beautiful than words can tell. °' Aliens ! we must not stop here ! However sweet these laid-up stores — however conve- nient this dwelling, we cannot remain here ; However shelter'd this port, and however calm these waters, we must not anchor here ; However welcome the hospitahty that surrounds us, we are permitted to receive it but a little while. 10 ^^ Allons ! the inducements shall be greater ; We will sail pathless and wild seas ; We will go where winds blow, waves dash, and the Yankee clipper speeds by under full sail. ^^ Allons ! with power, liberty, the earth, the elements ! Health, defiance, gayety, self-esteem, curiosity ; Allons ! from all formules ! From your formules, O bat-eyed and materialistic priests ! ^' The stale cadaver blocks up the passage — the burial waits no longer. ^^ Allons ! yet take warning ! He traveling with me needs the best blood, thews, en- durance ; None may come to the trial, till he or she bring courage and health. ^'' Come not here if you have already spent the best of yourself ; Only those may come, who come in sweet and deter- min'd bodies ; 184 Leaves of Grass. No diseas'd person — no rum-drinker or venereal taint is permitted here. '^ I and mine do not convince by arguments, similes, rhymes ; We convince by our presence. 11 '' Listen ! I will be honest with you ; I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes ; These are the days that must happen to you : ^° You shall not heap up what is call'd riches, You shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve. You but arrive at the city to which you Vv^ere destin'd — you hardly settle yourself to satisfaction, before you are call'd by an irresistible call to depart. You shall be treated to the ironical smiles and mock- ings of those who remain behind you ; What beckonings of love you receive, you shall only answer with passionate kisses of parting, You shall not allow the hold of those who sj)read their reach'd hands toward you. 12 ■*' AUons! after the Great Companions! and to belong to them ! They too are on the road ! they are the swift and ma- jestic men ! they are the greatest women. ^- Over that which hinder'd them — over that which re- tarded— passing impediments large or small, Committers of crimes, committers of many beautiful virtues, Enjoyers of calms of seas, and storms of seas, Sailors of many a ship, walkers of many a mile of land. Habitues of many distant countries, habitues of far- distant dwelUugs, Song of the Open Road. 185 Trusters of men and women, observers of cities, solitary- toilers, Pausers and contemplators of tufts, blossoms, shells of the shore, Dancers at wedding-dances, kissers of brides, tender helpers of children, bearers of children, Soldiers of revolts, standers by gaping graves, lowerers down of coffins, Journeyers over consecutive seasons, over the years — the curious years, each emerging from that which preceded it, Journeyers as with companions, namely, their own diverse phases, Forfch-steppers from the latent unrealized baby-days, Journeyers gayly with their own youth — Journeyers with their bearded and well-grain'd manhood, Journeyers with their womanhood, ample, unsurpass'd, content, Journeyers with their own subHuie old age of manhood or womanhood. Old 8(g'e, calm, expanded, broad with the haughty bread bh of the universe, Old age, flowing free with Ihc delicious near-by freedom of death. 13 ■*' AUons ! to that which is endless, as it was begin- ningless. To undergo much, tramp:", of days, rests of nights, To merge all in the travel they tend to, and the days and nights they tend to, Again to merge them in the start of superior journeys ; To see nothing anyw^here but what you may reach it and pass it. To conceive no time, however distant, but what you may reach it and pass it. To look up or down no road but it stretches and waits for you — ^however long, but it stretches and waits for yon ; To see no being, not God's or any, but you also go thither. 18G Leaves of Gkass. To see no possession but you may possess it — enjoying all without labor or purchase — abstracting the feast, yet not abstracting one particle of it ; To take the best of the farmer's farm and the rich man's elegant villa, and the chaste blessings of the well- married couple, and the fi'uits of orchards and flowers of gardens, To take to your use out of the compact cities as you pass through, To carry buildings and streets with you afterward wherever you go, To gather the minds of men out of their brains as you encounter them — to gather the love out of their hearts. To take your lovers on the road with you, for all that you leave them behind you, To know the universe itself as a road — as many roads — as roads for traveling souls. 14 ^' The Soul travels ; The body does not travel as much as the soul ; The body has just as great a work as the soul, and parts away at last for the journeys of the soul. ^'^ All parts away for the progress of souls ; All religion, all solid things, arts, governments, — all that was or is apparent upon this globe or any globe, falls into niches and corners before the procession of Souls along the grand roads of the universe. ■"^ Of the progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of the univei'se, all other progress is the needed emblem and sustenance. " Forever alive, forever forward. Stately, solemn, sad, withdrawn, baffled, mad, turbulent, feeble, dissatisfied, Des]oerate, |jroud, fond, sick, accepted by men, rejected by men, So:>a OF TH3 OPEN EOAD. 187 They go ! they go ! I knovv^ that they go, but I huow not where they go ; But I know that they go toward the best — toward sorne- thiug great. 15 ^ Allons ! whoever you are ! come forth ! You must not stay sleeping and dallying there in the house, though you built it, or though it has been built for you. *' Allons ! out of the dark confinement ! It is useless to protest — I know all, and expose it. ^° Behold, through you as bad as the rest, Through the laughter, dancing, dining, supping, of people. Inside of dresses and ornaments, inside of those wash'd and trimm'd faces, Behold a secret silent loathing and despair. ^' No husband, no wife, no friend, trusted to hear the confession ; Another self, a duplicate of every one, skulking and hiding it goes. Formless and wordless through the streets of the cities, polite and bland in the parlors. In the cars of rail-roads, in steamboats, in the public assembly, Home to the houses of men and women, at the table, ia the bed-room, everywhere. Smartly attired, countenance smiling, form upright, death under the breast-bones, heU under the skull-bones. Under the broadcloth and gloves, under the ribbons and artificial flowers. Keeping fair with the customs, speaking not a syllable of itself. Speaking of anything else, but never of itself. 188 Leaves of Grass. 16 ^- AUons ! tliroLigli struggles and wars ! The goal tliat was named cannot be countermanded. ^^ Have the past struggles succeeded ? What has succeeded? yourself? your nation ? nature? Now understand me well — It is provided in the essence of things, that from any fruition of success, no matter what, shall come forth something to make a greater struggle necessary. " My call is the call of battle — I noui'ish active rebel- lion ; He going with me must go well arm'd ; lie going with me goes often with spare diet, poverty, angry enemies, desertions. 17 '"'' Aliens ! the road is before us ! It is safe — I have tried it — my own feet have tried it well. ^' Allons ! be not detain'd ! Let the paper remain on the desk unwritten, and the book on the shelf unopen'd ! Let the tools remain in the v/orkshop ! let the money remain unearn'd ! Let the school stand! mind not'the cry of the, teacher! Let the preacher preach in his pulpit ! let the lawyer plead in the court, and the judge exi^ound the law. " Mon enfant ! I give you my hand ! I give you my love, more precious than money, I give you myself, before preaching or law ; Will you give me yourself? v/ill you come travel with me ? Shall we stick by each other as long as we Uve ? Leaves of Grass. I. Sit and Look Out. I SIT and look out upon all the sori'ows of tlie world, and upon all oppression and shame ; I hear secret convulsive sobs from joung men, at an- guish with themselves, remorseful after deeds done ; I see, in low life, the mother misused by her children, dying, neglected, gaunt, desperate ; I see the wife misused by her husband— I see the treacherous seducer of young women ; I mark the ranklings of jealousy and unrequited love, attempted to be hid — I see these sights on the earth ; I see the workings of battle, pestilence, tyranny — I see martyrs and prisoners ; I observe a famine at sea — I observe the sailors casting lots who shall be kill'd, to preserve the lives of the rest ; I observe the slights and degradations cast by arrogant persons upon laborers, the poor, and upou ne- groes, and the Kke ; All these — AH the meanness and agony without end, I sitting, look out upon. See, hear, and am silent. — ^vAAWsAAft/v^ Me Imperturbe. Me imperturbe, standing at ease in Nature, Master of all, or mistress of all — aplomb in the midst of irrational things. Imbued as they — passive, receptive, silent as they. Finding my occupation, poverty, notoriety, foibles, crimes, less important than I thought ; 190 Leaves of Gkass. Me private, or public, or menial, or solitary — all these subordinate, (I am eternally equal with the best — I am not subordinate ;) Me toward the Mexican Sea, or in the Mannahatta, or the Tennessee, or far north, or inland, A river man, or a man of the woods, or of any farm-life of These States, or of the coast, or the lakes, or Kanada, Me, wherever my life is lived, 0 to be self-balanced for contingencies ! O to confront night, storms, himger, ridicule, accidents, rebuffs, as the trees and animals do. As I Lay with my Head in your Lap, Camerado. As I lay with my head in your lap, Camerado, The confession I made I resume — what I said to you and the open air I resume : I know I am restless, and make others so ; I know my words are weapons, full of danger, full of death ; (ladeed I am myself the real soldier ; It is not he, there, with his bayonet, and not the red- striped artilleryman ;) For I confront peace, security, and all the settled laws, to unsettle them ; I am more resolute because all have denied me, than I could ever have been had all accepted me ; I heed not, and have never heeded, either experience, cautions, majorities, nor ridicule ; And the threat of what is call'd hell is little or nothing to me ; And the lure of what is call'd heaven is little or nothing to me ; . . . Dear camerado ! I confess I have ui'ged you onward with me, and still urge you, without the least idea what is our destination. Or whether we shall be victorious, or utterly quell'd and defeated. Leaves of Geass. Crossing Brooklyn Ferry. ^ Flood-tide below mo ! I watch yoii face to face ; Clouds of the west ! siui there half an hour high ! I see you also face to face. ^ Crowds of men and women attired in the usual cos- tumes ! how curious you are to me ! On the ferry-boats, the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are m.ore curious to me than you suppose ; And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence, are more to me, and more in my medita- tions, than you might suppose. ^ The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the day ; The simple, compact, well-join'd scheme — myself disin- tegrated, every one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme ; The similitudes of the past, and those of the future ; The glories strung hke beads on my smallest sights and hearings — on the walk in the street, and the pas- sage over the river ; The current rushing go swiftly, and swimminsf with me tar av/ay ; 192 Leaves of Gkass. The other?, tlicl are to follow nae, the ties between mo and thein ; The certainty of others — the life, love, sight, hearing cf others. ^ Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to shore ; Others will watch the run of the flood-tide ; Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east ; Others will see the islands large and small ; Fift}' years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half an hour high ; A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others will see them. Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring in of the flood-tide, the falling- back to the sea of the ebb-tide. ' It avails not, neither time or place — distance avails not ; I am with you, you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence ; I project myself — also I return — I am with you, and know how it is. * Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt ; Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd ; Just as you are refresh'd by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refresh'd ; Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hiu^y with the swift current, I stood, yet w^as hurried ; Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the tbick-stem'd pipes of steamboats, I look'd. "^ I too many and many a time cross'd the river, the sun half an hour high ; Cnossma Brooklyn Fesey. 193 I watcliecl tlie Twelfcli-montli sea-gulls — I saw them liigli ill the ail', floating v.'ith motioiiles3 vviugrj, oscillating their bodies, I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of theii' bodies, and left the rest in strong shadow, I saw the slow-v,-heeling cii-cles, and the gradual edging toward the south. ^ I too saw the reflection of the summer sliy in the water, Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams, Look'd at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of my head in the sun-lit water, Look'd on the haze on the hills southward and south- westward, Look'd on the vapor as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet, Look'd towai'd the lower bay to notice the arriving ships, Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me, Sav/ the white sails of schooners and sloope — saw the ships at anchor. The sailors at work in the rigging, or out astride the ■ spars, The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpeniine pennants, The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-hou.ses. The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels. The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sun-set, The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolicsome crests and glistening, The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the gray walls of the granite store-houses by the docks. On the river the shadowy gTOup, the big steam-tug closely flank'd on each side by the barges — the hay-boat, the belated lighter. On the neighboring shore, the tires from the foundry chimneys burning high and glaringly into the night, 9 19-1 Leaves of Grass. Casting their flicker of black, contrasted witli wild red and yellow liglit, over the tojis of houses, and dovv'U into the clefts of streets. ^ These, and all else, v/ere to me the same as thej are to yon ; I project myself a moment to tell yon — also I return. "^ I loved v/ell those cities ; I loved well the stately and rapid river ; The men and women I saw were all near to me ; Others the same — others who look back on me, because I look'd forward to them ; (The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to- night.) " What is it, then, between us ? YvTiat is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us ? ^" Whatever it is, it avails not — distance avails not, and place avails not. 6 " I too lived — Brooklyn, of ample hills, was mine ; I too walk'd the streets of Manhattan Island, and bathed in the waters aro\iud it ; I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me, In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes the}' came upon me. In my walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed, they came ujoon me. " I too had been struck fi'om the float forever held in solution ; I too had receiv'd identity by my Body ; Ceossing BeooklyX'I Feeey. . 195 That I was, I knew was of my body — and wliat I should be, I knew I should bo of my body. '^ It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall, The dark threw patches down upon me also ; The best I had dolie seem'd to me blank and suspicious ; My groat thoughts, as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre ? v;ould not people laugh at me ? '^ It is not you alone who know what it is to bo evil ; I am he who knew what it was to be evil ; I too knitted the old knot of contrariety, Blabb'd, blush'd, resented, lied, stole, grudg'd, Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak. Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, i:lj, cowardly, malignant ; The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me, The cheating look, the frivolou'j word, the adulterourj wish, not wanting, Refusals, hates, postponements, mcauncss, laziness, none of these ^yantinp•. " But I was Manhattan ese, friendly and proud ! I was call'd by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as they saw me approaching or passing, Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of their flesh against me as I sat. Saw many I loved in the street, or ferry-boat, or public assembly, yet never told them a word. Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping, Play'd the part that still looks back en the actor or actress, The same old role, the role that is what avo make it, as great as we like. Or as small-as we like, or both great and small. 19G Leaves of G-eass. 9 '^ Closer yet I apj^roacli you ; What thought you have of mo, I had as much of you — I laid iu my stores iu advance ; I consjder'd long- and seriously of you before you vv-ero born. '* Who was to know what should come home to mo ? Who knows but I am enjoying this ? Who knows but I am as good as looking at you now, for all you cannot see me ? ■^ It is not you alone, nor I alone ; Not a few races, nor a few g'enerations, nor a few cen- turies ; It is that each came, or comes, or shall como, from its due emission, From the general centre of all, and forming a part of all : Everything indicates— the smallest does, and the largest does ; A necessary film envelopes all, and envelops the Soul for a proper time. 10 ^' Now I am curious what sight can ever be more stately and admirable to me than my mast- hemm'd Manhattan, My river and sun-set, and my scallop-edg'd waves of flood-tide. The sea-gulls oscillating tbeir bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter ; Curious what G-ods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nigh est name as I approach ; Carious what is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face, Which fuses me into you now, and i^oui's my meaning into you. ■^ We understand, then, do we not ? i CEOSsiNa Bkooklyii FEEr.y. 197 YvTaat I promis'd without mentioning' it, have jou not accepted ? What the study could not teach — what the preaching could not accomplish, is accomplish'd, is it not ? Y/hat the push of reading could not start, is started by me personally, is it not ? 11 " Flow on, river ! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide ! Frolic on, crested and scallop-edg'd waves ! Goi'geous clouds of the sun-sot ! drench with your splendor me^ or the men and women generations after me ; Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passen- gers ! Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta ! — stand up, beau- tiful hills of Brooklyn ! Throb, baffled and curious brain ! throw out questions and answers ! Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house, or street, or public assembly! Sound out, voices of young men ! loudly and musically call me by my nighest name! Live, old life ! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress ! Play the old role, the role that is great or small, ac- cording as one makes it ! Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be looking upon you ; Ee firm, rail over the river, to supj)ort those who lean idly, yet haste with the hasting current ; Fly on, sea-birds ! fly sideways, or wheel in large cir- cles high in the air ; Receive the summer sky, you water ! and faithfully hold it, tni all downcast eyes have time to take it from you ; Diverge, fine spokes of Hght, from the shape of my head, or any one's head, in the sun-lit water ; 198 Lea"\TlS of Geass. Come on, sliips from the lower bay ! pass up or down, white-sail'd scliooners, sloops, lighters ! Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lower'd at sunset ; Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys ! cast black shadows at nigtatfall ! cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses ; Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are ; You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul ; About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung our divinest aromas ; Thrive, cities! bring your freight, bring your shovrs, ample and sufficient rivers ; Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual ; Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting. 12 "^ We descend upon you and all thingo — wo r.rrest you all; We realize the soul only by you, you fa.tliful solids and fluids ; Through you color, form, location, sublimity, ideality ; Through you every proof, comparison, and all the sug- gestions and determinations of ourselves. •^ You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beau- tiful ministers ! you novices 1 We receive you with free sense at last,. and arc insatiate henceforward ; Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us ; We use you, and do not cast you aside — we plant jxu permanently within us ; Yv^e fathom you not — vre love you — there is perfection in you also ; You furnish your parts toward eternity ; Great or small, you furnish yoiu' parts toward the soul. I Leavks of Grass. 199 WITH ANTECEDENTS. 1 ' With antecedents ; With my fatlaei's and mothers, and tlie accumulations of past ages ; With all which, had it not been, I would not now be here, as I am : Yv^ith Egypt, India, Phenicia, Greece and Rome ; With the Kelt, the Scandinavian, the Alb, and the Saxon ; With antique maritune ventures, — with laws, artizan- ship, wars and journeys ; With the poet, the skald, the saga, the myth, and the oracle ; With the sale of slaves — with enthusiasts — witli the tioubadour, the crusader, and the monk ; With those old continents whence we have come to this new continent ; With the fading kingdoms and kings over there ; 'With the fading religions and priests ; With the small shores we look back to from our ovvia large and present shores ; With countless years di'awing themselves onward, and arrived at these years ; You and Me arrived — America arrived, and making this year ; This year ! sending itself ahead countless years to come. 2 - 0 but it is not the years — it is I — it is You ; We touch all laws, and tally all antecedents ; We are the skald, the oracle, the monk, and the kuight — Vv'e easily include them, and more ; We stand amid time, beginningless and endless — we stand amid evil and good ; All swings around us — there is as much darkness as light; The very sun svrings itself and its system of planets around us ; Its siin, and its again, all swing around us. 200 Leavj^s 01'' Grass. ^ As for me, (torn, stormy, even as I, amid these vehe- ment days,) I have the idea of all, and am all, aud believe in all ; I believe materialism is true, and spiritualism is true — I reject no part. ^ Have I forgotten any part ? Come to me, whoever and whatever, till I give you recoguitiou. ^ I respect Assyria, China, Teutonia, and the Hebrews ; I adopt each theory, myth, god, and demi-god ; I see that the old accounts, bibles, genealogies, are true, without exception ; I assert that all past days were what they shoidd have been ; And that tlie}^ could no-how have been better than they were, And that to~daj is what it should be — and that Amer- ica is. And that to-day and America could no-how be better than they are. ® In the name of These States, and in your and my name, the Past, And in the name of These States, aud in your and my name, the Present time. ' I know ihat the past v,'ji3 great, and the future will be great. And I know that both curiously conjoint in the present time, (For the sake of him I typify — for the common average man's sake — your sake, if you are he ;) Aud that where I am, or you are, this present day, there is the centre of all days, all races, And there is the meaning, to us, of all that has ever come of races and days, or ever will come. Leaves of Grass. ^ Now List to my Morning's Romanza. Now list to my morning's romanza — I tell the signs of the Aiiswerer ; To the cities aucl farms I sing, as they sj^read in the sunshine before me. - A young man comes to me bearing a message from his brother ; How shall the young man know the whether and when of his brother ? Tell him to send me the signs. ^ And I stand before the young man face to face, and take his right hand in my left hand, and his left hand in my right hand, And I answer for his brother, and for men, and I an- swer for him that answers for all, and send these signs. 2 * Him all wait for — him all yield up to — his word is decisive and final. Him they accept, in him lave, in him perceive them- selves, as amid light. Him they immerse, and he immerses thern. 202 Leaves ov Gkaos. ° Beautiful women, the haughtiest nations, laws, the landscape, people, animals. The profound earth and its attributes, and the unquiet oc3an, (so tell I my morning's romanza ;) All enjoyments and properties, and money, and what- ever money will buy. The best farms — others toiling and planting, and he unavoidably reaps, The noblest and costliest cities — others grading and building, and he domiciles there ; Nothing for any one, but what is for him — near and far are for him, the ships in the ofQng, The perpetual shows and inarches on land, are for him, if they are for any body. ^ He puts things in their attitudes ; He puts to-day out of himself, with plasticity and love ; He places his own city, times, reminiscences, parents, brothers and sisters, associations, emplo^'ment, politics, so that the rest never shame them after- ward, nor assume to command them. ' He is the answerer ; What can be answer'd he answers — and vvhat cannot be ansvfer'd, he shows how it cannot be answer'd. ^ A man is a summons and challenge ; (It is vain to skulk — Do you hear that mocking and laughter ? Do you hear the ironical echoes ?) ^ Books, friendships, philosophers, priests, action, plea- sure, pride, beat ujo and down, seeking to give satisfaction ; He indicates the satisfaction, and indicates them that beat up and down also. " Whichever the sex, whatever the season or place, he may go fi'c^jhly and gently and safely, by day or by night ; k The Answeuer. 203 He Las tlie pass-key of hearts — to him the response of the prying- of hands on the knobs. " His welcome is universal — the flow of beauty is not more welcome or universal than he is ; The person he favors by day, or sleeps with at night, is blessed. ^- Every existence has its idiom — ever}d:hing has an idiom and tongue ; He resolves all tongues into his own, and bestows it upon men, and any man translates, and any man translates himself also ; One part does not counteract another part — he is the joiner — he sees how they join, '^ He says indifferently and alike, Hoio arc you, friend? to the President at his levee. And he says. Good-day, my brother ! to Cudge that hoes in the -sugar-field, And both understand him, and knovr that his speech is right. '' He walks with perfect ease in the Capitol, He walks among the Congress, and one Representative says to' another, Here is our equal, appearing and new. '^ Then the mechanics take him for a mechanic. And the soldiers suj>pose him to be a soldier, and the sailors that he has follow'd the sea, And the authors take him for an author, and the artists for an artist. And the laborers perceive he could labor with them and love them ; No matter what the work is, that he is the one to fol- low it, or has follow'd it, No matter what the nation, that he might find his brothers and sisters there. 204 Leaves or Geass. '® The English believe lie com:s of tlieir English stocli:, A Jew to the Jew he seems — a Russ to the Russ — nsual and near, removed from none. ^■' Whoever he loolcs at in the traveler's coffee-house claims him, The Italian or Frenchman is snre, and the German i3 sure, aud the Spaniard is sure, and the island Cuban is sure ; The engineer, the deck-hand on the great lahes, or on the MississipT)i, or St. Lawrence, or Sacramento, or Hudson, or Paumanok Sound, claims him. '^ The gentleman of perfect blood achnowledges his perfect blood ; The insulter, the prostitute, the angry person, the beggar, see themselves in the v/ays of him — he strangely transmutes them. They are not vile any more — they hardly know them- selves, they are so grown. The Indications. ' The indications, and tally of time ; Perfect sanity shows the master among philosophs ; Time, always without flaw, indicates itself in parts ; "What always indicates the poet, is the crowd of tlio pleasant company of singers, and their words ; The words of the singers are the hours or minutes of the light or dark — but the words of the maker of poems are the general light and dark ; The maker of poems settles justice, reality, immor- tality. His insight and power encircle things ami the hr.rir.n race. He is the glory and extract thus far, of things-, and cf the human race. The Answekeh. 205 - The singers clo not beget — only the Poet begets ; The. shigers are "welcom'd, understood, appear often enough — ^]jnt rare has the day been, likewise the spot, of the birth of the maker of poems, the Answerer, (Not every century, or every five centimes, has con- tain'd such a day, for all its names.) " The singers of successive hours of centuries may have ostensible names, but the name of each of them is one of the singers, The narae of each is, eye-singer, ear-singer, liead- singer, sweet-singer, echo-singer, parlor- singer, love-singer, or something else. ■* All this time, and at all times, wait the words of true poems ; The words of true poems do not merely please. The true poets are not followers of beauiy, but the august masters of beauty ; The greatness of sons is the exuding of the greatness of mothers and fathers, The words of poems are the tuft and final applause of science. * Divine instinct, breadth of vision, the law of reason, health, rudeness of body, withdi-awnness, Gayety, sun-tan, air-sweetness — such are some of the words of poems. ® The sailor and traveler underlie the maker of poems, the answerer ; The buiklei', geometer, chemist, anatomist, phrenolo- gist, artist — all these underlie the maker of poems, the answerer. ' The words of the true poems give you more than poems, They give you to form for yourself, poems, religions, pohtics, war, peace, behavior, histories, essays, romances, and everything else. 206 Leaves of Grass. They balance ranks, colors, races, creeds, and the sexes. They do not seek beauty — they are sought, Forever touching them, or close upon them, follows beauty, longing, fain, love-sick. * They prepare for death — yet are they not the finish, but rather the outset. They bring none to his or her terminus, or to l^e con- tent and full ; "Whom they take, they take into space, to behold the birth of stars, to learn one of the meanings. To launch off with absolute faith — to sweep through the ceaseless rings, and never be quiet again. Poets to Come. * Poets to come ! orators, singers, musicians to come ! Not to-day is to justif}' me, and answer what I am for ; But you, a new brood, native, athletic, continental, greater than before known. Arouse! Arouse — for you must justify mc — you must answer. - I myself but v/rite one or two indicative words for the future, I but advance a moment, only to wheel and hurry back in the darkness, ^ I am a man who, sauntering along, without fully stop- ping, turns a casual look upon you, and then averts his face. Leaving it to you to prove and define it. Expecting the main things from you. The Ans^liorn I call answers me, and takes tlio place of my lover, He rises with me silently from the bed. '^ Darkness ! you are gentler than my lover — his flesli was sweaty and panting, I feel the hot moisture yet that he left me. '* My hands are spread forth, I pass tliem in all direc- tions, I v/ould sound up the shadowy shore to which you are journeying. ^° Be careful, darkness ! already, what was it touch'd me ? I thought mj lover had gone, else darkness and he are one, I he.ar the heart-beat — I follow, I fade av/ay. ^' O hot-clieek'd and blushing ! O foolish hectic ! 0 for pitj'^'s sake, no one must see me now ! my clothes were stolen while I was abed, Now I am thrust forth, where shall I run ? ^- Pier that I saw dimly last night, when I look'd from the windows ! •Pier out from the main, let me catch myself with you, and stay — I Vt'ill not chafe you, 1 feel ashamed to go naked about the world. ^^ I am curious to know where my feet stand — and w'hat this is flooding me, childhood or manhood — and the hunger that crosses the bridge between. 8 " The cloth laps a first sweet eating and drinking, Laps life-swelling j^olks — laps ear of rose-corn, milky and just ripen'd ; f The Sleepers. 223 The wliite teetli stay, and the boss-tootli aclvaaccs in dark u ess, And liquor is spill'd on lijDS and bosoms by toiicliiug glasses, and the best liquor afterward. 9 ^^ I descend my, western course, my sinews are flaccid. Perfume and youth course through me, and I am their wake. ■'^ It is my face yellow and wi'inkled, instead of the old woman's, I sit low in a straw-bottom chair, and carefully darn my grandson's stockings. ■' It is I too, the sleepless widow, looking out on the winter midnight, I see the sparkles of starshine on the icy and pallid earth. ^® A shroud I see, and I am the shroud — I wrap a body, and lie in the coffin, It is dark here under ground — it is not evil or pain here — it is blank here, for reasons. "' It seems to me that everything in the light and air ought to be happy, Whoever is not in his coffin and the dark grave, let him know he has enough. 10 "^ I see a beautiful gigantic swimmer, swimming naked through the eddies of the sea. His brown hair lies close and even to his head — ho strikes out with courageous arms — he urges him- self with his legs, I see his white body — I see his undaunted eyes, I hate the swift-running eddies that would dash him head-foremost on the rocks. 224 Leaves of Gkas3. ^' What are yon doing, you ruffianly red-trickled waves? "Will you kill the courageous giant ? Will you kill him in the prime of his middle age ? ^° Steady and long he struggles, He is baffled, bang'd, bruis'd — he holds out v.hile his strength holds out, The slapping eddies are spotted with his blood — they bear him away — they roll him, swing him, turn him, His beautiful body is borne in the circling eddies, it is continually bruis'd on rocks, Swiftly and out of sight is borne the brave corpse. 11 "^ I turn, but do not extricate myself, Confused, a past-reading, another, but with darkness yet. ^' The beach is cut by the razory ice-wind — the wreck- gTius sound, The tem^Dest lulls — the moon comes floundering through the drifts. ^^ I look where the ship helplessly heads end on — I hear the burst as she strikes — I hear the howls of dismay — they grow fainter and fainter. ^^ I cannot aid with my vv^ringing fingers, I can But rush to the surf, and let it drench me and freeze upon ine. ^^ I search with the crowd — not one of the company is wash'd to us alive ; In the morning I help pick up the dead and lay them in rows in a barn. 12 ^^ Nov/ of the older war-days, the defeat at Brooklyn, The Sleepers. 225 Washington stands inside tlie lines — ^he stands on the intrench'd hills, amid a crowd of officers, His face is cold and damp — he cannot repress the weep- ing drops. He hfts the glass perpetually to his eyes — the color is blanch'd fi'om his cheeks. He sees the slaughter of the southern braves confided to him by. their parents. ^^ The same, at last and at last, when peace is declared, He stands in the room of the old tavern — the v/ell- belov'd soldiers all joass through, The officers speechless and slow draw near in their turns. The chief encircles their necks with his arm, and kisses them on the cheek. He kisses lightly the wet cheeks one after another — he shakes hands, and bids good-by to the army. 13 *'^ Now I tell what my mother told me to-day as we sat at dinner together. Of when she was a nearly grown girl, living home with her parents on the old homestead. ^' A red squaw came one breakfast time to the old homestead. On her back she carried a bundle of rushes for rush- bottoming chairs, Her hair, straight, shiny, coarse, black, profuse, half- envelop'd her face. Her step was free and elastic, and her voice sounded exquisitely as she spoke. ^'^ My mother look'd in delight and amazement at the stranger. She look'd at the freshness of her tall-borne face, and full and pliant limbs, The more she look'd upon her, she loved her. 228 Leaves of Guass. Never before liad she seen sucli wonderful beauty and purity, She made her sit on a bench by the jamb of the firc- l^lace — slie cook'd food for her, She had no work to give her, but she gave her reriic!;i- brance and fondness. ^■^ The red squaw staid all the forenoon, and toward the middle of the afternoon she went away, 0 my mother was loth to have her go away ! All the week she thought of her — she watch'd for her many a month, She remember'd her many a winter and many a summer, But the red squaw never came, nor was heard of there again. 14 *^ Now Lucifer was not dead — or if he was, I am his sorrowful terrible heir ; 1 have been wrong'd — I am oppress'd — I hate him that oppresses me, I will either destroy him, or he shall release me. *^ Damn him ! how he does defile me ! How he informs against my brother and sister, and takes pay for their blood ! How he laughs when I look down the bend, after the steamboat that carries away my woman ! ■*" Now the vast dusk bulk that is the whale's bulk, it seems mine ; Warily, sjoortsman! though I lie so sleepy and slug- gish, the tap of my flukes is death. 15 ^' A sliov/ of the siunmer softness ! a contact of some- tliing unseen! an amoiu* of the light and air! I am jealous, and overwhelm'd with friendliness. And will go galhvant Vvdth the light and air myself. The Sleepees. 227 And Lave an unseen something to be in contact with them also. ■^^ O love and summer! you are in the dreams, and in me ! Autumn and vs'inter are in the dreams — the farmer goes with his thrift, The droves and- croj)s increase, and the barns are well- mi'd. 16 *•* Elements merge in the night — ships make taclcs in the dreams, The sailor sails — the exile returns home. The fugitive returns unharm'd — the immigrant is bach beyond months and years. The poor Irishman lives in the simple house of his childhood, with the well-known neighbors and faces, They warmly welcome him — he is barefoot again, he forgets he is well oft' ; The Dutchman voyages home, and the Scotchman and Welshman voyage home, and the native of the Mediterranean voyages home. To every port of England, France, Spain, enter well- fill'd ships, The Swiss foots it toward his hills — the Prussian goes his way, the Hungarian his way, and the Pole his way, The Swede returns, and the Dane and Norwegian re- turn. 17 ^^ The homeward bound, and the outward bound. The beautiful lost swimmer, the ennuye, the onanist, the female that loves unrequited, the money- maker, The actor and actress, those through with their parts, and those waiting to commence. 228 Lk-iVes of Grass. The aiieedouatG boy, tlie husband and wife, the voter, the nominee that is chosen, and the nominee that ha3 fail'd, The gi3ai aheady ]mo^vn, and the great any time after to-day, The stammerer, the si^l^, the perfect-form'd, the homely, The criminal that stood in the box, the judge that sa: and sentenced him, the fluent lawyers, the jury, the audience, The laugher and weeper, the dancer, the midnight Vv'idow, the red squav,*, The consumptive, the erysipelite, the idiot, he that is wron g'd, The antipode.3, and every one between this and them in the dark, I swear they are averaged now — one is no better than the other. The night and sleep have liken'd them and restored them. '' I swear they are all beautiful ; Every one that sleejis is beautiful — everything in the dim light is beautiful. The wildest and bloodiest is over, and all is peace. 18 ^' Peace is always beautiful. The myth of heaven indicates peace and night. ^^ The myth of heaven indicates the Soul ; The Soul is always beaiitifal — it appears more or it appears less — it comes, or it lags behind. It comes from its embower'd garden, and looks pleas- antly on itself, aud encloses the world. Perfect and clean the genitals previously jetting, and jDarfect and clean the womb cohering. The head well-grown, proportion'd and plumb, nnd the bowels and joints proportion'd and piuuib. Thk Sleepers. 229 19 " Tlie Soul is always beautiful, The vmiverse is du]y in order, everything is in its place, What has arrived is in its place, and what waits is in its place ; The twisted skull waits, the watery or rotten blood waits. The child of the glutton or venerealee waits long, and the child of the di-unkard waits long, and the drunkard himself waits long, The sleepers that lived and died wait— the far advanced are to go on in their turns, and the far behind are to come on in their turns. The diverse shall be no less diverse, but they shall flow and unite — they unite nov/. 20 " The sleepers are ver^^ beautiful as they lie unclothed, They flow hand in hand over the whole earth, from east to west, as they lie unclothed. The Asiatic and African are hand in hand — the Era-o- pean and American are hand in hand, Learn'd and unlearn'd are hand in hand, and male and , female are hand in hand, The bare arm of the girl crosses the bare breast of her lover — they press close without lust — his lips press her neck. The father holds his grown or ungrown son in his arms with measureless love, and the son holds the father in his arms with measureless love. The white hair of the mother shines on the white wrist of the daughter. The breath of the-boy goes with the breath of the man, friend is inarm'd by friend, The scholar kisses the teacher, and the teacher kisses the scholar — the wrong'd is made right. The call of the slave is one with the master's call, and the master salutes the slave, 230 Leaves of Grass. The felon steps forth from the jDrisou — the insane be- comes sane — the sufiering of sick persons is reliev'd, The sweatings and fevers stop — the throat that was tin- sound is sound — the lungs of the consumptive are resumed — the poor distress'd head is free, The joints of the rheumatic move as smoothly as ever, and smoother than ever, Stiflings and passages open — the paralyzed become supple, The s we] I'd and convuls'd and congested awake to themselves in condition, They pass the invigoration of the night, and the chem- istry of the night, and awake. 21 '^'^ I too pass from the night, I stay a while away, O night, but I return to you again, and love you. " Why should I be afraid to trust myself to jow? I am not afraid — I have been well brought forward by you ; I love the rich running day, but I do not desert her in whom I lay so long, I know not how I came of you, and I know not where I go with you — but I know I came well, and shall go well. ^^ I will stop only a time with the night, and rise be- times ; I will duly pass the day, O my mother, and duly return to you. Leaves of Grass. ' Earth, round, rolling, compact — suns, moons, ani- mals— all these arc words to be said ; Watery, vegetable, sauroid advances — beings, premoni- tions, lispings of the future. Behold ! these are vast words to be said. * Were you thinking that those were the words — those upright lines ? those curves, angles, dots ? No, those are not the Vv'ords — the substantial words are in the ground and sea. They are in the air — they are in you. ^ Were you thinking that those were the words — those delicious sounds out of your fiiends' mouths ? No, the real words are more delicious than they. ■* Human bodies are words, myriads of words ; In the best poems re-appears the body, man's or wo- man's, well-shaped, natural, gay, Every part able, active, receptive, without shame or the need of shame. ^ Air, soil, water, fire — these are words ; I myself am a word with them — my qualities interpene- trate with theirs — my name is nothing to them ; 232 Leaves of Grass. Tliough it were told in the three thousand languages, what would air, soil, water, fire, know of jnj name ? ^ A healthy presence, a friendly or commanding ges- ture, are words, sayings, meanings ; The charms that go with the mere looks of some men and women, are sayings and meanings also. ' The workmanship of souls is by the inaudible words of the earth ; The great masters know the earth's words, and use them more than the audible words. ^ Amelioration is one of the earth's words ; The earth neither lags nor hastens ; It has all attributes, growths, effects, latent in itself from the jump ; It is not half beautiful only— defects and excrescences show just as much as perfections show. * The earth does not withhold, it is generous enough ; The truths of the earth continually wait, they are not so conceal'd either ; They are calm, subtle, untransmissible by print ; They are imbued through all things, conveying them- selves willingly, Conveying a sentiment and invitation of the earth — I utter and utter, I speak not, yet if you hear me not, of what avail am I to you ? To bear — to better — lacking these, of what avail am I ? '" Accouche ! Accouchez ! Will you rot your own fruit in yourself there ? Will you squat and stifle there ? " The earth docs uot argue, Cakol of Words. 233 Is not pathetic, has no arrangeinents, Does not scream, Iiaste, persuade, threaten, promise, Makes no discriminations, has no conceivable failures, Closes nothing, refuses nothing, shuts none out. Of all the powers, objects, states, it notifies, shuts none out. '■ The earth does not exhibit itself, nor refuse to ex- hibit itself — possesses still underneath ; Underneath the ostensible sounds, the august chorus of heroes, the wail of slaves. Persuasions of lovers, ciu'ses, gasps of the djdng, laughter of young people, accents of bargain- ers. Underneath these, possessing the words that never fan. " To her children, the words of the eloquent dumb great mother never fail ; The true v>'ords do not fail, for motion does not fail, and reflection does noc fail ; Also the day and night do not fail, and the voyage we pursue docs not fail. 6 '^ Of the interminable sisters. Of the ceaseless cotillions of sisters. Of the centripetal and centrifugal sisters, the elder and younger sisters, The beautiful sister we know dances on with the rest. '^ With her ample back towards every beholder. With the fascinations of youth, and the equal fascina- tions of age. Sits she whom I too love like the rest — sits undis- turb'd. Holding up in her hand what has the character of a mirror, while her eyes glance back from it, 231 Leaves or Grass. Glance as she sits, inviting none, denying nono, Holding a mirror day and night tirelessly before her own face. '^ Seen at hand, or seen at a distance, Duly the twenty-four appear in pubUc every day, Duly approach and pass with their companions, or a companion, Lo oiling from no countenances of their own, but from the countenances of those who are with them, From the countenances of children or women, or the manly countenance, From the open countenances of animals, or fi'om inani- mate things. From the landscape or waters, or from the exquisite apparition of the sky. From our countenances, mine and yours, faithfully re- turning them, Every day in public appearing without fail, but never twice with the same companions. 8 " Embracing man, embracing all, proceed the three hundred and sixty-five resistlessly round the sun ; Embracing all, soothing, supporting, follow close three hundred and sixty-five ofisels of the first, sure and necessary as they 9 '" Tumbling on steadily, nothing dreading. Sunshine, storm, cold, heat, forever withstanding, pass- ing, carrying. The Soul's realization and determination still inherit- ing, The fluid vacuum around and ahead still entering and dividing, Carol of Woeds. 235 No balk retarding, no anchor anchoring, on no rock striking, Swift, glad, content, unbereav'd, nothing losing. Of all able and ready at any time to give strict ac- count, The divine shix') sails the divine sea. 10 '^ Wlioever yon are ! motion antl reflection are especi- ally for you ; The divine ship sails the divine sea for you. -° Whoever you are ! you are he or she for vrhom the earth is solid and liquid. You aj'e he or she for whom the sun and moon hang in the shy, For none more than j-ou are the present and the past, For none more than you is immortality. . 11 -' Each man to timself, and each woman to herself, such is the word of the past and present, and the word of immortality ; No one can acquire for another — not one ! Not one can grow for another — not one ! -■ The song is to the singer, and comes bach most to him ; The teaching is to the teacher, and comes back most to him ; The murder is to the murderer, and comes back most to him ; The theft is to the thief, and comes back most to him ; The love is to the lover, and comes back most to him ; The gift is to the giver, and comes back most to him — • it cannot fail ; The oration is to the orator, the acting is to the actor and actress, not to the audience ; And no man understands any greatness or goodness but his own, or the indication of his own. 236 Leaves of Grass. 12 "^ I swear the earth shall surely be complete to hiin or her who shall be complete ! I swear the earth remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and broken ! "* I swear there is no greatness or power that does not emulate those of the earth ! I swear there can be no theory of any account, unless it corroborate the theory of the earth ! No politics, art, rehgion, behavior, or what not, is of account, unless it compare with the amphtude of the earth, Unless it face the exactness, vitality, impartiahty, recti- tude of the earth. 13 ^^ I swear I begin to see love with sweeter spasms than that which responds love ! It is that which contains itself — which never invites, and never refuses. ^^ I swear I begin to see little or nothing in audible words ! I swear I think all merges toward the presentation of the unspoken meanings of the earth ! Toward him who sings the songs of the Body, and of the truths of the earth ; Toward him who makes the dictionaries of words that print cannot touch. 14 " I swear I see what is better than to tell the best ; It is always to leave the best untold. •^ When I undertake to tell the best, I find I cannot, My tongue is ineffectual on its pivots. My breath wiU not be obedient to its organs, I become a dumb man. Carol of Woeds. 237 ■^ The best of the earth cannot be told anyhow — all or any is best ; It is not what yoii anticipated — it is cheaper, easier, nearer ; Things are not dismiss'd from the places they held before ; The earth is just as positive and direct as it was before ; Facts, religions, improvements, jDolities, trades, are as real as before ; But the Soul is also real, — it too is positive and direct ; No reasoning, no proof has establish'd it, Undeniable growth has estabhsh'd it. 15 ^^ This is a poem — a carol of words — these are hints of meanings, These are to echo the tones of Souls, and the phrases of Souls ; If they did not echo the phrases of Souls, what were they then ? If they had not reference to you in especial, what were they then ? ^' I swear I will never henceforth have to do with the faith that tells the best ! I will have to do only with that faith that leaves the best untold. 16 ^- Say on, sayers ! Delve ! mould ! pile the words of the earth ! Work on — (it is materials you must bring, not breaths ;) "Work on, age after age ! nothing is to be lost ; It may have to wait long, but it will certainly come in use ; When the materials are all prepared, the architects shall appear. ^^ I swear to you the architects shall appear without fail ! I announce them and lead them ; 238 Leaves. OF Gras3. I swear to you tliey will understand you, and justify you ; I swear to you the greatest among- them shall be he who best knows you, and encloses all, and is faithful to all ; I swear to you, he and the rest shall not forget you — they shall perceive that you are not an iota less than they ; I swear to you, you shall be glorified in them. Ah Poverties, Wincings, and Sulky Retreats. Ah poverties, wincings, and sulky retreats ! Ah you foes that in conflict have overcome me ! (For what is my life, or any man's life, but a conflict with foes — the old, the incessant war?) You degradations — you tussle with passions and appe- tites ; You smarts from dissatisfied friendships, (ah wounds, the sharpest of all ;) You toil of painful and choked articulations — you mean- nesses ; You shallow tongue-talks at tables, (my tongue the shallowest of any ;) You broken resolutions, you racking angers, you smoth- er'd ennuis ; Ah, think not you finally triumph— My real seH has yet to come forth ; It shall yet march forth o'ermastering, till all lies be- neath me ; It shall yet stand up the soldier of unquestion'd victory. Leaves of Grass. A BOSTON BALLAD. (1854.) ' To get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning early ; Here's a good place at the corner — I must stand and see the show. - Clear the way there, Jonathan!' Way for the President's marshal ! "Way for the govern- ment cannon ! Way for the Federal foot and di-agoons — and the appa- ritions copiously tumbling. ^ I love to look on the stars and stripes — I hope the fifes will play Yankee Doodle. ■* How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops! Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through Boston town. ^ A fog follows — antiques of the same come limping. Some appear wooden-legged, and some appear ban- daged and bloodless. ® Why this is indeed a show ! It has called the dead out of the earth ! The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to see ! Phantoms ! phantoms countless by flank and rear ! Cock'd hats of mothy mould ! crutches made of mist ! Arms in slings ! old men leaning on young men's shoul- devs ! 240 Leaves oe Grass. ' "What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is all this chattering of bare gnras ? Does the ague convulse your limbs ? Do you raistake your crutches for fire-locks, and level them ? ^ If you blind your eyes with tears, you will nob see the President's marshal ; If you groan such groans, you might balk the govern- ment cannon. ' For shame old maniacs! Bring down those toss'd arms, and let your white hair be ; Here gape your great grand-sons — their wives gaze at them from the windows, See how well dress' d — see how orderly they conduct themselves. '" Worse and worse! Can't you stand it? Are you retreating ? Is this hour with the living too dead for you? " Eetreat then ! Pell-mell! To your graves ! Back ! back to the hills, old limpers ! I do not think you belong here, anyhow. ^^ But there is one thing that belongs here — shall I tell you what it is, gentlemen of Boston ? ^^ I will w^hisper it to the Mayor — he shall send a com- mittee to England ; They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a cart to the royal vault — haste ! Dig out King George's coffin, unwrap him quick from the grave-clothes, box up his bones for a journey; Find a swift Yankee clipper — hero is freight for you, black-bellied clipper. Up with your anchor ! shake out your sails ! steer straight tov,'ard Boston- bay. " Now call for the President's marshal again, bring out the government cannon, , A Boston Ballad. 241 Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another procession, guard it vath foot and dragoons. '^ This centre-piece for them : Look! all orderly citizens — look from the windows, women ! '^ The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs, glue those that will not stay. Clap the skull on top of^ the ribs, and clap a crown on top of the skull. " You have got your revenge, old buster ! The crown is come to its own, and more than its own. '^ Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan — you are a made man from this day ; You are mighty cute — and here is one of your bargains. Year of Meteors. (1859-60.) Yeae of meteors ! brooding year ! I would bind in words retrospective, some of your deeds and signs ; I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad ; I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair, mounted the scaffold in Virginia ; (I was at hand — silent I stood, with teeth- shut close — I watch'd ; I stood very near you, old man, when cool and indiffer- ent, but trembling with age and your unheal'd wounds, you mounted the scaffold ;) — ^I would sing in my copious song your census returns of The States, The tables of population and products — I would sing of your ships and their cargoes, 11 212 Leavls of Grass. TliG proud black sliips of Manhattan, arriving, some fili'd with immigrants, some from the isthmus with cargoes of gold ; Songs thereof would I sing — to all that hicherward comes would I welcome give ; And you would I sing, fair stripling ! welcome to you from me, sweet boy of England ! Fiemember you surging Manhattan's crowds, as . you pass'd with your cortege of nobles ? There in the crov*'ds stood I, and singled you out with attachment ; I know not why, but I loved you . . . (and so go forth little song. Far over sea speed like an arrow, carryiog my love all folded, And find in his palace the youth I love, and droj) these lines at his feet ;) — Nor forget I to sing of the wonder, tlie ship as she swam up my bay. Well-shaped and stately the Great Eastern sv/am up my bay, she was 600 feet long. Her, moving swiftly, sui'rounded by myriads of small craft, I forget not to sing ; — Nor the comet that came unannounced, out of the north, flaring in heaven ; Nor the strange huge meteor procession, ciazzling and clear, shooting over our heads, (A moment, a moment long, it sail'd its balls of un- earthly light over our heads. Then departed, di'opt in the night, and was gone ;) — Of such, and fitful as ihej, I sing — with gleams from them would I gleam and j)atch these chants ; Your chants, O year all mottled with evil and good ! year of forebodings ! year of the youth I love ! Year of comets and meteors transient and strange ! — lo ! even here, one equally transient and strange! As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, what is this book, What am I myself but one of your meteors? Leaves of Geass. A Broadway Pageant. Reception Japanese Embassy, June, i860. ' Over the western sea, hither from Niphon come, Courteous, the swart-cheek'd, two-swordecl envoys, Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive, Eide to-day through Manhattan. * Libertad! I do not know whether others behold what I behold, In the procession, along with the nobles of Asia, the errand-bearers, Bringing up the rear, hovering above, around, or in the ranks marching ; But I will sing you a song of what I behold, Libertad. ^ When million-footed Manhattan, unpent, descends to her pavements ; When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the proud roar I love ; When the round-mouth'd guns, out of the smoke and smell I love, spit their salutes ; 244 Leaves of Grass. Wlien the fire-flashing guns Lave fully alerted me — wlien heaven-clouds canopy my city with a delicate thin haze ; "When, gorgeous, the countless straight stems, the for- ests at the wharves, thicken Vv'ith colors ; "When every ship, richly drest, carries her flag at the peak ; When pennants trail, and street-festoons hang fi'om the windows ; "When Broadway is entirely given up to foot-passengers and foot-standers — when the mass is densest ; "When the fagades of the houses are alive with people — when eyes gaze, riveted, tens of thousands at a time ; When the guests from the islands advance — when the pageant moves forward, visible ; When the summons is made — when the answer that waited thousands of years, answers ; I too, arising, answering, descend to the pavements, merge with the crowd, and gaze with them. ^ Superb-faced Manhattan ! Comrade Americanos ! — to us, then, at last, the Orient comes. ^ To us, my city, Where our tall-topt marble and iron beauties range on opposite sides — to walk in the space between, To-day our Antipodes comes. ® The Originatress comes. The nest of langiiages, the bequeather of poems, the race of eld. Florid with blood, pensive, rapt with musings, hot with passion, Sultry with perfume, with ample and flowing garments. With sunburnt visage, with intense soul and glittering eyes. The race of Brahma comes ! I A Bkoadway Pageakt. ' 245 ' See, my cantabile ! these, and more, are flashing to us from the procession ; As it moves, changing, a kaleidoscope divine it moves, changing, before us. '^ For not the envoys, nor the tann'd Japanee from his island only ; Lithe and silent, the Hindoo appears — the Asiatic con- tinent itself appears — the Past, the dead. The murky night-morning of wonder and fable, inscru- table. The envelop'd mysteries, the old and unknown hive- bees. The North- — the sweltering South — eastern Assyria — the Hebrews — the Ancient of Ancients, Yast desolated cities — the gliding Present — all of these, and more, are in the pageant-procession. ^ Geography, the world, is in it ; The Great Sea, the brood of islands, Polynesia, the coast beyond ; The coast you, henceforth, are facing — you Libertad! from your "Western golden shores The countries there, with their pojDulations — the mil- lions en-masse, are curiously here ; The swarming market places — the temjales, with idols ranged along the sides, or at the end — bonze, brahmin, and lama ; The mandarin, farmer, merchant, mechanic, and fisher- man ; The singing-girl and the dancing-girl — the ecstatic person — the secluded Emj^erors, Confucius himself — the great poets and heroes — the warriors, the castes, all, Trooping up, crowding from all directions — from the Altay mountains. From Thibet — from the four winding and far-flowing rivers of China, From the Southern peninsulas, and the demi-conti- nental islands — from Malaysia ; 246 Leaves of Grass. These, and whatever belongs to them, palpable, show forth to me, and aro seiz'd by me. And I am seiz'd by them, and friendlily held by them. Till, as here, them all I chant, Libertad ! for themselves and for you. 5 '" For I too, raising my voice, join the ranks of this pageant ; I am the chanter — I chant aloud over the pageant ; I chant the world on my "Western Sea ; I chant, copious, the islands beyond, thick as stars in the sky ; I chant the new empire, grander than any before — As in a vision it comes to me ; I chant America, the Mistress — I chant a greater su- premacy ; I chant, projected, a thousand blooming cities yet, in time, on those groups of sea-islands ; I chant my sail-ships and steam-ships threading the archipelagoes ; I chant my stars and stripes fluttering in tho wind ; I chant commerce opening, the sleep of ages having done its work — races, reborn, refresh'd ; Lives, works, resumed — The object I know not — but the old, the Asiatic, renew'd, as it must be. Commencing from this day, surrounded by the world. 6 " And you, Libertad of the world ! You shall sit in the middle, well-pcis'd, thousands of years ; As to-day, from one side, the nobles of Asia come to you ; As to-morrow, from the other side, the Queen of Eng- land sends her eldest son to you. 7 '■^ The sign is reversing, the orb is enclosed. The ring is cu-cled, the journey is done ; I A Beoadway Pageant. 247 The box-lid is but perceptibly open'd — nevertheless the perfume pours copiously out of the whole box. 8 '" Young Libertad ! With the venerable Asia, the all -mother, 13e considerate with her, now and ever, hot Libertad — for yon are all ; Bend your proud neck to the long-off mother, now sending messages over the archipelagoes to you ; Bend your proud uecli low for once, young Libertad. 9 '■* Were the children straying westward so long? so wide the tramping? Were the precedent dim ages debouching westward fi'om Paradise so long ? Were the centuries steadily footing it that way, all the while unknown, for you, for reasons ? '^ They are justified — they are accomplish'd— they shall now be tm-n'd the other way also, to travel to- ward you thence ; They shall now also march obediently eastward, for your sake, Libertad. 248 Leaves oe Grass. SUGGESTIONS. That -wliatever tastes sweet to the most perfect person — That is finally right. That the human shape or face is so great, it must never be made ridiculous ; That for ornaments nothing outre can be allowed, That anything is most beautiful without ornament ; That exaggerations will be sternly revenged in your own physiology, aud in other persons' physiol- ogy also ; That clean-shaped children can be jetted and conceiv'd only where natural forms prevail in public, and the human face and form are never caricatured ; And that genius need never more be turn'd to ro- mances, (For facts properly told, how mean appear all ro- mances.) I have said many times that materials and the Soul are great, and that all depends on physique ; Now I reverse what I said, and suggest that all depends on the sesthetic, or intellectual. And that criticism is great — and that refinement is greatest of all ; And that the mind governs — and that all depends on the mind. With one man or woman — (no matter which one — I even pick out the lowest,) With him or her I now suggest the whole law ; And that every right, in politics or what-not, shall bo eligible to that one man or woman, on the same terms as any. Leaves of Geass. Great are the Myths. ' Great are the myths — I too delight in them ; Great are Adam and Eve — ^I too look back and accept them ; Great the risen and fallen nations, and their poets, women, sages, inventors, rulers, warriors, and priests. - Great is Liberty ! great is Equality ! I am their fol- lower ; Helmsmen of nations, choose your craft ! where you sail, I sail, I weather it out with you, or sink with jou. ^ Great is Youth — equally great is Old Age — great are the Day and Night ; Great is "Wealth — great is Poverty — great is Expres- sion— great is Silence. * Youth, large, lusty, loving — Youth, full of gxace, force, fascination ! Do you know that Old Age may come after you, with equal grace, force, fascination ? * Day, full-blown and splendid — Day of the immense sun, action, ambition, laughter. The Night follows close, with millions of suns, and sleep, and restoring darkness. 250 Leaves or Grass. ^ Wealth, with the flush hand, fine clothes, hosj)i- tality ; But then the Soul's wealth, which is candor, knowl- edge, pride, enfolding love ; (Who goes for men and v/omeu showing Poverty richer than wealth ?) ' Expression of speech ! in Vv^hat is written or said, for- get not that Silence is also expressive. That anguish as hot as the hottest, and contempt as cold as the coldest, may be without words. ** Great is the Earth, and the way it became what it is ; Do you imagine it has stopt at this r the increase aban- don'd ? Understand then that it goes as far onward from this, as this is from the times when it lay in covering waters and gases, before man had appcar'd. ^ Great is the quality of Truth in man ; The quality of truth in man supports itself through all changes. It is inevitably in the man — ^he and it are in love, and never leave each other. '" The truth in man is no dictum, it is vital as eye- sight ; If there be any Soul, there is truth — if there be man or woman there is truth — if there be physical or moral, there is truth ; If there be equilibrium or volition, there is truth — if there be things at all upon the earth, there is truth. " 0 truth of the earth ! I am. determin'd to press my way toward you ; Sound yoiu" voice ! I scale mountains, or dive in the sea after you. Great are the Myths. 251 '■ Great is Language — it is the mightiest of the sci- ences, It is the fulness, color, form, diversity of the earth, and of men and women, and of all qualities and pro- cesses ; It is greater than wealth — it is gi'eater than buildings, ships, religious, paintings, music. '^ Great is the English speech — what speech is so great as the English ? Great is the English brood — what brood has so vast a destiny as the English ? lb is the mother of the bi"ood that must rule the earth Vv'ith the new rule ; The new rule shall rule as the Soul rules, and as the love, justice, equality in the Soul rule. '^ Great is Law — great are the few old land-marks of the law, They are the same in all times, and shall not be dis- turb'd. '^ Great is Justice ! Justice is not settled by legislators and laws— it is in the Soul ; It cannot be varied by statutes, any more than love, pride, the attraction of gravity, can ; It is immutable — it does not depend on majorities — majorities or what not, come at last before the same passionless and exact tribunal. ^'^ For justice are the grand natural lawyers, and per- fect judges — is it in their Souls ; It is well assorted — they have not studied for nothing — the great includes the less ; They rule on the higliest grounds — they oversee all eras, states, administrations. 252 Leaves of Geass. " The perfect judge fears notliing — lie could go fi'ont to front before God ; Before tlie perfect judge all shall stand back — life and death shall stand back — heaven and hell shall stand back. '* Great is Life, real and mystical, wherever and who- ever ; Great is Dsath— sure as life holds all parts together, Death holds all parts together. '" Has Life much purport ?— Ah, Death has the great- est purport. Thought. O? persons arrived at high positions, ceremonies, wealth, scholarships, and the like ; To me, all that those persons have arrived a(, sinks away from them, except as it results to their Bodies and Souls, So that often to me they appear gaunt and naked ; And often, to me, each one mocks the others, and mocks himself or herself. And of each one, the core of life, namely happiness, is fall of the rotten excrement of maggots. And often, to me, those men and women pass unwit- tingly the true realities of life, and go toward false reahties. And often, to me, they are alive after what custom has served them, but nothing more. And often, to me, they are sad, hasty, unwaked sonnam- bules, walking the dusk. Leaves of Grass. There was a Child went Forth. ' There was a child went forth every day ; And the first object he look'd upon, fhat object he became ; And that object became part of him for the day, or a certain part of the day, or for many years, or stretching cycles of years. ■ The early lilacs became part of this child, And grass, and white and red morning-glories, and white and red clover, and the song of the phoebe- bird. And the Third-month lambs, and the sow's pink-faint litter, and the mare's foal, and the cow's calf, And the noisy brood of the barn-yard, o]' by the mire of the pond-side. And the fish suspending themselves so curiously belov/ there — and the beautiful curious liquid. And the water-plants with their graceful flat heads — all became part of him. ^ The field-sprouts of Fourth-month and Fifth-month became part of him ; Winter-grain s]Drouts, and those of the light-j-ellow corn, and the esculent roots of the garden, And the apple-trees cover'd with blossoms, and the fruit afterward, and wood-berries, and the commonest weeds by the road ; 254 Leaves or Geass. And the old druulcard staggering home from the out- house of the tavern, whence he had lately risen, And the school-mistress that pass'd on her way io the school. And the friendly boys that pass'd — and the quarrelsome boys. And the tidy and fresh-cheek'd girls — and the barefoot negro boy and gu'l, And all the changes of city and country, v/herever he went. ^ His own parents, He that had father'd him, and she that had conceiy'd him in her womb, and birth'd him, They gave this child more of themselves than that ; They gave him afterward every day — they became part of him. ^ The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table ; The mother with mild words— clean her cap r.nd gown, a wholesome odor falling off her person and clothes as she walks by ; The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, anger'd, unjust ; The blow, the quick loud v/ord, the tight ba,rgain, the crafty lure, The family usages, the language, the compan}^, the fur- niture— the yearning and swelling heart, Aftection that will not be gainsay'd — the sense of what is real — the thought if, after all, it should x^rove unreal, The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time— the curious whether and how. Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and species ? Men and women crowding fast in the streets — if they are not flashes and specks, what are they ? The streets themselves, and the fa9ades of houses, and goods in the v/indows, J Leaves of Ghass. 255 Veliicles, teaips, tlie lieavy-plaiik'd wharves — tlie Imge cross' ig at the ferries, The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset-;— the river between, Shadov/s, aureola and mist, the light falling on roofs and gables of white or brovvai, three miles off, The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide — the little boat slack-tow'd astern, The harrying tumbling waves, quick-broken crests, slapping, The strata of color'd clouds, the long bar of maroon- tint, away solitary by itself — the spread of purity it lies motionless in, The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud ; These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day. Drum-Taps. 265 Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs, clothed iu blue, bearing weapons, robust year ; Heard your determin'd voice, lauucli'd forth again and again ; Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round- lipp'd cannon, I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year. BEAT! BEAT I DRUMS Beat ! beat ! drums ! — Blow ! bugles ! blow ! Through the windows — through doors — burst Kke a ruthless force. Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation ; Into the school where the scholar is studying ; Leave not the bridegroom quiet — no happiness must he have now with his bride ; Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plomng his field or gathering his grain ; So fierce you whirr and pound, you di'ums — so shrill you bugles blow. Beat ! beat ! drums ! — Blow ! bugles ! blow ! Over the traffic of cities — over the rumble of wheels in the streets : Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses ? No sleepers must sleep in those beds ; No bai'gainers' bargains by day — no brokers or specu- lators— Would the,y continue ? Would the talkers be talking ? would the singer attempt to sing ? Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case be- fore the judge ? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums — you bugles wilder blow. 12 266 Le-\ves of Geass. Beat! beat! cli'ums ! — Blow! bugles! blow! Make no parley — stop for uo expostulation ; Mind not tlie timid— mind not the weeper or prayer ; Mind not tlie old man beseeching the young man ; Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's en- treaties ; Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you thump, O terrible drums— so loud you bugles blow. ^vvw\f.ft From Paumanok Starting I Fly like a Bird. From Paumanok starting, I fly like a bird. Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all ; To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs, To Kanada, 'till I absorb Kanada in myself — to Michi- gan then, To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs, (they are inimitable ;) Then to Ohio and Indiana to sing theirs— to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas, to sing theirs, To Tennessee and Kentucky— to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing theirs. To Texas, and so along up toward Cahfornia, to roam accepted everywhere ; To sing first, (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be,) Tlie idea of all— of the western world, one and insepa- rable, And then the song of each member of These States. Deum-Taps. 267 Rise, O Days, from your Fathomless Deeps. EiSE, O clays, from your fatlioniless deeps, till you loftier, fiercer sweep ! Long for my soul, hungering gymiiasiic, I devora-'d what the earth gave me ; Long I roam'd the woods of the north — long I w'atch'd Niagara pouring ; I travel'd the prairies over, and slept on their breast — I cross'd the Nevadas, I cross'd the plateaus ; I ascended the towering rocks along the Pacific, I saii'd out to sea ; I saii'd through the storm, I was refresl^'d by the storm ; I watch'd with joy the threatening maws of the weaves ; I mark'd the white combs where they career'd so high, curling over ; I heard the wind piping, I saw the black clouds ; Saw from below what arose and mounted, (O superb ! O wild as my heart, and powerful !) Heard the continuous thunder, as it beUow'd after the lightning ; Noted the slender and jagged threads of lightning, as sudden and fast amid the din they chased each other across the sky ; — These, and such as these, I, elate, saw — saw with wonder, yet pensive and masterful ; All the menacirTg might of the globe uprisen around me ; Yet there with my soul I fed — I fed content, super- cilious. 'Twas well, O soul ! 'twas a good preparation j^ou gave me! Now we advance our latent and ampler hunger to fill ; Now we go forth to receive what the earth and the sea never gave us ; Not through the mighty woods we go, but through the mightier cities ; 268 Leaves of Grass. Something for us is pouring now, more tlian Niagara pouring ; Torrents of men, (sources and rills of the Northwest, are you indeed inexhaustible ?) What, to pavements and homesteads here — vv^hat were those storms of the mountains and sea ? What, to passions I witness around me to-day ? Was the sea risen? Was the wind piping the pipe of death under the black clouds ? Lo ! from deeps more unfathomable, something more deadly and savage ; Manhattan, rising, advancing with menacing front — Cincinnati, Chicago, unchain'd ; — What was that swell I saw on the ocean ? behold what comes here ! How it climbs with daring feet and hands! how it dashes ! How the true thunder bellows after the lightning! how bright the flashes of lightnirg ! How Demockacy, with desperate vengeful port strides on, sliown through the dark by those flashes of lightning ! (Yet a mournful wail and low sob I fancied I heard through the dark. In a lull of the deafening confusion.) Thunder on ! stride on, Democracy ! strike with venge- ful stroke ! And do you rise higher than ever yet, 0 days, 0 cities ! Crash heavier, heavier yet, O storms ! you have done me good ; My soul, prepared in the mountains, absorbs 3'our im- mortal strong nutriment ; — Long had I walk'd rny cities, my country roads, through farms, only half satisfled ; One doubt, nauseous, undulating like a snake, crawl'd on the ground before me, Deum-Taps. 269 Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft, ironically hissing low ; ■ — The cities I loved so- well, I abandon'd and left — I sped to the certainties suitable to me ; Hungering, hungering, hungering, for primal energies, and Nature's dauntlessness, I refresli'd myself with it only, I could relish it only ; I waited the bursting forth of the pent fire — on the water and air I waited long ; —But now I no longer wait — I am fully satisfied — I am glutted ; I have witness'd the true lightning — I have witness'd my cities electric ; I have lived to behold man burst forth, and warlike America rise ; Hence I will seek no more the food of the northern sol- itary wilds. No more on the mountains roam, or sail the stormy sea. City of Ships. City of ships! (O the black shii^s ! 0 the fierce ships ! O the beautiful, sharp-bow'd steam-ships and sail-ships!) City of the world 1 (for all races are here ; All the lands of the earth make contributions here ;) City of the sea! city of hurried and glittering tides! City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and out, with eddies and foam ! City of wharves and stores ! city of tall facades of mar- ble and iron ! Proud and passionate city ! mettlesome, mad, extrava- gant city ! Spring up, O city ! not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself, v>^arlike ! Fear not ! submit to no models but your own, O city ! Behold me ! incarnate me, as I have incarnated you ! 270 Leaves of Grass. I have rejected notliing j^ou offer'd me — whom you adopted, I have adopted ; Good or bad, I never question you — I love all — I do not condemn anytlnug ; I chant and celebrate all that is yours — yet peace no more ; In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine ; War, red war, is my song through your streets, O city ! The Centenarian's Story. volunteer of 1861-2. (At Washington Park, Brooklyn, assisting the Centenarian.) ' Give me your hand, old Kevolutionary ; The hill-top is nigh — but a few steps, (make room, gen- tlemen ;) Up the path you have follow'd me well, spite of your hundred and extra years ; You can walk, old man, though your eyes are almost done ; Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me. ^ Rest, while I tell what the crowd around us means ; On the plain below, recruits are drilling and exercising; There is the camp — one regiment departs to-morrow ; Do you hear the officers giving the orders ? Do you hear the clank of the muskets? ^ Why, what comes over you now, old man? Why do you tremble, and clutch my hand so conwal- sively ? The troops are but drilling — they are yet surrounded with smiles ; Drum-Taps. 271 Around tliem, cA liaucl, the well-cli-est friends, and the women ; "While splendid and warm the afternoon sun shines down ; Green the midsummer verdure, and fresh blows the dallying- breeze, O'er j)roud" and peaceful cities, and arm of the sea be- tween. ^ But drill and parade are over — they march back to qiiarters ; Only hear that approval of hands ! hear what a clap- ping ! * As wending, the crowds now part and disperse — but we, old man. Not for nothing have I brought you hither^we must remain ; You to speak in your tiu'U, and I to listen and tell. THE CENTENARIAN. ® "When I clutch'd your hand, it was not with terror ; But suddenly, pouring about me here, on every side. And below there where the boys were drilling, and up the slopes they ran. And where tents are pitch'd, and wherever you see, south and south-east and south-west, Over hills, across lowlands, and in the skirts of woods, And along the shores, in mire (novv^ fill'd over), came again, and suddenly raged. As eighty-five years a-gone, no mere parade receiv'd with applause of friends. But a battle, which I took part in myself — aye, long ago as it is, I took part in it, W^alking then this hill-top, this same ground. ' Aye, this is the ground ; My blind eyes, even as I speak, behold it re-peopled from graves ; 272 Leaves of Geass. The years recede^ pavements and stately houses disap- pear ; Ftudo forts appear again, the old hoop'd guns are mounted ; I see the lines of rais'd earth stretching from river to bay; I mark the vista of Vt'aters, I mark the uplands and slopes : Here we lay encamp'd — it va^this time in summer also. ^ As I talk, I remember all — I remember the Declara- tion ; It vras read here — the whole army paraded — it was read to us here ; By his staff surrounded, the General stood in the mid- dle— he held up his unsheath'd sword, It giitter'd in the sun in fall sight of the army. ^ 'Twas a bold act then ; The English v/ar-ships had just arrived — the king had sent them from over the sea ; We could V.atch dovm the lower bay where they lay at anchor. And the transports, sv/arming with soldiers. '° A few days more, and they landed — and then the battle. " Twenty thousand were brought against us, A veteran force, furnish'd with good artiller3^ '- I tell not now the whole of the battle ; But one brigade, early in the forenoon, order'd forward to engage the red-coats ; Of that brigade I tell, and how steadily it march'd, And how long and how well it stood, confronting death. " Who do you think that was, marching steadily, stern- ly confTontiug death ? It was the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand stronsf. Deuh-Taps. 273 Kais'd in Virginia and Maryland, and many of tliem known personally to tlie General. " Jauntily forward they went witli qnicli step toward Gowanns' waters ; Till of a sudden, nnlook'd for, by defiles tlirougli tlie woods, gain'd at night. Tug British advancing, wedging in fi'om the east, fiercely playing their guns. That brigade of the youngest was cut off, and at the enemy's mercy. ^^ The General watch'd them from this hill ; They made repeated desperate attempts to burst their environment ; Then drew close together, very compact, their flag flying in the middle ; But O from the hills how the cannon were thinning and thinning them ! '^ It sickens me yet, that slaughter ! I saw the moisture gather in drops on the face of the General ; I saw how he wrung his hands in ang-uish. " Meanwhile tlie British maneuver 'd to draw us out for a pitch'd battle ; But we dared not trust the chances of a joitch'd battle. '^ We fought the fight in detachments ; Sallying forth, we fought at several points — but in each the luck was against us ; Our foe advancing, steadily getting the best of it, push'd us back to the works on this hill ; Till we turu'd, menacing, here, and then he left us. " That was the going out of the brigade of the young- est men, two thousand strong ; Few return'd — nearly all remain in Brooklyn. ''" That, and here, my General's first battle ; 274 Leaves of Geass. No womou looking en, nor sunshine to bask in — it did not conclude with applause ; Nobody clapp'd bauds here then. ^' But in darkness, in mist, on the ground, under a chill rain, "Wearied that night we lay, foil'd and sullen ; While scornfully laugh'd many an arrogant lord, off against us encamp'd. Quite within hearing, feasting, klinking wine-glasses together over their victory. ^^ So, dull and damp, and another day ; But the night of that, mist hfting, rain ceasing, Silent as a ghost, while they thought they were sure of him, my General retreated. ^^ I saw him at the river-side, Down by the ferry, lit by torches, hastening the embar- . cation ; My General waited till the soldiers and wounded were all pass'd over ; And then, (it Avas just ere sunrise,) these eyes rested on him for the last time. '* Every one else seem'd fiU'd V7ith gloom ; Many no doubt thought of capitulation. -' But when my General pass'd me, As he stood in his boat, and look'd toward the coming sun, I saw something diiierent from capitulation. TERMINUS. ^^ Enough — the Centenarian's story ends ; The two, the past and present, have interchanged ; I myself, as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now speaking. Drum-Taps. 275 ^^ And is tliis tlie ground Wasliingtou trod ? And tbese waters I listlessly daily cross, are tliese the waters lie cross'd, As resolute in defeat, as other generals in tlieir proudesb triumphs ? "^ It is well — a lesson like that, always comes good ; I must copy the story, and send it eastward and west- ward ; I must preserve that look, as it beam'd on you, rivers of Brooklyn. -° See ! as the annual round returns, the phantoms return ; It is the 27th of August, and the British have landed ; The battle begins, and goes against us — behold ! through the smoke, Washington's face ; The brigade of Vii'ginia and Maryland have march'd forth to intercept the enemy ; They are cut off — murderous artillery fi'om the hills plays upon them ; Rank after rank falls, while over them silently droops the flag. Baptized that day in many a young man's bloody v.^ounds, In death, defeat, and sisters', mothers' tears. ^^ Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn ! I perceive you are Tiiore valuable than your owners supjjosed ; Ah, river ! henceforth you will be illumin'd to me at sunrise with something; besides the sun. ^' Encampments new ! in the midst of you stands an encampment very old ; Stands forever the camn of the dead brigade. 276 Leaves or Geass. An Army Corps on the March. With its cloud of skirmisbei's in advance, With now tiie sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an irregular Yoiley, The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on ; Gli tering dimly, toiling under the sun — the dust-cover'd men, In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the gi'ound, With artillery interspers'd — the wheels rumble, the horses sweat. As the army corps advances. Cavahy Crossing a Ford. A LINE in long array, Vv^iere they wind betwixt gTeen islands ; They take a serpentine course — their arms flash in the sun — Hark to the musical clank ; Behold the silvery river — in it the splashing horses, loitering, stop to drink ; Behold the brown-faced men — each group, each person^ a picture — the negligent rest on the saddles ; Some emerge on the opposite bank — others are just entering the ford — while, Scarlet, and blue, and snow}' white, The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind. Drdm-Tap3. 277 Bivouac on a Mountain Side. I SEE before me now, a traveling army halting ; Below, a fertile valley sj)read, with barns, and the orchards of summer ; Behind, the terraced sides of a monntaia, abrupt in places, rising high ; Broken, with rocks, v/ith clinging cedars, with tail shapes, dingily seen ; The numerous camp-fii'es scatter'd near and far, some away up on the mountain ; < The shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, large- sized, flickering ; And over all, the sky — the sky ! far, far out of reach, studded, breaking out, the eternal stars. — «a>i^3§g®I>«G— By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame. By the bivouac's fitful flame, A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow ; — but first I note. The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outhne. The darkness, lit by spots of kindled fire — the silence ; Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving ; The shrubs and trees, (as I left my eyes they seem to be stealthily watching me ;) "While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous thoughts, Of life and death — of home and the past and loved, and of those, that are far away ; A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground, By the bivouac's fitful flame. 278 Leaves of Geaks. Come Up from the Fields, Father. ' Come up from tlie fields, father, liere's a letter from our Pete ; And come to the front door, mother — here's a letter from thy dear son. ^ Lo, 'tis autumn ; Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder, Cool and sweeten Ohio's villages, with leaves ilutteriug in the moderate wind ; Where apples ripe in the orchards hang, and grapes on the trellis'd vines ; (Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines ? Smell you the buckwheat, where the bees vvere lately buzzing ?) ^ Above all, lo, the sky. so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with wondrous clouds ; Below, too, all calm, all vital and beautiful— and the farm prospers well. 3 ■* Down ia the fields all prospers well ; But now from the fields come, father — come at the daughter's call ; And come to the entry, mother — to the front door come, right away. ^ Fast as she can she hurries — something ominous — lier steps trembling ; She does not tarry to smooth her hail', nor adjust her cap. ° Open the envelope quickly ; Dkum-Taps. 279 O this is not our son's writing, j^et liis name is sign'd ; O a strange liaud writes for onr dear son — 0 stricken mother's soul ! All swims before her eyes — flashes with black — she catches the main words only ; Sentences broken — gunshot ivound in the breast, cavalry sHrmish, taken to hospital, At present low, h\d ivill soon be better. 4 ' Ah, now the single figure to me, Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio, with all its cities . and farms. Sickly white in the face, and dull in the head, very faint, By the jamb of a door leans. * Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just-grown daughter speaks through her sobs ; The little sisters huddle around, sj)eechless and dis- may'd ;) See, dearest mother, the letter sajjs Fete will soon be better. ® Alas, poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may-be needs to bo better, that brave and simple soul ;) While they stand at home at the door, he is dead already ; The only son is dead. '" But the mother needs to be better ; She, with thin form, presently drest in black ; By day her meals untouch'd — then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking, In the midnight waking, weeping, longing with one deep longing, O that she might withdraw unnoticed — silent from life, escape and withdi'aw. To follow, to seek, to be with her dear dead son. 280 Leaves or Grass. Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field one Night. Vigil strange I kept on the field one night : When yon, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day, One look I but gave, which your dear eyes return'd, with a look I shall never forget ; One touch of your hand to mine, O boy, reach'd up as you lay on the ground ; Then onward I sped in the batlle, the even-contested battle ; Till late in the night reliev'd, to the place at last again I made my way ; Found you in death so cold, dear comrade — found your body, son of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding ;) Bared your face in the starlight — curious the scene — cool blew the moderate night-wind ; Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-field spreading ; Vigil wondrous and vigil svv'cet, there in the fragrant silent night ; But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh — Long, long I gazed ; Then on the earth partially reclining, sat by your side, leaning my chin in my hands ; Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours -with you, dearest comrade — Not a tear, not a word ; Vigil of silence, love and death — vigil for you, my son and my soldier, As onv/ard silently stars aloft, eastward new ones up- Vv^ard stole ; Vigil final for you, brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death, I faithfully loved you and cared for you living — I think we shall surely meet again ;) Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear'd. My comrade I vv^rapt in his blanket^ envelop'd well his form, Dbdm-Taps. 281 Folded tlie blanket well, tucking it carefully over head, and carefully under feet ; And there and then, and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I de- posited ; Ending my vigil strange v\^ith that — vigil of night and battle-field dim ; Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding ;) Vigil for comrade swiftly slain — vigil I never forget, how as day brighten'd, I rose from the chill ground, and folded my soldier well in his blanket. And buried him where he fell. A March in the Ranks Hard-prest, and THE Road Unknown. A MAECH in the ranks hard-presu, and the road unknovvn; A route through a heavy wood, with muffled steps in the darkness ; Our army foil'd with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating ; Till after midnight glimmer upon us, the lights of a dim-lighted building ; We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-lio-hted building- : 'Tis a large old church at the crossing roads — 'tis now an impromptu hospital ; — Entering but for a minute, I see a sight beyond all the pictures and poems ever made : Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving- candles and lamps, And by one great pitchy torch, stationary', with wild red ilaine, and clouds of smoke ; By these, crowds, groups of forms, vaguely I see, on the tloo]', some in the pev/s laid down ; 282 Leavks or Grass. At my feet more distinctly, a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of bleeding to death, (lie is shot in the abdomen ;) I staunch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white as a lily ;) Then before I dejDart I sweep my e^'es o'er the scene, fain to absorb it all ; Faces, varieties, postures beyond description, most in obscurity, some of them dead ; Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether, the odor of blood ; The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms of soldiers — the yard outside also fill'd ; Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, some in the death-spasm sweating ; An occasional scream or cry, the doctor's shouted orders or calls ; The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the glint of the torches ; These I resume as I chant — I see again the forms, I smell the odor ; Then hear outside the orders given. Fall in, my men, Fall in ; But first I bend to the dying lad — his eyes open — a half-smile gives he me ; Then the eyes close, calmly close, and I speed forth to the darkness. Resuming, marching, ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks, The unknown road stiD marchinj?. A Sight in Camp in the Day-break Grey AND Dim. ' A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless, As slow I v/alk in the cool fi-esh air, the path near by the hospital tent, Deum-Taps. 283 Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, unteuded lying, Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen blanket, Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering ail. " Curious, I halt,, and silent stand ; Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first, just lift the blanket : Who are you, elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well- grey'd haii', and flesh all sunken about the eyes? Who are you, my dear comrade ? ^ Then to the second I step — And who are you, my child and darling ? Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming ? ' Then to the third — a face nor child, nor old, very calm, as of beautiful yellow-white ivory ; Young man, I think I know you — I think this face of yours is the face of the Christ himself ; Dead and divine, and brother of all, and here again he lies. — 'P-a&&I'Sg'*» Not the Pilot. Not the pilot has charged himself to bring his ship into port, though beaten back, and many times baffled ; Not the path-flnder, penetrating inland, weary and long. By deserts parch'cl, snows-chill'd, rivers wet, perseveres till he reaches his destination, More than I have charged myself, heeded or unheeded, to compose a free march for These States, To be exhilarating music to them — a battle-call, rousing to arms, if need be — years, centimes hence. 284 ■ Leaves or Geas: As Toilsome I Wander'd Virginia's Woods. ' As TOILSOME I wander'd Virginia's woods, To the music of rustling leaves, kick'd by my feet, (for 'twas autumn,) I mark'd at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier. Mortally vvounded he, and buried on the retreat, (easily all could I understand ;) The halt of a mid-day hour, when up ! no time to lose — ^yet this sign left, On a tablet scrawl'd and nail'd on the tree by the gi-ave, Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade. ^ Long, long I muse, then on my way go wandering ; Many a changeful ssason to follow, and many a scene of life ; Yet at times through changeful season and scene, ab- rupt, alone, or in the crowded street, Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave — comes the inscription rude in Virginia's woods, Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade. i^AftWWWV^ Year that Trembled and Reel'd Beneath Me. Year that trembled and reel'd beneath me ! Your summer wind was warm enough — yet the air I breathed froze me ; A thick gloom fell through the sunshine and darken'd roe ; Must I change my triumphant songs ? said I to my- self ; Must I indeed learn to chant the cold dirges of the baf- fled ? And sullen hymns of defeat ? Deum-Taps. 285 The Dresser. 1 ' An old man bcDcling, I come, among new faces, Tears looking backward, resuming, in answer to chil- dren. Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens that love me ; Years lience of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances, Of unsm'pass'd heroes, (was one side so brave ? the other was equally brave ;) Now be witness again — paint the mightiesu armies of earth ; Of those armies so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to tell us ? "What stays with you latest and deepest ? of curious panics, Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous, what deepest remains ? ■ O maidens and young men I love, and that love me, "What you ask of my days, those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls ; Soldier alert I arrive, after a long march, cover'd with sweat and dust ; In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of successful charge ; Enter the captur'd works .... yet lo ! like a swift- running river, they fade ; Pass and are gone, they fade — I dwell not on soldiers' perils or soldiers' joys ; (Both I remember well — many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was content.) ^ But in silence, in dreams' projections, "While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on, 286 Leaves of Grass. So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand, In nature's reverie sad, with hinged knees retiu'ning, I enter the doors — (while for you up there, Whoever you are, follow me without noise, and be of strong heart.) 3 ■* Bearing the bandages, water and sponge. Straight and swift to my wounded I go, Where they lie on the ground, after the battle brought in; Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground ; Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof 'd hosj)ital ; To the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, I return ; To each and all, one after another, I draw near — not one do I miss ; An attendant follows, holding a tray — he carries a refuse pail. Soon to be fill'd with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and fill'd again. ^ I onward go, I stop, With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds ; I am firm with each — the pangs are sharp, yet unavoid- able ; One turns to me his appealing eyes — (poor boy ! I never knew jon, Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.) ^ On, on I go — (open, doors of time ! open, hospital doors ! ) The crush'd head I cbess, (poor crazed hand, tear not the bandage away ;) The neck of the cavalry-man, with the bullet through and through, I examine ; Drum-Taps. 287 Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles hard ; (Come, sweet death ! be persuaded, 0 beautiful death ! In mercy come quickly.) ' From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand, I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, v/ash off the matter and blood ; Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with cui-v'd neck, and side-falling head ; His eyes are closed, his face is pale, (he dares not look on the bloody stump, And has not yet look'd on it.) * I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep ; But a day or two more — for see, the fi-ame all wasted already, and sinking. And the yellow-blue countenance see. ^ I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bul- let wound. Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive, "While the attendant stands behind aside me, holding the tray and pail. ^° I am faithful, I do not give out ; The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdo- men. These and more I dress with impassive hand — (yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame.) 5 " Thus in silence, in dreams' i^rojections, Eeturning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals ; The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand, I sit by the restless all the dark night — some are so young ; Some suffer so much — I recall the experience sweet and sad ; (Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and rested. Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.) 288 Leaves of Grass. Long, too long, O Land, Long, too long, O land, Traveling- roads all even and peaceful, you leain'd from joys and prosperity only ; But now, all now, to learn from crises of angTiish — ad- vancing, grappling with direst fate, and recoiling not; And now to conceive, and sliow to tlie v\'orld, what your children en-masse really are ; (For who except myself has yet conceiv'd what your children en-masse really are ?) —ara&S^S'iXl*-^— Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun. Give me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full- dazzling ; Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard ; Give mo a field where the unmow'd gTass grows ; Give me an arbor, give me the trellis'd grape ; Give me fresh corn and w^heat — give me serene-moving animals, teaching content ; Give me nights perfectly quiet, as on high plateaus west of the Mississippi, and I looking up at the stars ; Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flow- ers, v/here I can walk undisturb'd ; Give me for marriage a sweet-breath'd woman, of whom I should never tire ; Give me a i:)erfect child — give me, away, aside from the noise of the world, a rural domestic life ; Give me to warble spontaneou.s songs, reliev'd, recluse by myself, for my own ears onlj' ; 1 Dp.um-Taps. 289 Give me solitude — give me Nature — give me again, O Nature, your primal sauities ! — These, demaucTing to liave tliem, (tired with cease- less excitement, and rack'd by the war-strife ;) These to procure, iucsssautly asliing, rising in cries from my heart, While yet incessantly asking, still I adhere to my city ; Day upon day, and year upon year, O city, wall^iug your streets. Where you hold me enchain'd a certain time, refusing to give me up ; Yet giving to make me glutted, enrich'd of soul — you give me forever faces ; (0 I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing my cries ; I see my own soul trampling down what it ask'd for.) Keep your sj^lendid, silent sun ; Keep your woods, O Nature, and the quiet places by the woods ; Keej) your fields of clover and timothy, and your corn- fields and orchards ; Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields, where the Ninth- month bees hum ; Give me faces and streets ! give me these i)hantoms in- cessant and endless along the trottoirs ! Give me interminable eyes ! give me women ! give me comi-ades and lovers by the thousand ! Let me see new ones every day! let me hold new ones by the hand every day ! Give me such shows ! give me the streets of Manhat- tan! Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching — give me the sound of the trumpets and drums ! (The soldiers in companies or regiments — some, start- ing away, fiush'd and reckless ; Some, their time up, retui'ning, with thinn'd ranks — young, yet very old, worn, marching, noticing nothing ;) 13 290 Lrwes of Grass. — Give nie the shores and the wharves heavy-fringed with the black ships ! 0 such for me ! O an intense hfe ! O full to repletion, and varied ! The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge hotel, for me ! The saloon of the steamer ! the crowded excui'sion for me ! the torch-light procession ! The dense brigade, bound for the war, v/ith high piled military wagons following ; People, endless, streaming, with strong voices, jDassions, pageants ; Manhattan streets, with their powerful throbs, with the beating drums, as now ; The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of muskets, (even the sight of the wounded ;) Manhattan crowds, with their turbulent musical chorus — with varied chorus, and Ught of the siaarkling eyes ; Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me. Dirge for Two Veterans. 1 The last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath, On the pavement here — and there beyond, it is looking, Down a new-made double grave. Lo ! the moon ascending ! Up from the east, the silvery round moon ; Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon ; Immense and silent moon. 3 I see a sad procession. And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles ; Dkum-Taps. 291 Ail the cliannels of the city streets they're flooding, As with voices and with tears. I hear the gi'eat drums pounding, And the small dt-ums steady v/hirring ; And every blow of the great convulsive drums, Strikes me throue:h and throu5£t!>»»— , To Oratists- ' To ORATisTS — to male or female, Vocalism, measure, concentration, determination, and the divine power to use v/ords. ^ Arc you full-lung'd and limber-lipp'd from long trial ? from vigorous practice ? from physique ? Do you move in these broad lands as broad as they ? Come duly to the divine power to use Avords ? ^ For only at last, after many years — after chastity, friendship, procreation, piiidence, and nakedness; After treading ground and breasting xiver aild lake ; After a loosen'd throat — after absorbing eras, tempera- ments, races — after knov/ledge, freedom, crimes ; After complete faith — after clarifyings, elevations, and removing obstructions ; After these, and more, it is just possible there comes to a man, a woman, the divine power to use words. * Then toward that man or that woman, swiftly hasten all — None refuse, all attend ; Armies, ships, antiquities, the dead, libraries, paintings, machines, cities, hate, despair, amity, pain, theft, murder, aspiration, form in close ranks ; 848 Leaves of Grass. Thej cleboncli as tliey are wanted to marcli obediently through the mouth of that man, or that woman. ^ ....01 see arise orators fit for inland America ; • And I see it is as slow to become an orator as to be- come a man ; And I see that all power is folded in a great vocali:m. ^ Of a great vocalism, the merciless light thereof shall pour, and the storm rage. Every flash shpJi be a revelation, an insult. The glaring flame on depths, on heights, on suns, on stars. On the interior and exterior of man or woman. On the laws of Nature — on passive materials, On what you called death — (and what to you therefore was death. As far as there can be death.) SOLID, IRONICAL, ROLLING ORB. SoLiB, ironical, rolling orb ! Master of all, and matter of fact ! — at last I accept your terms ; Bx'inging to practical, vulgar tests, of all my ideal dreams, And of me, as lover and hero. Leaves of Grass. Bathed' in War's Perfume, BATHED IN WAR'S PERFUME. Bathed in war's perfume — delicate flag ! (Should the days needing armies, needing fleets, come agaiu,) O to hear you call the sailors and the soldiers ! flag like a beautiful woman ! O to hear the tramp, tramp, of a million ansv/ei'ing men ! O the ships they arm with joj^ ! 0 to see you leap and beckon from the tall masts of snips O to see you peering down on the sailors on the decks ! Flag hke the eyes of women. DELICATE CLUSTER. Delicate cluster ! flag of teeming life ! Covering all my lands ! all my sea-shores lining ! Flag of death ! (how I watch'd you through the smoke of battle pressing ! How I heard you flap and rustle, cloth defiant !) Flag cerulean ! sunny flag ! with the orbs of night dap- pled ! Ah my silvery beauty ! ah my woolly Vv'hite and crim- son ! Ah to sing the song of you, my matron mighty ! My sacred one, my mother. 350 Leaves of Gbass. Song of the Banner at Day-Break. Poet. ' O A new song, a free song, Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer, By the wind's voice and that of the drum, By the banner's voice, and child's voice, and sea's voice, and father's voice. Low on the ground and high in the air, On the ground where father and child stand, In the upward air where their eyes turn, AVhere the banner at day-break is flapping. ^ Words! boolv-words ! what are you? Words no more, for hearken and see. My song is there in the open air— and I must sing, With the banner and pennant a-flapping. " I'll weave the chord and twine in, Man's desire and babe's desire — I'll twine them in, I'll put in life ; I'll put the bayonet's flashing point — I'll let bullets and slugs whizz ; (As one carrying a symbol and menace, far into (he future. Crying with trumpet voice, Arouse and beware ! Beware and arouse !) I'll pour the ver.;e vfith streams of blood, full of voli- tion, full of joy ; Then loosen, launch forth, to go and compete, With the banner and pennant a-flapping. Pennakt. "* Come up here, bard, bard ; Come up here, soul, soul ; Come up here, dear little child. To fly in the clouds and winds with me, and play v.ith the measureless li^h*:. SoxG OF THE Banner at Day-brzak. 351 Child. ^ Fatlier, what is that in the sky beckoning to me with long finger ? And what does it say to mc all the while ? Father. ® Nothing, my habe, you see in the sky ; And nothing at all to you it says. But look you, my babe. Look at these dazzling things in the houses, and see you the money-shops opening ; And see you the vehicles preparing to crawl along the streets with goods : These ! ah, these ! how valued and toil'd for, these ! How envied by all the earth ! Poet. '' Fresh and rosy red, the sun is mounting high ; On floats the sea in distant blue, careering through its channels ; On floats the wind over the breast of the sea, setting in toward land ; The great steady wind from west and west-bj^-south, Floating so buoyant, with milk-v.irite foam on the waters. * But I am not the sea, nor the red sun ; I am not the wind, v/itli girlish laughter ; Not the immense wind which strengthens — not the vand which lashes ; Not the spirit that ever lashes its own body to terror and death ; But I am that which unseen comes and sings, sings, sings, Which babbles in brooks and scoots in showers on the land, "Which the birds know in the woods, mornings and evenings. 352 Leaves of Geass, And the shore-sands know, and the hissing wave, and that banner and pennant, Aloft there flapping and flapping. Child. ^ 0 father, it is alive— it is full of people — it has chil- dren ! 0 now it seems to mo it is talking to its children ! 1 hear it — it talks to me — O it is wonderful ! O it stretches — it spreads and runs so fast ! 0 my father, It is so broad, it covers the whole sky ! Fateer. '" Cease, cease, my foohsh babe, What you are saying is sorrowful to me — much it dis- pleases me ; Behold with the rest, again I say — behold not banners and pennants aloft ; But the well-prepared pavements behold — and mark the solid-wali'd houses. Banner and Pennant. " Speak to the child, 0 bard, out of Manhattan ; (The war is over — yet never over .... out of it, we are born to real life and identity ;) Sx^eak to our children all, or north or south of Man- hattan, Where our factory-engines hum, where our miners delve the ground. Where our hoarse Niagara rumbles, where our prairie- jdIows are plov.dng ; Speak, O bard ! point this day, lea\ing all the rest, to us over all — and yet we know not v/hy ; For what are we, mere strips of cloth, profiting nothing, Only flapping in the wind ? Song op the Banner at Day-bkeak. 353 Poet, '^ I hear and see not strips of clotli alone ; I hear again the tramp of armies, I hear the challenging sentry ; I hear the jubilant shouts of millions of men — I hear Liberty ! I hear the drums beat, and the trumpets yet blowing ; I myself move abroad, swift-rising, fiying then ; I use the wings of the land-bird, and use the wings of the sea-bird, and look dow^n as from a height ; I do not deny the precious results of peace — I see pop- ulous cities, with wealth incalculable ; I see numberless farms — I see the farmers working in their fields or barns ; I see mechanics working — I see buildings everywhere founded, going up, or finish'd ; I see trains of cars swiftly speeding along railroad tracks, drawn by the locomotires ; I see the stores, depots, of Boston, Baltimore, Charles- ton, New Orleans ; I see far in the west the immense area of grain — I dwell awhile, hovering ; I pass to the lumber forests of the north, and again to the southern plantation, and again to California ; Sweeping the whole, I see the countless profit, the busy gatherings, earned wages ; See the identity formed out of thirty-eight spacious and haughty States, (and many more to come ;) See forts on the shores of harbors — see ships sailing in and out ; Then over all, (aye ! aye !) my little and lengthen'd pennant shaped hke a sword, Euns swiftly up, indicating war and defiance — And now the halyards have rais'd it, Side of my banner broad and blue — side of my starry banner. Discarding peace over ail the sea and laud. 35 i Leaves of Grass. Banner and Pennant. ^^ Yet louder, liiglier, stronger, bard ! yet farther, wider cleave ! No longer let our children deem us riches and peace alone ; We may be terror and carnage, and are so now ; Not now are we any one of these spacious and haughty States, (nor any five, nor ten ;) Nor market nor depot are we, nor money-bank in the city ; But thesa, and all, and the brown and spreading land, and the mines belov/, are ours ; ■ And the shores of the sea are ours, and the rivers great and small ; And the fields they moisten are ours, and the crops and the fruits are ours ; Bays and channels, and ships sailing in and out, are ours — and we over all. Over the area spread below, the three or four millions of square miles — the capitals, The forty milhons of peojple — O bard ! in life and death supreme, "VVe, even we, henceforth flaunt out masterful, high up, above. Not for the present alone, for a thousand years, chant- ing through you. This song to the soul of one poor little child. Child. " O my father, I like not the houses ; They will never to me be anything — nor do I like money ; But to mount up there I would hke, 0 father dear — that banner I like ; That pennant I would be, and must be. Father. '^ Child of mine, you fill me with anguish ; To be that pennant v/ould be too fearful ; Song of the Banner at Day-beeak. 355 Little you know what it is this day, and after this day, forever ; It is to gain Bothing, but risk and defy everything ; Forward to stand iu front of wars — and O, such wars ! — what have you to do with them ? With passions of demons, slaughter, premature death ? Poet. '° Demons and death then I sin O ' Put in all, aye all, will I — sword-shaped pennant for war, and banner so bi'oad and blue. And a pleasure new and extatic, and the prattled yearn- ing of children, Blent with the sounds of the peaceful land, and the liquid wash of the sea ; And the black ships, fighting on the sea, enveloped in smoke ; And the icy cool of the far, far north, with rustling cedars and pines ; And the whirr of drums, and the sound of soldiers marching, and the hot sun shining south ; And the beach-waves combing over the beach on my eastern shore, and my western shore the same ; And all betv.'cen those shores, and my ever running Mississippi, with bends and chutes ; And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of Missouri ; The Continent — devoting the whole identity, without reserving an atom, Pour in ! whelm that which asks, which sings, with all, and the yield of all. Banner and Pennant. " Aye all ! for ever, for all ! From sea to sea, north and south, east and west, (The war is completed, the price is paid, the title is settled beyond recall ;) Fusing and holding, claiming, devouring the whole ; No more with tender lip, nor musical lalDial sound. 356 Leaves op Geass, But, out of the niglit emerging for good, our voice per- suasive uo more, Croaking like crows here in the wind. Poet. (Finale.) '^ My limbs, my veins dilate ; The blood of tho world has fill'd me full — my theme is clear at last : — ^Banner so broad, advancing out of the night, I sing you haughty and resolute ; I burst through where I v;aited long, too long, deafen'd and blinded ; My sight, my hearing and tongue, are come to me, (a little child taught me ;) I hear from above, O pennant of war, your ironical call and demand ; Insensate I insensate ! (yet I at any rate chant you,) O banner ! Not houses of p3ac3 indeed are you, nor any nor all their prosperity, (if need be, you shall again have every one of those houses to destroy them; You thought not to destroy those valuable houses, standing fast, full of comfort, built with money ; May they stand fast, then ? Not an hour, escej)t you, above them and all, stand fast ;) — 0 banner ! not money so precious are j'ou, not farm produce you, nor the material good nutriment, Nor excellent stores, nor landed on wharves fi-om the ships ; Not the superb ships, with sail-power or steam-power, fetching and carrying cargoes, Nor machinery, vehicles, trade, nor revenues, — But you, as henceforth I see you, Running up out of the night, bringing your cluster of stars, (ever-enlarging stars ;) Divider of day-break you, cutting the air, toncli'd by tho sun, measuring the sky, (Passionately seen and yearn'd for by one poor little child. Bathed in War's Perfume. 357 WLile others remain busy, or smartly talking, forever teaching thrift, thrift ;) 0 you up there ! O pennant ! where you imdulate like a snake, hissing so carious. Out of reach — an idea only — yet furiously fought for, risking bloody death — loved by me ! So loved ! O you banner leading the day, with stars brought .from the night ! Valueless, object of eyes, over all and demanding all — (absolute owner of All) — O bannei' and pennant ! 1 too leave the rest — great as it is, it is nothing — houses, machines are nothing — I see them not ; I see but you, O warlike pennant ! O banner so broad, with stripes, I sing you only, Flapping up there in the wind. * — *0'£>&t)£»5S-*— Ethiopia Saluting the Colors. (A Re7ninisceitce of 1S64.) 1 Who are you, dusky woman, so ancient, hardly human, With your woollj^-white and tjirban'd head, and bare bony feet ? Why, rising by the roadside here, do you the colors greet ? 2 ('Tis while our army lines Carolina's sand and pines. Forth from thy hovel door, thou, Ethiopia, com'st to me. As, under doughty Sherman, I march toward the sea.) 3 Me, master, years a hundred, since from my parents sun- dered, A little child, they caught me as the savage Least is caught ; Tlien hither me, across the sea, the cruel slaver hrought. 358 Leaves op Grass. 4 Ko further docs slie say, but lingering' all the day, Her high-borne turban'd head she wags, and rolls her darkling eye. And cui'tseys to the regiments, the guidons mo^dng by. 5 What is it, fateful woman — so blear, hardly human ? Why wag your head, with turban bound — ^yellow, red and green ? Are the things so strange and marvelous, you see or have seen ? Lo ! Victress on the Peaks I Lo ! Victress on the peaks ! Where thou, with mighty brow, regarding the world, (The world, O Libertad, that vainly conspired against thee ;) Out of its countless, beleaguering toils, after thwarting them all ; Dominant, with the dazzling sun around thee, riauntest now unharm'd, in immortal soundness and bloom — lo ! in these hours supreme. No poem proud, I, charjj^ing, bring to thee — nor mas- terj-'s rapturous verse ; But a book, containing night's darkness, and blood- dripping wounds. And psalms of the dead. World, Take Good Notice. World, take good notice, silver stars fading, Milky hue ript, weft of white detaching, Coals thirty-eight, baleful and burning, Scarlet, significant, hands off warning. Now and henceforth flaunt from these shores. Bathed in Wak's Perfume. 359 Thick-Sprinkled Bunting, Thick-sprinkled bunting ! Flag of stars ! Long yet your road, fateful flag ! — long yet your road, and lined with bloody death ! For the prize I see at issue, at last is the world ! All its ships and shoi'es I see, interwoven with your threads, greedy banner ! — Dreain'd again the flags of kings, highest borne, to flaunt unrival'd ? 0 hasten, flag of man ! O with sure and steady step, passing highest flags of kings. Walk supreme to the heavens, mighty symbol — run up above them all, Flag of stars ! thick-sprinlded bunting ! <'>60 LE.UT2S OF Grass. A Hand-MitsROR. Hold it up s':ernly ! See this it sends back ! (Wlio is it ? Is it you ?) Outside fair costume — witliiu aslies and filth, No more a flashing eye — no more a sonorous voice or springy step ; Now some slave's eye, voice, hands, step, A drunkard's breath, unwholesome eater's face, vene- realee's flesh. Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and can- kerous. Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination. Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams. Words babble, hearing and touch callous, No brain, no heart left — no magnetism of sex ; Such, from one look in this looking-glass ere you go hence', Such a result so soon — and from such a beginning ! Germs. FoETds, qualities, lives, humanity, language, thoughts. The ones known, and the ones unknown — the ones on the stars, The stars themselves, some shaped, others unshaped. Wonders as of those countries — the soil, trees, cities, inhabitants, whatever they may be. Splendid suns, the moons and rings, the countless com- binations and effects ; Such-like, and as good as such-hke, visible here or any- where, stand provided for in a handful of space, wliich I extend my arm and half enclose vrith my hand ; That contains the start of each and all — the virtue, the fferms of all. Leaves of Grass, O ME! O LIFE! O 5IE ! O life ! ... of the questions of these recurring ; Of the endless trains of tlie faithless — of cities iill'd with the foolish ; Of myself forever reproaching* myself, (for who more foohsli than I, and who more faithless ?) Of eyes that vainly crave the light — of the objects mean — of the struggle ever renew'd ; Of the poor results of all — of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me ; Of the empty and useless years of the rest — with the rest mo intertwined ; The question, O me! so sad, recurriiig — "What good amid these, O me,-0 life ? Answer. That 3'ou are here — that life exists, and identity ; That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse. THOUGHTS. Of Public Opinion ; Of a calm and cool fiat, sooner or later, (How impas- sive ! How certain and final !) Of the President with pale face, asking secretly to him- self. What will the jjcojile my at last ? 16 362 Lkaves of Grass. Of tlie frivolous Judge — Of the corrupt Congressman, Governor, Mayor — Of sncli as these, standing helpless and exposed ; Oi the mumbling and screaming priest — (soon, soon deserted ;) Of the lessening, year by year, of venerableness, and of the dicta of ofQcers, statutes, pulpits, schools ; Of the rising forever taller and stronger and broader, of the intuitions of men and women, and of self- esteem, and of personality ; — Of the New World — Of the Democracies, resj)lendent, en-masse ; Of the conformity of politics, armies, navies, to them and to me. Of the shining sun by them — Of the inherent light, greater than the rest. Of the envelopment of all by them, and of the effusion of all from them. BEGINNERS. How they are provided for upon the earth, (ax>pearing at intervals ;) How dear and dreadful they are to the earth ; HoAV they inure to themselves as much as to any — • What a paradox appears, their age ; How people respond to them, yet know them not ; How there is something relentless in their fate, all times ; How all times mischoose the objects of their adulation and reward. And how the same inexorable price must still be paid for the same great purchase. Leaves of Grass. Songs of Insurrection. STILL THOUGH THE ONE I SING. Still, tbougli the one I sing, (One, yet of contradictions made,) I dedicate to Nation- ality, I leave in him Revolt, (O latent right of insurrection ! O quenchless, indispensable fire ! ) TO A FOIL'D EUROPEAN REVOLUTIONAIRE. ' CouKAGE yet ! my brother or my sister ! Keep on ! Liberty is to be subserv'd, whatever occurs ; That is nothing, that is quell'd by one or two faUui'es, or any number of failures. Or by the indifference or ingratitude of the people, or by any unfaithfulness. Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon, penal statutes. 3G4 Leaves of Grass. ^ Revolt ! and still revolt ! revolt ! What we believe in waits latent forever through all the continents, and all the islands and archi- pelagos of the sea ; What we believe in invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness and light, is positive and com- posed, knows no discouragement, Waiting patieutly, waiting its time. ^ (Not songs of loyalty alone are these, But sougs of insurrection also ; For I am the sworn poet of every dauntless rebel, the world over, And he going with me leaves peace and routine behind him. And stakes his life, to be lost at any moment.) 2 ^ Revolt ! and the downfall of tyrants ! The battle rages with many a loud alarm, and fi-equent advance and retreat, The intidel triumphs — or supposes he triumphs. Then the prisoD, scaffold, garrote, hand-cuffs, iron neck- lace and anklet, lead-balls, do their work. The named and unnamed heroes pass to other spheres. The great speakers and writers are exiled — they lie sick in distant lands. The cause is asleep — the strongest throats arc still, choked with their own blood, The young men droojD their eyelashes toward the ground when they meet ; — But for all this, liberty has not gone out of the place, nor the infidel enter'd into full possession. ^ When liberty goes out of a place, it is not the first to go, nor the second or third to go. It waits for all the rest to go — it is the last. ® When there are no more memories of heroes and martyrs, Songs of Insukeeotion. 365 And when all life, and all the souls of men and women are discharged from any part of the eartb , Then only shall liberty, or the idea of liberty, be dis- charged from that j)art of the earth, And the infidel come into full possession. ' Then courage ! Euroj^ean revolter ! revoltress ! For, till all ceases, neither must you cease. * I do not know what you arc for, (I do not know" what I am for myself, nor what anything is for,) But I will search carefully for it even in being foil'd. In defeat, poverty, misconception, imprisonment— for they too are great. " Revolt ! and the bullet for tyrants ! Did we think victory great ? So it is — But now it seems to me, when it cannot be help'd, that defeat is great. And that death and dismay are great. FRANCE, The i8th Year of These States. ^ A GREAT year and place ; A harsh, discordant, natal scream out-sounding, to touch the mother's heart closer than any yet. - I walk'd the shores of my Eastern Sea, Heard over the waves the little voice. Saw the divine infant, where she woke, mournfully wail- ing, amid the roar of cannon, curses, shouts, crasli of falling buildings" ; 366 Leaves or Geass. Was not so sick from the IjIoocI in the gutters running — nor from the single corpses, nor those in heaps, nor those borne away in the tumbrils ; Was not so desperate at the battues of death — was not so shock'd at the re^Dcated fusillades of the guns. ^ Pale, silent, stern, what could I say to that long- accrued retribution ? Could I wish humanity different ? Could I wish the people made of wood and stone ? Or that there be no justice in destiny or time ? 3 * 0 Liberty ! O mate for me ! Here too the blaze, the grape-shot and the axe, in re- serve, to fetch them out in case of need ; Here too, though long rejorest, can never be destroy'd ; Here too could rise at last, murdering and cxtatic ; Here too demanding full arrearKS of vengeance. ^ Hence I sign this salute over the sea, And I do not deny that terrible red birth and baptism. But remember the little voice that I heard wailing — and wait with perfect trust, no matter how long ; And from to-day, sad and cogent, I maintain the bc- queath'd cause, as for all lauds. And I send those words to Paris with my love, And I guess some chansonniers thei'e will understand them. For I guess there is latent music yet in France — floods of it ; O I hear already the bustle of instruments — they will soon be drowning all that would interrupt them ; 0 I think the east wind brings a triumphal and free march, It reaches hither — it swells me to joyful madness, 1 u'ill run transpose it in v/ords, to justify it, I will yet sing a song for you, ma femme. S0NG.S CF I>'SUREECTION. 3G7 EUROPE, The 72d and 73d Years of These States. ^ Suddenly, out of its stale and drowsy lair, the lair of slaves, Like lightning it le'pt forth, half startled at itself, Its feet upon the ashes and the rags — its hands tight to the throats of kings. ^ O hope and faith ! O aching close of exiled patriots' lives ! O many a sicken'd heart ! Turn back unto this day, and make yourselves afresh. ^ And you, paid to defile the People ! you liars, mark ! Not for numberless agonies, murders, lusts, For court thieving in its manifold mean forms, worming from his simplicity the poor man's wages, For many a promise sworn by royal lips, and broken, and laugli'd at in the breaking, Then in their power, not for all these, did the blows strike revenge, or the heads of the nobles fall ; The People scorn'd the ferocity of kings. ' But the sweetness of mercy brow'd bitter destruction, and the frighten'd monarchs come back ; Each comes in state, with his train — hangman, priest, tax-gatherer. Soldier, lawyer, lord, jailer, and sycophant. ' Yet behind all, lowering, stealing — lo, a Shape, Vague as the night, draped interminably, head, front and foi-m, in scarlet folds. Whose face and eyes none may see, 3G8 Leaves of Grass. Out of its robes ouly (his — the red robes, lifted by the arm, One fingei", crook'd, pointed high over the top, like the head of a snake appears. " Meanwhile, corpses lie in new-inado graves— bloody corpses of young men ; The rope of the gibbet hangs heavity, the bullets of princes are liying, the creatui-es of power laugh aloud, And all these things bear fruits — end they are good. ' Those corpses of young men, Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets — those hearts pierc'd by the grcij lead, Cold and motionless as they seem, live elsewhere with un slaughter 'd vitality. ^ They live in other young mea, 0 Icings ! They live in brothers, again ready to defy you ! They ^vere purified by death— tlicy were taught and exalted. '^ Not a grave of the mua'der'd for freedom, but grows seed for freedom, in its turn to bear seed, "Which the wands carry afar and re- sow, and the rains and the snows nourish. '" Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants let loose, But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering, coun- seling, cautioning. " Liberty ! let others despair of you ! I never despair of you. '- Is the house shut ? Is the master away ? Nevertheless, be ready — ^be not weary of watching ; He will soon return — his messengers come anon. ^oxca c:r iNsunr.ECTZON. 0G9 Wak Whitman's Caution. To TliG States, or airy ono of them, or any city of The States, Eesiti much, obey little ; Once unquestioning obedience, once fully enslaved ; Once fully enslaved, no nation, state, city, of this earth, ever afterward resumes its liberty. To a Certain Cantatrice. Heee, take this gift ! I was reserving it for some hero, speaker, or General, One who should serve the good old cause, the great Idea, the progress and freedom of the race ; Some brave confronter of despots — some daring rebel ; — But I see that what I was reserving, belongs to you just as much as to any. Leaves of Grass. To You. \ "Whoever j^ou tiro, I fear you arc -warKing tlao vralks of dreams, I fear these suioposed realities arc to melt from under your feet and bauds ; Even now, your features, joys, S2:)eecli, house, trade, manners, troubles, folhes, costume, crimes, dissi- pate away from you. Your true Soul and Body appear before me. They stand forth out of affairs — out of commerce, shops, law, science, work, farms, clothes, the house, medicine, print, buying, selling, eating, drinking, suffering, dying. ^ "Wlioever you are, now I place my hand upon you, that you be my poem ; I w^hisper with my lips close to your ear, I have loved many women and men. but I love none better than you. ^ O I have been dilatory and dumb ; I should have made my way straight to j-ou long ago ; I should have blabb'd nothing but you, I shoiild have chanted nothing but you. "* I will leave all, and come and make the hymns of you; None have understood you, but I understand you ; None have done justice to you — you have not done justice to yourself ; None but have found you imperfect — I only find no imperfection in you ; Leaves cf Gi:a3s. 371 None but would suborclinf.tG j'ou — I only am lie vvLo will never consent to subordinate you ; I only am he who places over you no master, owner, better, God, beyond v/liat v/aits intrinsically in yourself. ^ Painters have painted tlieir sv/arming groups, and the centre figure of all ; From the head of the centre figuro spreading a nimbus of gold-color'd light ; But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head v/ith- out its nimbus of gold-color'd light ; Trom my hand, from the brain of every man and woman it streams, efiulgeutly flovv'ing forever. * O I could vAng such gxaudeurs and glories about you ! You have not knovvn what you are — you have slumber'd upon yourself all your life ; Your eye-lids have been the same as closed most of the time ; What you have done returns already in mockeries ; (Your thrift, knowledge, prayers, if they do not return in mockeries, vv'hat is their return '?) ' The mockeries are not you ; Underneath them, and within them, I see you lurk ; I pursue you where none else has pursued you ; Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the accustom'd routine, if these conceal you from others, or from yourself, they do not conceal yoa from me ; The shaved face, the unsteady eye, the impure com- plexion, if these balk others, they do not balk me. The pert apparel, the deform'd attitude, drunkenness, greed, premature death, all these I part aside. * There is no endowment in man or woman that is not tallied in you ; There is no virtue, no beauty, in man or woman, but as good is in you ; 372 Leaves of Gkas:. No pluck, no cadiiranco in otliei's, but as good is ia you; Iso pleasure ■waiting for ethers, hvd an equal pleasure ■wait.! for you. ^ As for me, I give nothing to any one, except I give the like carefully to you ; I sing the songs of the glory of none, not God, sooner than I sing the songs of the glory of you. "' Whoever you arc ! claim your own at any hazard ! These shows of the east and west are taiiie, comjDared lo 5"ou ; The.'ie immense meadows — these interminable rivcrn — 5'ou are immense and interminable as they ; These furies, elements, storms, motions of Nature, throes of apparent dissolution — you are he or she who is master or mistress over them, Master or mistress in your own right over Nature, ele- ments, pain, passion, dissolution. ^' The hopples fall fi'om your anMes — you find an un- failing suaiciency ; Old or young, male or female, rude, lov/, rejected by the rest, whatever you are promulges itself ; Through bu'th, life, death, burial, the means are pro- vided, nothing is scanted ; Through augers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui, what you arc picks its way. Leaves of Grass. AS THE TIME DRAWS NIGH. ' As tlic time draws uigli, glooming, ti cloud, A dread beyond, of I know not v/hat, darkens mc. ■ I shall go fortli, I sliall traverse The States awhile — but I cannot tell whither or how long ; Perhaps soon, some day or night v/hilc I am singing, my voice v/ill suddenly cease. ■" O book, O chants ! must all then amount to but this ? Must we barely arrive at this beginning of us ? . . . And yet it is enough, O soul ! O soul ! we have positively appear'd — that is enough. YEARS OF THE MODERN. YEAr.s of the modern ! years of the unperform'd ! Yotu- horizon rises — I see it parting away for more august dramas ; I see not America only — I see not only Lib-rty'f; nation, but other nations ])rcparing ; 374 Leaves of Gka^s. I see tremendous entrances and exits — I see nev^ com- binations— I see the solidarity of races ; I sec that force advancing with irresistible power en the world's stage ; (Have the old forces, the old w.xrs, played their parts ? are the acts suitable to them closed ?) 1 S33 Freedom, comi^letelv arm'd, and victorious, and very haughty, with Lav/ on one side, and Peace on the other, A stupendous Trio, cJl issuing forth against the idea of caste ; — What historic deaouomcnts are these v/e so rapidly approach ? I SG3 men marching and countermarching by svv'iit mil- lions ; I S33 the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocra- cies broken I see the landmarks of European kings removed ; I se3 this day the People beginning their landmarks, (all others give way ;) — Never were such sharp qnesti(ms ask'd as this day ; Never was average maD, his soul, more energetic, more like a God ; Lo ! how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no rest ; His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere — he col- onizes the Pacific, the archipelagoes ; With the steam-ship, the electric telegraph, the news- paper, the wholesale engines of war. With these, and the world-spreading factories, he inter- links all geography, all lands ; — What Avhispers are these, O lands, running ahead of you, passing under the seas ? Are all nations communing ? is there going to be but one heart to the globe ? Is humanity forming, en-masse ? — for lo ! tyrants trem- ble, crowns grow dim ; The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhax)3 a gen- eral divine v/ar ; No one knows what will happen ^cxt — such portents fill the davs and nights ; Songs or Parting. 375 Yen,rs prophetical ! the space ahead as I walk, as I vain- ly try to iDierce it, is fall of phantoms ; Unborn deeds, things soon to be, project their shapes around me ; This incredible rush and heat — this strange estatic fever of dreams, O years ! Your dreams, O years, how they penetrate through me ! (I know not whether I sleep or wake !) The perform'd America and Euroj^e grow dim, retiring in shadow behind me. The unperforhi'd, more gigantic than ever, advance, ad- vance upon me. THOUGHTS. Of these years I sing. How they pass and have pass'd, through convuls'd pains, as through parturitions ; How America illustrates bu'th, muscular youth, the promise, the sure fulfillment, the Absolute Suc- cess, despite of people — Illustrates evil'as well as good ; How many hold despairingly yet to the models de- parted, caste, myths, obedience, compulsion, and to infidelity ; How few see the arrived models, the Athletes, the Western States — or see freedom or spirituality — or hold any faith in results, (But I see the Athletes — and I see the results of the war glorious and inevitable — and they again leading to other results ;) How the great cities appear — How the Democratic masses, turbulent, wilful, as I love them ; How the whirl, the contest, the wrestle of evil with good, the sounding and resounding, keep on and on ; 37G Leaves of Grass. Ho^v Gociety waits unform'd, and is for a while between things ended and things begun ; How America is the continent of glories, and of the triumph of freedom, and of the Democracies, and of the fruits of society, and of all that is begun ; And how The States are complete in themselves — And how all triumphs and glories are complete in themselves, to lead onward. And how these of mine, and of The States, will in their turn be convals'd, and serve other parturitions and transitions, And how all people, sights, combinations, the Demo- cratic masses, too, serve — and how every fact, and war itself, with all its horrors, serves, And how now, or at any time, each serves the exquisite transition of death. 2 Of seeds di'opping into the ground — of birth, Of the steady concentration of America, inland, upward, to impregnable and swarming places. Of what Indiana, Kentucky, Ohio and the rest, are to be, Of what a few years will show there in Nebraska, Col- orado, Nevada, and the rest ; (Or afar, mounting the Northern Pacific to Sitka or Aliaska ;) Of what the feuillage of America is the preparation for — and of what all sights, North, South, East and West, are ; Of This Union, soak'd, welded in blood — of the solemn price paid — of the unnamed lost, ever present in my mind ; — Of the ten>porary use of materials, for identity's sake. Of the present, passing, departing — of the gi'owth of completer men than any yet. Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing iip my songs by these shores,^^ Of California, of Oregon — and cf mo journeying to livo and sing there ; Songs of Pabting. 377 Of the Western Sea — of the spread inland betv/een it and tlis spinal river, Of the great pastoral area, athletic and feminine, - Of all sloping down there where the fresh free giver, the mother, the Mississippi flows. Of future women there — of hajopiness in those high plateaus, ranging three thousand miles, warm and cold ; Of mighty inland cities yet unsurveyVl and ud sus- pected, (as I am also, and as it must be ;) Of the new and good names — of the modern develop- ments— of inalienable homesteads ; Of a free and original life there — of simple diet and clean and sweet blood ; Of litheness, majestic faces, clear eyes, and perfect physique there ; Of immense spiritual results, future years, far west, each side of the Anahuacs ; Of these leaves, well understood there, (being made for that area ;) Of the native scorn of grossness and gain there ; (O it lurks in me night niid day — What is gain, after all, to savageness and freedom ?) Song at Sunset. ' Splehdok of ended day, floating and filling me ! Hour prophetic — hour resuming the past ! Inflating ray throat — you, divine average ! You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing. ■ Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness, Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection, Nattu'al life of me, faithfully praising things ; Corroborating forever the trium"!3h of things. 378 Leaves op Grass. " Illustrious every one ! Dlustrious what we name space — sphere of uunum- ber'd spirits ; Illustrious the mystery of motion, in all beings, even the tiniest insect ; Illustrious the attribute of speech — the senses — the body ; Illustrious the passing light! Illustrious the pale reflection on the new moon in the western sky ! Illustrious v/hatever I see, or hear, or touch, to the last. •* Good in all. In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals, In the aimual return of the seasons. In the hilarity of youth. In the strength and flush of manhood. In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age, In the superb vistas of Death. ^ "Wonderful to depart ; Wonderful to be here ! The heart, to jet the all-alike and innocent blood ! To breathe the air, how delicious ! To speak ! to walk ! to seize something by the hand ! To prepare for sleep, for bed — to look on my rose- color'd flesh ; To be conscious of my body, so satisfied, so large ; To be this incredible God I am ; To have gone forth among other Gods — thes3 men and women I love. •^ Wonderful hovv' I celebrate you and myself ! How my thoughts play subtly at the spectacles around! How the clouds pass silently overhead ! How the earth darts on and on ! and how the sun, moon, stars, dart on and on ! How the water sports and sings ! (Surely it is alive !) Hov/ the trees rise and stand up — with strong trunks — with branches and leaves ! . (Surely there is something more in each of the trees — some living Soul.) Songs of Paeting. 379 '' O amazement of tilings ! even the least particle ! O spiritualitj of things ! 0 strain musical, flowing through ages and continents — now reaching me and 'America ! 1 take your strong chords — I intersperse them, and cheerfully pass them forward. ^ I too carol the sun, iisher'd, or at noon, or, as now, setting, I too throb to the brain and beauty of the earth, and of all the growths of the earth, I too have felt the resistless call of myself. ^ As I sail'd down the Mississippi, As I wander'd over the prairies. As I have lived — As I have look'd through my windov/s, my eyes, As I went forth in the morning — As I beheld the hglit breaking in the east ; As I bathed oil the beach of the Eastern Sea, and again on the beach of the Western Sea ; As I roam'd the streets of inland Chicago — whatever streets I have roam'd ; Or cities, or silent woods, or peace, or even amid the sights of war ; Wherever I have been, I have charged myself with con- tentment and triumph. "^ I-sing the Equalities, modern or old, I sing the endless finales of things ; I say Nature continues — Glory continues ; I praise with electric voice ; For I do not see one imperfection in (he universe ; And I do not see one cause or result lamentable at last in the universe. " O setting sun ! though the time has come, I still warble under you, if none else does, unmitigated adoration. 380 Leaves cp Geass. When I Heard the Learn'd Astronomer. "When I heard tlie learned astronomer ; When the proofs, the figures, v/ere ranged in columns before me ; When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, find measure them ; Yvhen I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lee- tured with much applause iii the lectui'e-room, How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick ; Till rising and gliding out, I wander'd off by myself, In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars. To Rich Givers. What you give me, I cheerfully accept, A little sustenance, a hut and garden, a little money — these, as I rendezvous with my poems ; A traveler's lodging and breakfast as I journey through The States — Why should I be ashamed to own such gifts ? Why to advertise for them ? For I myself am not one who bestows nothing upon man and woman ; For I bestow upon any man or woman the entrance to all the gifts of the universe. Thought. Of what T write from myself — As if that were not the resume ; Of Histories — As if such, however complete, were not less complete than the preceding poems ; As if those shreds, the records of nations, could jDOSsibly be- as lasting as the preceding poems ; As if here were not the amount of all nations, and oi all tiic lives of heroes. Songs of Parting. 381 SO LONG! ' To conclude — -'I finnounce what comes after me ; I annouuce miglitiei* offspring', orators, days, and then, for the present, depart. ^ I remember I said, before my leaves sprang- at all, I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with reference to consummations. ^ When America does what was promis'd, "When there are plentiful atliletic bards, inland and seaboard, When through These States walk a hundred millions o^ superb persons. When the rest part away for superb persons, and con- tribute to them. When breeds of the most perfect mothers denote America, Then to me and mine our due fruition. * I have press'd through in my own right, I have sung the Body and the Soul — War and Peace have I sung, And the songs of Life and of Birth — and shown that there are many births : I have offer'd my style to every one — I have journey'd with confident step ; While my pleasure is yet at the full, I whisper, So long ! And take the young woman's hand, and the young man's hand, for the last time. 2 * I announce natural persons to arise ; I announce justice triumphant ; 382 Leaves of Geass. I anuounce uncomproniisiDg liberty and equality ; I announce the justification of candor, and the justific:x- tion of pride. ® I announce that the identity of These States is a single identity only ; I announce tlie Union more and more compact, indis- soluble ; I announce splendors and majesties to make all the previous politics of the earth insignificant. ' I announce adhesiveness — I say it shall be limitless, unloosened ; I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for. ^ I announce a man or woman coming — perhaps you are the one, {So long .') I announce the great individual, fluid as Nature, chaste, aft'ectionaie, compassionate, fully armed. ^ I announce a life that shall bo copious, vehement, spiritual, bold ; I announce an end that shall lightly and joyfully meet its translation ; I announce myriads of youths, beautiful, gigantic, sweet- blooded ; I announce a race of splendid and savage old men. '" 0 thicker and faster ! {So long !) 0 crowding too close upon me ; 1 foresee too much — it means more than I thought ; It appears to me I am dying. " Hasten throat, and sound your last ! Salute me— salute the days once more. Peal the old cry once more. '^ Screaming electric, the atmosphere using. At random glancing, each as I notice absorbing, Songs of Parting. 083 Svriftly ou, but a little -wLile alighting, Curious envelop'd messages delivering, Sp:rk]es liot, seed ctlaereal, down in the dii't dropping, Myself unknowing, my commission obeying, to question it never daring, To ages, and ages jet, the grovvth of the seed leaving, To troops out of me, out of the army, the war arising — they the tasks I have set promulging. To women certain whispers of myself bequeathing — their affection me more clearly explaining. To young men my problems offering — no dallier I — I the muscle of their brains trying, So I pass — a little time vocal, visible, contrary ; Afterward, a melodious echo, passionately bent for — (death making me realiy undying ;) The best of me then when no longer visible — for toward that I have been incessantly preparing. '•* What is there more, that I lag and pause, and crouch extended with unshut mouth ? Is there a sinaie final farewell ? " My songs cease — I abandon them ; From behind the screen where I hid, I advance person- ally, solely to you. '^ Camerado ! This is no book ; "Who touches this, touches a man ; (Is it night ? Are we here alone ?) It is I you hold, and who holds you ; I spring from the pages into youi* arms — decease calls me forth. ^^ O how your fingers drowse me ! Your breath falls around me like dew — your pulse lulls the tympans of my ears ; I feel immerged from head to foot ; Delicious — enough. 334 Le-wej of Grass. " Enougla, 0 deed impromptu and secret ! Enough, O gliding- present ! Euougli, O ciimni'd-up past ! '^ D3ar friend, "\;vlioever you are, take this kiss, I give it especially to you — Do not forget me ; I feel like one "^'lio has done work for the day, to retire awhile ; I recaive now again of my many translations — from my avataras ascending — while others doubtless await me ; An unknown sphere, more real than I dream'd, more direct, darts awakening rays about me — So long ! Remember my words — I may again return, I love you — I dej)art from materials ; I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead. Adverttsemknt. WALT WHITMAN'S BOOKS. Leaves of Grass, 384 pitges, paper covers, price, $2 50 Passage to India. 120 jia^ea. pjqier covers, price, f 1 00 Deinoeratie Vistas, 84 pages, paper covers, price. 75 cts. 2^^ The above can be ordered from any Bookseller. Published in New- York, by J. S. Redfiei.d, 140 Fulton Street, up-staii'S. Dealers supplied. Single copies sent by mail. Can be obtained as follows: Washin0on, D. C. Philp & SOLOMOsr, Pennsylvania Avenue, near Ninth Street. Parker's, Feventh Street, opposite Post-office. Willard's Hotet., Eonk-stand. Neiv-Ym^k. Redfield, 140 Fulton Street. F. B. FEiiT, 455 Broome Street. (Dealers supplied.) BuENTANO, 33 Union Square, Broadway. W. H. Pii'RK & Co., 133 Washington Street. UrooJilyn. M Neyin, 302 Fulton Street. London, England. Trttbner, 60 Paternoster Row. Sold by the Author, through the Post-ofRce. Address at Wash- ington, D. C, giving lull Post-i)ffice address. Price, $1.00. PASSAGE to India Washington, D. C. 1 8 7 1 . New- York: J. S. REDFIKLD, Pltbmshf.r, 140 Fulton St., (up stairs.) • » OH, J. SULLIVAN, Oh, J. Sullivan ! Oh, J. L. Sullivan ! Oh, John Lycurgus Sullivan, all hail ! ! Thou bottomless infinitude ! Thou god ! Thou you ! Thou Zeus with all-compelling Land ! Thou glor}' of the mighty Occident ! Thou Heaven-born ! Thou Athens-bred ! Thou light of the Acrop- olis ! Thou son of a gambolier ! Fifty-nine inches art thou round thy ribs ; twice twain knuckles hast thou, and again twice twain. Thou scatterest men's teeth like antelopes at play. Thou straightenest thine arm, and systems rock and eye-balls change their hue. Oh, thou grim granulator ! Thou soul-re- mover ! Thou lightsome excoriator ! Thou cooing dove ! Thou droll, droll John ! Thou buster ! Oh, you ! Oh, me, too ! Oh, me some morei Oh, thunder ! ! ! — Walt Whitman {per J. P. L.), in " Life's Verses." n Leaves of Gbass. PASSAGE to Gliding o'er ail, through all. Through Nature, Time, and Space, As a Skip on the loatcrs advancing. The Voyage of the Soul — not Life alone, Death — many Deaths, I ^ing. Washington, D. C. 1871. See Advertisement at end of this Voliune. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1 8 70, by WALT WHITMAN, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Eleclrotyped by Smith & McDougal, Sj Bcekman Street, New York, COMTBMTS. PAGE Passage to India 5 Thought 16 O Living Always — Always Dying ■ 16 Proud Music of The Storm It Ashes of Soldiers. Ashes of Soldiers 23 In Midnight Sleep .• 3T Camps of Green 28 To a Certain Civilian 29 Pensive on Her Dead Gazing, I Heard the Mother of All 29 President Lincoln's Burial Htbhst. ^ When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom'd 31 v^ O Captain 1 My Captain 1 41 Hush'd be the Camps To-day 42 This Dust was Once the Man 42 Poem of Joys 43 To Think of Time ... 53 Chanting the Square Deific GO Whispers of Heavenlt Death. Whispers of Heavenly Death 63 Darest Thou Now, O Soul 64 Of Him I Love Day and Night 64 Assurances 65 Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours 66 Quicksand Years 67 That Music Always Round Me 67 As if a Phantom Caress'd Me 68 Here, Sailor 68 A Noiseless Patient Spider 09 The Last Invocation 69 As I Watch'd the Ploughman Ploughing 70 Pensive and Faltering 70 Sea-Shore Memories. / Out of the Cradle Endlessly Eocking 71'^ Elemental Drifts 78 Tears 82 Aboard at a Ship's Helm 82 On the Beach at Night 83 The World Below the Brine 84 On the Beach at Night, Alone ' 85 iv Contexts. Leaves of Grass. tage A Carol of Harvest for 18G7 87 The Singer in the Prison 94 Warble for Lilac-Time f)6 Who Learns My Lesson Complete ? 93 Thought (>9 Myself and Mine 100 To Old Age 101 Miracles 103 Sparkles from The Wheel 103 Excelsior 104 Mediums 105 Kosmos ■. . lOli To a Pupil 106 What am I, After All ? 107 Others may Praise what They Like 107 Brother of All, with Generous Hand 108 Night on The Prairies Ill On Journeys Through The States 112 Savantism 11.3 Locations and Times 113 Thought Ii3 Offerings 113 Tests. 114 The Torch 114 Gods ll.-S To One Shortly to Die 110 Lessons IIG Now Finale to the Shoee. Now Finale to the Shore 117 Shut Not Your Doors, &c 117 Thought 118 The TJntold Want 118 Portals 119 These Carols 119 This Day, O Soul 119 What Place is Besieged ? 119 To the Reader, at Parting 120 Joy, Shipmate, Joy! ....120 Leaves of Grass. Passage to India. ' Singing my clays, Singing tlie great achievements of the present, Singing the strong, Hght works of engineers. Our modern wonders, (the antique ponderous Seven outvied,) In the Old World, the east, the Suez canal. The New by its mighty raili'oad spann'd, The seas inlaid with eloquent, gentle wires, I sound, to commence, the cry, with thee, O soul, The Past ! the Past ! the Past ! ^ The Past ! the dark, unfathom'd retrospect ! The teeming gulf ! the sleepers and the shadows ! The past ! the infinite greatness of the past ! For what is the present, after all, but a growth out of the past ? (As a projectile, form'd, impell'd, passing a certain line, still keeps on. So the present, utterly form'd, impell'd by the past.) ^ Passage, O soul, to India ! Eclaircise the myths Asiatic — the primitive fables. * Not you alone, proud truths of the world ! Nor you alone, ye facts of modern science ! But myths and fables of eld — Asia's, Afi-ica's fables ! 6 Leaves or Geass. . The far-darting beams of the spirit ! — the unloos'd dreams ! The deep diving bibles and legends ; The daring plots of the poets — the elder rehgions ; — O you temples fairer than hlies, poui''d over by the rising sun ! O you fables, spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, mounting to heaven ! You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish'd with gold ! Towers of fables immortal, fashion'd fi'om mortal dreams ! You too I welcome, and fully, the same as the rest ; You too with joy I sing. ^ Passage to India ! Lo, soul! seest thou not God's purpose from the first? The earth to be spann'd, connected by net-work. The people to become brothers and sisters, The races, neighbors, to marry and be given in mar- riage. The oceans to be cross' d, the distant brought near, The lands to be welded together. " (A worship new, I sing ; You caj^tains, voyagers, explorers, yours ! You engineers ! you architects, machinists, yours ! You, not for trade or transportation only, But in God's name, and for thy sake, O soul.) ' Passage to India ! Lo, soul, for thee, of tableaus twain, I see, in one, the Suez canal initiated, open'd, I see the procession of steamships, the Empress Euge- nie's leading the van ; I mark, from on deck, the strange landscape, the pure sky, the level sand in the distance ; Passage to IiroiA. 7 I pass swiftly the picturesque grouj)f=«, the workmen gather'd, The gigantic dredging machines. ^ In one, again, different, (yet thine, all thine, O soul, the same,) I see over my own continent the Pacific Eaih'oad, sur- mounting every barrier ; I see continual trains of ears winding along the Platte, carrying fi*eight and passengers ; I hear the locomotives rushing and roaring, and the shrill steam- whistle, I hear the echoes reverberate through the gTandest scenery in the world ; I cross the Laramie plains — I note the rocks in gro- tesque shapes — the buttes ; I see the plentiful larkspur and wild onions — the bar- ren, colorless, sage-deserts ; I see in glimpses afar, or towering immediately above me, the great mountains — I see the Wind Kiver and the Wahsatch mountains ; I see the Monument mountain and the Eagle's Nest — I pass the Promontory — I ascend the Nevadas ; I scan the noble Elk mountain, and wind around its base ; I see the Humboldt range — I thread the valley and cross the river, I see the clear waters of Lake Tahoe — I see forests of majestic pines, Or, crossing the great desert, the alkaline plains, I be- hold enchanting mirages of waters and meadows ; Marking through these, and after all, in duplicate slen- der lines. Bridging the three or four thousand miles of land travel. Tying the Eastern to the Western sea, The road between Europe and Asia. ' (Ah Genoese, thy di'eam ! thy dream ! Ce'ntuiies after thou art laid in thy grave. The shore thou foundest verifies thy dream !) 8 Leaves or Gkass 5 '" Passage to India ! Struggles of many a captain — tales of many a sailor dead ! Over my mood, stealing and spreading they come. Like clouds and cloudlets in the unreach'd sky. " Along all history, do-wn the slopes, As a rivulet running, sinking now, and now again to the surface rising, A ceaseless thought, a varied train — Lo, soul ! to thee, thy sight, they rise, The plans, the voyages again, the expeditions : Again Vasco de Gama sails forth ; Again the knowledge gain'd, the mariner's compass. Lands found, and nations born — thou born, America, (a hemisphere unborn,) For purpose vast, man's long probation fill'd, Thou, rondure of the world, at last accomplish'd. 6 ^^ O, vast Rondure, swimming in space i Cover'd all over with visible power and beauty ! Alternate light and day, and the teeming, spiritual darkness ; Unspeakable, high processions of sun and moon, and countless stars, above ; Below, the manifold grass and waters, animals, moun- tains, trees ; With inscrutable purpose — some hidden, prophetic intention ; Now, first, it seems, my thought begins to span thee. " Down from the gardens of Asia, descending, radiat- ing, Adam and Eve appear, then their myriad progeny after them, Wanderino-, yearning, curious — with restless explo- rations. Passage to India. 9 Witli questionings, baffled, formless, feverisli — with nevei'-happy hearts, "With that sad, incessant i^efrain. Wherefore, unsatisfied Soul? and, Wliilher, 0 moclcing Life ? " Ah, who shall soothe these feverish children ? "Who justify these restless explorations ? Who speak the secret of impassive Earth ? Who bind it to us ? What is this separate Kature, so unnatural ? AVhat is this Earth, to our affections ? (unloving earth, without a throb to answer ours ; Cold earth, the place of graves.) '^ Yet, soul, be sure the first intent remains — and shall be carried out ; (Perhaps even now the time has arrived.) "' After the seas are all cross'd, (as they seem already cross'd,) After the great captains and engineers have accomplish'd their work, After the noble inventors — after the scientists, the chemist, the geologist, ethnologist. Finally shall come the Poet, worthy that name ; The true Son of God shall come, singing his songs. " Then, not your deeds only, O voyagers, O scientists and inventors, shall be justified, All these hearts, as of fi'etted children, shall be sooth' d. All affection shall be fully responded to — the secret shall be told ; All these separations and gaps shall be taken up, and hook'd and link'd together ; The whole Earth — this cold, impassive, voiceless Earth, shall be completely justified ; Trinitas divine shall be gloriously accomplish'd and compacted by the true Son of God, the poet, (He shall indeed pass the straits and conquer the mountains. 10 Leaves of Grass- He shall double tlie Cape of Good Hope to some pur- pose ;) Natui-e and Man shall be disjoin'd and diffused no more, The true Son of God shall absolutely fuse them. '^ Year at whose open'd, wide-flung door I sing ! Year of the purpose accomplish'd ! Year of the marriage of continents, climates and oceans ! (No mere Doge of Venice now, wedding the Adriatic ;) I see, O year, in you, the vast terraqueous globe, given, and giving ail, Europe to Asia, Africa join'd, and they to the New AVorld ; The lands, geographies, dancing before you, holding a festival garland. As brides and bridegTOoms hand in hand. '® Passage to India ! Cooling airs from Caucasus far, soothing cradle of man, The river Euphrates flowing, the past lit up again. *" Lo, soul, the retrospect, brought forward ; The old, most populous, wealthiest of Earth's lands, The streams of the Indus and the Ganges, and their many affluents ; (I, my shores of America v/alting to-day, behold, resum- ing all,) The tale of Alexander, on his warlike marches, suddenly dying. On one side China, and on the other side Persia and Arabia, To the south the great seas, and the Bay of Bengal ; The flowing literatures, tremendous epics, religions, castes, Old occult Brahma, interminably far back — the tender and junior Buddha, Central and southern empires, and all their belongings, possessors, Passage to India. 11 The wars of Tamerlane, tlie reign of Auruiigzebe, The traders, rulei's, explorers, Moslems, Venetians, Byzantium, the Arabs, Portuguese, The first travelers, famous yet, Marco Polo, Batouta the Moor, Doubts to be solv'd, the map incognita, blanks to be fill'd. The foot of man uustay'd, the hands never at rest, Thyself, O soul, that will not brook a challenge. 9 -' The medieval navigators rise before me. The world of 1492, with its awahen'd enterprise ; Something swelhng in humanity now like the sap of the earth in spring, The sunset splendor of chivalry declining. ^' And who art thou, sad shade ? Gigantic, visionary, thyself a visionary, With majestic limbs, and pious, beaming eyes, Sx^reading around, with every look of thine, a golden world, Enhuing it with gorgeous hues. ^^ As the chief histrion, Down to the footlights walks, in some great scena, Dominating the rest, I see the Admiral himself, (History's type of coiu'age, action, faith ;) Behold him sail from Palos, leading his little fleet ; His voyage behold — his return— his great fame, His misfortunes, calumniators — behold him a prisoner, chain'd. Behold his dejection, povert}^, death. •■* (Curious, in time, I stand, noting the efforts of heroes ; Is the deferment long? bitter the slander, poverty, death ? Lies the seed unreck'd for centuries in the ground? Lo ! to Grod's due occasion, 12 Leaves oe Grass. Uprising in the night, it sprouts, blooms. And fills the earth v/ith use and beauty.) 10 "' Passage indeed, O soul, to primal thought ! Not lands and seas alone — thy own clear freshness, The young maturity of brood and bloom ; To realms of budding bibles. ^"^ O soul, reprcssless, I v/ith thee, and thou with me. Thy circumnavigation of the v.'orld begin ; Of man, the voyage of his mind's retiu-n, To reason's early paradise, Back, back to wisdom's birth, to innocent intuitions, Again with fair Creation. 11 "' O we can w"ait no longer ! "We too take ship, O soul ! Joyous, we too launch out on trackless seas ! Fearless, for unknown shores, on waves of extasy to sail, Amid the wafting winds, (thou pressing me to thee, I thee to me, O soul,) Caroling free — singing our song of God, Chanting our chant of pleasant exploration. '^ With laugh, and many a kiss, (Let others deprecate — let others weep for sin, remorse, humiliation ;) O soul, thou pleasest me — I thee. ^^ Ah, more than any priest, O soul, we too believe in God ; But with the mystery of God we dare not dally. ^° O soul, thou pleasest me — I thee ; Sailing these seas, or on the hills, or wakmg in the night, Passage to India. 13 Thoughts, silent thoughts, of Time, and Space, and Death, Hke v/aters flowing. Bear me, indeed, as through the regions infinite, TVIiose aii' I breathe, whose ripples hear — lave me all over ; Bathe me, O God, in thee — mounting to thee, I and my soul to range in range of thee, ^' O Thou transcendant ! Nameless — the fibre and the breath ! Light of the light — shedding forth universes — thou centre of them ! Thou mightier centre of the true, the good, the loving ! Thou moral, spu*itual fountain ! affection's source ! thou reservoir ! (0 pensive soul of me ! O thirst unsatisfied ! waitest not there ? Waitest not haply for us, somewhere there, the Com- rade perfect ?) Thou pulse ! thou motive of the stars, suns, systems, That, ch'cling, move in order, safe, hai'monious, Athwart the shapeless vastnesses of space ! How should I think — how breathe a single breath — how speak — if, out of myself, I could not launch, to those, superior universes ? ^- Swiftly I shrivel at the thought of God, At Nature and its wonders. Time and Space and Death, But that I, turning, call to thee, O soul, thou actual Me, And lo ! thou gently masterest the orbs, Thou matest Time, smilest content at Death, And fiUest, sweUest full, the vastnesses of S^Dace. "^ Greater than stars or suns. Bounding, O soul, thou journeyest forth ; — What love, than thine and ours could wider amplify? What aspirations, wishes, outvie thine and ours, O soul ? What dreams of the ideal ? what plans of purity, per- fection, strength ? 14 LezVYEs of Gkass. What clieerful willingness, for otliers' sake, to give up all ? For others' sake to suffer all ? ^* Reckoning ahead, O soul, when thou, the time achiev'd. (The seas all cross'd, weather'd the capes, the voyage done,) Surrounded, copest, frontest God, yieldest, the aim attain'd. As, fiU'd with friendship, love complete, the Elder Brother found, The Younger melts in fondness in his arms. 12 ^^ Passage to more than India ! Are thy Y»'ings plumed indeed for such far flights ? O Soul, voyagest thou indeed on voyages like these ? Disj^ortest thou on waters such as these ? Soundest below the Sanscrit and the Vedas ? Then have thy bent unleash'd. ^^ Passage to you, your shores, ye aged fierce enigmas ! Passage to you, to mastership of you, ye strangling problems ! You, strew'd with the wrecks of skeletons, that, living, never reach'd you. 13 ^^ Passage to more than India ! O secret of the earth and sky ! Of you, O waters of the sea ! O winding creeks and rivers ! Of you, O woods and fields ! Of you, strong mountains of my land ! Of you, O prairies ! Of you, gray rocks ! O morning red ! O clouds ! 0 rain and snows ! O day and night, passage to you ! Passage to Ihdia. 15 ^^ O sun and moon, and all you stars ! Sh'ius and Jupiter ! Passage to you ! ^" Passage — immediate passage ! the blood b'orns in my veins ! Away, 0 soul ! hoist instantly the anchor ! Cut the hawsers — haul out — shake out every sail ! Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough ? Have we not grovell'd here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes ? Have we not darken'd and dazed ourselves with books long enough ? '"' Sail forth ! steer for the deep waters only ! Reckless, O soul, exploring, I with thee, and thou with me ; For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go, And we vv^ill risk the ship, ourselves and all. *' O my brave soul ! O farther, farther sail ! O daring joy, but safe ! Ai-e they not all the seas of God? 0 farthei*, farther, farther sail ! 16 Leaves of Grass Thought. As I sit witli otlici'S, at a great feast, suddenlj, Trliile the music is playing, To my mind, (whence it comes I know not,) spectral, in mist, of a wreck at sea ; Of certain ships — how they sail from port with flying streamers, and wafted kisses — aud that is the last of them ! Of the solemn and murky mystery about the fate of the President ; Of the flower of the marine science of fifty generations, founder'd off the Northeast coast, and going down — Of the steamship Arctic going down, Of the veil'd tableau — Women gathered together on deck, pale, heroic, waiting the moment that draws so close — O the moment ! A huge sob — A few bubbles — the white foam spirting up^And then the women gone. Sinking there, while the passionless wet flows on — And I now pondering. Are those women indeed gone ? Are Souls drown'd and destroy'd so ? Is only matter triumphant ? O Living Always — Always Dying ! O LIVING always — always dying ! O the burials of me, past and present ! O me, while I stride ahead, material, visible, imperious as ever ! O me, what I was for years, now dead, (I lament not — I am content ;) O to disengage myself from those corpses of me, which I turn and look at, whei'e I cast them ! To pass on, (0 hving! always lining!) and leave the corpses behind ! Leaves of Gbass. Proud Music of the Storm, ' Peoud music of the storm ! Blast that careers so free, whisth'ng across the prairies ! Strong hum of forest tree-tops ! Wind of the moun- tains ! Personified dim. shapes ! you hidden orchestras ! You serenades of phantoms, with instruments alert. Blending, with Nature's rhythmus, all the tongues of nations ; You chords left as by vast composers ! you choruses ! You formless, free, religious dances ! you fi'om the Orient ! You undertone of rivers, roar of poui'ing cataracts ; You sounds from distant guns, with galloping cavalry ! Echoes of camps, with all tbe different bugle-calls ! Trooping tumultuous, filling the midnight late, bending me powerless. Entering my lonesome slumber-chamber — Why have you seiz'd me ? ^ Come forward, O my Soul, and let the rest retire ; Listen — lose not — it is toward thee they tend ; Parting the midnight, entering my slumber-chamber, For thee they sing and dance, 0 Soul. 18 Passage to India. ^ A festival song ! The duet of the bridegroom and the bride — a marriage- march, With lips of love, and hearts of lovers, fill'd to the brim with love ; The red-flush'd cheeks, and perfumes — the cortege swarming, full of friendly faces, young and old, To flutes' clear notes, and sounding harps' cantabile. ^ Now loud approaching drums ! Victoria ! see'st thou in powder-smoke the banners torn but flying ? the rout of the baffled ? Hearest those shouts of a conquering army ? ^ (Ah, Soul, the sobs of women — the wounded groaning in agony. The hiss and crackle of flames — the blacken'd ruins — the embers of cities, The dirge and desolation of mankind.) ^ Now airs antique and medieval fill me ! I see and hear old harpers with their harps, at Welsh festivals : I hear the minnesingers, singing their lays of love, I hear the minstrels, gleemen, troubadours, of the feudal ages. ' Now the great organ sounds. Tremulous — while underneath, (as the hid footholds of the earth. On which arising, rest, and leaping forth, depend. All shapes of beauty, gTace and strength — all hues we know. Green blades of grass, and warbling birds — childi'en that gambol and play — the clouds of heaven above,) Proud Music of the Stokm. 19 The strong base stands, and its pulsations intermits not, Batliing, supporting, merging all tlie rest — maternity of all the rest ; And with it every instrument in multitudes, The players playing — all the world's musicians, The solemn hymns and masses, rousing adoration, All passionate heart-chants, sorrowful appeals. The measureless sweet vocalists of ages. And for their solvent setting, Earth's own diapason. Of winds and woods and mighty ocean waves ; A new composite orchestra — binder of years and climes — ten-fold renewer. As of the far-baclc days the poets tell — the Paradiso, The straying thence, the separation long, but now the wandering done. The journey done, the Journeyman come home, And Man and Art, with Nature fused again. 6 * Tutti ! for Earth and Heaven ! The Almighty Leader now for me, for once, has sigTial'd with his wand. * The manly strophe of the husbands of the world. And all the wives responding. '" The tongues of vioHns ! (I think, O tongues, ye tell this heart, that cannot tell itself ; This brooding, yearning heart, that cannot tell itself.) " Ah, from a little child. Thou knowest. Soul, how to me all' sounds became music ; My mother's voice, in lullaby or hymn ; (The voice — O tender voices — memory's loving voices ! Last miracle of all — O dearest mother's, sister's, voices;) 20 Passage to India. The rain, the growing corn, the breeze amor^g the long-leav'd corn, The measur'd sea-surf, beating on the sand, The twittering bird, the hawk's sharp scream. The wild-fowl's notes at night, as flying low, migrating north or south. The psalm in the country church, or mid the clustering trees, the open air camp-meeting, The fiddler in the tavern — the glee, the long-strung sailor-song. The lowing cattle, bleating sheep^the crowing cock at dawn. 8 '- All songs of current lands come sounding 'round me. The German airs of friendship, wine and love, Irish ballads, merry jigs and dances — English warbles, Chansons of France, Scotch tunes — and o'er the rest, Italia's peerless compositions. '■^ Across the stage, with pallor on her face, yet lurid passion. Stalks Norma, brandishing the dagger in her hand. " I see poor crazed Lucia's eyes' unnatural gleam ; Her hair down her back falls loose and dishevell'd. '^ I see where Ernani, walking the bridal garden. Amid the scent of night-roses, radiant, holding his bride by the hand. Hears the infernal call, the death-pledge of the horn. '" To crossing swords, and grey hairs bared to heaven, The clear, electric base and baritone of the world. The trombone duo — Libertad forever ! " From Spanish chestnut trees' dense shade. By old and heavy convent walls, a wailing song. Song of lost love — the torch of youth and life quench'd in despair. Song of the dying swan — Fernando's heart is breaking. Peoud Music of the Stoem. 21 '^ Awaking' fi-om lier woes at last, retriev'd Amina sings ; Copious as stars, and glad as morning light, tlie tor- rents of her joy. '^ (The teeming lady comes ! The lustrious orb — Venus contralto — the blooming mother,' Sister of loftiest gods — Alboni's self I hear.) 9 ■° I hear those odes, symphonies, operas ; I hear in the William Tell, the music of an arous'd and angry people ; I hear Meyerbeer's Huguenots, the Prophet, or Eohert ; G-ounod's Faust, or Mozart's I)on Juan. 10 "' I hear the dance-music of all nations. The waltz, (some delicious measure, lapsing, bathing mo in bliss ;) The bolero, to linHing gaiitars and clattering castanets. "^ I see religious dances old and new, I hear the sound of the Hebrew lyre, I see the Crusaders marching, bearing the cross on high, to the martial clang of cymbals ; I hear dervishes monotonously chanting, intersjjers ' d with fi'antic shouts, as they spin around, tiu'ning always towards Mecca ; I see the rapt religious dances of the Persians and the Arabs ; Again, at Eleusis, home of Ceres, I see the modern Greeks dancing, I hear them clapping their hands, as they bend their bodies, I hear the metrical shufflin^- of their feet. 22 Passage to Ineli. ** I see again the wild old Corybantian dance, tlie per- formers wounding each otlier ; I see the Eomau youth, to the shrill sound of flageolet;', throwing and catching their weapons. As they fall on their knees, and rise again. ^* I hear from the Mussulman mosque the muezzin calling ; I see the worshippers within, (nor form, nor sermon, argument, nor word. But silent, strange, devout — rais'd, glowing heads — extatic faces.) 11 "' I hear the Egyptian harp of many strings, The primitive chants of the Nile boatmen ; The sacred imperial hymns of China, To the delicate sounds of the king, (the stricken wood and stone ;) Or to Hindu flutes, and the fretting twang of the vina, A band of bayaderes. 12 ■^ Now Asia, Africa leave me — Eui'ope, seizing, inflates me ; To organs huge, and bands, I hear as fi-om vast con- courses of voices, Luther's strong hymn, Einefesle Burg ist tmscr Golt ; Rossini's Slabal Mater dolorosa ; Or, floating in some high cathedi'al dim, with gorgeous color'd windows. The passionate Agnus Dei, or Gloria in Excelsis. 13 -' Composers ! mighty maestros ! And you, sweet singers of old lands — Soprani ! Tenori ! Bassi ! To you a new bard, carolling free in the west, Obeisant, sends his love. Pkoud Music cf the Stokm. £3 ^ (Such led to thee, 0 Soul ! All seuses, shows and objects, lead to thee, But now, it seems to me, sound leads o'er all the rest.) U -^ I hear the annual singing of the children in St. Paul's Cathedral ; Or, under the high roof of some colossal hall, the sym- phonies, oratorios of Beethoven, Handel, or Haydn ; The Creation, in billows of godhood laves me. '" Give me to hold all sounds, (I, madly struggling, cryJ Fill me with all the voices of the universe, Endow me with their throbbings — Natui'e's also. The tempests, waters, winds — operas and chants — marches and dances. Utter — pour in — for I would take them all. 15 "^ Then I woke softly. And pausing, questioning awhile the music of my dream. And questioning all those reminiscences — the tempest in its fury. And all the songs of sopranos and tenors. And those rapt oriental dances, of religious fervor, And the sweet varied instruments, and the diapason of organs, And all the artless plaints of love, and grief and death, I said to my silent, curious Soul, out of the bed of the slumber-chamber. Come, for I have found the clue I sought so long, Let us go forth refresh'd amid the day. Cheerfully tallying hfe, walking the world, the real, Nourish'd henceforth by our celestial dream. 24 Passage to India. "- And I said, moreover, IIa23ly, wliat thou hast heard, O Soul, was not the souud of winds, Nor dream of raging storm, nor sea-hawk's flapping wings, nor harsh scream, Nor vocahsm of sun-bright Italy, Nor German organ majestic — nor vast concourse of voices — nor layers of harmonies ; Nor strophes of husbands and wives — nor sound of marching soldiers. Nor flutes, nor harps, nor the bugle-calls of camps ; But, to a new rhythmus fitted for thee, Poems, bridging the way fi'om Life to Death, vaguely wafted in night air, un caught, unwritten, Which, let us go forth in the bold day, and write. Leaves of Grass. ASHES OF SOLDIERS. Again a verse for sake of you, You soldiers in the ranks — you Volunteers, JVJio bravely fighting, silent fell. To fill unmention'd graves. ASHES OF SOLDIERS. ' Ashes of soldiers ! As I muse, reti-ospective, raiTrmuring a cliant in thouglit, Lo! the v,'ar resumes — again to my sense your shapes, And again tlie advance of armies. ^ Noiseless as mists and vapors, Fi'om their graves in the trenches ascending, From the cemeteries ail through Virginia and Ten- nessee, From ever}' point of the compass, oiit of the countless unnamed gTaves, In wafted clouds, in myriads large, or squads of twos or threes, or single ones, they come. And silently gather round me, ^ Now sound no note, O trumpeters ! Not at the head of my cavalry, parading on spirited horses. With sabres drawn and glist'ning, and carbines by their thighs — (ah, my brave hoi'semen ! 2 26 Passage to India. My handsome, tan-faced horsemen ! what hfe, what joy and pride, With all the perils, were yours !) ■* Nor you drummers — neither at reveille, at dawn. Nor the long roll alarming the camp — nor even the muffled beat for a burial ; Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums. ^ But aside from these, and the marts of wealth, and the crowded promenade. Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and voiceless, The slain elate and ahve again — the dust and debris alive, I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers. ^ Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet ; Draw close, but speak not. '' Phantoms of countless lost ! Invisible to the rest, henceforth become my compan- ions! PoUow me ever ! desert me not, while I live. * Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the hving ! sweet are the musical voices sounding! Cut sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes. ^ Dearest comrades ! all is over and long gone ; But love is not over — and what love, O comrades ! Perfume from battle-fields rising — up from fcetor arising. ^^ Perfume therefore my chant, 0 love I immortal Love I Give me to bathe the memories of all dead soldiers. Shroud them, embalm them, cover them all over with tender pride. Ashes of Soldiers. 27 '^ Perfume all ! make all wholesome ! Make these ashes to nourish and blossom, 0 love ! O chant ! solve all, fructify all with the last chemistry, '- Give me eshaustless — make me a fountain. That I exhale love from me wherever I go, like a moist perennial dew. For the ashes of all dead soldiers. IN MIDNIGHT SLEEP. In midnight sleep, of many a face of anguish, Of the look at first of the mortally wounded — of that indescribable look ; Of the dead on their backs, with arms extended wide, I dream, I dream, I dz-eam. Of scenes of nature, fields and mountains ; Of skies, so beauteous after a storm — and at night the moon so unearthly bright. Shining sweetly, shining down, where we dig the trenches and gather the heaps, I dream, I dream, I dream. Long, long have they pass'd — faces and trenches and fields ; Where through the carnage I moved with a callous com- posiu-e — or away from the fallen. Onward I sped at the time — But now of their forms at night, I dream, I dream, I dream. 28 Passage to Indu. Camps of Green. ' Not alone tliose camps of wliite, 0 soldiers, When, as orcler'd forward, after a long march, Footsore and yvesbvj, soon as the light lessen'd, we halted for the night ; Some of us so fatigued, carrying the gun and knapsack, dropping asleep in oui' tracks ; Others pitching the little tents, and the fires lit up began to sparkle ; Outposts of pickets posted, surrounding, alert through the dark. And a word provided for countersign, careful for safetj^; Till to the call of the cli'ummers at daybreak loudly beating the drums, We rose up refresh'd, the night and sleep pass'd over, and resumed our journey. Or proceeded to battle. - Lo ! the camps of the tents of green. Which the days of peace keep filling, and the days of ■war keep filling. With a mystic army, (is it too order'd forward ? is it too only halting awhile, Till night and sleep pass over ?) ^ Now in those camps of green — in their tents dotting the world ; In the parents, children, husbands, wives, in them — in the old and young. Sleeping under the simlight, sleeping under the moon- light, content and silent there at last. Behold the mighty bivouac-field, and waiting-camp of all, Of corps and generals all, and the President over the corps and generals all, And of each of us, O soldiers, and of each and all in the ranks we fought, (There without hatred we shall all meet.) Ashes of Soldiers. 29 * For presently, O soldiers, we too camp in our place in the bivouac-camps of green ; But we need not provide for outposts, nor word for tlie countersign, Nor drummer to beat tlio morniuQ- di'um. TO A CERTAIN CIVILIAN. Did you ask dulcet rlijmes from me ? Did you seek the civilian's peaceful and languishing rhymes ? Did you find what I sang erewhile so hard to follow ? Why I was not singing erewhile for you to follow, to understand — nor am I now ; (I have been born of the same as the war was born ; The di'uiii-corps' harsh rattle is to me sweet music — I love well the martial dirge, With slow wail, and convulsive thi'ob, leading the offi- cer's funeral :) — What to such as you, anyhow, such a poet as I ? — therefore leave my works. And go lull yourself v/itli what you can understand — and with piano-tunes ; For I lull nobody — and you vail never understand me. PENSIVE ON HER DEAD GAZING, I HEARD THE MOTHER OF ALL. Pensfv^e, on her dead gazing, I heard the Mother of All, Desperate, on the torn bodies, on the forms covering the battle-fields gazing ; (As the last gun ceased — but the scent of the powder- smoke linger'd ;) As she call'd to her earth with mournful voice while she stalk'd : 30 Passage to India. Absorb them well, O my eartl], she cried — I ebarge you, lose not my sons ! lose not an atom ; And you streams, absorb them well, taking their dear blood ; And you local spots, and you airs that swim above hghtly, And all you essences of soil and growth — and you, my rivers' depths ; And you, mountain sides — and the woods where my dear children's blood, trickling, reddcu'd ; And you trees, down in your roots, to bequeath to all futui-e trees. My dead absorb — my youDg men's beautiful bodies absorb — and their precious, i:>recious, precious blood ; Which holding in trust for me, faithfully back again give me, many a year hence, In unseen essence and odor of surface and grass, centu- ries hence ; In blowing airs from the fields, back again give mo my darlings — give my immortal heroes ; Exhale me them centuries hence — breathe me their breath — let not an atom be lost ; O years and graves ! O air and soil ! O my dead, an aroma sweet ! Exhale them perennial, sv/eet death, years, centuries hence. Leaves of Grass. President Lincoln's Burial Hymn. WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOOR- YARD BLOOM'D. ' When lilacs last in the door-yard bloom'd, And the great star early droop'd in the western, sky in the night, I moiu'n'd — and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring. * O ever-returning sjoring ! trinity sure to me you bring; Lilac blooming perennial, and di'ooping star in the west. And thought of him I love. ^ O powerful, western, fallen star ! O shades of night ! O moody, tearful night ! O great star disappear'd ! O the black murk that hides the' star ! O cruel hands that hold me powerless ! 0 helpless soul of me ! 0 harsh surrounding cloud, that will not free my soul ! 32 Passage to India. 3 * In the door-yard fronting an old farm-lioiise, near the wliite-wash'd palings, Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with hcart-shaj)ed leaves of rich green, "With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the perfume strong I love. With every leaf a miracle and from this bush in the door-yaid, With delicats-color'd bloE'Soms, and heart-shaped leaves of rich green, A sprig, with its flower, I breali. ^ In the swamp, in secluded recesses, A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song. ^ Solitary, the tlirush. The hermit, withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settle- ments. Sings by himself a song. ' Song of the bleeding throat ! Death's outlet song of life — (for well, dear brother, I know. If thou wast not gifted to sing, thou would'st surely die.) ^ Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities, Amid lanes, and tln'ough old woods, (where lately the violets peep'd fi-om the ground, spotting the gray debris ;) Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes — passing the endless grass ; Passing the 3'ellow-sj)ear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprising ; Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards ; President Liing.oln's Bueial Hymn. 33 Carrying a corpse to wliere it shall rest in tlie grave, Niglit aad day journeys a coffin. 6 ^ Cofnn that passes through lanes and streets, Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the land, "With the pomp of the inloop'd flags, with the cities draped in black, With the shov/ of the States themselyes, as of crape- veil'd women, standing, "With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of the night. With the countless torches lit — with the silent sea of faces, and the unbared heads, With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces, Y/ith dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn ; With all the moui-nful voices of the dirges, pour'd around the coffin. The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs — Where amid these you journey, With the tolling, tolling bells' i^erpetual clang ; Here ! coffin that slowly pass3s, I give you my sprig of lilac. '" (Nor for you, for one, alone ; Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring : For fresh as the morning — thus would I carol a song for you, O sane and sacred death. " All over bouquets of roses, O death ! I cover you over with roses and early lihes ; But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first, Copious, I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes ; With loaded arms I come, pouring for you, For you, and the coffins all of you, O death.) 34 Passage to Indu. '■ O western orb, sailing the heaven ! Now I kuow what you must have meant, as a month since we walk'd, As we walk'd up and down in the dark blue so mystic, As we walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night, As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me night after night, As you droop'd from the sky low down, as if to my side, (while the other stars all look'd on ;) As we wander'd together the solemn night, (for some- thing, I know not what, kept me from sleep ;) As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west, ere yoa went, how full you were of woe ; As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze, in the cold transparent night, As I watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the netherward black of the night. As my soul, in its trouble, dissatisfied, sank, as v.hcrc you, sad orb, Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone. 9 " Sing on, there in the swamp ! 0 singer bashful and tender ! I hear your notes — I hear your call ; 1 hear — I come presently' — I understand you ; But a moment I linger — for the lustrous star has de- tain'd me ; The star, my departing comrade, holds and detains mc. 10 " O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved ? And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone ? And what shall my perfume be, for the grave of him I love ? ' President Lincoln's Bueial Hymi^. 35 '^ Sea--wincls, blown fi'om east and west, Blown from the eastern sea, and blown from the west- ern sea, till there on the prafries meeting : These, and with these, and the breath of my chant, I perfume the grave of him I love. 11 "^ O what shall I hang on the chamber walls ? And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls, To adorn the bui'ial-house of him I love ? " Pictures of growing spring, and farms, and homes, With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright, With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indo- lent, sinking sun, burning, expanding the air ; With the fresh sweet herbage iinder foot, and the j)ale green leaves of the trees prolific ; In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there ; With ranging hills on the banks, with many a lino against the sk}', and shadows ; And the city at hand, with dwellings so dense, and slacks of chimneys, And all the scenes of life, and the workshops, and the workmen homeward retvu'uing. 12 '* Lo ! body and soul ! this land ! Mighty Manhattan, with spires, and the sparkhng and hurrying tides, and the ships ; The varied and ample land — the South and the North in the light — Ohio's shores, and flashing Mis- souri, And ever the far-spreading prairies, cover'd with grass and corn. " Lo ! the most excellent sun, so calm and haughty ; The violet and purple morn, with just-felt breezes ; 36 Passage to India. The gentle, soft-born, measureless light ; The miracle, spreading, bathing all — the fulfill'd noou ; ITie coming eve, delicious — the Vi'elcome night, and the stars, Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land. ■^ Sing on ! sing on, you gray-brovrn bird ! Sing from the swamps, the recesses — pour your chant from the bushes ; Limitless out of the dusk, cut of the cedars and pines. •' Sing on, dearest brother — ■warble your reedy song ; Loud human song, v/ith voice of uttermost woe. '"- O liquid, and free, and tender ! O wild and loose to my soul ! O wondi'ous singer ! You only I hear jet the star holds me, (but will soon depart ;) Yet the lilac, v/ith mastering odor, holds me. 14 ■^ Now while I sat in the day, and look'd forth. In the close of the day, with its light, and the fields of spring, and the farmer preparing his crops, In the large unconscious scenery of my land, wdth its lakes and forests, In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb'd winds, and the storms ;) Under the arching heavens of the aftei*noou swift pass- ing, and the voices of children and women. The many-moving sea-tides, — and I saw" the ships how they suil'd, And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor. And the infinite separate houses, how they a'!l vrent on, each with its meals and minutia of daily usages ; President LiisColh's Bupjal Hysik. 37 And the streets, how their throbbings throbb'd, and the cities pent — lo ! then and there, rn,lhng upon them all, and among them all, envelopitig me with the rest, Appear'd the elond, appear'd the long black trail ; And I hnew Death, its thought, and the sacred knowl- edge of death. 15 -^ Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me, And the thought of death close-v/alkiug the other side of me, And I in the middle, as with companions, and as hold- ing the hands of companions, I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks not, Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness, To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines ! o still. -^ And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me ; The gray-brown bird I know, receiv'd us comrades three ; And he sang W'hat seem'd the carol of death, and a verse for him I love. -^ From deep secluded recesses, From the iragi'ant cedars, and the ghostly pines so still, Came the carol of the bird. "' And the charm of the carol rapt me, As I held, as if by their hands, my comrades in the night ; And the voice of m}- spirit tallied the song of the bird. 38 Passage to India. I) EA TH CAROL. ' 16 ^^ Come, lovely and soothing Death, Undulate round the icorld, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate Death. "° Prais'd be the fathomless \iniverse. For life and joy, and for objects and knoiclcdge curious j And for love, sweet love — But praise ! p7-aise ! praise ! For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death. "" Dark Mother, always gliding near, iviih soft feet, - Have none clianted for thee a chant of fullest ivelcome? TJien I chant it for thee — I glorfy thee above all ; I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. ^' Approach, strong Deliver ess ! Wiien it is so — ivhen thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead, Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee. Laved in the flood of tliy bliss, 0 DealJi. ^' From me to thee glad serenades. Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee — adornments and f eastings for thee ; And the sights of the open landscape, and the liigh-spread sky, are fitting. And life and the fields, and the huge and thouglitful night. ^■^ Tlie night, in silence, under many a star ; Tlie ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, xvhose voice I know ; And the soul turning to thee, 0 vast and well-veil' d Death, And the body gratfidly nestling close to tJicc. ^^ Over the tree-tops I float thee a song ! Over the rising and sinking waves — over tlie myriad fields, and the prairies wide ; PEEaiDDNJ Lincoln's Bueial Htivin. 39 Over the dense-pach' d cities all, and the teeming icJiarves and ways, 1 float this carol ivithjoy, ivithjoy to thee, 0 Death! 17 ^^ To tlie tally of my soul. Loud aud strong kept up tlie gray-brown bird, With pure, deliberate notes, spreading, filling the night. '^ Loud in the pines and cedars dim, Clear in the freshness moist, and the swamp-perfume ; And I with my comrades there in the night. ^^ "Wliile my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of visions. 18 ^^ I saw askant the armies ; And* I saw, as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle- flags ; Borne through the smoke of the battles, and pierc'd with missiles, I saw them, And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody ; And at last but a few shi-eds left on the stafis, (aud all in silence,) And the staffs all splinter'd and broken. ^^ I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, And the white skeletons of young men — I saw them ; I saw the debris and debris of all the dead soldiers of the war ; But I saw they were not as was tliought ; They themselves were fully at rest — they suffer'd not ; The living remain'd and suffer'd — the mother suffer'd, And the wife and the child, and the musing comrade suffer'd. And the armies thnt remain'd suffer'd. 19 ^^ Passing the visions, j^assing the night ; Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands ; 40 Passage to India. Passing tne song of the hermit bird, and the tallying soDg of my soul, (Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying, ever- altering song. As loY/ and v;ailiug, yet clear the notes, I'ising and fall- ing, flooding the night. Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again biu'stmg with joy. Covering the earth, and filling the spread of the heaven. As that pov/erful p.-'alm in the night I heard from recesses,) Passing, I leave thee, lilac with heart-shaped leaves ; I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, retiu-ning Vt'ith spring. ^' I cease from my song for thee ; From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing v/ith thee, * O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night. 20 ^- Yet each I keep, and all, retricvements out of the night ; The song, the wondi'ous chant of the gray-brown bird. And the talljdng chant, the echo arous'd in my soul. With the lustrous and drooj^iug star, "vidth the counte- nance full of v;oe. With the lilac tall, and its blossoms of mastering odor ; With the holders holding my hand, nearing the call of the bird. Comrades mine, and I in the midst, and their memory ever I keep — for the dead I loved so well ; For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands . . . and this for his dear sake ; Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul. There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim. Memokies of President Lincoln. 41 O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! O Captain ! my Cnj)tfiiii 1 our fearful trip is clone ; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sciight is "won ; The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting-, While foUow ejea the steady keel, the vessel giim and daring : But 0 heart ! heart ! heart 1 O the bleeding drops of red. Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. O Captain 1 my Captain ! rise np and hear the bells ; Rise up — for you the flag is flung — for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths — for you the shores a-crowding ; For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces tui-ning ; Here Captain ! dear father ! This arm beneath j-our head ; It is some di-eam that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not ans\yer, his lips are pale and still ; My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will; The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done ; From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won : Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells ! But I, with mournful tread. Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. 42 Memokies of Peesidekt Lincoln. HUSH'D BE THE CAMPS TO-DAY. {May 4, 1865.) Hush'd be tlie camps to day ; And, soldiers, let us drajoe our war-worn weapons ; And each with musing soul retire, to celebrate, Our dear commander's death. ^ No more for him life's stormy conflicts ; Nor victory, nor defeat — no more time's dark events, Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky. ^ But sing, poet, in our name ; Sing of the love we bore him — because you, dweller in camps, know it truly. * As they invault the coffin there ; Sing — as they close the doors of earth upon him — one verse, For the heavy hearts of soldiers. THIS DUST WAS ONCE THE MAN. This dust was once the Man, Gentle, plain, just and resolute — under whose cautious hand. Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age, Was saved the Union of These States. Leaves of Grass. POEM OF JOYS. ' O TO make the most jubilant poem ! Even to set oif these, and merge with these, the carols of Death. O full of nuisic ! full of manhood, womanhood, in- fancy ! Full of common employments ! full of grain and trees. - O for the voices of animals ! 0 for the swiftness and balance of fishes! O for the dropping of rain-drops in a poem ! O for the sunshine, and motion of waves in a poem. ^ O the joy of my spirit ! it is uncaged ! it darts like lightning ! It is not enough to have this globe, or a certain time — I v/ill have thousands of globes, and all time. ^ O the engineer's joys ! To go with a locomotive ! To hear the hiss of steam — the merry shriek — the steam- whistle — the laughing locomotive ! To push Avith resistless way, and speed off in the dis- tance. ^ O the gleesome saunter over fields and hill-sides ! 44 Passage to India. The leaves and flowers of tlie commonest weeds — the moist fresli stillness of the woods, The exquisite smell of the earth at day-brcali:, and all through the forenoon. ^ O the horseman's and horsewoman's joys ! The saddle — the gallop — the pressure upon the seat — the cool gurghng by the ears and haii". ' O the fireman's joys ! I hear the alarm at dead of night, I hear bells — shouts ! — I pass the crowd — I run ! The sight of the flames maddens me with pleasure, ^ O the joy of the strong-brawn'd fighter, towering in the arena, in perfect condition, conscious of povrer, thirsting to meet his opponent. " 0 the joy of that vast elemental sympathy which only the human Soul is capable of generating and emitting in steady and limitless floods. 4 '" O the mother's joys ! The watching — the endurance — the pi'ecious love — the anguish — the patiently yielded life. " O the joy of increase, growth, recuperation ; The joy of soothing and pacifying — the joy of concord » and harmony. '- O to go back to the place where I was born ! To hear the birds sing once more ! To ramble about the house and barn, and over the fields, once more, And through the orchard and along the old lanes once more. 5 ' ' 0 male and female ! Poem of Joys. 45 0 the presence of women ! (I swear tliere is nothing more exquisite to me than the mere presence of v>'0men ;) 0 for the girl, my mate ! O for the happiness with ray mate ! 0 the young man as I pass ! O I am sick after the friendship of him who, I fear, is indifferent to » me. " O the streets of cities ! The flitting faces — the expressions, eyes, feet, costumes ! O I cannot tell how welcome they are to me. 6 " O to have been brought up on bays, lagoons, creeks, or along the coast ! O to continue and be employ'd there all my life ! 0 the briny and damp smell — the shore — the salt weeds exposed at low water. The work of fishermen — the work of the eel-fisher and clam-fisher. '' O it is I ! 1 come with my clam-rake and spade ! I come with my eel-spear ; Is the tide out ? I join the gxoup of clam-diggers on the flats, I laugh and work with them — I joke at my work, like a mettlesome young man. '' In winter I take my eel-basket and eel-spear and travel out on foot on the ice — I have a small axe to cut holes in the ice ; Behold me, well-clothed, going gaily, or returning in the afternoon — my brood of tough boys accom- panying me. My brood of grown and part-grown boys, who love to be with no one else so well as they love to be with me, By day to work with me, and by night to sleep \vith me. 46 Passage to India. ^^ Or, another time, in warm weather, out in a boat, to lift the lobster-pots, where they are sunk v;it!i heavy stones, (I know the buoys ;) 0 the sweetness of the Fifth-month morning upon the water, as I row, just before sunrise, toward the buoys ; 1 pull the wicker pots up slantingly — the clarlc green lobsters are desperate "vvith their claws, as I take them out — I insert wooden pegs in the joints of their pincers, I go to all the places, one af uer another, and then row back to the shore. There, in a huge kettle of boiling water, the lobsters shall be boil'd till their color becomes scarlet. '^ Or, another time, mackerel-taking. Voracious, mad for the hook, near the surface, they seem to fill the water for miles : Or, another time, fishing for rock-fish in Chesapeake Bay — I one of the brown-faced crew : Or, another time, trailing for blue-fish off Paumanok, I stand with braced hodj, M}' left foot is on the gunwale — my right arm throws the coils of slender rope. In sight around me the quick veering and darting of fifty skiffs, my companions. ^° O boating on the rivers ! The voyage down the Niagara, (the St. Lawrence,) — the superb scenery — the steamers. The ships sailing — the Thousand Islands — the occa- sional timber-raft, and the raftsmen with long- reaching sweep-oars. The little huts on the rafts, and the stream of smoke when they cook suj)per at evening. "^^ O something pernicious and di'ead ! SomethiDg far away from a jDuny and pious life ! Something unproved ! Something in a trance ! Poem of Joys. 47 Sometliing escaped from the andiorage, and driving free. "'" O to work in mines, or forging iron ! Foundry casting — the foundiy itself — the rude high roof — the amj)le and shadow'd space, The furnace — the hot Hquid pour'd out aud running. "^ O to resume the joys of the soldier : To feel the presence of a brave general ! to feel his sym- pathy ! To behold his calmness ! to be warm'd in the rays of his smile ! To go to battle ! to hear the bugles play, and the drums beat! To hear the crash of artillery ! to see the glittering of the bayonets and musket-barrels in the sun ! To see men fall and die, and not complain ! To taste the savage taste of blood ! to be so devilish ! To gloat so over the wounds and deaths of the enemy. 9 ■^ O the whaleman's joys ! O 1 cruise my old cruise again ! I feel the ship's motion under me — I feel the Atlantic breezes fanning me, I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head — There — she bloics ! — Again I spring up the rigging, to look with the rest — We see — we descend, wild with excitement, I leap in the lower'd boat — We row toward oui* prey, where he lies. We approach, stealthy and silent — I see the mountain- ous mass, lethargic, basking, I see the harpooneer standing up — I see the weapon dart from his vigorous arm : O swift, again, now, far out in the ocean, the wounded whale, settling, running to windward, tows me ; / 48 Passage to Ixelv, — Again I see him rise to breatlic — "We row close agaiu, I see a lance driven throiTgli big side, press'd deep, turn'd in the wound, Again we back off — I see liim settle again — the life is leaving him fast, As he rises, he spouts blood — I sec liim swim in cii-cles narrower and narrower, sv>iftly cutting the water — I see him die ; He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle, and then falls flat and still in the bloody foam. 10 -° O the old manhood of me, my joy ! My children and grand-children — my white hair and beard. My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long stretch of my life. "^ O the ripen'd joy of womanhood! 0 perfect happiness at last I 1 am more than eighty years of age — mj hair, too, is pure white — I am the most venerable mother ; How clear is my mind ! how all people draw nigh to me! "What attractions are these, bej-ond any before? what bloom, more than the bloom of youth ? What beauty is this that descends upon me, and rises out of me ? ■' 0 the orator's joys ! To inflate the chest — to roll the thunder of the voice out from the ribs and throat, To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with your- self, To lead America — to quell America with a great tongue. ^^ O the joy of my soul leaning pois'd on itself — receiv- ing identity through materials, and loving them — observing characters, and absorbing them ; PoEii 01" Joy?. 49 O my soul, vibrated ba{;lc to me, from tliem — from facts, sight, hearing, toueli, my phrenology, reason, articulation, camparison, memory, and tho like ; The real life of my senses and flesh, transcending my senses and flesh ; My body, done with materials — my sight, done \Yith my material eyes ; Proved to me this day, beyond cavil, that it is not my material eyes which finally see, Nor 'my material body which finally loves, walks, laughs, shouts, embraces, procreates. 11 -' O the farmer's joys ! Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese', Kanadian's, lo- wan's, Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese' joys ; To rise at peep of day, and pass forth nimbly to work. To plow land in the fall for winter-sown crops, To jplough land in the spring for maize. To train orchards — to graft the trees — to gather apples in the fall. ^° O the pleasure with trees ! The orchard — the forest — the oak, cedar, pine, pekan- tree, The honey-locust, black-walnut, cottonv/ood, and mag- nolia. 12 "^ 0 Death ! the voyage of Death ! The beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing a few moments, for reasons ; Myself, discharging my excrementitious body, to be burn'd, or render'd to powder, or buried, My real body doubtless left to me for other spheres. My voided body, nothing more to me, returning to the purifications, further oflices, eternal uses of the earth. 3 50 Passage to Indlv. •'*■ O to ba,tlie in tlie swimming-bath, or in a good place along shore ! To splash, the water ! to walk ankle-deep — to race naked along the shore. ^^ O to realize space ! The plenteousness of all — that there are no bounds ; To emerge, and be of the sky — of the sun and moon, and the flying clouds, as one with them. ^ O the joy of a manly self-hood ! Personality — to be servile to none — to defer to none — not to any tjTant, known or unknown, To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic, To look with calm gaze, or with a flashing eye, To speak with a full and sonorous voice, out of a broad chest. To confront with your personality all the other x^erson- alities of the earth. 14 ^' Know'st thou the excellent joys of youth ? Joys of the dear companions, and of the merry word, and laughing face ? Joys of the glad, light-beaming da}' — ^joy of the wide- breath'd games ? Joy of sweet music — ^joy of the lighted ball-room, and the dancers? Joy of the fi'iendly, j^lenteous dinner — the strong carouse, and di'inking ? 15 '" Yet, O my soul supreme ! Know'st thou the joys of pensive thought ? Joys of the free and lonesome heart — the tender, gloomy heart ? Joy of the solitary walk — the spirit bowed yet proud — the suffering and the struggle ? Poem of Joys. 51 The agonistic tliroes, the extasies — ^joys of the solemn musings, day or night ? Joys of the thought of Death — the great spheres Time and Space ? Prophetic joys of better, loftier love's ideals — the Di- vine Wife — the sweet, eternal, perfect Comrade ? Joys all thine own, undying one — ^joys worthy thee, O Soul. - 16 ^^ O, while I live, to be the ruler of life — not a slave. To meet life as a powerful conqueror, No fumes — no ennui — no more complaints, or scornful criticisms. "^ O me repellent and ugly ! To these proud laws of the air, the water, and the ground, proving my interior Soul impregnable, And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me. ^^ O to attract by more than attraction ! How it is I know not — yet behold! the something which obeys none of the rest. It is offensive, never defensive — yet hov/ magnetic it draws. 17 *° O joy of suffering ! To struggle against great odds ! to meet enemies un- daunted ! To be entirely alone with them ! to find how much one can stand ! To look strife, torture, prison, popular odium, death, face to face ! To mount the scaffold ! to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect nonchalance ! To be indeed a Grod ! 52 Passage to Ikdlv. 18 ■*' O, to sail to sea in a ship ! To leave this steady, unendurable land ! To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the side- walks and the houses ; To leave you, O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship, To sail, and sail, and sail ! 19 ^^ 0 to have my life henceforth a poem of new joys ! To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on. To be a sailor of the world, bound for all ports, A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,) A swift and swelling ship, full of rich words — full of joys. Lea ves of Grass. To Think of Time. ' To think of time — of all that retrospection ! To think of to-day, and the ages continued hencefor- ward ! '^ Have you guess'd you yourself would not continue ? Have you dreaded these earth-beetles ? Have you fear'd the future would be nothing to you ? ^ Is to-day nothing ? Is the beginningiess past noth- If the future is nothing, they are just as surely nothing. * To think that the sun rose in the east ! that men and women were flexible, real, alive ! that everything was ahve ! To think that you and I did not see, feel, think, nor bear our part ! To think that we are now here, and bear our part ! ^ Not a day passes — not a minute or second, without an accouchement ! Not a day passes — not a minute or second, v>^ithout a corpse ! ^ The dull nights go over, and the dull days also, The soreness of lying so much in bed goes over, The physician, after long pittting off, gives the silent and terrible look for an answer, 54 Passage to Ikdia. The children come hurried and weeping, and the broth- ers and sisters are sent for, Medicines stand unused on the shelf — (the camphor- smell has loDg- pervaded the rooms,) The faithful hand of the living does not desert the hand of the dying, The twitching lips j)ress lightly on the forehead of the dying, The breath ceases, and the pulse of the heart ceases, The corjDse stretches on the bed, and the living look upon it, It is palx^able as the living are palpable. ' The living look upon the corpse with their eye-sight. But without eye-sight lingers a different living, and looks curiously on the corpse. ® To think the thought of Death, merged in the thought of materials ! To think that the rivers will flow, and the snow fall, and fruits ripen, and act upon others as upon us now — yet not act upon us ! To think of all these wonders of city and country, and others taking great interest in them — and wo taking no interest in them ! ^ To think how eager we are in building our houses ! To think others shall be just as eagei-, and we quite indifferent I "* (I see one building the house that serves him a few years, or seventy or eighty years at most, I see one building the house that serves him longer than that.) " Slow-moving and black lines creep over the whole earth — they never cease — they are the bui'ial lines. He that vv^as President was buried, and he that is now President shall surely bo buried. To Think of Time. 55 '- A reminiscence of the vulgar fate, A frequent sample of tlie life and death of workmen. Each after his kind : Cold dash of waves at the ferry-wharf — posh and ice in the river, half-frozen mud in the streets, a gray discouraged sky overhead, the short last daylight of Twelfth -month, A hearse and stages — other vehicles give place — the funeral of an old Broadway stage-driver, the cortege mostly drivers. '^ Steady the trot to the cemetery, duly rattles the death-bell, the gate is pass'd, the new-dug gTave is halted at, the living alight, the hearse uncloses. The coffin is pass'd out, lower'd and settled, the whip is laid on the coffin, the earth is svnftly shovel'd in. The mound above is flatted with the spades — silence, A minute — no one moves or speaks — it is done. He is decently jout away — is there anything more ? " He was a good fellow, free-mouth'd, quick-temp er'd, not bad-looking, able to take his own part, witty, sensitive to a slight, ready with life or death for a friend, fond of women, gambled, ate hearty, drank hearty, had known what it was to be flush, grew lov/-spirited toward the last, sicken'd, was help'd by a contribution, died, aged forty-one years — and that was his funeral. '^ Thumb extended, finger uplifted, apron, cape, gloves, strap, wet-weather clothes, whip carefailly chosen, boss, spotter, starter, hostler, somebody loafing on you, you loafing on somebody, headway, man before and man behind, good day's work, bad day's work, pet stock, mean stock, first out, last out, turning-in at night ; To think that these are so much and so nigh to other drivers — and he there takes no interest in them ! 56 Passage to India. '" The markets, the government, the working-man's wages— to think what account they are through our nights and days ! To think that other working-men will make just as great account of them — yet we make little or no account I " The vulgar and the refined — what you call sin, and what you call goodness — to think how wide a difference ! To think the difference will still continue to others, yet we lie beyond the difference. '* To think how much pleasure there is ! Have you pleasure from looking at the sky ? have you pleasure from poems ? Do you enjoy yourself in the city? or engaged in busi- . ness ? or planning a nomination and election ? or with your wife and family ? Or Avith your mother and sisters ? or in womanly house- work ? or the beautiful maternal cares ? — These also flow onward to others — you and I flow onward. But in due time, you and I shall take less interest in them. " Your farm, profits, crops, — to think how engross'd you are To think there will still be farms, profits, crops — yet for you, of what avail ? G ^° What will be, v/ill be well — for what is, is well, To take interest is well, and not to take interest shall be well. -' The sky continues beautifal. The pleasure of luen with women shaU never be sated, nor the pleasure of women with men, nor the pleasure from poems, To Think of Time. ^ 57 The domestic joj^s, tlie daily housework' or business, tlie building of houses — these are not phantasms — they have weight, form, location ; Farms, profits, crops, markets, wages, government, arc none of them phantasms. The difference between sin and goodness is no delusion. The earth is not an echo — man and his life, and all the things of his life, are well-consider 'd. '^ You are not thrown to the winds — you gather cer- tainly and safely? around yourself ; Yourself ! Yourself ! Yourself, forever and ever ! ^^ It is not to diffuse you that you were born of your mother and father — it is to identify you ; It is not that you should be undecided, but that you should be decided ; Something long preparing and formless is arrived and form'd in you, You are henceforth secure, whatever comes or goes. " The tlu-eads that were spun are gather'd, the weft crosses the warp, the pattern is systematic. "^ The preparations have every one been justified, The orchestra have sufiiciently tuned their instruments — the baton has given the signal. ^^ The guest that was coming — he waited long, for rea- sons— he is now housed. He is one of those who are beautiful and happy — he is one of those that to look upon and be with is enough. -' The law of the past cannot be eluded. The law of the present and future cannot be eluded, The law of the living cannot be eluded — it is eternal. The law of promotion and transformation cannot be eluded, 58 Passage to India. The law of heroes and good-doers cannot be eluded, The law of drunkards, informers, mean persons — not one iota thereof can be eluded. 8 "^ Slow moviug and black lines go ceaselessly over the earth. Northerner goes carried, and Southerner goes carried, and they on the Atlantic side, and they on the Pacific, and they between, and all through the Mississippi country, and all over the earth. '" The great masters and kosmos are well as they go — the heroes and good-doers are well, Th3 known leaders and inventors, and the rich owners and pious and distinguish'd, may be well, But there is more account than that — there is strict account of all. ^° The interminable hordes of the ignorant and wicked are not nothing, The barbarians of Africa and Asia are not nothing. The common people of Europe are not nothing — the American aborigines are not nothing. The infected in the immigrant hospital are not nothing — the mui'derer or mean person is not nothing, The perpetual successions of shallow peoj^le are not nothing as they go, The lowest prostitute is not nothing — the mocker of religion is not nothing as he goes. 9 ^' Of and in all these things, I have dream'd that we are not to be changed so much, nor the law of us changed, I have dream'd that heroes and good-doers shall bo under the present and past law. And that murderers, drunkards, liars, shall be under the present and past law, For I have dream'd that the law they are under now is enough. To Think of Time. 59 ^^ If otherwise, all came but to ashes of dung, If maggots and rats ended us, then Alarum ! for v/g are betray'd ! Then indeed suspicion of death. ^^ Do you suspect death ? If I were to suspect death, I should die now, Do you think I could walk pleasantly and well-suited toward annihilation ? 10 "^ Pleasantly and well-suited I walk, Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good. The whole universe indicates that it is good. The past and the present indicate that it is good. ^^ How beautiful and perfect are the animals ! How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it ! What is called good is perfect, and what is called bad is just as perfect. The vegetables and minerals are all j)erfect, and the imponderable fluids are perfect ; Slowly and surely they have pass'd on to this, and slowly and surely they yet pass on. 11 ^* I swear I think now that everything without excep- tion has an eternal Soul ! The trees have, rooted in the ground i the weeds of the sea have ! the animals ! ^^ I swear I think there is nothing but immortality ! That the esquisite scheme is for it, and the nebulous float is for it, and the cohering is for it ; And all preiDaration is for it ! and identity is for it ! and life and materials are altogether for it ! GO Passage to India. CHANTING THE SQUARE DEIFIC. 1 Chantkg the square cleific, out of the One ndvaiiciug, out of the sides ; Out of the old and ■ne\" — out of the square entirely divine, Solid, four-sided, (all tlio sides needed) . . . from this side Jehovah am I, Old Bralrm I, and I Saturnius am ; Not Time affects me — I am Time, old, modern as any ; Unpersuadable, relentless, executing righteous judg- ments ; As the Earth, the Father, the brovv^n old Kronos, with laws, Aged beyond computation — yet ever new — ever with those mighty laws rolling, Relentless, I forgive no man — whoever siun, dies — I vrill have that man's life ; Therefore let none expect mercy — Have the seasons, gravitation, the appointed daj-s, mercy? — No more have I ; Bat as the seasons, and gravitation — and as all the appointed days, that -forgive not, I dispense from this side judgments inexorable, without the least remorse. Consolator most mild, the promis'd one advancing, With gentle hand extended — the mightier "God am I, Foretold by prophets and poets, in their most rapt. prophecies and poems ; From this side, lo ! the Lord Christ gazes — lo ! Hermes I— lo ! mine is Hercules' face ; All sorrow, labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in m}'- self ; Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison, and crucified — and many times shall be again ; Chanting inn Squake Deific. 61 All tlie vrorld liavo I given up for my clear brollicrs' and sisters' sake — for the sonl's sake ; Wending my way throTigli the homes of men, rich or poor, with the kiss of affection ; For I am affection — I am the cheer-bringing God, vath hope, and all-enclosing Charity ; (Conqueror yet — for before me all the armies and sol- diers ojf the earth shall yet bow — and all the weapons of Vv'ar become impotent :) With indulgent words, as to childi'eu — with fresh and sane v/ords, mine only ; Young and strong I pass, knowing well I am destin'd myself to an early death : But my Charity has no death — my Wisdom dies not, neither early nor late. And my sweet Love, bequeath'd here and elsewhere, never dies. 3 Aloof, dissatisfied, plotting revolt, Comrade of criminals, brother of slaves, Crafty, despised, a drudge, ignorant. With sudra face and worn brow, black, but in the depths of my heart, proud as any ; Lifted, now aud always, against whoever, scorning, assumes to rule me ; Morose, full of guile, full of reminiscences, brooding, with many wiles, (Though it was thought I was baffled and dispell'd, and my wiles done — but that will never be ;) Defiant, I, Satan, still live — still utter words — in new lands duly appearing, (and old ones also ;) Permanent here, from my side, warlike, equal with any, real as any. Nor time, nor change, shall ever change me or my v/ords. Santa Spikita, breather, life, Beyond the light, lighter than light, 62 Passage to Ikdia. Beyond the flames of hell — ^joyous, leaping easily above heU; Beyond Paradise — perfumed solely vrilh mine own perfume ; Including all hfe on earth — touching, including God — including Saviour and Satan ; Ethereal, pervading all, (for without me, what were all ? what were Grod?) Essence of forms — life of the real identities, permanent, positive, (namely the unseen,) Life of the great round world, the sun and stars, and of man — I, the general Soul, Here the square finishing, the solid, I the most solid, Breathe my breath also through these songs. Leaves of Gbass. WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH. WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH. ' Whispers of heavenly death, mnrmur'cl I hear ; Labial gossip of night — sibilant chorals ; Footsteps gently ascending — mystical breezes, wafted soft and low ; Eipples of unseen rivers — tides of a current, flowing, forever flowing ; (Or is it the plashing of tears ? the measureless waters of human tears ?) * I see, just see, skyward, gxeat cloud-masses ; Mournfully, slowly they roll, silently swelling and mix- in o* • With, at times, a half-dimm'd, sadden'd, far-off stai'. Appearing and disappearing. ^ (Some parturition, rather — some solemn, immortnl birth : On the frontiers, to eyes impenetrable, Some Soul is passing over.) 64 Passage to Ikdia. BAREST THOU NOW, O SOUL. Daeest tliou now, O Soul, Walk put witli me toward tlie Unknown Region, "Wliere neither ground is for the feet, nor any path to follow ? 2 No map, there, nor guide. Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand, Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land. 3 I know it not, O Soul ; Nor dost thou — all is a blank before us ; All waits, undream'd of, in that region — that inaccessi- ble land. 4 Till, when the ties loosen, All but the ties eternal. Time and Space, Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds, bound us. 5 Then we burst forth — we float, In Time and Space, O Soul — i)repared for them ; Equal, equipt at last — (0 jov ! O fruit of all !) them to fulfil, O Soul. OF HIM I LOVE DAY AND NIGHT. Of him I love day and night, I dream'd I heard he was dead ; And I dream'd I went where they had buried hira I love — ^but he was not in that place ; And I di-eam'd I wander'd, searching among burial- places, to find him ; Whispers or Heavenly Death. Go And I found that every place was a burial place ; The houses full of life were equally full of death, (this house is now ;) The streets, the shipping, the places of amusement, the Chicago, Boston, Philadelphia, the Mannahatta, were as full of the dead as of the living, And fuller, 0 vastly fuller, of the dead than of the living ; ' — And what I dream'd I will henceforth tell to every person and age, And I stand henceforth bound to v/hat I dream'd ; And now I am willing to disregard burial-places, and dispense with them ; And if the memorials of the dead were put up indiifer- eutly everywhere, even in the room where I eat or sleep, I should be satisfied ; And if the corpse of any one I love, or if my own corpse, be duly render'd to powder, and pour'd in the sea, I shall be satisfied ; Or if it be distributed to the winds, I shall be satisfied. ASSURANCES. I need no assurances — I am a man who is preoccupied, of his own Soul ; I do not doubt that from under the feet, and beside the hands and face I am cognizant of, are now look- ing faces I am not cognizant of — calm and actual faces ; I do not doubt but the majesty and beauty of the world are latent in any iota of the world ; I do not doubt I am limitless, and that the universes are limitless— in vain I try to think how limitless ; I do not doubt that the orbs, and the systems of orbs, play their swift sports through the air on pur- pose— and that I shall one day be eligible to do as mach as they, and more than they ; Gij Passage to India. I do not doubt that temporary affairs keep on and on, millions of years ; I do not doubt interiors have their interiors, and exte- riors have their exteriors — and that the eye-sight has another eye-sight, and the hearing another hearing, and the voice another voice ; I do not doubt that the joassionately-wept deaths of young men are provided for — and that the deaths of young women, and the deaths of httle children, are provided for ; (Did you think Life was so well provided for — and Death, the purport of all Life, is not well pro- vided for ?) I do not doubt that wrecks at sea, no matter what the horrors of them — no matter whose wife, child, husband, father, lover, has gone down, are pro- vided for, to the minutest points ; I do not doubt that whatever can possibly happen, any where, at any time, is provided for, in the inher- ences of things ; I do not think Life provides for all, and for Time and Space — but I believe Heavenly Death provides for all. YET, YET, YE DOWNCAST HOURS. 1 Yet, yet, yc dov.aicast hours, I know ye also ; "Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles ! Earth to a chamber of mourning turns — I hear the o'erweening, mocking voice, Matter is conqueror — mattery triumphant only, continues onward. Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain, Whispses or Heavekly Death. 67 The Sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me. Come tell me ichere lam speeding — tell me my destination. I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you, I approach, hear, behold — the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes, your mute inquiry. Whither I go from the heel I recline on, come tell me: Old age, alarm'd, uncertain — A young woman's voice, aj)pealing to me for comfort ; A young man's voice, Shall I not escape ? QUICKSAND YEARS. Quicksand years that whirl me I know not whither. Your schemes, politics, fail — lines give way — substances mock and elude me ; Only the theme I sing, the great and strong-possess'd Soul, eludes not ; One's-self must never give way — that is the final sub- stance— that out of all is sure ; Out of politics, triumphs, battles, life — v/hat at last finally remains ? When shows break up, what but One's-Self is sure ? THAT MUSIC ALWAYS ROUND ME. That music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning — yet long untaught I did not hear ; But now the chorus I hear, and am elated ; A tenor, strong, ascending, with power and health, with glad notes of day-break I hear, A soprano, at intervals, sailing buoyantly over the tops of immense waves, 68 Passage to India. A transparent base, sliuddering lusciously under and through the universe, The triumphant tutti — the funeral wailings, with sweet flutes and violins — all these I fill myself with ; I hear not the volumes of sound merely — I am moved by the exquisite meanings, I listen to the different voices winding in and out, striving, contending with fiery vehemence to excel each other in emotion ; I do not think the performers know themselves — but now I think I beoin to know them. AS IF A PHANTOM CARESS'D ME. As if a phantom caress'd me, I thought I was not alone, walking here by the shore ; But the one I thought was with me, as now I walk by the shore — the one I loved, that caress'd me. As I lean and look through the ghmmering light — that one has utterly disappear'd. And those appear that are hateful to me, and mock me. HERE, SAILOR! "What ship, puzzled at sea, cons for the tnie reckon- ing? Or, coming in, to avoid the bars, and follow the chan- nel, a perfect pilot needs ? Here, sailor ! Here, ship ! take aboard the most perfect pilot. Whom, in a little boat, putting off, and rowing, I, hailing you, offer. Whispers of Heavenly Death. 69 A NOISELESS, PATIENT SPIDER. * A NOISELESS patient spider, I mark'd, where, on a little promontory, it stood- isolated ; Mark'd how, to explore the vacant, vast surrounding, It launch'd forth filament, filament, filament, out of itseK ; • Ever unreehng them — ever tirelessly speeding them. ® And you, 0 my Soul, where you stand, Surrounded, surrounded, in measureless oceans of space. Ceaselessly musing, ventui-uig, throwing, — seeking the spheres, to connect them ; Tni the bridge you will need, be form'd — till the ductile anchor hold ; Till the gossamer thread you fling, catch somewhere, O my Soul. THE LAST INVOCATION. 1 At the last, tenderly, From the walls of the powerful, fortress'd house. From the clasj) of the knitted locks — fi-om the keep of the well-closed doors, Let me be wafted. Let me glide noiselessly forth ; With the key of softness unlock the locks — with a whisper, Set ope the doors, O Soul ! Tenderly ! be not impatient ! (Strong is your hold, O mortal flesh ! Strong is your hold, 0 love.) 70 Passage to India. AS I WATCH'D THE PLOUGHMAN PLOUGH- ING. As I watcli'd tlie ploughman ploughiag, Or the sower sowing- in the fields — or the harvester harvesting, I saw there too, O life and death, your analogies : (Life, life is the tillage, and Death is the harvest accord- ing.) PENSIVE AND FALTERING. Pensive and faltering, The words, the dead, I write ; For living are the Dead ; (Haply the only living, only real, And I the apparition — I the spectre.) Leaves of Grass. SEA-SHORE MEMORIES. OUT OF THE CRADLE ENDLESSLY ROCKING. ' Out of tlie cradle endlessly rocking, Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle. Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wander'd alone, bare- headed, barefoot, Down from the shower'd halo, tip from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twist- ing as if they were aHve, Out from the patches of briers and blackberries. From the memories of the bird that chanted to me. From youi" memories, sad brother — from the fitful risings and fallings I heard. From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears, From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist. From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease, From the myriad thence-arous'd words. From the word stronger and more delicious than any, From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting, As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing. Borne hither — ere all eludes me, hurriedly, A man — yet by these tears a little boy again, 72 Passage to India. Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter. Taking all hints to use them — but swiftly leaping beyond them, A reminiscence sino-. ^ Once, Paumanok, "When the snows had melted — when the lilac-scent was in the air, and the Fifth-month grass was growing, Up this sea-shore, in some briers. Two guests fi'om Alabama — two together. And their nest, and four light-green eggs, sjootted with brown, And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand, And every day the she-bird, crouch'd on her nest, silent, with bright eyes. And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them. Cautiously jDeering, absorbing, translating. 3 * Shine! shine! shine! Pour doivn your xoarmth, great Sun ! While ive bask — ive tiuo together. ^ Two together ! Winds blow South, or winds hloio North, Day come white, or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding no time, While we two kee}) together. ' Till of a sudden. May-be kill'd, unknown to her mate, One forenoon the she-bird crouch'd not on the nest. Nor return'd that afternoon, nor the next, Nor ever appear'd again. Sea-Shore Memokies. 73 And tbeuceforwarcl, all summer, in the sound of the sea, And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer weather. Over the hoarse surging of the sea, Or Hitting from brier to brier by day, I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the he- bird, The sohtary guest from Alabama. ' Blow! blow! blow! Blow up, sea-icinds, along Paumanoh's shore! I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me. 6 ® Yes, when the stars glisten' d. All night long, on the prong of a moss-scallop'd stake, Down, almost amid the slapping waves. Sat the lone singer, wonderful, causing tears. ^ He call'd on his mate ; He pour'd forth the meanings which I, of all men, know. '" Yes, my brother, I know ; The rest might not — but I have treasur'd every note ; For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the beach gliding, Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows. Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts, The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, I, wdth bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hau", Listen'd long and long. " Listen'd, to keep, to sing — now translating the notes, Following you, my brother. 4 74 Passage to India. 7 '- Soothe! soothe! soothe! Close on its ivave soothes the icave behind, And again another Jiehind, embracing and lapping, every one close, But my love soothes net me, not me. '■'' Loio hangs the moon — it rose late ; 0 it is lagging— 0 I think it is heavy ivith love, ivitli love. '^ 0 madly the sea jyushes, pushes tipon the land. With love — ivith love. '^ 0 night ! do I not see my love fluttering out there among the breakers ? What is that little black thing I see there in the white? ^^ Loud! loud! loud! Loud 1 call to you, my love ! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves; Surely you must know ivho is here, is here ; You must know ivho I am, my love. " Low-hanging moon ! What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow? 0 it is the shape, the shaj^e of my mate ! 0 moon, do not keep her from me any longer. '^ Land ! land ! 0 land ! Whichever zvay I turn, 0 I think you coidd give me my mate back again, if you only would ; For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way Hook. " 0 rising stars! Perhaps the one I want so much icill rise, loill rise with some of you. ^" 0 throat ! 0 trembling throat ! Sound clearer through the atmosphere ! Pierce the woods, the earth ; Somewhere listening to catch you, must be the one I icant. Sea-Shoee Memokies. 75 ^' Sliake Old, carols ! Solitary here — the night's carols ! Carols of lonesome lore ! Death's carols ! Carols under that lagging, yellow, loaning moon ! O, under that moon, lohere she droops almost doivn into the sea! 0 I'ccJcless, despairing carols. ^- But soft ! sink low ; Soft ! Id me Just murmur ; And do you ivait a moment, you husky-noised sea ; For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me, So faint — I must he still, be still to listen; But not altogether still, for then she might not come imme- diately to me. ^^ Hither, my love ! Here I am ! Here ! With this just-sustain' d note I announce myself to you ; This gentle call is for you, my love, for you. ^■* Do not be decoy'd elseichere ! That is the ichistle of the luind — it is not my voice ; Tliat is the fluttering, the fluttering of the spray ; TJiose are the shadoics of leaves. ^^ 0 darkness ! 0 in vain ! 0 I am very sick and sorroitful. -* 0 broivn halo in the sky, near the moon, drooping upon the sea ! 0 troubled reflection in the sea ! 0 throat ! 0 throbbing heart ! 0 all — and I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night. ^'' Yet I murmur, murmur on ! 0 murmurs — you yourselves make me continue to sing, I know not ichy. 76 Passage to Indli. ■'' 0 past ! 0 life ! 0 songs of joy ! In the air — in the ivoods — over fields; Loved ! loved ! loved ! loved ! loved ! But my love no more, no more with me ! We two together no more. ^" The aria sinking ; All else continuing — tlie stars shining, The winds blowing — the notes of the bird continuous echoing, With angry moans the fierce old mother incessantly moaning, On the sands of Paumanok's shore, gray and rustling ; The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, droop- ing, the face of the sea almost touching ; The boy extatic — with his bare feet the waves, with his liair the atmosphere dallying, The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting. The aria's meaning, the ears, the Soul, swiftly deposit- ing, The strange tears down the cheeks coursing, The colloquy there — the trio — each uttering. The undertone — the savage old mother, incessantly crying, To the boy's Soul's questions sullenly timing — some drown'd secret hissing. To the outsetting bard of love. 9 ^" Demon or bird ! (said the bo^-'s soul,) Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it mostly to me ? For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, Now I have heard you. Now in a moment I know what I am for — I awake, And already a thousand singers — a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yotu'S, Sea-Shobe Memories. 77 A tliousancl warbling echoes Lave started to life witliin me, Never to die. "' O you singer, solitarjj singing by yourself — project- ing me ; O solitary me, listening — never more sliall I cease per- petuating you ; Never more shall I escape, never more the reverbera- tions, Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me, Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there, in the night, By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon. The messenger there arous'd — the lire, the sweet hell within, The unlvnown want, the destiny of me. "- O give me the clew ! (it lurks in the night here some- where ;) O if I am to have so much, let me have more ! O a word ! O what is my destination ? (I fear it is hence- forth chaos ;) O how joys, dreads, convolutions, human shapes, and all shapes, spring as from graves around me ! O phantoms ! you cover all the land and all the sea ! O I cannot see in the dimness whether you smile or frown upon me ; O vajDor, a look, a word ! O well-beloved ! O you dear women's and men's phantoms ! ^^ A word then, (for I will conquer it,) The word final, superior to all. Subtle, sent up — what is it ? — I listen ; Ai-e you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea- waves ? Is that it from your Hquid rims and wet sands ? 78 Passage to India. 10 ^■' Wliereto answering, tlie sea, Delaying not, iitirryiug not, Whiisiier'd me throngli the night, and very plainly be- fore daybreak, Lisp'd to me the low and delicious word Death ; And again Death — ever Death, Death, Death, Hissing melodious, neither like the bird, nor like my arous'd child's heart, But edging near, as privately for nie, rustling at my feet, Creeping thence steadily up to my ears, and laving me softly all over. Death, Death, Death, Death, Death. ®^ "Which I do not forget. But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother, That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok's gray beach, With the thousand responsive songs, at random. My own songs, awaked from that hour ; And with them the key, the word up from the waves. The word of the sweetest song, and all songs. That strong and delicious word which, ci"eej)ing to my feet. The sea whisper'd me. ELEMENTAL DRIFTS. 1 ' Elemental drifts ! How I wish I could impress others as jon have just been impressing me ! ^ As I ebb'd with an ebb of the ocean of hfe, As I wended the shores I know. Sea-Shoke Memories. 79 As I walk'cl where the ripples continually wash you, Paumauok, Where they rustle up, hoarse and sibilant, Where the fierce old mother endlessly cries for her castaways, I, musing, late in the autumn day, gazing off south- ward. Alone, held by this eternal Self of me, out of the pride of which I utter my poems. Was seiz'd by the spirit that trails in the lines under- foot. In the rim, the sediment, that stands for all the water and all the laud of the globe. ^ Fascinated, my eyes, reverting from the south, dropt, to follow those slender winrows. Chaff, straw, splinters of wood, weeds, and the sea- gluten, Scum, scales from shining rochs, leaves of salt-lettuce, left by the tide : Miles walking, the sound of breaking waves the other side of me, Paumanok, there and then, as I thought the old thought of likenesses. These you presented to me, you fish-shaped island. As I wended the shores I know, As I walk'd with that eternal Self of me, seeking types. 2 * As I wend to the shores I know not. As I list to tlie dirge, the voices of men and women wreck'd, As I inhale the impalpable breezes that set in upon me. As the ocean so mysterious rolls toward me closer and closer, I, too, but signify, at the utmost, a little wash'd-up drift, A few sands and dead leaves to gather, Gather, and merge myself as part of the sands and drift. 80 Passage to India. * O baffled, bnlk'd, bent to tlie veiy earth, Oppress'd with myself that I have dared to open my mouth, Aware now, that, amid all that blab whose echoes recoil upon me, I have not once had the least idea who or what I am, But that before all my insolent poems the real Me stands yet untouch'd, untold, altogether un- reach'd, "Withdrawn far, mocking me v/ith moch-congratulatory signs and bows, With peals of distant ironical laughter at every word I have written, Pointing in silence to these sougs, and then to the sand beneath. '' Now I perceive I have not understood anything — not a single object^and that no man ever can. ' I perceive Natiu'e, here in sight of the sea, is taking- advantage of me, to dart upon me, and sting me. Because I have dared to open my mouth to sing at all. ® You oceans both ! I close with you ; We murmur ahke reproachfully, rolling oiu' sands and drift, knowing not why, These httle shreds indeed, standing for you and me and all. ° You friable shore, with trails of debris ! You fish-shaped island ! I take what is underfoot ; What is yours is mine, my father. "^ I too Paumanok, I too have bubbled up, floated the measureless float, and been wash'd on your shores ; I too am but a trail of drift and debris, . I too leave little wrecks upon you, you fish-shaped island. Se^v-Shoee MEMcrjES. 81 " I tlirovr myself upon your breast, my father, I cling to you so that you cannot unloose me, I hold you so firm, till you answer me something. '■ Kiss me, my father, Touch me with your lips, as I touch those I love. Breathe to me, while I hold you close, the secret of the miumuring I envy. '^ Ebb, ocean of life, (the flow will retiu-n,) Cease not your moaning, you fierce old mother. Endlessly cry for your castaways — but fear not, deny not me, Rustle not up so hoarse and angry against my feet, as I touch you, or gather from you. '^ I mean tenderly by you and all, I gather for myself, and for this phantom, looking dov/n where we lead, and following me and mine. '' Me and mine ! We, loose winrov;s, little corpses, Froth, snowy white, and bubbles, (See ! from my dead lips the ooze exuding at last ! See — the prismatic colors, glistening and rolling!) Tufts of straw, sands, fragments, Buoy'd hither from mauy moods, one contradicting another, From the storm, the long calm, the darkness, the swell; Musing, pondering, a breath, a briny tear, a dab of liquid or soil ; Up just as much out of fathomless workings fermented and thrown ; A limp blossom or two, torn, just as much over waves floating, drifted at random ; Just as much for us that sobbing dirge of Nature ; Just as much, whence we came, that blare of the cloud- trumpets ; 82 Passage to India. We, capricious, brotight liither, we know not wlience, spread out before you, You, up there, walking or sitting, Wiioever you are — we too lie in drifts at your feet. TEARS. Tears ! tears ! tears ! In the night, in solitude, tears : On the white shore dripping, dripping, suck'd in by the sand ; Tears — not a star shining — all dark and desolate ; Moist tears from the eyes of a muffled head : — O who is that ghost ? — that form in the dark, with tears ? "What shapeless lump is that, bent, erouch'd there on the sand ? Streaming tears — sobbing tears — throes, choked with wild cries ; O storm, embodied, rising, careering, with swift steps along the beach ; O wild and dismal night storm, with wind ! O belching and desj)erate ! O shade, so sedate and decorous by day, with calm countenance and regulated pace ; But away, at night, as you fly, none looking — 0 then the unloosen'd ocean, Of tears ! tears ! tears ! ABOARD, AT A SHIP'S HELM. ' Aboaed, at a ship's helm, A young steersman, steering with care. ^ A bell through fog on a sea-coast dolefully ringing, An ocean-bell — O a warning bell, rock'd by the waves. Sea-Shoke Memceies. 83 ^ 0 you give good notice indeed, you bell by the sea- reefs ringing', Ringing, ringing, to warn the ship from its wreck-place. ^ For, as on the alert, O steersman, yon mind the bell's admonition, The bows turn, — the freighted ship, tacking, speeds away under her gray sails. The beautiful and noble ship, with all her precious wealth, speeds away gaily and safe. * But O the shij:), the immortal ship ! O ship aboard the ship ! O ship of the body — ship of the soul — voyaging, voyag- ing, voyaging. ON THE BEACH, AT NIGHT. 1 ' On the beach, at night. Stands a child, with her father. Watching the east, the autumn sky. ^ Up through the darkness. While ravening clouds, the buiial clouds, in black masses sjoreading. Lower, sullen and fast, athwart and down the sky. Amid a transparent clear belt of ether yet left in the east. Ascends, large and calm, the lord-star Jupiter ; And nigh at hand, only a very httle above. Swim the delicate brothers, the Pleiades.. ^ From the beach, the child, holding the hand of her father, Those burial-clouds that lower, victorious, soon to de- vour all, Watching, silently weeps. 84 Passage to India. * Weep not, cliild, Weep not, my darling', With these kisses let me remove your tears ; The ravening clouds shall not long be victorious, They shall not long possess the sky — shall devour the stars only in apparition : Jupiter shall emerge — be jiatient — watch again another night — the Pleiades shall emerge, The}^ are immortal— all those stars, both silvery and golden, shall shine out again, The great stars and the iitrle ones shall shine out again — they endure ; The vast immortal suns, and the long-enduring pensive moons, shall again shine. ^ Then, dearest child, mournest thou only for Jupiter'? Considerest thou alone the burial of the stars ? " Something there is, (With my lips soothing thee, adding, I vrhi^^per, I give thee the first suggestion, the problem and indi- rection,) Something theie is more innnortal even than the stars, (Many the burials, many the daj'S and nights, passing away,) Something that shall endure longer even than lustrous Jupiter, Longer than sun, or any revolving satellite, Or the radiant brothers, the Pleiades. THE WORLD EELOW THE BRINE. The world below the brine ; Forests at the bottom of the sea — the branches and leaves. Sea-lettuce, vast hchens, strange flowers and seeds — the thick tangle, the openings, and the j)ink turf, SeA-ShoEI] RlEJIOKlES. 85 Difi'ereiiu colors, pale gray and green, p;irple, \vliite, and gold — the play of light through the v/ater, Dumb swimmers there among the rocks — coral, gluten, grass, rushes — and the aliment of the svvimmers. Sluggish existences grazing there, suspended, or slowly crawling close to the bottom. The sperm-whale at the surface, blowing air and spray, or disj)6rtin.g with his flutes. The leaden-eyed shark, the walrus, the turtle, the hairy sea-leopard, and the sting-ray ; Passions there — wars, pursuits, tribes — sight in those ocean-depths — breathing that thick-breathing air, as so many do ; The change thence to the sight here, and to the subtle air breathed by beings like us, who walk this sphere ; The change onward from ours, to that of beings who walk other spheres. -«»!>iBi2)S*S®©a>^^- ON THE BEACH AT NIGHT ALONE. ' On the beach at night alone. As the old mother svv'ays her to and fro, singing her husky song, As I watch the bright stars shining— I think a thought of the clef of the universes, and of the future. ^ A VAST SIMILITUDE interlocks all, All s^oheres, grown, ungrown, small, large, suns, moons, planets, comets, asteroids. Ail the substances of the same, and all that is spiritual upon the same. All distances of place, however wide. All distances of time — all inanimate forms. All Souls — all living bodies, though they be ever so different, or in different worlds. All gaseous, watery, vegetable, mineral processes — the fishes, tlie brutes. 86 Passage to India. All men and women — me also ; All nations, colors, barbarisms, civilizations, languages ; All identities that have existed, or may exist, on this globe, or any globe ; All lives and deaths — all of the past, present, future ; This vast similitude spans them, and always has spann'd, and shall forever span them, and compactly liolcl them, and enclose them. Leaves of Grass. A CAROL OF HARVEST, FOR 1867. ' A SONG of tlie good green gi-ass ! A song no more of the city streets ; A song of farms — a song of the soil of fields. - A song -with the smell of sun-dried hay, where the nimble pitchers handle the pitch-fork ; A song tasting of new wheat, and of fresh-husk'd maize. 2 ^ For the lands, and for these passionate days, and for myself, Kow I awhile return to thee, O soil of Autumn fields, Reclining on thy breast, giving myself to thee. Answering the pulses of thy sane and equable heart, Tuning a verse for thee. * 0 Earth, that hast no voice, confide to me a voice ! O harvest of my lands ! O boundless summer growths ! O lavish, brown, parturient earth ! O infinite, teeming womb ! A verse to seek, to see, to narrate thee. Passage to India, ^ Ever upon this stage, Is acted God's calm, annual drama, Gorgeous processions, songs of birds. Sunrise, that fullest feeds and freshens most the soul, The heaving sea, the waves upon the shore, the musical, strong waves, The woods, the stalwart trees, the slender, tapering trees. The flov/ers, the grass, the lilliirat, countless armies of the grass. The heat, the showers, the measureless pasturages, The scenery of the snows, the winds' free orchestra, The stretching, light-hung roof of clouds — the clear cerulean, and the bulging, silvery fringes. The high dilating stars, the placid, beckoning stars. The moving flocks and herds, the plains and emerald meadows. The shows of all the varied lands, and all the gTowths and products. ^ Fecund America ! To day. Thou art all over set in births and joys ! Thou groan'st with riches ! thy wealth clothes thee as with a swathing garment ! Thou laughest loud with ache of great possessions ! A myriad-twining life, lilie interlacing vines, binds all thy vast demestfe ! As some huge ship, freighted to water's edge, thou ridest into port ! As rain falls from the heaven, and vapors rise from earth, so have the precious values fallen upon thee, and risen out of thee ! Thou envy of the globe ! thou miracle ! Thou, bathed, choked, swimming in plenty ! Thou lucky Mistress of the tranquil barns ! Thou Prairie Dame that sittest in the middle, and lookest out upon thy world, and lookest East, and lookest West ! Lkwes of Geass. 89 Dispensatress, that by a word givest a thousand rnile^ — that giv'st a million farms, and missest noth- ing! Thou All-Accep tress — thou Hospitable — (thou only art hospitable, as God is hospitable.) ' When late I sa'ng, sad was my voice ; Sad were the shows around me, with deafening noises' of hatred, and smoke of contiict ; In the midst of the armies, the Heroes, I stood, Or pass'd with slow step through the wounded and dying. * But now I sing not War, Nor the measur'd march of soldiers, nor the tents of camps, Nor the regiments hastily coming up, deploying in hue of battle. ' No more the dead and wounded ; No more the sad, uunatur..! shows of War. ^° Ask'd room those flush'd immortal ranks ? the first forth-stepping armies? Ask room, alas, the ghastly ranks — the armies dread that follow'd. 6 " (Pass — pass, ye proud brigades ! So handsome, dress'd in blue — with yoiu- tramping, sinewy legs ; With your shoulders young and strong — with yoiu' knapsacks and your muskets ; — How elate I stood and watch'd you, where, startiag off, you march'd ! '- Pass ; — then rattle, drums, again ! Scream, you steamers on the river, out of whistles loud and shrill, yoar salutes ! / 90 Passage to India. For an army lieave.s in sight — 0 another gathering army ! Swarming, traihng on the rear — O you dread, accruing army ! O you regiments so piteous, with your mortal diarrhoea ! Avith your fever ! O my land's maimed darlings ! with the plenteous bloody bandage and the crutch ! Lo ! your palhd army followed !) '^ But on these days of brightness, On the far-stretching beauteous landscape, the roads and lanes, the high-piled farm-wagons, and the fruits and barns. Shall the dead intrude ? ^"' Ah, the dead to mc mar not — they fit well in Na- ture ; They fit very well in the landscape, under the trees and grass. And along the edge of the slcy, in the horizon's far margin. '' Nor do T forget you, departed ; Nor in winter or summer, my lost ones ; But most, in the open air, as now, when my soul is rapt and at peace — hke pleasing phantoms. Your dear memories, rising, ghde silently by me. '" I saw the day, the return of the Heroes ; (Yet the Heroes never surpass'd, shall never return ; Them, that day, I saw not.) " I saw the interminable Corps — I saw the processions of armies, I saw them approaching, defiling by, with divisions, Streaming northward, their work done, camping awhile in clusters of mighty camps. LriVves of Grass. 91 '^ No holiday soldiers ! — youthful, yet veterans ; Worn, swart, handsome, strong, of the stock of home- stead and workshop, Harden'd of many a long campaign and sweaty mai'ch, Inured on many a hard-fought, bloody field. '^ A pause — the armies wait ; A million flush'd, embattled conquerors wait ; The w^orld, too, waits — then, soft as breaking night, and sure as dawn. They melt — they disajipear, '" Exult, indeed, O lands ! victorious lands ! Not there your victory, on those red, shuddering fields ; But here and hence your victory. "^ Melt, melt away, ye armies ! disperse, ye blue-clad soldiers ! Resolve ye back again — give up, for good, your deadly arms ; Other the arms, the fields henceforth for you, or South or North, or East or West, With saner wars — sweet w^ars — life-gi-vdng wars. 10 " Loud, O my throat, and clear, O soul ! The season of thanks, and the voice of full-yielding ; The chant of joy and power for boundless fertility. "^ All till'd and untill'd fields expand before me ; I see the true arenas of my race — or first, or last, Man's innocent and strong arenas. '* I see the Heroes at other toils ; I see, well-wielded in their hands, the better weapons. 92 Passage to India. 11 ■° I F.ee -wliere America, Mother of All, Well-pleased, with full-spanning eye, gazes forth, dwells long, And counts the varied gathering of the products. -^ Busy the far, the sunlit panorama ; Prairie, orchard, and yellow grain of the North, Cotton and rice of the South, and Louisianian cane ; Open, ITU seeded fallows, rich fields of clover and tim- othy, Kine and horses feeding, and droves of sheep and swine, And many a stately river flowing, and many a jocund brook. And healthy uplands with their herby-perfumed breezes, iind the good green grass — that delicate miracle, the ever-recurring grass. 12 ^' Toil on, Heroes ! harvest the products ! Not alone on those warlike fields, the Mother of All, With dilated form and lambent eyes, watch 'd you. -^ Toil on, Pierces ! toil well ! Handle the weapons well! The Mother of All — yet here, as ever, she watches you. -" Well-pleased, America, thou beholdest, Over the iields of the West, those crawhng monsters. The human-divine inventions, the labor-saving imple- ments : Beholdest, moving in every direction, imbued as with life, the revohdng hay-rakes. The steam-power reaping-machines, and the horse-power machines, Leaves of Grass. 93 Tlie engines, thrashers of grain, and cleaners of gTain, well separating the straw — the nimble work of the patent pitch-fork ; Beholdest the newer saw-mill, the southern cotton-gin, and the rice-cleanser. '" Beneath thy look, O Maternal, With these, and else, and with their own strong hands, the Heroes harvest. ^^ All gather, and all harvest ; (Yet but for thee, O Powerful ! not a scythe might swing, as now, in security ; Not a maize-stalk dangle, as now, its silken tassels in peace.) 14 ^- Under Thee only they harvest — even but a wisp of hay, under thy great face, only ; Harvest the wheat of Ohio, Illinois, Wisconsin — every barbed spear, under thee ; Harvest the maize of Missouri, Kentucky, Tennessee — ' each ear in its light-green sheath, Gather the hay to its myriad mows, in the odorous, trauc^uil barns, Oats to their bins — the white potato, the buckwheat of Michigan, to theirs ; Gather the cotton in Mississippi or Alabama — dig and hoard the golden, the sweet potato of Georgia and the Carolinas, Clij) the wool of Cahfornia or Pennsylvania, Cut the flax in the Middle States, or hemp, or tobacco in the Borders, Pick the pea and the bean, or pull apples from the trees, or bunches of grapes from the vines, Or aught that ripens in all These States, or North or South, Under the beaming sun, and under Thee. 94 Passage to India. THE SINGER IN THE PRISON. 0 sight of shame, and pain, and dole! 0 fearful thought — a convict Soul ! Rang the refrain along the ball, the prison, Rose to the roof, the vaults of heaven above, Pouring in floods of melody, in tones so pensive, sweet and strong, the hko whereof was never heard, Reaching the far-off sentry, and the armed guards, who ceas'd theu^ pacing, Making the hearer's pulses stop for extasy and awe. 0 sight of pity, gloom, and dole ! 0 pardon me, a hapless Soul ! The sun was low in the west one winter day. When down a narrow aisle, amid the thieves and out- laws of the land, (There by the hundreds seated, sear-faced murderers, wily counterfeiters, Gather'd to Sunday church in prison walls — the keep- ers round, Plenteous, well-arm'd, watching, with vigilant eyes,) All that dark, cankerous blotch, a nation's criminal mass, Cahnly a Lady walk'd, holding a httle innocent child by either hand. Whom, seating on their stools beside her on the i)lat- form. She, first preluding with the instrument, a low and musical prelude, In voice surpassing all, sang forth a quaint old hymn. Leaves of Gkass. 95 a The Hymn. A Soul, confined by bars and. bauds, Cries, Help ! O help ! and wrings her hands ; Blinded her eyes — bleeding her breast, Nor pardon finds, nor balm of rest. O sight of shame, and pain, and dole! O fearful thought — a convict Soul! Ceaseless, she paces to and fro ; O heart-sick days ! O nights of wo ! Nor hand of friend, nor loving face ; Nor favor comes, nor word of grace, 0 sight of pity, gloom, and dole ! 0 pardon me, a hapAess Soul ! It was not I that sinn'd the sin. The ruthless Body dragg'd me in ; Though long I strove courageously. The Body v^^as too much for me. 0 Life ! no life, hut hittpr dole! 0 burning, beaten, baffled Soul ! (Dear prison'd Soul, bear up a space. For soon or late the certain grace ; To set thee free, and bear thee home. The Heavenly Pardoner, Death shall come. Convict no more — nor shame, nor dole! Depart! a God-enfranchis' d Soul!) The singer ceas'd ; One glance swept from her clear, calm eyes, o'er all those up-turn'd faces ; Strange sea of prison faces — a thousand varied, crafty, brutal, seam'd and beauteous faces ; 9G Passage to Indlv. Then rising, passing back along the narrow aisle be- tween them, While her gown toueh'd them, rusthng in the silence, She vanish'd with her childi'en in the dnsk. "While upon all, convicts and armed keepers, ere they stirr'd, (Convict forgetting prison, keeper his loaded pistol.) A hush and i:)aiise fell down, a wondi'ous minute. With deep, half-stifled sobs, and sound of bad men bow'd, and moved to weeping. And youth's convulsive breathings, memoi'ies of home. The mother's voice in lullab}^, the sister's care, the happy, childhood, The long-pent spirit rous'd to reminiscence ; — A wondrous minute then — But after, in the solitary night, to many, many there, Years after: — even in the hour of death — the sad refrain — the tune, the voice, the words. Resumed — the large, calm Lady walks the nari'ow aisle. The wailing melody again — the singer in the prison sings : 0 sight of shame, and pain, and dole ! 0 fearful thought — a convict Soid ! WARBLE FOR LILAC TIME. Warble me now, for joy of Lilac-time, Sorb me, O tong-ue and lips, for Nature's sake, and sweet life's sake — and death's the same as life's. Souvenirs of earliest summer — birds' e^gi^., and the first berries ; Gather the welcome signs, (as children, with pebbles, oi stringing shells ;) Put in April and May — the hylas croaking in the ponds — the elastic air. Leaves op Grass. 97 Bees, butterflies, the sparrow witli its simple notes, Blue-bird, raid darting swallow— nor forget the high- hole flashing his golden Avings, The tranquil sunny haze, the clinging smoke, the vapor. Spiritual, airy insects, hummiDg on gossamer wings, Shimmer of waters, with fish in them — the cerulean above ; All that is jocund and sparMing — the brooks running, The maple woods, the crisp February days, and the sugar-makiug ; The robin, where he hops, bright-eyed, brown-breasted. With musical clear call at suni'ise, and again at sunset, Or flitting among the trees of the apple-orchard, build- ing the nest of his mate ; The melted snow of March — the willow sending forth its yellow-green sprouts ; — For spring-time is here ! the summer is here ! and what is this in it and from it ? Thou, Soul, unloosen'd — the restlessness after I know not what ; Come ! let us lag here no longer — let us be up and away! O for another v.'orld ! O if one could but fly like a bird ! O to escape — to sail forth, as in a ship I To glide with thee, O Soul, o'er all, in all, as a ship o'er the waters ! — Gathering these hints, these preludes — the blue sky, the grass, the morning di'ops of dew ; (With additional songs — every spring will I now strike up additional songs, Nor ever again forget, these tender days, the chants of Death as well as Life ;) The lilac-scent, the bushes, and the dark green, heart- shaped leaves, Wood violets, the little delicate pale blossoms called innocence, Samples and sorts not for themselves alone, but for theu' atmosphere. To tally, drench'd with them, tested by them. Cities and artificial life, and all their sights and scenes, 5 98 Passage to Indl\. My mind henceforth, and all its meditations— my reci- tatives, My land, my age, my race, for once to serve in songs, (Sprouts, tokens ever of death indeed the same as life,) To grace the bush I love — to sing vdth the birds, A warble for joy of Lilac-time. — ^p^-S^&SCa* Who Learns My Lesson Complete ? ' Who learns my lesson complete ? Boss, journeyman, apprentice — churchman and atheist. The stupid and the wise thinker — parents and ofi'spring — merchant, clerk, porter and customer. Editor, author, artist, and schoolboy — Draw nigh aud commence ; It is no lesson — it lets down the bars to a good lesson. And that to another, and every one to another still. ^ The great laws take and effuse without argument ; I am of the same style, for I am their friend, I love them quits and quits — I do not halt, and make salaams. " I lie abstracted, and hear beautiful tales of things, and the reasons of things ; They are so beautiful, I nudge myself to hsten. * I cannot say to any person what I hear — I cannot say it to myself — it is very wonderful. ^ It is no small matter, this round and delicious globe, moving so exactly in its orbit forever and ever, without one jolt, or the untruth of a single second ; I do not think it was made in sis days, nor in ten thousand years, nor ten billions of j'ears, Nor plann'd and built one thing after another, as an architect plans and builds a house. Leayks of Gkass. 99 " I do not think seventy years ia tlio time of a man or woman, Nor that seventy millions of years is the time of a man or woman, Nor that j'ears will ever stop the existence of me, or any one else. ' Is it wonderful that I should be immortal ? as every one is immortal ; I hnow it is wonderful, but my eyesight is equally won- derful, and how I was conceived in my mother's womb is equally wonderful ; And pass'd from a babe, in the creeping trance of a couple of summers and winters, to articulate and walk — All this is equally wonderful. ^ And that my Soul embraces you this hour, and we aiTect each other without ever seeing each other, and never jDerhaps to see each other, is every bit ' as wonderful. ® And that I can think such thoughts as these, is just as wonderful ; And that I can remind you, and you think them, and know them to be true, is just as wonderful. '" And that the moon spins round the earth, and on with the earth, is equally wonderful. And that they balance themselves ^Yith the sun and stars, is equally wonderful. Thought. Of Justice — As if Justice could be anything but the same ample law, expounded by natural judges and saviors. As if it might be this thing or that thing, according to decisions. 100 Passage to Ikdia. Myself and Mine. ^ Myself and mine g3rm.nastic ever, To stand the cold or heat — to take good aim with a gun — to sail a boat — to manage horses — to be- get superb children, To speak readily and clearly — to feel at homo among common people, And to hold our own in terrible positions, on land and sea. " Not for an embroiderer ; (There will always be plenty of embroiderers — I wel- come them also ;) But for the j&bre of things, and for inherent men and women. ^ Not to chisel ornaments. But to chisel with free stroke the heads and limbs of plenteous Supreme Gods, that The States may reahze them, walking and talking. ^ Let me have my own way ; Let others promulge the laws — I will make no account of the laws ; Let others praise eminent men and hold up peace — I hold uj) agitation and conflict ; I praise no eminent man — I rebuke to his face the one that was thought most worthy. ^ (Who are you ? you mean devil ! And what are you secretly guilty of, all your life ? Will you turn aside all your life ? Will you grub and chatter all your life ?) ® (And who are you — blabbing by rote, years, pages, languages, reminiscences. Unwitting to-day that you do not know how to speak a single word ?) Leaves or Grass. 101 ' Let others finisli specimens — I never finish specimens ; I shower them by exhaustless laws, as Nature does, fresh and modern continually. * I give nothing as duties ; What others give as duties, I give as living impulses ; (Shall I give the heart's action as a duty ?) * Let otliers dispose of questions — I dispose of nothing — I arouse unanswerable questions ; Who are they I see and touch, and what about them ? What about these lihes of myself, that draw me so close by tender directions and indirections ? '" I call to the world to distrust the accounts of my friends, but listen to my enemies — as I myself do ; I charge you, too, forever, reject those who would ex- pomid me — for I cannot expound myself ; I charge that there be no theory or school founded out of me ; I charge you to leave all free, as I have left all free. " After me, vista ! O, I see life is not short, but immeasurably long ; I henceforth tread the world, chaste, temperate, an early riser, a steady grower. Every hour the semen of centuries — and still of centu- " ries. '- I will follow up these continual lessons of the air, water, earth ; I perceive I have no time to lose. TO OLD AGE. I SEE in you the estuary that enlarges and spreads itself grandly as it pours in the gTcat Sea. 102 Passage to India. MIRACLES. ' Why ! who makes miicli of a miracle ? As to me, I know of nothing else but miracles, Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan, Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky, Or wade with naked feet along the beach, just in the edge of the water, Or stand under trees in the woods, Or talk by day with any one I love — or sleep in the bed at night with any one I love, Or sit at table at dinner with my mother, Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car, Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive, of a sum- mer forenoon, Or animals feeding in the fields. Or birds — or the wonderfuluess of insects in the air, Or the wonderfuluess of the sun-down — or of stars shining so quiet and bright. Or the exquisite, delicate, thin curve of the new moon in spring ; Or whether I go among those I like best, and that hke me best — mechanics, boatmen, farmers. Or among the savans — or to the soiree — or to the opera. Or stand a long v.'hile looking at the movements of machinery. Or behold children at theii* sports, Or the admirable sight of the perfect old man, or the perfect old woman, Or the sick in hospitals, or the dead carried to burial, Or my own eyes and figure in the glass ; These, with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles, The whole referring — yet each distinct, and in its place. ■^ To me, every hour of the light and dark is a mir- acle. Every cubic inch of space is a miracle. Leaves of Grass. 103 Every sqiipa^e yard of the surface of tlie earth is sj)read with the same, Every foot of the interior swarms with the same ; Every spear of grass — the frames, hmbs, organs, of men and women, and all that concerns them, All these to me are unspeakably perfect miracles. ^ To me the se^, is a continual miracle ; The fishes that swim — the rocks — the motion of the waves — the ships, with men in them. What stranger miracles are there ? SPARKLES FROM THE WHEEL. Wheee the city's ceaseless crowd moves on, the live- long day, Withdrawn, I join a group of children watching — I pause aside with them. By the curb, toward the edge of the flagging, A knife-grinder works at his wheel, sharpening a great knife ; Bending ovei-, he carefully holds it to the stone — by foot and knee, With measur'd tread, he tarns rapidly — As he presses with light but firm hand, Forth issue, then, in copious golden jets, Sparkles from the wheel. The scene, and all its belongings — how they seize and affect me ! The sad, sharp-chinn'd old man, with worn clothes, and broad shoulder-band of leather ; Myself, effusing and fluid — a phantom curiously float- inaf — now here absorb'd and arrested ; 104 Passage to Indlv. The group, (an tinmindecl point, set in a vast siirround- ^^g ;) Tlie attentive, quiet cliildi'en — tlie loud, proud, restive base 01 the streets ; The low, hoarse purr of the whirling stone — the light- press'd blade, Diffusing, dropping, sideways-darting, in tiny showers of gold, SpgrHes from the wheel. EXCELSIOR. Who has gone farthest ? For lo I have not I gone far- ther? And who has been just ? For I would be the most just person of the earth ; And who most cautious ? For I would be more cau- tious ; And who has been hapjDiest ? O I think it is I ! I think no one was ever hapiDier than I ; And who has lavish'd all ? For I lavish constantly the best I have ; And who has been firmest ? For I would be firmer ; And who proudest ? For I think I have reason to be the proudest son alive — for I am the son of the brav/ny and tall-topt city ; And who has been bold and true ? For I would be the boldest and truest being of the universe ; And who benevolent ? For I would show more benevo- lence than all the rest ; And who has projected beautiful words through the longest time? Have I not outvied him? have I not said the words that shall stretch througli longer time ? And who has reeeiv'd the love of the most friends ? For I know what it is to receive the passionate love of many friends ; Leaves of Geass. 105 And who possesses a perfect and enamour'd body ? For I do not believe any one possesses a more perfect or enamour'd body than mine ; And who thinks the amplest thoughts ? For I will sur- round those thoughts ; And who has made hymns fit for the earth? For I am mad with devouring extasy to make joyous hymns for the whole earth ! Mediums. Thet shall aris2 in the States They shall report Nature, laws, physiology, and happi- ness ; They shall illustrate Democracy and the kosmos ; They shall be alimentive, amative, perceptive ; They shall be complete women and men — their pose brawny and supple, their drink water, their blood clean and clear ; They shall enjoy materialism and (he sight of products — they shall enjoy the sight of the beef, lumber, bread-stuffs, of Chicago, the great city ; They shall train themselves to go in public to become orators and oratresses ; Strong and sweet shall their tongues be — poems and materials of poems shall come from their lives — they shall be makers and finders ; Of them, and of their works, shall emerge divine con- veyers, to convey gospels ; Characters, events, retrospections, shall be convey'd in gospels — Trees, animals, waters, shall be con- vey'd. Death, the future, the invisible faith, shall all be con- vey'd. 106 Passage to India. KOSMOS. Who ill eludes diversity, and is Nature, Who is the amx^iitude of the earth, and the coarseness and sexuality of the earth, and tlie great charitj^ of the earth, and the equilii)rium also, Yv'ho has not look'd forth from the windows, the eyes, for nothing, or whose brain held audience. witli messengers for nothing ; Who contains believers and disbelievers — Who is the most majestic lover ; Who holds duly his or her triune proportion of real- ism, spii'itualism, and of the Eesthetic, or intel- lectual, Who, having consider'd the Body, finds all its organs and parts good ; Who, out of the theory of the earth, and of his or her body, understands by subtle analogies all other theories. The theory of a city, a poem, and of the large politics of These States ; Who believes not only in our globe, with its sun and moon, but in other globes, with their suns and moons ; Who, constructing the house of himself or herself, not for a day, but for ail time, sees races, eras, dates, generations, The past, the future, dwelhug there, like space, insep- arable toe^ether. TO A PUPIL. ^ Is reform needed ? Is it through you ? The greater the reform needed, the greater the person- ality you need to accomplish it. ^ You ! do you not see how it would servo to have eyes, blood, complexion, clean and sweet ? Leaves of Grass. 107 Do you not see liow it would serve to have sucla a Body and Soul, that when you enter the crowd, an atmosphere of desire and command enters -with you, and every one is impress'd mth your per- sonality ? ^ 0 the magnet ! the flesh over and over ! Go, dear friend ! if need be, give u]i all else, and com- mence to-day to inure yourself to pluck, reality, self-esteem, definiteness, elevatedness ; Piest not, till you rivet and publish yourself of your own personality. WHAT AM I, AFTER ALL. ' What am I, after all, but a child, pleas'd with the sound of my own name ? repeating it over and* over ; I stand apai't to hear — it never tires me. ' To you, your name also; Did you think there was nothing but two or three pro- nunciations in the sound of your name ? OTHERS MAY PRAISE WHAT THEY LIKE. Othees may praise what they like ; But I, from the banks of the running Slissouri, praise nothing, in art, or aught else, Till it has well inhaled the atmosphere of this river — also the western prairie-scent, And fully exudes it again. 108 Passage to India. BROTHER OF ALL, WITH GENEROUS HAND. (C- P-1 Buried l^ehrtiary^ 1S70.) ' Brother oi' all, with generous band, Of thee, poudering- on thee, as o'er thy tomb, I and my Soul, A thought to launch in memory of thee, A burial verse for thee, ^ Wliat may we chant, O thou within this tomb ? Y\^hat tablets, pictures, hang for thee, O millionaire ? — The life thou lived'st we know not, But that thou walk'dst thy years in barter, 'mid the haunts of brokers ; Nor heroism thine, nor war, nor glory. ^ Yet lingering, yearning, joining soul with thine. If not thy past we chant, we chant the future, Select, adorn the futui-e. 2 •* Lo, Soul, the graves of heroes ! The joride of lands — the gratitudes of men, The statues of the manifold famous dead, Old World and New, The kings, inventors, generals, poets, (stretch wide thy vision, Soul,) The excellent rulers of the races, great discoverers, sailors. Marble and brass select from them, with pictures, scenes, (The histories of the lands, the races, bodied there. In what they've built for, graced and graved. Monuments to their heroes.) Leaves of Grass. 109 3 ^ Silent, my Soul, With drooping lids, as waiting, ponder'd, Turning from all the samples, all the monuments of heroes. ^ "While through the interior vistas. Noiseless uprose, phantasmic, (as, by night, Auroras of the North,) Lambent tableaux, prophetic, bodiless scenes. Spiritual projections. * In one, among the city streets, a laborer's home ap- l^ear'd, After lus day's work done, cleanly, sweet-air'd, the gas- light burning, The carpet swept, and a fire in the cheerful stove. ^ In one, the sacred parturition scene, A happy, painless mother birth'd a perfect child. ^ In one, at a bounteous morning meal. Sat peaceful parents, with contented sons. '° In one, by twos and threes, young people. Hundreds concentering, walli'd the paths and streets and roads. Toward a tall-domed school. " In one a trio, beautiful. Grandmother, loving daughter, loving daughter's daughter, sat. Chatting and sewing. '- In one, along a suite of noble rooms, 'Mid plenteous books and journals, paintings on the walls, fine statuettes. Were groups of friendly journeymen, mechanics, young and old, Reading, conversing. 110 Passage to India. ''' All, all the shows of laboring life, City and country, women's, men's and children's, Their wants provided for, hned in the sun, and tinged for once with joy, Marriage, the street, the factor}', farm, the house-room, lodging-room, Labor and toil, the bath, gymnasium, play-gTound, library, college. The student, iDoy or girl, led forward to be taught ; The sick cared for, the shoeless shod — the orphan father'd and mother'd. The hungry fed, the houseless housed ; (The intentions perfect and divine. The workings, details, haply human.) '^ O thou within this tomb, From thee, such scenes — tliou stintless, lavish Giver, Tallying the gifts of Earth — large as the Earth, Thy name an Earth, with moimtains, fields and rivers. '^ Nor by your streams alone, you rivers, I>y you, your banks, Connecticut, By you, and all your teeming life, Old Thames, By you, Potomac, laving the ground Washington trod — ^by you Patapsco, You, Hudson — ^you, endless Mississippi — not by you alone, But to the high seas launch, my thought, his memory. "^ Lo, Soul, by this tomb's lambency, The darkness of the arrogant standards of the world, IVith all its flaunting aims, ambitions, pleasures. " (Old, commonplace, and rusty saws, The rich, the gay, the supercilious, smiled at long, Now, piercing to the marrow in my bones, Fused with each drop my heart's blood jets, Swim in ineffable meaning.) Lkwes of Geass. Ill '^ Lo, Soul, the sphere requii'eth, portionetli, To each his share, his measure. The iiioJerato to the moderate, the ample to the ample. '^ Lo, Soul, see'st thou not, plain as the sun, The only real wealth of wealth in generosity, The only life of life in goodness ? NIGHT ON THE PRAIRIES. ' Night on the prairies ; The supper is over — the fire on the gTOund burns low ; The wearied emigrants sleep, wrapt in their blankets : I walk-by myself — I stand and look at the stars, which I think now I never realized before. - Now I absorb immortality and x^eace, I admire death, and test propositions. ^ How plenteous ! How spiritual ! How resume ! The same Old Man and Soul — the same old aspirations, and the same content. ■* I was thinking the day most splendid, tiU I saw what the not-day exhibited, I was thinking this globe enough, till there sprang out so noiseless around me myi'iads of other globes. ^ Now, while the great thoughts of space and eternity fill me, I will measure myself by them ; And now, touch'd with the lives of other globes, arrived as far along as those of the earth, Or waiting to arrive, or pass'd on farther than those of the earth, 112 Passage to India. I henceforth no more ignore them, than I ignore mj'- ov/n life, Or the lives of the earth arrived as far as mine, or waiting to arrive. ^01 see nov/ that life cannot exhibit all to me — as the day cannot, I see that I am to v^ait for what will be exhibited by death. ON JOURNEYS THROUGPI THE STATES. ' On journeys through the States we start, (Ay, through the world — urged by these songs. Sailing henceforth to every land — to every sea ;\ We, willing learners of all, teachers of all, and lovers of all. - We have vfatch'd the seasons dispensing themselves, and passing on. We have said. Why should not a man or woman do as much as the seasons, and effuse as much ? ^ We dwell a while in every city and town ; We pass through Kanada, the north-east, the vast valley of the Mississippi, and the Southern States ; We confer on equal terms with each of The Sta,tes, We make trial of ourselves, and invite men and women to hear ; We say to ourselves, Eemember, fear not, be candid, promulge the body and the Soul ; Dwell a while and pass on — Be copious, temperate, chaste, magnetic. And what you effuse may then return as the seasons return, And may be just as much as the seasons. Leaves of Grass. 113 SAVANTISM. Thither, as I look, I see eacli result and glory retracing itself and nestling close, always obligated ; Thither hours, months, years — thither trades, compacts, estabhshments, even the most minute ; Thither eveiy-day life, speech, utensils, politics, per- sons, est-ates ; Thither we also, I with my leaves and songs, trustful, admirant. As a father, to his father going, takes his children along" with him. LOCATIONS AND TIMES. Locations and times — what is it in me that meets them all, vvhenever and wherever, and makes me at home ? Forms, colors, densities, odors — what is it in me that corresponds with them ? THOUGHT. Of Equality — As if it harm'd me, giving others the same chances and rights as myself — As if it were not indispensable to my own rights that others possess the same. — «KS«SI®!/2i®«"»— THIS DAY, O SOUL. This day, O Soul, I give you a wondrous mirror ; Long in the dark, in tarnish and cloud it lay — But the cloud has pass'd, and the tarnish gone ; . . . Behold, O Soul ! it is now a clean and bright mir- ror. Faithfully showing you all the things of the world. WHAT PLACE IS BESIEGED? What place is besieged, and vainly tries to raise the siege ? Lo ! I send to that place a commander, swift, brave, immortal ; And v/ith hun horse and foot — and parks of artil- lery, And artillery-men, the deadliest that ever fired gun. 120 Now Finale to the Shore. TO THE READER AT PARTING. Now, clearest comrade, lift me to your face, "We must separate awhile — Here ! take fi-om my lips this kiss ; Whoever you are, I give it especially to you ; So long ! — And I hope we shall meet agaiD. JOY, SHIPMATE, JOY ! Joy ! shipmate — joy ! (Pleas'd to my Soul at death I cry ;) Our life is closed — our life begins ; The long, long anchorage we leave. The ship is clear at last — she leaps ! She swiftly courses from the shore ; Joy ! shipmate — ^joy ! Adverttskment. WALT WHITMAN'S BOOKS. Leaves of Grass, 384 pages, paper covers price, $3 50 Passage to India, 120 pajijes, paper covers, price, f 1 00 Detnocratic Vistas, 84 pages, paper covers, price. 75 cts. The above can be ordered from any Bookseller. Published in New- York, by J. S. Redfielp, 140 Fulton Street, xip-stairs. Dealers supplied. Single copies sent by mail. Can be obtained as follows : Wasliingfon^ D. C Philp & Solomon, Pennsylvania Avenue, near Ninth Street. Parker's, Seventh Street, opjiosite Post-office. Willard's Hotel, Boik-stand. ]S^ew-YorJc. Eedfielu, 140 Fuiton Street. F. B. Felt, 455 Broome Street. (Dealers supplied.) Brentano, 33 Union Square, Broadway. Boston. W. H. Piper & Co., 133 Washington Street. JirooJi'li/ii. M. Nevin, 303 Fulton Street, London, Englfnuh 'Pri-rnrr, 60 Paternoster Row. 1^ Sold by the Author, through the Post-office. Address at Wash- ington, D r., giving full Post-iffice address. Price, 75 €ent§. Democratic Vistas. Washington, D. C. 1871. New-York: T. S. REDFIF.LT), Pubi.tshf.r. 140 Fulton St., (up stairs.) W^l-^'^Wl \i-tv-v.ir- MEJiOBAyn.i '-tC, 'A V r-^w~^^ Washington, D. C. 1871. (It^° See Advertisement at end of this Vobime. Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1870, by JVALT WHITMAN, In the Office cf the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. Electrotj'ped by Smith & McDougal, 82 Beekman Street, New York. DEMOCRATIC VISTAS. A J^'IS^ICA, filling tho present with greatest deeds -^^-^ and problems, cheerfully accepting the past, including Feuda,hsm, (as, indeed, the present is but the legitimate birth of the i^ast, including feudalism,) counts, as I reckon, for her justification and success, (for who, as yet, dare claim success?) almost entirely on the future. Nor is that hope unwarranted. To-day, ahead, though dimly yet, we see, in vistas, a copious, sane, gigantic offspring. For our New World I consider far less important for what it has done, or what it is, than for results to come. Sole among nationahties. These States have assumed the task to put in forms of lasting power and practi- caHty, on areas of amplitude rivaling the operations of the j)hysical kosmos, the moral and political siDCCula- tions of ages, long, long deferred, the Democratic Re- publican principle, and the theory of development and perfection by voluntary standards, and self-suppliance. Who else, indeed, except the United States, in history, so far, have accepted in unwitting faith, and, as we now see, stand, act upon, and go security for, these things ? But let me strike at once the key-note of my purpose in the following strain. First premising that, though passages of it have been written at widely different times, (it is, in fact, a collection of memoranda, perhaps for future designers, comprehenders,) and though it may be ojjen to the charge of one part contradicting another — for there are opposite sides to the great ques- tion of Democracy, as to every great question — I feel 4 Democratic Vistas. the parts harmoniously blended in my ovni realization and convictions, and present them to be read only in such oneness, each page modified and tempered by the others. Bear in mind, too, that they are not the result of studying up in ]:)olitical economy, but of the ordinary sense, observing, wandering among men. These States, these stirring years of war and peace. I will not gloss over the appalling dangers of universal suffrage in the United States. In fact, it is to admit and face these dangers I am writing. To him or her within whose thought rages the battle, advancing, retreating, be- tween Democracy's convictions, aspirations, and the People's crudeness, vice, caprices, I mainly write this book. I shall use the words America and Democracy as con- vertible terms. Not an ordinary one is the issue. The United States are destined either to surmount the gor- geous history of Feudalism, or else prove the mos.- tre- mendous failure of time. Not the least doubtful am I on any prospects of their material success. The trium- phant future of their business, geogTaphic, and produc- tive departments, on larger scales and in more varieties than ever, is certain. In those respects the Eepublic must soon (if she does not already) outstrip all ex- amples hitherto afforded, and dominate the world.* * " From a territorial area of less than nine Imndred tlioii- saud square miles, the Union has expanded into over four mil- lions and a half — tifteeu times larger tlian that of Great Britain and France combined — with a shore-line, including Alaska, equal to the entire circumference of the earth, and with a domain within these lines far wider than that of the Romans in their proudest days of conquest and renown. With a river, lake, and coastwise commerce estimated at over two thousand millions of dollars per year ; with a railway traffic of four to six thousand millions per year, and the annual domestic exchanges of the country running up to nearly ten thousand millions per year; with over two thousand millions of dollars invested in manufac tuiing, mechanical, and mining industry ; with over five hun- dred millions of acres of land in actual occupancy, valued, with their appurtenances, at over seven thoiisaud millions of dollars, and producing annually crops valued at over three tliousand mil- lions of dollars ; with a realm which, if the density of Belgium's DE:iiocF.ATic Vistas. 5 Admitting all this, witli the priceless value of our political institutions, general suffrage (and cheerfully acknowledging the latest, widest opening of the doors,) I say that, far deeper than these, what finally and only is to make of our Western World a National- ity superior to any hitherto known, and outtopping the past, nivist be vigorous, yet unsuspected Litera- tures, perfect joersonalities and sociologies, original, transcendental, and expressing (what, in highest sense, are not yet expressed at all,) Democracy and the Mod- ern. With these, and out of these, I promulge new races of Teachers, and of perfect Women, indispen- sable to endow the birth-stock of a New World. For Feudalism, caste, the Ecclesiastic traditions, though palpably retreating from political institutions, still hold essentially, by their spu'it, even in this country, entire possession of the more important fields, indeed the very subsoil, of education, and of social standards and Literature. I say that Democracy can never prove itself bej^ond cavil, until it founds and luxuriantly grows its own forms of arts, poems, schools, theology, displacing all that exists, or that has been produced anywhere in the past, under opposite influences. It is curious to me that while so many voices, pens, rninds, in the press, lecture-rooms, in our Congress, &c., are discussing intellectual topics, pecuniary dan- gers, legislative problems, the suffrage, tariff and labor questions, and the various business and benevolent needs of America, with propositions, remedies, often worth deep attention, there is one need, a hiatus, and the profoundest, that no eye seems to perceive, no voice to state. Our fundamental want to-day in the United States, with closest, amplest reference to pres- population were possible, would be vast enongli to include all the present inliabitauts of tlie world ; and with equal rights guaran- teed to even the poorest and humblest of our forty millions of people — "we can, with a manly pride akin to that which distin- guished the palmiest days of Rome, claim," &c., &c., &c. — Vire- President Colfax's Speech, July 4, 1870. 6 Democratic Vistas. ent conditions, and to the future, is of a class, and the clear idea of a class, of native Authors, Literatuses, far different, far higher in gTade than any yet known, sacerdotal, modern, fit to cope with our occasions, lauds, permeating the whole mass of American men- tality, taste, belief, breathing into it a new breath of life, giving it decision, affecting politics far more than the popular superficial suffrage, with results inside and underneath the elections of Presidents or Con- gresses, radiating, begetting appropriate teachers and schools, manners, costumes, and, as its grandest re- sult, accomplishing, (what neither the schools nor the churches and their clergy have hitherto accomiDlished, and without which this nation will no more stand, per- manently, soundly, than a house will stand without a substratum,) a religious and morol character beneath the political and productive and intellectual bases of The States. For know you not, dear, earnest reader, that the people of our land maj' all know how to read and write, and may all possess the right to vote — and yet the main things may be entirely lacking ? — (and this to supply or suggest them.) Viewed, to-day, from a point of view sufficiently over- arching, the problem of humanity all over the civilized world is social and religious, and is to be finally met and treated by literature. The priest departs, the di- vine Literatus comes. Never was anything more wanted than, to-day, and here in The States, the Poet of the Modern is wanted, or the great Literatus of the Mod- ern. At all times, perhaps, the central point in any nation, and that whence it is itself realty swayed the most, and whence it sways others, is its national litera- ture, esjDccially its archetypal poems. Above all previ- ous lands, a gi-eat original literature is surely to be- come the justification and reUance, (in some resj^ects the sole reliance,) of American Democracy. Few are aware how the gTeat literature penetrates all, gives hue to all, ."-hapes aggregates and individuals, and, after subtle ways, with irresistible power, con- structs, sustains, demolishes at v/ill. Why tower, in DilMOCHATIC YlSTAS. 7 reminiscence, above all the old nations of the earth, two special lauds, petty in themselves, yet inexpressibly gigantic, beautit'ul, columnar ? Immortal Judah livcf, and Greece immoi'tal lives, in a couple of poems. Nearer than this. It is not generally realized, but it is true, as the genius of Greece, and all the sociology', personality, i^ohtics and religion of those wonderful states, resided in their hterature or esthetics, that what was afterwards the main support of European chivahy, the feudal, ecclesiastical, dynastic woi-ld over there, forming its osseous structure, holding it together fcr hundi-eds, thousands of years, preserving its flesh and bloom, giving it form, decision, rounding it out, and so saturating it in the conscious and unconscious blood, breed, belief, and intuitions of men, that it still pre- vails powerfully to this day, in defiance of the mighty changes of time, was its literature, permeating to the very marrow, especially that major part, its enchant- ing songs, ballads, and poems.* To the ostent of the senses and eyes, I know, the in- fluences which stamp the world's history are wars, up- risings or downfalls of dynasties, changeful movements of trade, important inventions, navigation, military or civil governments, advent of pov/erful personalities, conquerors, &c. These of course play their part ; yet, it may be, a single nevr thought, imagination, prin- ciple, even literary style, fit for the time, ])nt in shape by some great Literatus, and projected among man- * See, for hereditaments, specimens, Walter Scott's Border ^.lin- strelsy, Percy's Collection, Ellis's Early English Metrical Ko- mances, the European Continental Poems of Walter of Aquita- nia, and the NibeUingen, of pagan stock, but monkish-feudal redaction ; the history of the Troubadours, by Fauriel ; even the far, far-back cumbrous old Hindu epics, as indicating the Asian ejigs, out of which European chivalry was hatched , Ticknor's chapters on the Cid, and on the Spanish poems and poets of Cal- deron's time. Tlien always, and, of course, as the superbest, ]ioetic ciilmination-espression of Feudalism, the Shakspearean dramas, in the attitudes, dialogue, characters, &c., of the princes, lords and gentlemen, the pervading atmospliere, the implied and expressed standard of manners, the high port and proud ctomach, the regal embroidery of style, tc. 8 Democratic Vistas. kind, may duly cause clianges, growths, removals, greater than the longest and bloodiest war, or the most stupendous merely joohtical, dynastic, or com- mercial overturn. In short, as, though it may not be realized, it is strictly true, that a few first-class poets, philosophs, and authors, have substantially settled and given status to the entire religion, education, law, sociology, &c,, of the hitherto civilized world, by tinging and often crea- ting the atmospheres out of which they have arisen, such also mast stamp, and more than ever stamp, the interior and real Democratic construction of this Ameri- can continent, to-day, and days to come. Remember also this fact of difference, that, while through the antique and through the mediaeval ages, highest thoughts and ideals realized themselves, and their expression made its way by other arts, as much as, or even more than by, technical literature, (not open to the mass of persons, nor even to the majority of eminent persons,) such hteratiu-e in our day and for current purjjoses, is not only more eligible than all the other arts j^ut together, but has become the only gen- eral means of morally influencing the world. Paint- ing, sculpture, and the dramatic theatre, it would seem, no longer play an indispensable or even im- portant part in the workings and mediumship of in- tellect, utility, or even high esthetics. Architecture remains, doubtless with capacities, and a real future. Then music, the combiner, nothing more sjjiritual, noth- ing more sensuous, a god, yet completely human, ad- vances, prevails, holds highest place; supplying in cer- tain wants and quarters what nothing else could supply. Yet, in the civilization of to-day it is undeniable that, over all the arts, literature dominates, serves beyond all — shapes the character of church and school — or, at any rate, is capable of doing so. Including the litera- ture of science, its scope is indeed unjDaralleled. Before proceeding further, it were perhaps well to discriminate on certain ])oints. Literature tills its crops in many fields, and some may flourish, while others lag. What I say in these Vistas has its main Demockaiio Yistas. 9 bearing on Imaginative Literature, especially Poetry, tlie stock of all. In the department of Science, and the specialty of Journalism, there appear, in These States, promises, perhaps fulfilments, of highest earnestness, reality, and life. These, of course, are modern. But in the region of imaginative, spinal and essential attri- butes, something equivalent to creation is imperatively demanded. For not only is it not enough that the new blood, new frame of Democracy shah be vivified and held together merely by political means, sui^erficial suffi'age, legislation, &c., but it is clear to me that, un- less it goes deeper, gets at least as firm and as v/arm a hold in men's hearts, emotions and belief, as, in their days. Feudalism or Ecclesiasticism, and inaugau'ates its own perennial sources, welling from the centre forever, its strength will be defective, its growth doubtful, and its main charm wanting. I suggest, therefore, the possibility, should some two or three really original American poets, (perhaps artists or lecturers,) arise, mounting the horizon like planets, stars of the first magnitude, that, from their eminence, fusing contributions, races, far localities, &c., together, they would give more compaction and more moral iden- tity, (the quality to-day most needed,) to These States, than all its Constitutions, legislative and judicial ties, and all its hitherto political, warUke, or materialistic experiences. As, for instance, there could hardly hap- pen anything that would more serve The States, witli all their variety of origins, then' diverse climes, cities, standards, &c., than possessing an aggregate of heroes, characters, exploits, sufferings, prosj^erity or misfor- tune, glory or disgrace, common to all, typical of all — no less, but even greater would it be to possess the aggregation of a cluster of mighty poets, artists, teach- ers, fit for us, national expressers, comprehending and efi'using for the men and women of The States, what is universal, native, common to all, inland and seaboard, northern and southern. The historians say of ancient Greece, with her ever-jealous autonomies, cities, and states, that the only positive unity she ever owned or received, was the sad unity of a common subjection, at 10 Democratic Vistas. the last, to foreign conquerors. Subjection, aggrega- tion of that sort, is impossible to America ; but the fear of conflicting and irreconcilable interiors, and the lack of a common skeleton, knitting all close, continually haunts me. Or, if it does not, nothing is plainer than the need, a long period to come, of a fusion of The States into the only reliable identity, the moral and artistic one. For, I say, the true nationality of The States, the genuine union, when we come to a mortal crisis, is, and is to be, after all, neither the written law, nor, (as is generally supposed,) either self-interest, or common pecuniary or material objects — but the fervid and tremendous Idea, melting everything else with re- sistless heat, and solving all lesser and definite distinc- tions in vast, indefinite, spiritual, emotional power. It may be claimed, (and I admit the weight of the claim,) that common and general worldly prosperity, and a populace well-to-do, and with all life's material comforts, is the main thing, and is enough. It may be argued that our Kepublio is, in performance, really enacting to-day the grandest arts, poems, &c., by beat- ing up the wilderness into fertile farms, and in her railroads, ships, machinery, &c. And it may be asked, Are these not better, indeed, for America, than any utterances even of greatest rhapsode, artist, or literatus ? I too hail those achievements with pride and joy: then answer that the soul of man will not with such only — nay, not with such at all — be finally satisfied ; but needs what, (standing on those and on all things, as the feet stand on the ground,) is addressed to the loftiest, to itself alone. Out of such considerations, such truths, arises for treatment in these Vistas the imj)ortant question of Character, of an American stock-personality, with Literatures and Arts for outlets and retimi-expres- sions, and, of coui'se, to correspond, within outlines common to all. To these, the main affair, the thinkers of the United States, in general so acute, have either given feeblest attention, or have remained, and re- main, in a state of somnolence. Demockatic Vistas. 11 For my part, I would alarm and caution even the political and business reader, and to tlie utmost extent, against the prevailing delusion that the establishment of free political institutions, and plentiful intellectual smartness, with general good order, physical plenty, in- dustry, &c., (desirable and precious advantages as they all are,) do, of themselves, determine and yield to our experiment of I)emocraey the fruitage of success. With such advantages at present fully, or almost fully, pos- sessed— the Union just issued, victorious, from the struggle with the only foes it need ever fear, (namely, those within itself, the interior ones,) and with unpre- cedented materialistic advancement — Society, in These States, is cankered, crude, superstitious, and rotten. Political, or law-made society is, and private, or volun- tary society, is also. In any vigoi", the element of the moral conscience, the most important, the vertebrae, to State or man, seems to me either entirely lacking or seriously enfeebled or ungrown. I say we had best look our time and lands search- iugly in the face, like a physician diagnosing some deep disease. Never was there, perhaps, more hollowness jxt heart than at present, and here in the United States. Genuine belief seems to have left us. The underlying principles of The States are not honestly believed in, (for all this hectic glow, and these melo-dramatic Gcreamings,) nor is Humanity itself beheved in. "SYhat penetrating eye does not everywhere see through the mask? The spectacle is appalhng. We live in an atmosphere of hypocrisy throughout. The men believe not in the women, nor the v/omen in the men. A scornful superciliousness rules in hterature. The aim of all the litterateurs is to find something to make fun of. A lot of churches, sects, &c., the most dismal phantasms I know, usurjD the name of religion. Conversation is a mass of badinage. From deceit in the spirit, the mother of all false deeds, the offspring is akeady incalculable. An acute and candid person, in the Revenue Depart- ment in Washington, who is led by the course of his employment to regularly visit the cities. North, South, and West, to investigate frauds, has talked much with 12 Democratic Vistas. me (1869-70) about his discoveries. The clej)ravity of the business classes of our country is not less than has been supposed, but infinitely greater. The whole of the official services of America, National, State, and Munici- l^al, in all their branches and departments, except the Judiciary, are steeped, saturated in corruption, bribery, falsehood, mal-administration ; and the Judiciary is tainted. The great cities reek with respectable as much as non-respectable robbory and scoundrelism. In fash- ionable life, flippancy, tepid amours, weak infidelism, small aims, or no aims at all, only to kill time. In busi- ness, (this all-devouring modern word, business,) the one sole object is, by any means, pecuniary gain. The ma- gician's serpent in the fable ate up all the other ser- pents ; and moae5'"-making is our magician's serpent, remaining to-day sole master of the field. The best class we show, is but a mob of fashionably-dressed speculators and vulgarians. True, indeed, behind this fantastic farce, enacted on the visible stage of society, solid things and stupendous labors are to be discovered, existing crudely and going on in the backgi'ound, to ad- vance and tell themselves in time. Yet the truths are none the less terrible. I say that our New World De- mocracy, however great a success in uplifting the masses out of their sloughs, in materialistic development, pro- ducts, and in a certain highly-deceptive superficial popu- lar intellectuality, is, so far, an almost complete failure in itt\ social aspects, in any superb general personal character, and in really grand religious, moral, literarj', and esthetic results. In vain do we march with unpre- cedented strides to empire so colossal, outvying the an- tique, beyond Alexander's, beyond the proudest sway of Rome. In vain do we annex Texas, California, Alaska, and reach north for Canada and south for Cuba. It is as if we were somehow being endovred with a vast and more and more thoroughly-appointed body, and then left with little or no soul. Let me illustrate further, as I wi'ite, with current ob- servations, localities, &c. The subject is important, and will bear repetition. After an absence, I am now (Sop- Democratic Vistas. 13 tember, 1870,) again in New York City and BrooMyn, on a few weeks' vacation. The splendor, picturesqueness, and oceanic amplitude and rush of these great cities, the unsurpassed situation, rivers and bay, sparkling sea- tides, costly and lofty new buildings, the facades of marble and iron, of original grandeur and elegance of design, with the masses of gay color, the preponderance of white and blue, the flags flying, the endless ships, the tumultuous streets, Broadway, the heavy, low, mu- sical roar, hardly ever intermitted, even at night ; the jobbers' houses, the rich shops, the wharves, the great Central Park, and the Brooklyn Park of Hills, (as I wander among them this beautiful fall weather, musing, watching, absorbing,) — the assemblages of the citizens in their groups, conversations, trade, evening amuse- ments, or along the by-quarters — these, I say, and the like of these, completely satisfy my senses of power, ful- ness, motion, &c., and give me, through such senses and appetites, and through my esthetic conscience, a continued exaltation and absolute fulfilment. Always, and more and more, as I cross the East and North rivers, the ferries, or with the j)ilots in their pilot-houses, or pass an hour in Wall street, or the gold exchange, I realize, (if Vv^e must admit such partialisms,) that not Nature alone is great in her fields of freedom and the open air, in her storms, the shows of night and day, the mountains, forests, seas — but in the artificial, the work of man too is equally great — in this profusion of teeming humanity, in these ingenuities, streets, goods, houses, ships — these seething, hurrying, feverish crowds of men, their complicated business genius, (not least among the geniuses,) and all this mighty, many-threaded wealth and industry concentrated here. But sternly discarding, shutting our eyes to the glow and grandeur of the general effect, coming down to what is of the only real importance. Personalities, and exam- ining minutely, we question, we ask, Ai'e there, indeed, 3Ien here worthy the name ? Are there athletes ? Are there perfect women, to match the generous material luxuriance? Is there a pervading atmosphere of beau- tiful manners? Are there crops of fine youths, and ma- 14 Democratic Vistas. jestic old persons? Are there arts worthy Freedom, and a rich people ? Is there a great moral and religious civilization — the only justification of a great material one ? Confess that rather to severe eyes, using the moral microscope upon humanity, a sort of dry and flat Sa- hara appears, these cities, crowded with petty grotesques, malformations, phantoms, playing meaningless antics. Confess that everywhere, in shop, street, church, theatre, bar-room, official chair, are pervading flijopancy and vul- garity, low cunning, infidelity — everywhere, the youth puny, impudent, foppish, prematurely ripe — everywhere an abnormal libidinousness, unhealthy forms, male, fe- male, painted, padded, dyed, chignoned, muddy com- j)lesions, bad blood, the capacity for good motherhood deceasing or deceased, shallow notions of beauty, with a range of manners, or rather lack of manners, (consid- ering the advantages enjoyed,) probably the meanest to be seen in the world.* Of all this, and these lamentable conditions, to breathe into them the breath recuperative of sane and heroic life, I say a new founded Literatiu'e, not merely to copy and reflect existing surfaces, or pander to what is called taste — not only to amuse, pass away time, celebrate the beautiful, the refined, the past, or exhibit technical. * Of these rapidly-sketclied portraitures, hiatuses, the two which seem to me most serious are, for one, the condition, absence, or perhaps the singular abeyance, of moral, conscientious fibre all through American society; and, for another, the appalling deple- tion of women in their powers of sane athletic maternity, their crowning attribute, and ever making the woman, in loftiest spheres, superior to the man. I have sometimes thought, indeed, that the sole avenue and means of a reconstructed sociology depended, primarily, on a new birth, elevation, expansion, invigoration of woman, affording, for races to come, (as the conditions that antedate birth are indispen- sable,) a perfect motherhood. Great, great, indeed far greater than they know, is the sphere of woman. But doubtless the question of such new sociology all goes together, includes many varied and complex influences and premises, and the man as well as the woman, and the woman as well as the man. Democeatic Vistas. 15 rhythmic, or grammatical dexterity — but a Literature underlying life, religious, consistent with science, hand- ling the elements and forces with competent power, teaching and training men — and, as perhaps the most precious of its results, achieving the entire redemption of woman out of these incredible holds and webs of sil- Hness, millinery, and every kind of dyspeptic depletion — and thus insuring to The States a strong and sweet Female Eace, a race of perfect Mothers — is v^^hat is needed. And now, in the full conception of these facts and points, and all that they infer, pro and con — with yet unshaken faith in the elements of the American masses, the composites, of both sexes, and even considered as individuals — and ever recognizing in them the broad- est bases of the best literary and esthetic appreciation — I proceed with my speculations. Vistas. First, let us see what we can make out of a brief, gen- eral, sentimental consideration of political Democracy, and whence it has arisen, with regard to some of its current features, as an aggregate, and as the basic structure of oui- future literature and authorship. We shall, it is true, quickly and continually find the origin- idea of the singleness of man, individualism, asserting itself, and cropping forth, even from the opposite ideas. But the mass, or lump character, for imperative I'ea- sons, is to be ever carefully weighed, borne in mind, and provided for. Only fi'om it, and from its proper regulation and potency, comes the other, comes the chance of Individuahsm. The two are contradictory, but our task is to reconcile them.* * The question hinted here is one which time only can answer. Must not the virtue of modern Individualism, continually enlarg- ing, usurping all, seriously affect, perhaps keep down entirely, in America, the like of the ancient virtue of Patriotism, the fervid and absorbing love of general country ? I have no doubt myself that the two ^vill merge, and ■will mutually profit and brace each other, and that from them a greater product, a third, vv'ill arise. But I feel that at present they and their oppositions ibrm a serious problem and paradox in the United States. 16 Democratic Vistas. The political history of the past may be siimmecT up as having grown out of what underlies the words Order, Safety, Caste, and especially out of the need of .'.ome prompt deciding Authority, and of Cohesion, at all cost. Leaping time, we come to the period within the memory of joeople now living, when, as from some lair where they had slumbered long, accumulating wrath, sprang up and are yet active, (1790, and on even to the present, 1870,) those noisy eructations, destructive icon- oclasms, a fierce sense of wrongs, and amid which moves the Form, well known in modern history, in the old world, stained with much blood, and marked by savage reactionary clamors and demands. These bear, mostly, as on one enclosing point of need. For after the rest is said — after the many time-hon- ored and really true things for subordination, experi- ence, rights of property, &c., have been listened to and acquiesced in — after the valuable and well-settled state- ment of our duties and relations in society is thoroughly conned over and exhausted — it remains to bi'ing forward and modify everything else with the idea of that Some- thing a man is, (last precious consolation of the drudg- ing poor,) standing apart from all else, divine in his own right, and a woman in hers, sole and untouchable by any cauous of authority, or any rule derived from precedent, state-safety, the acts of legislatures, or even from what is called religion, modesty, or art. The radiation of this truth is the key of the most sig- nificant doings of our immediately preceding three centuries, and has been the political genesis and life of America. Advancing visibly, it still more advances in- visibly. Underneath the tiuctuations of the expressions of society, as well as the movements of the pohtics of the leading nations of the world, we see steadily press- ing ahead, and strengthening itself, even in the midst of immense tendencies toward aggi'egation, this image of completeness in separatism, of individual personal dignity, of a single person, either male or female, char- acterized in the main, not from extrinsic acquirements or position, but in the pride of himself or herself alone; and, as an eventual conclusion and summing up, (or Democratic Vistas. 17 else the entire scheme of things is aimless, a cheat, a crash,) the simple idea that the last, best dependence is to be upon Humanity itself, and its own inherent, nor- mal, full-grown quaHties, without any superstitious suij- port whatever. This idea of perfect individualism it is indeed that deepest tinges and gives character to the idea of the Aggregate. For it is mainly or altogether to serve independent separatism that we favor a strong generalization, consolidation. As it is to give the best vitality and freedom to the rights of the States, (every bit as important as the right of Nationality, the imion,) that we insist on the identity of the Union at all hazards. The i^urpose of Democracy — supplanting old belief in the necessary absoluteness of established dynastic rulership, temporal, ecclesiastical, and scholastic, as furnishing the only security against chaos, crime, and ignorance — is, through many transmigrations, and amid endless ridicules, arguments, and ostensible failures, to illustrate, at all hazards, this doctrine or theory that man, properly trained in sanest, highest freedom, may and must become a law, and series of laws, unto him- self, surrounding and providing for, not only his own personal control, but all his relations to other individ- uals, and to the State ; and that, while other theories, as ill the past histories of nations, have proved wise enough, ancl indispensable perhaps for their conditions, this, as matters now stand in our civilized world, is the only Scheme worth working from, as warranting results like those of Nature's law^s, reliable, when once estab- lished, to carry on themselves. The argument of the matter is extensive, and, we ad- mit, by no means all on one side. What we shall offer will be far, far from sufficient. But while leaving un- said much that should properly even prepare the way for the treatment of this many-sided question of politi- cal liberty, equality, or republicanism — leaving the whole history and consideration of the Feudal Plan and its products, embodying Humanity, its politics and civili- zation, through the retrospect of past time, (which Plan and products, indeed, make up all of the past, and a major part of the present) — Leaving unanswered, at 18 Demockatig Vi3TAS. least hj any specific and local answer, many a well- wrought argument and instance, and many a conscien- tious declamatory cry and warning — as, very lately, from an eminent and venerable person abroad* — things, problems, full of doubt, dread, suspense, (not new to me, but old occupiers of many an anxious hour in city's din, or night's silence,) we still may give a page or so, whose drift is opportune. Time alone can finally answer these things. But as a substitute in passing, let us, even if fragmentarily, throw forth a short direct or indirect suggestion of the premises of that other Plan, in the new spirit, under the new forms, started here in our America. As to the political section of Democracy, which intro- duces and breaks ground for further and vaster sec- tions, few probably are the minds, even in These Re- publican States, that fully comprehend the aptness of that phrase, "the Government or the People, by the People, foe the People," which we inherit from the lips of Abraham Lincoln ; a formula whose verbal shape is homely wit, but whose scope includes both the totalit}'^ and all minutise of the lesson. The People ! Like our huge earth itself, which, to ordinary scansion, is full of vulgar contradictions and ofience, Man, viewed in the lump, displeases, and is a constant puzzle and afii'ont to the merely educated classes. The rare, cosmical, artist-mind, lit with the Infinite, alone confronts his manifold and oceanic qual- ities, but taste, intelligence and culture, (so-called,) have been against the masses, and I'emain so. There is plenty of glamour about the most damnable crimes and "•'■ '■ Shooting Niagara." — I was at first roused to mucli anger a,nd abuse by this Essay from Mr. Carlyle, so insulting to the the- ory of America — but happening to think afterwards how I liad more than once been in the like mood, during which his essay was evidently cast, and seen persons and things in the same light, (indeed some might say there are signs of the same feeling in this book) — I have since read it again, not only as a study, expressing as it does certain judgments from the highest Feudal point of view, but have read it with respect, as coming from an earnest soul, and as contributing certain sharp-cutting metiillic grains, which, if not gold or silver, may be good hard, honest iron. Democratic Vistas. 19 hoggish meannesses, special and general, of the Fendal and dynastic world over there, with its ]X7'sonnel of lords and queens and coiu'ts, so well-di'essed and so handsome. But the Peojole are ungrammatical, untidy, and their sins gaunt and ill-bred. Literature, strictly considered, has never recognized the People, and, whatever may be said, does not to-day. Speaking generally, the tendencies of hterature, as hith- erto pursued, have been to make mostly critical and querulous men. It seems as if, so far, there were some natural repugTiance between a literaiy and professional life, and the rude rank spirit of the Democracies. There is, in later hterature, a treatment of benevolence, a charity business, rife enough it is true ; but I know nothing more rare, eveu in this country, than a fit scien- tific estimate and reverent ajjpreciation of the Peoj)le — of their measureless wealth of latent power and capacity, their vast, artistic contrasts of lights and shades — with, in America, their entire reliability in emergencies, and a certain breadth of historic grandeui", of peace or war, far suspassing all the vaunted samples of book-heroes, or any haiit ton coteries, in all the records of the world. The movements of the late Secession war, and their results, to any sense that studies well and compre- hends them, show that Popular Democracy, whatever its faults and dangers, practically justifies itself beyond the proudest claims and wildest hopes of its enthusiasts. Probably no future age can know, but I well know, how the gist of this fiercest and most resolute of the world's warhke contentions resided exclusively in the unnamed, unknown rank and file ; and how the brunt of its labor of death was, to all essential purposes, Volunteered. The People, of their own choice, fighting, dying for their own idea, insolently attacked by the Secession- Slave-Pow^er, and its very existence imperiled. De- scending to detail, entering any of the armies, and mixing with the private soldiers, we see and have seen august spectacles. We have seen the alacrity with which the American-born populace, the peaceablest and most good-natured race in the world, and the most personally independent and intelligent, and the least fitted to submit 20 Democratic Vistas. to the irksomeness and exasperation of regimental disci- pline, sprang, at the first tap of the dram, to arms — not for gain, nor even glory, nor to repel invasion — but for an emblem, a mere abstraction — for the life, the safety of the Flag. We have seen the unequaled docility and obedience of these soldiers. We have seen them tried long and long by hojDelessness, mismanagement, and by defeat ; have seen the incredible slaughter toward or through which the armies, (as at first Fredericksburg, and afterward at the Wilderness,) still unhesitating- ly obeyed orders to advance. We have seen them in trench, or crouching behind breastwork, or tramp- ing in deep mud, or amid pouring rain or thick- falling snow, or under forced marches in hottest summer (as on the road to get to Gettysburg) — vast suffocating Gwarms, divisions, corps, with every single man so gTimed and black with sweat and dust, his own mother would not have known him — his clothes all dirty, stained and torn, with sour, accumulated sweat for perfume — many a comrade, perhaps a brother, sun-struck, staggering out, dying, by the roadside, of exhaustion — yet the great bulk bearing steadily on, cheery enough, hollow-bellied from hunger, but sinewy with unconquerable resolution. We have seen this race proved by wholesale by drearier, yet more fearful tests — the wound, the ampu- tation, the shattered face or limb, the slow, hot fever, long, impatient anchorage in bed, and all the forms of maiming, operation and disease. Alas ! America have we seen, though only in her early youth, already to hospital brought. There have we watched these sol- diers, many of them only boys in years — marked their decorum, their rehgious nature and fortitude, and their sweet affection. Wholesale, truly. For at the front, and through the camps, in countless tents, stood the regi- mental, brigade and division hospitals ; while every- where amid the laud, in or near cities, rose clusters of huge, white-washed, crowded, one-story wooden bar- racks, (Washington City alone, with its subui'bs, at one period, containing in her Army hospitals of this kind, 50,000 wounded and sick men) — and there ruled Agony with bitter scourge, yet seldom brought a cry ; Democratic Vistas. 21 and there stalked Death by day and night along the narrow aisles between the rows of cots, or by the blankets on the ground, and touched lightly many a poor sufferer, often with blessed, welcome touch. I know not whether I shall be understood, but I realize that it is finally from what I learned personally mixing in such scenes that I am now penning these pages. One night in the gloomiest period of the vvar, in the Patent Offica Hospital in Washington City, as I stood by the bedside of a Pennsylvania soldier, who lay, conscious of quick approaching death, yet perfectly calm, and with noble, spiritual manner, the veteran surgeon, turning aside, said to me, that though he had witnessed many, many deaths of soldiers, and had been a worker at Ball Kun, Antietam, Fredericksburg, &c., he had not seen yet the first case of man or boy that met the approach of dissolution with cowardly qualms or terror. My own observation fidly bears out the remark. What have we here, if not, towering above all talk and argument, the plentifully-supphed, last-needed proof of Democracy, in its pei'sonalities ? Curiously enough, too, the proof on this point comes, I should say, every bit as much from the South, as from the North. Although I have spoken only of the latter, yet I delib- erately include all. Grand, common stock ! to me the accomplished and convincing growth, prophetic of the future ; proof undeniable to sharpest sense, of perfect beauty, tenderness and pluck, that never Peudal lord, nor Greek, nor . Roman breed, 3'et rivaled. Let no tongue ever speak in disparagement of the American races, North or South, to one who has been through the war in the great army hospitals. Meantime, general Humanity, (for to that we return, as, for our purposes, what it really is, to bear in mind,) has always, in eveiy department, been full of perverse maleficence, and is so yet. In downcast hours the Soul thinks it always will be — but soon recovers from such sickly moods. I, as Democrat, see clearly enough, (as already illustrated,) the crude, defective streaks in all the strata of the common people ; the "specimens and vast collections of the ignorant, the credulous, the unfit 22 Democratic yisTAS. and uncoutli, the incaj)able, and the very low and poor. The eminent person just mentioned, sneeringiy asks whether we expect to elevate and improve a Nation's politics by absorbing such morbid collections and qual- ities therein. The point is a formidable one, and there will doubtless always be numbers of solid and reflective citizens who will never get over it. Our answer is gen- eral, and is involved in the scope and letter of this essay. We beheve the ulterior object of pohtical and all other government, (having, of course, provided for the police, the safety of life, property, and for the basic statute and common law, and their administration, always first in order,) to be, among the rest, not merely to rule, to re- press disorder, &c., but to develop, to open up to culti- vation, to encourage the possibilities of all beneficent and manly outcroppage, and of that aspiration for inde- pendence, and the pride and self-respect latent in all characters, (Or, if there be exceptions, we cannot, fix- ing otu" eyes on them alone, make theirs the rule for all.) I say the mission of government, henceforth, in civil- ized lands, is not repression alone, and not authority alone, not even of law, nor by that favorite standard of the eminent writer, the rule of the best men, the born heroes and captains of the race, (as if such ever, or one time out of a hundred, got into the big places, elective or dynastic!) — but, higher than the highest arbitrary rule, to train communities tlrrough all their grades, be- ginning with individuals and ending there again, to rule themselves. What Christ appeared for in the moral-spiritual field for Human-kind, namely, that in respect to the absolute Soul, there is in the jjossession of such by each single individual, something so transcendent, so incapable of gTadations, (like life,) that, to that extent, it places all beings on a common level, utterly regardless of the dis- tinctions of intellect, virtue, station, or any height or lowliness whatever — is talhed in hke manner, in this other field, by Democracy's rule that men, the Nation, as a common aggregate of li\dng identities, afibrding in each a separate and complete subject for freedom, worldly thrift and hapx^iness, and for a fair chance for Democratic Vistas. 23 growth, and for protection in citizenship, &c., must, to the poHtical extent of the suffrage or vote, if no further, be placed, in each and in the whole, on one broad, pri- mary, universal, common platform. The purpose is not altogether direct ; perhaps it is more indii'ect. For it is not that Democracy is of ex- haustive account, in itself. Perhaps, indeed, it is, (like Natui'e,) of no account in itself. It is that, as we see, it is the best, perhaps only, fit and full means, formu- later, general caller-forth, trainer, for the million, not for grand material personalities only, but for immortal souls. To be a voter with the rest is not so much ; and this, like every institute, will have its imperfections. But to become an enfi'anchised man, and now, impedi- ments removed, to stand and start without humiliation, and equal with the rest ; to commence, or have the road cleared to commence, the grand experiment of develop- ment, whose end, (perhaps requiring several genera- tions,) m?.y be the forming of a full-grown man or woman — that is something. To ballast the State is also secured, and in our times is to be secured, in no other way. We do not, (at any rate I do not,) put it either on the ground that the People, the masses, even the best of them, are, in their latent or exhibited quahties, essen- tially sensible and good — nor on the ground of their rights ; but that, good or bad, rights or no rights, the Democratic formula is the only safe and preservative one for coming times. We endow the masses vnth the suffrage for their own sake, no doubt ; then, perha] s still more, from another point of view, for community's sake. Leading the rest to the sentimentalists, we jore- sent Freedom as sufficient in its scientific aspects, cold as ice, reasoning, deductive, clear and jDassionless as crystal. Democracy too is law, and of the strictest, amplest kind. Many suppose, (and often in its own ranks the error,) that it means a throwing aside of law, and run- ning riot. But, briefly, it is the superior law, not alone that of physical force, the body, which, adding to, it supersedes with that of the spirit. Law is the unshaka- 24 Democratic* Vistas. ble order of tlie universe forever ; and the law over all, and law of laws, is the law of successions ; that of the superior law, in time, gradually supplanting and over- whelming the inferior one. (While, for myself, I would cheerfully agree — first covenanting that the formative tendencies shall be administered in favor, or, at least not against it, and that this reservation be closely con- strued— that until the individual or community' show due signs, or be so minor and fractional as not to en- danger the State, the condition of authoritative tutel- age may continue, and self-government must abide its time.) — Nor is the esthetic point, always an important one, without fascination for highest aiming souls. The com- mon ambition strains for elevations, to become some privileged exclusive. The master sees greatness and health in being part of the mass. Nothing will do as well as common ground. Would you have in yourself the divine, vast, general law? Then merge j'ourself in it. And, topping Democracy, this most alluring record, that ib alone can bind, and ever seeks to bind, all ra- tions, all men, of however various and distant lands, into a brotherhood, a family. It is the old, yet ever- modern dream of Earth, out of her eldest and her youngest, her fond philosophers and poets. Not that half only, Individualism, which isolates. There is an- other half, which is Adhesiveness or Love, that fuses, ties and aggregates, making the races comrades, and fraternizing all. Both are to be vitalized by Religion, (sole worthiest elevator of man or State,) breathing into the proud, material tissues, the breath of life. For I say at the core of Democracy, finally, is the Religious element. All the Religions, old and new, are there. Nor may the Scheme step forth, clothed in resplendent beauty and command, till these, bearing the best, the latest fruit, the Spiritual, the aspii'ational, shall fully appear. A portion of our pages we might indite ^Yith refer- ence toward Europe, especially the British jjart of it, more than our own land, and thus, perhaps not abso- Democratic Vistas. 25 lutely needed for the Lome reader. But tlie whole ques- tion hangs together, and fastens and hnks all peoples. The Liberalist of to-day has tins advantage over antique or medieval times, that his doctrine seeks not only to universalize, but to individualize. Then the great Vv^ord Solidarity has arisen. I say of all dangers to a Nation, as things exist in our day, there can be no greater one than having cer- tain portions of the people set off fi'om the rest by a line di'awn — they not privileged as others, but degraded, humihated, made of no account. Much quackery teems, of coarse, even on Democracy's side, yet does not really afiect the orbic quality of the mattei-. To work in, if we may so term it, and justify God, his divine aggre- gate, the People, (or, the veritable horned and sharp- tailed Devil, his aggregate, if there be who convulsively insist upon it,) — this, I say, is what Democracy is for; and this is what our America means, and is doing — may I not say, has done ? If not, she means nothing more, and does nothing more, than any other land. And as, by virtue of its kosmical, antiseptic power, Nature's stomach is fully strong enough not only to digest the morbific matter always presented, not to be turned aside, and perhaps, indeed, intuitively gravitating thither — but even to change such contributions into nutriment for highest use and life — so American Democracy's. That is the lesson we, these days, send over to European lands by every western breeze. And, truly, whatever may be said in the way of ab- stract argument, for or against the theory of a wider democratizing of institutions in any civilized countr^^, much trouble might well be saved to all European lands by recognizing this palpable fact, (for a palj)able fact it is,) that some form of such democratizing is about the only resource now left. Tfial, or chronic dissatisfaction continued, mutterings which grow annually louder and louder, till, in due course, and pretty swiftly in most cases, the inevitable crisis, crash, dynastic ruin. Any- thing worthy to be called statesmanship in the Old World, I should say, among the advanced students, 2(> Democratic Vistas. adepts, or men of any brains, does not debate to-day whether to bold on, attempting to lean baclc and mon- archize, or to look forward and democratize — but how, and in what degree and part, most prudently to demo- cratize. The diiSculties of the transfer may be fearful ; perhaps none here in our America can tralj know them. T, for one, fully acknowledge them, and sympathize deeply. But there is Time, and must be Faith ; and Opportunities, though gradual and slow, will e-very- where abroad be born. There is (turning home again,) a thoi-rght, or fact, I must not forget — subtle and vast, dear to America, twin-sister of its Democracy — so ligatured indeed to it, that cither's death, if not the other's also, would make that other Kve out life, dragging a corpse, a loathsome horrid tag and burden forever at its feet. AYhat the idea of Messiah was to the ancient race of Israel, through storm and calm, through public glory and their name's humihation, tenacious, refusing to be ar- gued with, shedding all shafts of ridicule and disbelief, undestroyed by captivities, battles, deaths — for neither the scalding blood of war, nor the rotted ichor of peace could ever wash it out, nor has yet — a great Idea, bed- ded in Judah's heart — som'ce of ihc loftiest Poetry the world yet knows — continuing on the same, thoaigh all else varies — the spinal thread of the incredible romance of that people's career along five thousand years, — So runs this thought, this fact, amid oiu' own land's race and history. It is the thought of Oneness, averaging, including all ; of Identity — the indissoluble sacred Union of These States. The eager and often inconsiderate appeals of reform- ers and revolutionists are indispensable to counter- balance the inertness and fossilism making so large a part of human institutions. The latter will always take care of themselves — the danger being that they rapidly tend to ossifj' us. The former is to be treated with in- dulgence, and even respect. As circulation to air, so is agitation raid a plentiful degree of speculative license De:.ioceatic Vistas. 27 to political and mcral sanity. Indirect!}', but snrely, goodness, virtue, law, (of the very best,) follow Free- dom. These, to Democracy, are what the keel is to the ship, or saltness to the ocean. The true gravitation-hold of Liberalism in the United States will be a more universal ownership of property, general homesteads, general comfort — a vast, inter- twining reticulation of wealth. As the human frame, or, indeed, any object in this manifold Universe, is best kept together by the simple miracle of its own cohesion, and the necessity, exercise and profit thereof, so a great and varied Nationality, occupying millions of square miles, were firmest held and knit by the jDrineiple of the safety and endurance of the aggregate of its middling property owners. So that, from another point of view, ungracious as it may sound, and a paradox after what we have been say- ing. Democracy looks with suspicious, ill-satisfied eye upon the very poor, the ignorant, and on those out of business. She asks for men and women with occupa- tions, well-off, owners of houses and acres, and with cash in the bank — and with some cravings for litera- ture, too ; and must have them, and hastens to make them. Luckily, the seed is akeady well-sown, and has taken ineradicable root.* — Huge and mighty are our Days, our republican lands — and most in their rapid shiftings, their changes, all in the interest of the Cause. As I write this pass- * For fear of mistake, I may as well distinctly announce, as cheerfully included in the model and standard of These Vistas, a practical, stirring, worldly, money-making-, even materialistic character. It is undeniable that our farms, stores, offices, dry- goods, coal and groceries, enginery, cash-accounts, trades, earn- ings, markets, &c., should be attended to in earnest, and actively pursued, just as if they had a real and permanent existence. I perceive clearly that the extreme business energy, and this almost maniacal appetite for wealth prevalent in the United States, are vital parts of amelioration and progress, and perhaps indispensa- bly needed to prepare the very results I demand. My theory in- cludes riches, and the getting of riches, and the amplest products, power, activity, inventions, movements, &c. Upon these, as upon pa!;ntrata, I raise the edifice designed in These Vistas. 28 DE^iocnATiG Vistas. ago, (November, 1863,) the din of disputation rages aroiind me. Acrid the temper of the parties, vital the pending questions. CongTess convenes ; the President sends his Message ; Reconstruction is still in abeyance ; the nominations and the contest for the twenty-first Presidentiad draw close, with loudest threat and bustle. Of these, and all the like of these, the eventuations I know not ; but well I know that behind theiu, and what- ever their eventuatioaas, the really vital things remain safe and certain, and all the needed work goes on. Time, with soon or later supercihousness, disjDoses of Presidents, Congressmen, party platforms, and such. Anon, it clears the stage of each and any m.ortal shred that thinks itself so potent to its day ; and at and after which, (with precious, golden exceptions once or twice in a century,) all that relates to sir potency is flung to moulder in a bui-ial-vauit, and no one bothers himself the least bit about it afterward. But the People ever remains, tendencies continue, and all the idiocratic transfers in unbroken chain go on. In a fevf years the dominion-heart of America will be far inland, toward the West. Our future National Capitol may not be where the present one is. It is possible, nay likely, that in less than fifty years, it will migrate a thousand or two miles, will be re-founded, and every thing belonging to it made on a different plan, original, far more superb. The main social, political spine-character cf The States will probably run along the Ohio, Missouri and Missis- sippi Rivers, and west and north of them, including Canada. Those regions, with the group of powerful brothers toward the Pac'fic, (destined to the mastership of that sea and its countless Paradises of islands,) will compact and settle the traits of America, with all the old retained, but more expanded, grafted on newer, hardier, purely native stock. A giant growth, compo- site from the rest, getting their contribution, absorbing it, to make it more illustrious. From the North, Intel- lect, the sun of things — also the idea of iinswayable Justice, anchor amid the last, the wildest tempests. From the South, the living Soul, the animus of good and bad, haughtilv admitting no demonstration but i^s Democeatic Vistas. 29 own. While froin the "West itself comes solid Person- ality, with blood and brawn, and the deej) quality of all-accepting fusion. Pohtical Democracy, as it exists and practically works in America, with all its threatening evils, supphes a training-school for making grand young men. It is life's gymnasium, not of good only, but of all. We try often, though we fall back often. A brave delight, fit for freedom's athletes, fills these arenas, and fully satis- fies, out of the action in them, irrespective of success. Whatever we do not attain, we at any rate attain the experiences of the fight, the hardening of the strong campaign, and throb with ciu'rents of attempt at least. Time is ample. Let the victors come after us. Not for nothing docs evil play its part among men. Judging from the main portions of the histoi-y of the world, so far, justice is always in jeopardy, peace walks amid hourly pitfalls, and of slavery, misery, meanness, the craft of tyrants and the credulity of the populace, in some of their protean forms, no voice can at any time say. They are not. The clouds break a little, and the sun shines out — but soon and certain the lowering dark- ness falls again, as if to last forever. Yet is there an immortal coiu'age and jjrophecy in every sane soul that cannot, must not, under auy circumstances, capitulate. Vive, the attack — the perennial assault ! Vive, the un- popular cause — the spu-it that audaciously aims — the never-abandoned efforts, pursued the same amid oppo- sing proofs and precedents. — Once, before the war, (Alas! I dare not say how many times the mood has come!) I, too, was filled with doubt and gloom. A foreigner, an acute and good man, had impressively said to me, that day — putting in form, indeed, my own observations : I have traveled much in the United States, and watched their politicians, and listened to the speeches of the candidates, and read the journals, and gone into the public houses, and heard the ungaiarded talk of men. And I have found your vaunted America honey-combed fi'om top to toe with infidelism, even to itself and its own programme. I 30 Demockatic Vistas. have marked tlie brazen hell-faces of secession and slavery gazing defiantly froui all the windows and door- ways. I have everywhere found, primarily, thieves and scalliwags arranging the nominations to offices, and sometimes tilling the offices them.selves. I have found the North just as full of bad stufif as the South. Of the holders of public ofliee in the Nation, or in the States, or their municipalities, I have found that not one in a hundred has been chosen by any spontaneous selection of the outsiders, the people, but all have been nomi- nated and put through by little or large caucuses of the politicians, and have got m by corrupt rings and elec- tioneering, not capacity or desert. I have noticed how the millions of sturdy farmers and mechanics are thus the helpless supple-jacks of comparatively few politi- cians. And I have noticed more and more, the alarm- ing spectacle of parties usurping the Government, and openly and shamelessly wielding it for party purposes. Sad, serious, deep truths. Yet are there other, still deeper, amply confronting, dominating truths. Over those politicians and great and httle rings, and over all their insolence and wiles, and over the powerfulest par- ties, looms a Power, too sluggish may-be, but ever hold- ing decisions and decrees in hand, ready, with stern process, to execute them as soon as plainly needed, and at times, indeed, summarily crushing to atoms the mightiest j):irties, even in the houj; of their pride. In saner hours far different are the amounts of these things from what, at first sight, they appear. Though it is no doubt important who is elected President or Governor, Mayor or Legislator, (and full of dismay when incompetent or vile ones get elected, as they sometimes do,) there are other, quieter contingencies, infinitely more important. Shams, &c., will always be the show, like ocean's scum ; enough, if waters deep and clear make up the rest. Enough, that while the piled embroidered shoddy gaud and fraud spreads to the superficial eye, the hidden warp and weft are gen- uine, and Avill wear forever. Enough, in short, that the race, the land which could raise such as the late Eebel- lion, could also put it down. Demockatic Vistas. 31 The average man of a land at last only is important. He, in These States, remains immortal owner and boss, deriving good uses, somehow, out of any sort of servant in ofiice, even the basest ; because, (certain universal requisites, and their settled regularity and protection, being first secured,) a Nation like ours, in a sort of geo- logical formation state, trying continually new experi- ments, choosing -new delegations, is not served by the best men only, but sometimes more by those that pro- voke it — by the combats they arouse. Thus national rage, fury, discussion, &c., better than content. Thus, also, the warning signals, invaluable for after times. What is more di-araatic than the spectacle we have seen repeated, and' doubtless long shall see — the pop- ular judgment taking the successful candidates on trial in the offices — standing off, as it were, and observing them and their doings for a while, and always giving, finally, the fit, exactly due reward ? I think, after all, the sublimest part of political his- tory, and its culmination, is currently issuing from the American people. I know nothing grander, better ex- ercise, better digestion, niore positive proof of the past, the triumphant result of faith in humankind, than a well-contested American national election. Then still the thought retui-ns, (like the thread-pass- age in overtures,) giving the key and echo to these pages. When I pass to and fro, dift'erent latitudes, dif- ferent seasons, beholding the crowds of the great cities, New York, Boston, Philadelphia, Cincinnati, Chicago, St. Louis, San Francisco, New Orleans, Baltimore — when I mix with these interminable swarms of alert, turbulent, good-natured, independent citizens, mechan- ics, clerks, young persons — at the idea of this mass of men, so fresh and free, so loving and so proud, a singu- lar awe falls upon me. I feel, with dejection and amaze- ment, that among our geniuses and talented writers or speakers, few or none have yet really spoken to this people, or created a single image-making work that could be called for them — or absorbed the central spirit and the idiosyncrasies which are theirs, and which, thus, 32 De:vioci?atic Vistas. in highest ranges, so far remain entirely uncelebrated, imexpressecl. Dominion strong is the body's ; dominion stronger is the mind's. What has filled, and fills to-day our intel- lect, oui- fancy, furnishing the- standards therein, is yet foreign. The great poeius, Shahesi^.eare included, are poisonous to the idea of the pride and dignity of the common people, the life-blood of Democracy. The models of oiu' hterature, as we get it from other lands, ultramarine, have had their bu'th in courts, and basked and grown in castle sunshine ; all smells of princes' favors. Of workers of a certain sort, we have, indeed, plenty, contributing after their kind ; many elegant, many learned, all complacent. But, touched by the National test, or tried by the standards of Democratic personality, they wither to ashes. I sslj I have not seen a single v^riter, artist, lecturer, or what not, that has confronted the voiceless but ever erect and active, pervading, underlying will and typic Aspiration of the land, in a spirit kindred to itself. Do you call those genteel little creatures American poets ? Do you term that perpetual, pistareen, paste-pot work, American art, American drama, taste, verse ^ I think I hear, echoed as from some mountain-top afar in the West, the scorn- ful laugh of the Genius of These States. — Democracy, in silence, biding its time, ponders its own ideals, not of Literature and Ai-t only — not of men only, but of women. The idea of the women of America, (extricated from this daze, this fossil and unhealthy air which hangs about the word Lady.) developed, raised to become the robust equals, workers, and, it may be, even practical and political deciders with the men — greater than man, we may admit, through then* divine maternity, always their towering, emblematical attri- bute— ^but great, at any rate, as man, in all depart- ments ; or, rather, capable of being so, soon as they realize it, and can bring themselves to give up toys and fictions, and launch forth, as men do, amid real, inde- pendent, stormy life. — Then, as toward oiu' thought's finale, (and, in that, DEMCCnATIG' '^"iST'AS. 33 orerarcliing the true sclaoLir's lesson,) wo liave to sp.y there can be no complete or epical presentation of De- mocracy iu the aggregate, or any thing like it, at this day, because its doctrines will only be efiecfcually incar- nated in any one branch, when, in all, their spirit is at the root and centre. Far, far, indeed, stretch, in dis- tance, our vistas ! How much is still to be disentangled, freed ! How long it takes to make this world see that it is, in itself, the final authority and rehance ! Did you, too, O fi'icnd, suppose Democracy was only for elections, for politics, and for a party name ? I say Democracy is only of use there that it may pass on and c )me to its llower and fruits in manners, in the highest f jrms of interaction between men, and tlieii- beliefs — in Religion, Literatiu'e, colleges, and schools — Democracy in all pubhc and private life, and in the Army and Navy.* I have intimated that, as a paramount scheme, it has yet few or no full realizers and believers. I do not see, either, that it owes any serious thanks to noted propa- gandists or champions, or has been essentially helped, though often harmed, b}^ them. It has been and is car- ried on by all the moral forces, and by trade, finance, machinery, intercommunications, and, in fact, by all the developments of history, and can no more be stopped than the tides, or the earth in its orbit. Doubtless, also, it resides, crude and latent, well down in the hearts of the fair average of the American-born people, mainly in the agricultural regions. But it is not yet, there or anywhere, the fully-received, the fervid, the ab- solute faith. I submit, therefore, that the fruition of Democracy, on aught Hke a grand scale, resides altogether in the future. As, under any profound and comprehensive view of the gorgeous-composite Feudal world, we see * The whole present system of the officering and jnrFonnel of theArmy and Navy of These States, and the spirit and letter of their trebly-aristocratic rules and repfulations, is a monstrous ex- otic, a nuisance and revolt, and belnnor here just as much as orders of nobility, or tlie Pope's council of Cardinals. I say if the pres- ,ent theory of our Army and Navy is sensible and true, then the rest of America is an unmitiijated" fraud. 34 DErjocFtATic Vistas. in it, througli the long ages and cycles of ages, the re- sults of a deep, integral, linman and divine principle, or fountain, from which issued laws, ecclesia, manners, in- etitutes, costumes, pei'sonahties, poems, (hitherto une- qualed,) faithfully partaking of their source, and in- deed only arising either to betoken it, or to furnish parts of that varied-flowing display, whose centre was one and absolute — so, long ages hence, shall the due hisioiian or critic make at least an equal retrospect, an equal History for the Democratic principle. It, loo, must be adorned, credited with its results — then, when i'', with imperial power, through amplest time, has domi- nated mankind — has been the source and test of all the moral, esthetic, social, political, and religious expres- sions and institutes of the civilized world — has begotten them in spirit and in form, and carried them to its own unprecedented heights — has had, (it is possible,) monas- tics and ascetics, more numerous, more devout than the monks aud priests of all previous creeds — has swayed the ages with a breadth and rectitude tallying Nature's own — has fashioned, systematized, and ti'iumphanfcly fin- ished and carried out, in its own interest, aud with un- paralleled success, a New Earth and a New Man. — Thus we presume to write, as it were, upon things that exist not, and travel by maps yet unmade, aud a blank. But the throes of birth are iipon us ; and we have something of this advantage in seasons of strong formations, doubts, suspense — ^for then the afflatus of such themes haply may fall upon us, more or less ; and then, hot from surrounding war and revolution, our speech, though without polished coherence, and a fail- ure by the standard called criticism, comes forth, real at least, as the lightnings. And may-be v/e, these days, have, too, our own re- ward— (for there are yet some, m all lands, worthy to be so encouraged.) Though not for us the joy of en- tering at the last the conquered city — nor ours the chance ever to see with our own eyes the peerless power and splendid eclal of the Democratic principle, arrived at meridian, filling the world with effulgence and majesty far beyond those of past history's kings, Democeatig Vistas. 35 or all dynastic sway — tlierc is yet, to -wlioevcr is eligible among' us, the proi:)iietic vision, tlie joy of being tossed in the brave turmoil of these times — the promulgation and the path, obedient, lowly reverent to the voice, the gestui'e of the god, or holy ghost, which others see not, hear not — with the proud consciousness that amid what- ever clouds, seductions, or heart-wearying postpone- ments, we have never deserted, never despaired, never abandoned the Faith. So much contributed, to be conned w^ell, to help pre- pare and brace our edifice, our plann'd Idea— we still j^roceed to give it in another of its aspects — perhaps tJie main, the high fa(;ade of all. For to Democracy, the leveler, the unyielding principle of the average, is surely joined another principle, equally unyielding, closely tracking the first, indispensable to it, opposite, (as the sexes are opposite,) and whose existence, con- fronting and ever modifying the other, often clashing, paradoxical, yet neither of highest avail without the other, plainly supphes to these grand cosmic politics of ours, and to the launched forth mortal dangers of Ke- publicanism, to-day or any day, the coitnterpart and oflset, whereby Nature restrains the deadly original re- lentlessness of all her first-class laws. This second principle is Individuality, the pride and centripetal iso- lation of a human being in himself, — Identity — Person- alism. Whatever the name, its acceptance and thorough infusion through the organizations of political common- alty now shooting Aurora-like about the world, are of utmost importance, as the principle itself is needed for very life's sake. It forms, in a sort, or is to form, the compensating balance-wheel of the successful working machinery of aggregate America. — And, if wethink of it, what does civilization itself rest upon — and what object has it, with its religions, arts, schools, &c., but rich, luxuriant, varied Personal- ism ? To that, all bends ; and it is because toward such result Democracy alone, on anything like Nature's scale, breaks up the limitless fallows of humankind, and plants 38 Democratic Vistas. tlie seed, r.ml gives fair play, that its claims now precede the rest. The Literadiro, Songs, Esthetics, &c., of a country are of importance principally because they furnish the materials and suggestions of Personality for the women and men of that couutrj-, and enforce them in a thou- sand effective ways.* As the topmost claim of a strong consolidating of the Nationality of These States, is, that only by such -povr- erful compaction can the separate States secure that full and free svdng Vv'ithin their spheres, which is becoming to them, each after its kind, so v/ill Individuality, with unimpeded branchings, flourish best under imperial Rg- jDublican forms. — Assuming Democracy to bo at present in its embryo "•'■ After the rest is satiated, all interest culminates in the field of Persons, and never fla^s there. Accordin<;ly in this field hav » the great poets and Literatnscs signally toiled. They too, in all ages, all lauds, have been . creators, fashioning, making types of men and women, as Adam and Eve are made in the divine fable. Behold, shaped, bred by Orientalism, Feudalism, through their long growth and culmination, and breeding back iu return, (When shall we have an equal series, typical of Democracy ?) — I3ehokl, commencing in primal Asia, (apparently formulated, in what beginning wo know, in the gods of the mythologies, and coming down thence,) a few samples out of the countless product, bequeathed to the moderns, bequeathed to America as studies. For the men, Yudishtura, Eama, Arjuua, Solomon, most of the Old and New Testament characters ; Achilles, Ulysses, Theseus, Prometheus, Hercules, iEneas, St. John, Plutarcli's heroes; Ihc Merlin of Celtic bards, the Cid, Arthur and his knights, Siegfried and Hagen in the Niebelungen; Roland and Oliver ; Roiistam in the Shah-Nehmah ; and so on to Milton's Satan, Cervantes' Don Quixote, Shakespeare's Hamlet, Richard II., Lear, Marc Antony, &c., nnd the modern Faust. These, I say, are models, combined, adjusted to other standards than America's, but of priceless value to her and hers. Among women, the goddesses of the Egyptian, Indian and Greek mythologies, certain Bible characters, especially the Holy Mother ; Cleopatra, Penelope ; the portraits of Brunhelde and Chriemhilde in the Niebelungen ; Oriana, Una, frc. ; the modern Consuelo, Walter Scott's Jeanie and Effie Deans, &o.. &c. (Woman, portrayed or outlined at her best, or as perfect human Mother, does not yet, it seems to me, fully appear in Literature.) Dkmogratio Vistas. 37 condition, and that the only largo and satisfactory justi- fication of it resides in the future, mainly through the copious production of perfect characters among the people, and through the advent of a sane and pervading Religiousness, it is with regard to the atmosphere and spaciousness tit for such characters, and of certain nutri- ment and cartoon-draftings proper for them, and indi- cating them, for -New ^Yorld purposes, that I continue the present statement — an exploration, as of new ground, wherein, li]i;e other primitive surveyors, I must do the best I can, leaving it to those who come after me to do much better. The service, in fact, if. any, must be to merely break a sort of first j)ath or track, no matter hov/ rude and ungeometrical. We have fi'equently printed the word Democracy. Yet I cannot too often rejoeat that it is a word the real gist of which still sleeps, quite unawakened, notwith- standing the resonance and the many angry tempests, out of which its syllables have come, from pen or tongue. It is a great word, whose history, I suppose, remains unwritten, because that history has yet to be enacted. It is, in some sort, younger brother of another great and often-used vrord, Nature, whose history also waits unwritten. As I perceiv e, the tendencies of oiu* day, in The States, (and I entirely respect them,) are toward those vast and sweeping movements, influences, moral and physical, of humanity, now and always current over the planet, on the scale of the impulses of the elements. Then it v.i also good to reduce the whole matter to the considera- tion of a single self, a man, a woman, on permanent grounds. Even for the treatment of the universal, in politics, metaphysics, or anythmg, sooner or later we come down to one single, solitary Soul. There is, in sanest hours, a consciousness, a thought that rises, independent, lifted out from all else, calm, like the stars, shining eternal. This is the thought of Identity — ,yours for you, whoever you are, as mine for me. Miracle of miracles, beyond statement, most spir- itual and vaguest of earth's dreams, yet hardest basic fact, and only entrance to all facts. In such devout 38 Democratic Vistas. liotirs, in the midst of tlie significant wonders of lieaven and earth, (significant only because of tlie Me in the centre,) creeds, conventions, fall away and become of no account before this simple idea. Under the luminous- ness of real vision, it alone takes possession, takes value. Like the shadowy clv^arf in the fable, once liberated and looked upon, it expands over the whole earth, and sj^reads to the roof of heaven. The quality of Being, in the object's self, according to its own central idea and pux-pose, and of growing therefrom and thereto — not crilicism by other stand- ards, and adjustments thereto — is the lo.-son of Nature. True, the full man vv'isely gathers, culls, absorbs ; but if, engaged disproportionately in that, he slights or overlap's the precious idiocrasy and special nativity and intention that he is, tiie man's self, the main thing, is a failure, however wide his general cultivation. Thus, in our times, refinement and delicatesso are not only at- tended to sufiiciently, but threaten to eat us up, like a cancer. Akeady, the Democratic genius watches, ill- pleased, these tendencies. Provision for a little healthy rudeness, savage virtue, justification of what one has in one's self, whatever it is, is demanded. Negative quali- ties, even deficiencies, would be a relief. Singleness and normal simplicity, and separation, amid this more and more complex, more and more artificializcd, state of society — how pensively we yearn for thcui! how we would welcome their return ! In some such direction, then — at any rate enough to preserve the balance — we feel called upon to throw what weight we can, not for absolute reasons, but cur- rent ones. To prune, gather, trim, conform, and ever cram and stuff, is the jiressure of our days. While aware that mucli can be said even in behalf of all this, we perceive that we have not now to consider the ques- tion of what is demanded to serve a half-starved and barbarous nation, or set of nations, but what is most applicable, most pertinent, for numerous congeries of conventional, over-corpulent societies already becoming stifled and rotten with flatulent, iufidelistic hterature, and polite conformity and art. Demochatic Vistas. 39 lu addition to established sciences, we suq-gest a science as it were of healthy average Persoiialism, on original-universal grounds, the object of which should be to raise up and supply through The States a copious race of superb American men end women, cheerful, re- ligious, ahead of any yet known. America, leaving out her joolitics, has yet morally originated nothing. She seems singularly unaware that the models of persons, books, manners, &c., appropriate for former conditions and for European lands, are but exiles and exotics here. No current of her hfe, as shown on the surfaces of what is'authoritatively called her So- ciety, accepts or runs into moral, social, or esthetic De- mocracy ; but all the currents set squarely against it. Never, in the Old World, was thoroughly upholstered Exterior Appearance and show, mental and other, buiJt entirely on the idea of caste, and on the sufficiency of mere outside Acquisition — never were Glibness, verbrd Intellect, more the test, the emulation — more loftily elevated as head and sample — than they are on the' surface of our Republican States this day. The writers of a time hint the mottoes of its gods. The word of the modern, 8%j these voices, is the word Culture. "VVe find ourselves abruptly in close quarters with the enemy. This word Culture, or what it has come to rep- resent, involves, by contrast, our whole theme, and has been, indeed, the spur, urging us to engagement. Cer- tain questions arise. As now taught, accepted and carried out, are not the processes of Culture rapidly creating a class of super- cilious infidels, who believe in nothing? Shall a man lose himself in countless masses of adjustments, and be so shaped with reference to this, that, and the other, that the simply good and healthy and brave parts of him are reduced and clipped away, hke the bordering of box in a garden ? You can cultivate corn and I'oses and orchards — ^but who shall cultivate the primEeval forests, the mountain peaks, the ocean, and the tum- bhng gorgeousness of the clouds? Lastly— Is the reaclily-givcn reply that Cultui'e only seeks to help, 40 DEMOCRATIC Vistas. systematize, and put in attitude, the elements of fer- tility and power, a conclusive reply ? I do not so much object to the name, or word, but I should certainly insist, for the piu'poses of These States, on a radical change of category, in the distribution of precedence. I should demand a programme of Cul- ture, di'awn out, not for a single class alone, or for the parlors or lecture-rooms, but with an eye to practical life, the West, the w^orting-men, the facts of farms and jackplanes and engineers, and of the broad range of the women also of the middle and w^orking strata, and with reference to the perfect equality of women, and of a grand and powerful motherhood. I should demand of this programme or theory a scope generous enough to include the widest human area. It must have for its spinal meaning the formation of a typical Personality of character, eligible to the uses of the high average of men — and not restricted by conditions ineligible to the masses. The best cultui'e will always be that of the manly and eoui'ageous instincts, and Roving perceptions, and of self-respect — aiming to form, over this continent, an Idiocrasy of Universalism, which, true child of America, will bring joy to its mother, returning to her in her own spirit, recruiting myriads of men, able, natui'al, per- cej)tive, tolerant, devout, real men, alive and full, be- lievers in her, America, and with some definite instinct Avhy and for what she has arisen, most vast, most formi- dable of historic births, and is, now and here, with won- derful step, journeying through Time. The problem, as it seems to me, presented to the New World, is, under permanent law and order, and after preserving cohesion, (ensemble- Individualit3%) at all hazards, to vitalize man's free play of special Per- sonalism, recognizing in it something that calls ever more to be considered, fed, and adopted as the substra- tum for the best that belongs to us, (government indeed is for it,) including the new esthetics of oiu* future. To formulate beyond this present vagueness — to help line and put before us, the species, or a specimen of the Democratic Vistas. 41 species, of the Democratic ethnology of the future, is a work toward which the Genius of our land, with pecu- liar encouragement, invites her well-wishers. Ah'eady, certain hmnings, more or less grotesque, more or less fading and watery, have appeared. We too, (repressing doubts and qualms,) will try our hand. Attempting then, however crudely, a basic model or portrait of Persbnahty, for general use for the manli- ness of The States, (and doubtless that is most useful which is most simple, comprehensive for all, and toned low enough,) we should prepare the canvas well before- hand. Parentage must consider itself in advance. (Will the time hasten when fatherhood and mother- hood shall become a science — and the noblest science ?) To our model a clear-blooded, strong-fibred physique, is indispensable ; the questions of food, drink, air, exer- cise, assimilation, digestion, can never be intermitted. Out of these we descry a well-begotten Selfhood — in youth, fresh, ardent, emotional, aspiring, full of adven- ture ; at maturity, brave, perceptive, under control, neither too talkative nor too reticent, neither flippant nor sombre ; of the bodily figure, the movements easy, the complexion showing the best blood, somewhat flushed, breast expanded, an erect attitude, a voice whose so'and outvies music, eyes of calm and steady gaze, yet capable also of flashing — and a general pres- ence that holds its own in the company of the highest. For it is native Personality, and that alone, that endows a man to stand before Presidents or Generals, or in any distinguished collection, with aplomb ; and not Culture, or any knowledge or intellect whatever. With regard to the mental-educational part of our model, enlai'gement of intellect, stores of cephalic knowledge, &c., the concentration thitherward of all the customs of our age, especially in America, is so overweening, and provides so fully for that part, that, important and necessarj^ as it is, it really needs nothing from us here — except, indeed, a phrase of warning and restraint. Manners, costumes, too, though important, we need not dwell upon here. Like beauty, grace of motion, 42 Democratic Vistal-. &c., they are results. Causes, original things, being attended to, tlie right manners unerringly follow. Much is said, among artists, of the grand style, as if it were a thing by itself. When a man, artist or whoever, has health, pride, acuteuess, noble aspirations, he has the motive-elements of the grandest style. The rest is but manipulation, (yet that is no small matter.) — Leaving still unspecified, several sterling parts of any model tit tor the future Personality of America, I must not fail, again and ever, to pronounce rpyself on one, probably the least attended to in modern times — a hiatus, indeed, threatening its gloomiest consequences after us. I mean the simple, unsophisticated Conscience, the primary moral element. If I were asked to specify in what quarter lie the grounds of darkest dread, re- specting the America of our hopes, I should, have to point to this particailar. I should demand the invaria- ble application to Individuality, this day, and any day, of that old, ever-true jDlumb-rule of persons, eras, na- tions. Our triumphant modern Civihzee, vrith his all- schooling and his wondrous appliances, will still show himself but an amjoutation while this deficiency remains. Beyond, (assuming a more hopeful tone,) the verte- bration of the manly and womanly Personalism of our Western World, can only be, and is, indeed, to be, (I hope,) its all penetrating Religiousness. The architec- ture of Individuahty will ever prove various, with count- less different combinations ; but here they rise as into common pinnacles, some higher, some less high, only all pointing upward. ludee;!, the ripeness of Religion is doubtless to bo looked for in this field of Individuahty, and is a result that no organization or church can ever achieve. As history is poorty retained by what the technists call his- tory, and is not given out from their pages, except the learner has in himself the sense of the well-wrapt, never yet written, perhaps impossible to be written, history — S3 Religion, although casually arrested, and, after a fashion, preserved in the churches and creeds, does not depend at all uidou them, but is a part of the identified Democratic Vistas. 43 Soul, Tv'liicbj wlien greatest, knows not Bibles in the old way, but in new ways — the identified Soul, wliicli can really confront Religion when it extricates itself entirely fi-om the churches, and not before. PersonaUsni fuses this, and favors it. I should say, indeed, that only in the perfect uneontaniination and solitariness of Individuality may the spirituality of Re- ligion positively come forth at all. Only here, and on such terms, the meditation, the devout ecstasy, the soaring liight. Only here, communion with the mys- teries, the eternal problems, Whence ? whither ? Alone, and identity, and the mood — and the Soul emerges, and all statements, churches, sermons, melt away like va- j)ors. Alone, and silent thought, and awe, and aspira- tion— and then the interior consciousness, like a hith- erto unseen inscription, in magic ink, beams out its wondrous lines to the sense. Bibles may convey, and priests expound, but it is exclusively for the noiseless operation of one's isolated Self, to enter the pure ether of veneration, reach the divine levels, and commune with the unutterable. To practically enter into PoHtics is an important part of American personalism. To every young man, North and South, earnestly studying these things, I should here, as an offset to what I have said in former pages, now also say, that may-be to views of very largest scope, after all, perhaps the political, (and perhaps lit- erary and sociological,) America goes best about its development its own way — sometnnes, to tempontry sight, appalhng enough. It is the fashion among clil- lettants and fops to decry the whole formulation and personnel of the active politics of America, as beyond redemption, and to be carefully kept away from. See you that you do not fall into this error. America, it may be, is doing very well, upon the whole, notwith- standing these antics of the j)arties and their leaders, these half-brained nominees, and the many ignorant ballots, and many elected failures and blatherers. It is the dillettants, and all who shirk their duty, who are not doing well. As for you, I advise you to enter more 44 Democratic Vistas. strongly yet into i:)olitics. I ndvise every young' man to do so. Always inform yourself ; always do the best you can ; always vote. Disengage yourself from parties. They have been useful, and to some extent remain so ; bnt the floating, uncommitted electors, farmers, clerks, mechanics, the masters of parties — watching aloof, in- clining victory this, side or that side — such are the ones most needed, present and futiu'e. For America, if eligi- ble at all to dovv^nfall and ruin, is eligible within herself, not without ; for I see clearly that the combined foreign world could not beat her down. But these savage, wolfish parties alarm me. Owning no law but their own wdl, more and more combative, less and less toler- ant of the idea of ensemble and of equal brotherhood, the perfect equality of the States, the ever-overarching American ideas, it behooves you to convey yourself im- phcitly to no i^arty, nor submit blindly to theii" dic- tators, but steadily hold yourself judge and master over r.U of them. — So much, (hastily tossed together, and leaving far more unsaid,) for an ideal, or intimations of an ideal, toward American manhood. But the other sex, in our land, requires at least a basis of suggestion. I have seen a young American woman, one of a large family of daughters, who, some years since, migrated from her meagre country home to one of the northern cities, to gain her own support. She soon became an expert seamstress, but finding the employment too con- fining for her health and comfort, she went boldly to work, for others, to house-keep, cook, clean, &c. After trying several places, she fell upon one where she was suited. She has told me that she finds nothing de- grading in her position ; it is not inconsistent with personal dignity, self-respect, and the respect of others. She confers benefits and receives them. She has good health ; her presence itself is bealthy and bracing ; her character is unstained ; she has made herself under- stood, and preserves her independence, and has been able to help her parents and educate and get places for her sisters ; and her course of life is not without oppor- Democratic Vistas. 45 tunities for mental improvement, and of much quiet, uncosting- happiness and love. I have seen another woman who, from taste and ne- cessity conjoined, has gone into practical afiairs, carries on a mechanical business, partly works at it herself, dashes out more and more into real hardy life, is not abashed by the coarseness of the contact, hnows how to be firm and. silent at the same time, holds her own with unvar^ung coolness and decorum, and will com- pare, any day, with superior carpenters, farmers, and even boatmen and drivers. For all that, she has not lost the charm of the womanly nature, but preserves and bears it fully, though through such rugged pre- sentation. Then there is the wife of a mechanic, mother of two children, a woman of merely passable English educa- tion, but of fine wit, with all her ses's grace and intui- tions, who exhibits, indeed, such a noble female Person- ality, that I am fain to record it here. Never abnegating her own proper independence, but always genially pre- serving it, and what belongs to it— cooking, washing, child-niu'sing, house-tending, she beams sunshine out of all these duties, and makes them illustrious. Physi- ologicalty sweet and sound, loving work, practical, she yet knows that there are intervals, hov/ever fevv^, devoted to recreation, music, leisure, hosi^itality — and affords such intervals. Whatever she does, and wherever she is, that charm, that indescribable perfume of genuine womanhood, attends her, goes with her, exhales from her, which belongs of right to all the sex, and is, or ought to be, the invariable atmosphei'e and common aureola of old as well as young. My mother has described to me a resplendent person, down on Long Island, whom she knew years ago, in early days. She was known by the name of the Peace- maker. She was well toward eighty years old, of happy and sunny temj^erament, had always lived on a farm, was very neighborly, sensible and discreet, an invari- able and welcomed favorite, especially with young mar- ried women. She had numerous children and grand- children. She was uneducated, but possessed a native 46 Democratic Vistas. dignity. She had come to be a tacitly agreed upon domestic reguh^tor, judge, settler of difficulties, shep- herdess, and reconciler in the land. She was a sight to draw near and look upon, with her large figure, her profuse snow-white hair, dark eyes, clear coin^^lexioiip sweet breath, and peculiar j)ersonal magiietism. The foregoing portraits, I admit, are frightfully out of Hne from these imported models of womanly Per- sonality— the stock feminine characters of the cun-ent novelists, or of the foreign coui't poems, (Ophelias, Enids, Princesses, or Ladies of one thing or another,) v/hicli fill the envying di-eams of so many poor gii'ls, and are accepted by our young men, too, as supreme ideals of feminine excellence to be sought after. But I present mine just for a change. Then there are mutterings, (wo will not now stop to heed them here, but they must be heeded,) of some- thing more revolutionary. The day is coming when the deep questions of woman's entrance amid the arenas of practical life, politics, trades, &c., will not only be ar- gued all around us, but may be put to decision, and real experiment. — Of course, in These States, for both man and woman, we must entirely recast the types of highest Personality from what the Oriental, Feudal, Ecclesias- tical worlds bequeath us, and which yet fully possess the imaginative and esthetic fields of the United States, pictorial and melodramatic, not without use as studies, but making sad work, and forming a strange anachron- ism upon the scenes and exigencies around us. Of course, the old, undying elements remain. The task is, to successfully adjust them to new combina- tions, our own days. Nor is this so incredible. I can conceive a community, to-day and here, in which, on a sufficient scale, the perfect I'ersonalities, without noise, meet ; say in some pleasant Western settlement or town, where a couple of hundred best men and women, of ordinary worldly status, have by luck been drawn to- gether, with nothing extra of genius or wealth, but vir- tuous, chaste, industrious, cheerful, resolute, friendly, Democeatio Vistas. 47 and devout, I can conceive sucli a community organ- ized in running' order, powers judiciously delegated, farming, building, trade, courts, mails, schools, elec- tions, all attended to ; and then the rest of life, the main thing, freely branching and blossoming in each individual, and bearing golden fi*uit. I can see there, in every young and old man, after his kind, and in every woman after hers, a true Personality, developed, exer- cised proportionately in body, mind, and spirit. I can imagine this case as one not necessarily rare or difficult, but in buoyant accordance with the municipal and gen- eral requirements of our times. And I can realize in it the culmination of something better than any stereo- t^q^ed eclat of history or poems. Perhaps, unsung, un- dramatized, unput in e&says or biographies — perhaps even some such community "already exists, in Ohio, Illi- nois, Missouri, or somewhere, practically fulfilling itself, and thus outvying, in cheapest vulgar life, aU that has been hitherto shown in best ideal pictures. In short, and to sum up, America, betaking herself to formative action, (as it is about time for more solid achievement and less windy promise,) must, for her purposes, cease to recognize a theory of character grown of Feudal aristocracies, or formed by merely esthetic or literary standards, or from any ultramarine, full-dress formulas of culture, polish, caste, &c., and must sternly promulgate her own new standard, yet old enough, and accepting the old, the perennial, ele- ments, and combining them into groups, unities, appro- priate to the modern, the democratic, the West, and to the practical occasions and needs of our own cities, and of the agricultural regions. Ever the most precious in the common. Ever the fresh breeze of field, or hill, or lake, is more than any palpitation of fans, though of ivory, and redolent with perfume ; and the air is more than the costliest perfumes. And now, for fear of mistake, we may not intermit to beg oui' absolution from all that genuinely is, or goes along with, even Culture. Pardon us, venerable shade ! if we have seemed to spealf. hghtly of your office. The whole civilization of the earth, we know, is yours, with 48 Dkmoceatic Vistas. all the glory and the light thereof. It i?, indeed, in your own spirit, and see^cing to tally the loftiest teach- ings of it, that we aim these poor ntterances. For you, too, mighty minister! know that there is something greater than you, namely, the fresh, eternal qualities of Being. From them, and by them, as you, at your best, we, too, after our fashion, when art and conventions fail, evoke the last, the needed help, to vitalize our country and our days. Thus we pronounce not so much against the principle of Cultui'e ; we only supervise it, and promulge along with it, as deep, perhaps a deeiDei', principle. As we have shown, the New "World, including in itself the all- leveling aggregate of Democracy, we show it also in- cluding the all-varied, all-permitting, all-free theorem of Individuality, and erecting therefor a lofty and hith- erto unoccupied framework or platform, broad enough for all, eligible to every farmer and mechanic — to the female equally with the male — a towering Selfhood, not physically perfect only — not satisfied w'ith the mere mind's and learning's stores, but Religious, possessing the idea of the Infinite, (rudder and compass siu'e amid this troublous voyage, o'er darkest, wildest wave, through stormiest wind, of man'a or nation's jorogress,) — reahzing, above the rest, that known humanity, in deepest sense, is fair adhesion to Itself, for piu'poscs beyond — and that, finally, the Personality of mortal life is most important with reference to the immortal, the Unknown, the Spiritual, the only permanently real, which, as the ocean waits for and receives the rivers, waits for us each and aU. Much is there, yet, demanding line and outline in our Yistas, not only on these topics, but others quite un- written. Indeed, we could talk the matter, and expand it, through lifetime. But it is necessary to return to our original premises. In view of them, wo have again pointedly to confess that all the objective grandeurs of the World, for highest purposes, yield themselves up, and depend on mentality alone. Here, and here only, all balances, all rests. For the mind, which alone builds Democratic Vistas. 49 the permanent edifice, haughtily builds it to itself. By it, with what follows it, are conveyed to mortal sense the culminations of the materialistic, the known, and a prophecy of the unknown. To take expression, to in- carnate, to endow a Literature with grand and arche- typal models — to fill with pride and love the utmost capacity, and to achieve spiritual meanings, and sug- gest the future — ^these, and these only, satisfy the soul. We must not say one word against real materials ; hut the wise know that they do not become real till touched by emotions, the mind. Did we call the latter impon- derable ? Ah, let us rather proclaim that the slightest song- tune, the countless ephemera of passions aroused by orators and tale-tellers, are more dense, more weighty than the engines there in the great factories, or the granite blocks in their foundations. — Approaching thus the momentous spaces, and con- sidering with reference to a new and greater Personal- ism, the needs and possibilities of American imaginative hterature, through the medium-light, of what we have already broached, it will at once be appreciated that a vast gulf of difference separates the present accepted condition of these spaces, inclusive of what is floating in them, from any condition adjusted to, or fit for, the world, the America, there sought to be indicated, and the copious races of complete men and women, dovm along these Yistas crudely outlined. It is, in some sort, no less a difference than lies be- tween that long-continued nebular state and vagueness of the astronomical worlds, compared with the subse- quent state, the definitely-formed worlds themselves, duly compacted, clustering in systems, hung up there, chandeliers of the universe, beholding and mutually lie by each other's lights, serving for ground of all sub- stantial foothold, all vulgar uses — yet serving still more as an undying chain and echelon of spiritual proofs and shows. A boundless field to fill ! A new Creation, with needed orbie works launched forth, to revolve in free and lawful circuits — to move, self-poised, through the ether, and shine, like heaven's own suns! With such, and nothing less, we suggest that New World Litera- 3 50 Democratic Vistas. ture, fit to rise upon, cohere, and signalize, in time. These States. What, however, do we more definitely mean by New World Literature ? Ai-e we not doing well enough here already? Are not the United States this day busily using, working, more printer's tyj^e, more jDresses, than any other country ? uttering and absorbing more publi- cations than any other ? Do not oui' publishers fatten quicker and deeper ? (helping themselves, under shelter of a delusive and sneaking law, or rather absence of law, to most of their forage, poetical, pictorial, histoi'i- cal, romantic, even comic, without money and without price — and fiercely resisting even the timidest proposal to pay for it.) Many will come under this delusion — but my purpose is to dispel it. I say that a nation may hold and circu- late i-ivers and oceans of very readable print, journals, magazines, novels, hbrary-books, "poetry," &c. — such as The States to-day possess and circulate — of unques- tionable aid and value — hundreds of new volumes an- nually composed and brought out here, respectable enough, indeed unsurpassed in smartness and erudi- tion— with further hundreds, or rather millions, (as by free forage, or theft, aforementioned,) also thrown into the market, — And yet, all the while, the said nation, land, strictly speaking, may possess no Hteratui'e at all. Repeating our inquiry. What, then, do we mean by real literature? especially, the American literatui'e of the future ? Hard questions to meet. The clues are inferential, and turn us to the past. At best, we t;an only offer suggestions, comj^arisons, cu'cuits. — It must still be reiterated, as, for the purpose of these Memoranda, the deep lesson of History and Time, that all else in the contributions of a nation or age, through its politics, materials, heroic personalities, mili- tary eclat, &c., remains crude, and defers, in any close and thorough-going estimate, until vitalized by national, original archetypes in literature. They only put the nation in form, finally tell anything, jjrove, complete anything — perpetuate anything. Without doubt, some Democeatic Vistas. 51 of tlie richest and most powerful and popnlous eommn- nilies of the antique world, and soma of the gTandesc personalities and events, have, to after and present times, left themselves entirely unbequeathed. Doubt- less, greater than any that have come down to us, were among those lands, heroisms, j)ersons, that have not come down to us at all, even by name, date, or location. Others have arrived safely, as from voyages over wide, centuries-stretcliing seas. The little ships, the miracles that have buoyed them, and by incredible chances safely conveyed them, (or the best of them, their meaning and essence,) over long wastes, darkness, lethargy, igno- rance, &c., have been a few inscriptions — a few im- mortal compositions, small in size, yet compassing what measureless values of reminiscence, contemporary por- traitures, manners, idioms and beliefs, with deepest in- ference, hint and thought, to tie and touch forever the old, new body, and the old, new soul. These ! and still these ! bearing the freight so dear — dearer than pride — dearer than love. All the best experience of humanity, folded, saved, freighted to us here ! Some of these tiny ships we call Old and New Testament, Homer, Esehylus, Plato, Juvenal, &c. Precious minims ! I think, if we were forced to choose, rather than have you, and the Ukes of you, and what belongs to, and has grown of you, blotted out and gone, we could better afford, ap- palling as that would be, to lose all actual shijDS, this day fastened by wharf, or floating on wave, and see them, with all their cargoes, scuttled and sent to the bottom. Gathered by geniuses of city, race, or age, and put by them in highest of art's forms, namely, the literary form, the peculiar combinations, and the outshows of that city, age, or race, its particular modes of the universal attri- butes and passions, its faiths, heroes, lovers and gods, wars, traditions, struggles, crimes, emotions, joys, (or the subtle spirit of these,) having been passed on to us to illumine our own selfhood, and its experiences — what they supply, indispensable and highest, if taken away, nothing else in all the world's boundless store-houses could make up to us, or ever again return. 52 Democraxic Vi3Tas. For us, along the great highways of tiroe, those monu- ments stand — those forms of majesty and beauty. For us those beacons burn through all the nights. Un- known Egyptians, graving hieroglyj)hs ; Hindus, with hymn and apothegm and endless epic ; Hebrew prophet, with spirituality, as in flashes of lightning, conscience, like red-hot iron, plaintive songs and screams of ven- geance for tyrannies and enslavement ; Christ, ^vith bent head, brooding love and peace, like a dove ; Greek, creating eternal shapes of physical and esthetic propor- tion ; Roman, lord of satire, the sword, and the codex ; — of the figures, some far-off and veiled, others nearer and visible ; Dante, stalking with lean form, nothing but fibre, not a grain of superfluous flesh ; Angelo, and the great painters, architects, musicianrf ; rich Shakespeare, luxuriant as the sun, artist and singer of Feudalism in its sunset, with all the gorgeous colors, owner thereof, and using them at will ; — and so to such as German Kant and Hegel, where they, though near us, leaping over the ages, sit again, impassive, imperturbable, like the Egyptian gods. Of these, and the like of these, is it too much, indeed, to return to our favorite fig-ure, and view them as orbs and systems of orbs, moving in free paths in the spaces of that other heaven, the kosmic in- tellect, the Soul? Ye powerful and resplendent ones ! ye were, in your atmospheres, grown not for America, but rather for her foes, the Feudal and the old — while our genius is Demo- cratic and modern. Yet could ye, indeed, but breathe your breath of life into our New World's nostrils — not to enslave us, as now, but, for our needs, to breed a spirit like your owni — perhaps, (dare we to say it?) to dominate, even destroy, what you yourselves have left ! On your plane, and no less, but even higher and wider, will I mete and measure for oiu* wants to-day and here. I demand races of orbic bards, with unconditional, un- compromising sway. Come forth> sweet democratic despots of the west ! By points and specimens like these we, in reflection, token what we mean by any land's or people's genuine Democratic Vistas. 53 literature. And thus compared and tested, judging amid the influence of loftiest products only, what do our current Qopious fields of print, covering, in mani- fold forms, the United States, better, for an analogy, present, than, as in certain regions of the sea, those spreading, undulating masses of squid, through v.'hieh the whale, swimming with head half out, feeds ? Not but that doubtless our current so-called litera- ture, (hke an endless supply of small coin,) performs a certain service, and may-be, too, the service needed for the time, (the preparation service, as children learn to spell.) Everybody reads, and truly nearly everybody writes, either books, or for the magazines or journals. The matter has magnitude, too, after a sort. There is something impressive about the huge editions of the dailies and weeklies, the mountain-stacks of white paper piled in the press-vaults, and the proud, crashing, ten- cylinder i^resses, which I can stand and watch any time by the half hour. Then, (though The States in the field of Imagination present not a single first-class work, not a single great Literatus,) the main objects, to amuse, to titillate, to pass away time, to circulate the news and rumors of news, to rhyme and read rhyme, are jet at- tained, and on a scale of infinity. To-day, in books, in the rivalry of writers, esj^ecially novelists, success, (so- called,) is for him or her who strikes the mean flat aver- age, the sensational appetite for stimulus, incident, &c., and depicts, to the common cahbre, sensual, exterior life. To such, or the luckiest of them, as we see, the audiences are limitless and profitable ; but they cease presently. While, this day or any day, to workmen, portraying interior or spiritual life, the audiences were limited, and often laggard — but they last forever. — Compared with the past, our modern science soars, and our journals serve ; but ideal and even ordinary romantic literature does not, I think, substantially ad- vance. Behold the prohfic brood of the contemporary novel, magazine-tale, theatre-play, &c. The same end- less thread of tangled and superlative love-story, in- herited, apparently, from the Amadises and Palmerins of the 13th, 14:th and 15th centuries over there in Eu- 54 Democratic Vistas. rope. The costumes and associations are broiiglit clov\-n to date, the seasoning is hotter and more varied, the dragons and ogres are left out — but the thing, I should say, has not advanced — is just as sensational, just as strained — remains about the same, nor more, nor less. — What is the reason, our time, oui' lauds, that we see no fresh local coiu-age, sanit}'^, of our own — the Mis- sissippi, stalwart Western men, real mental and physical facts, Southerners, &c., in the body of our literature ? especially the poetic part of it. But always, instead, a parcel of dandies and ennuyees, dapper httle gentlemen fi'om abroad, who ilood us with their thin ssntiment of parlors, parasols, piano-songs, tinkling rhymes, the five-huudredtb importation, or whimpering and crying about something, chasing one aborted conceit after an- other, and forever occupied in dyspeptic amours with dyspeptic women. While, current and novel, the grandest events and revolutions, and stormiest passions of history, are cross- ing to-day with unparalleled rapidity and magnificence over the stages of our own and aU the continents, offer- ing new materials, opening new vistas, with largest needs, inviting the daring launching forth of concep- tions in Literature, inspu'ed by them, soaring in highest regions, serving Art in its highest, (which is only the other name for serving God, and serving Humanity,) where is the man of letters, where is the book, with any nobler aim than to follow in the old track, repeat what has been said before — and, as its utmost triumph, sell well, and be erudite or elegant ? Marie the roads, the processes, through which These States have arrived, standing easy, ever-equal, ever- compact, in their range, to-da3\ European adven- tures? the most antique? Asiatic or Afi'ican? old history — miracles — romances? Rather, our ov.ti un- questioned facts. They hasten, incredible, blazing- bright as fire. From the deeds and days of Columbus down to the present, and including the present — and especially the late Secession war — when I con them, I feel, every leaf, Hke stopping to see if I have not made Democratic Vistas. 55 a mistake, and fallen upon the splendid figments of some dream. But it is no dream. Yve stand, live, move, in tlie litige flow of oiu" age's materialism — in its spirituality. We have had founded for us the most positive of lands. The founders have passed to other spheres — But what are these terrible duties they have left us ? Their politics the United States have, in my opiaion, with all their faults, already substantially estabhshed, for good, on their own native, sound, long-vista'd prin- ciples, never to be overturned, offering a sui'e basis for all the rest. With that, theu- future religious forms, sociology, literatui'e, teachers, schools, costumes, &c., are of course to make a compact whole, uniform, on tallying jDiinciples. For how can we remain, divided, contradicting ourselves, this way ? * I say we can only attain harmony and stability by consulting ensemble, and the ethic purports, and faithfully building upon them. For the New World, indeed, after two grand stages of preparation-strata, I perceive that now, a third stage, being ready for, (and without which the other two were useless,) with unmistakable signs appears. The Fii'st Stage was the planning and putting on record the po- litical foundation rights of immense masses of peoj)le — indeed all people — in the organization of Republican National, State, and Municipal governments, all con- structed with reference to each, and each to all. This is the American programme, not for classes, but for universal man, and is embodied in the compacts of the * Note, to-day, an instructive, curioiis spectacle and conflict. Science, (t^vvin, in its fields, of Democracy in its) — Science, testing absolutely all thouglits, all works, lias already burst well xipon the world — a Sun, mounting, most illuminating, most glorious — surely never again to set. But against it, deeply eutrenclied, holding possession, yet remains, (not only through the churches and schools, ijut by imaginative literature, and unregenerate poetry,) the fossil theology of the mythic-materialistic, supersti- tious, imtaught and credulous, fable-loving, primitive ages of hu- manity. 5G Democratic Vistas. Declaration of Independence, and, as it began and lias now grown, with its amendments, the Federal Consti- tution— and in the State governments, with all their interiors, and with general sufErage ; those having the sense not only of what is in themselves, but that their certain several things started, planted, hundreds of others, in the same direction, duly arise and follow. The Second Stage relates to material prosj)erity, wealth, produce, labor-saving machines, iron, cotton, local, State and continental railways, intercommunication and trade with all lands, steamships, mining, general employment, organization of great cities, cheap appliances for com- fort, numberless technical schools, books, newspapers, a currency for money circulation, &c. The Third Stage, rising out of the previous ones, to make them and all illustrious, I, now, for one, promulge, announcing a na- tive Expression Spirit, getting into form, adult, and through mentality, for These States, self-contained, dif- ferent from others, more expansive, more rich and free, to be evidenced by original authors and poets to come, by American personalities, plenty of them, male and female, traversing the States, none excepted — and by native superber tableaux and growths of language, songs, operas, orations, lectures, architecture — and by a' sublime and serious Religious Democracy sternly taking command, dissolving the old, sloughing off sur- faces, and from its own interior and vital principles, entirely reconstructing Society. — For America, type of progress, and of essential faith in Man — above all his errors and wickedness — few suspect how deep, hovf deep it really strikes. The world evidently supposes, and we have evidently sup- posed so too, that The States are merely to achieve the equal franchise, an elective government — to inaugiu'ate the respectability of labor, and become a nation of prac- tical operatives, law-abiding, orderly and well-oiJ". Yes, those are indeed parts of the tasks of America ; but they not only do not exhaust the progressive concep- tion, but rather arise, teeming with it, as the mediums of deeper, higher progress. Daughter of a physical revolution — Mother of the true revolutions, which are Democuatio Vistas. • 57 of tlie interior life, and of tha arte. For so long- as the spirit is not clianged, any change of appearance is ol no avail. — The old men, I remember as a boy, were always talking of American Independence. What is independ- ence ? Freedom from all laws or bonds except those of one's own being, controlled by the universal ones. To lands, to man, to woman, what is there at last to each, but the inherent soul, nativity, idiocrasy, free, highest- poised, soaring its own flight, following out itself ? — At present, These States, in their theology and so- cial standards, &c., (of greater importance than their political institutions,) are entirely held possession of by foreign lands. We see the sons and daughters of the New World, ignorant of its genius, not yet inaugurating the native, the universal, and the near, still importing the distant, the partial, and the dead. We see London, Paris, Italy — not original, superb, as where they be- long— ^but second-hand here where they do not belbnii'. W^e see the shreds of Hebrews, Romans, Greeks ; but where, on her own soil, do we see, in any faithful, high- est, proud expi'ession, America herself? I sometimes question whether she has a corner in her own house. Not but that in one sense, and a very grand one, good theology, good Art, or good Literature, has certain fea- tures shared in common. The combination fraternizes, ties the races — is, in many particulars, under laws appli- cable indifferently to all, irrespective of climate or date, and, from whatever source, appeals to emotions, pride, love, spirituality, common to humankind. Neverthe- less, they touch a man closest, (perhaps only actually touch him,) even in these, in their expression through autochthonic lights and shades, flavors, fondnesses, aversions, specific incidents, illustrations, out of his own nationality, geography, surroundings, antecedents, &c. The spirit and the form are one, and depend far more on association, identity and place, than is supposed. Subtly interwoven with the mateiiality and personality of a land, a race — Teuton, Turk, Californian, or what not — there is always something — I can hardly tell what 58 Democratic Vistas. it is, — History but describes the results of it, — it is the same as the untellable look of some human faces. Na- ture, too, in her stolid forms, is full of it — ^but to most it is there a secret. This something is rooted in the in- visible roots, the profoundest meanings of that place, race, or nationality ; and to absorb and again effuse it, uttering words and products as from its midst, and car- rying it into highest regions, is the work, or a main part of the work, of any country's true author, poet, histo- rian, lecturer, and perhaps even priest and j^Lilosoph. Here, and here only, are the foundations for our really valuable and permanent verse, drama, &c. But at present, (judged by any higher scale than that which finds the chief ends of existence to be to fever- ishly make money dvu'ing one-half of it, and by some " amusement," or perhaps foreign travel, flippantly kill time, the other half,) and considered with reference to purposes of patriotism, health, a noble Personality, re- ligion, and the democratic adjustments, all these swarms of poems, dramatic plays, resultant so far from Ameri- can intellect, and the formulation of our best ideas, are useless and a mockery. They strengthen and nourish no one, express nothing characteristic, give decision and piu-pose to no one, and suffice only the lowest level of vacant minds. Of the question, indeed, of what is called the Drama, or dramatic pi-esontation in the United States, as now put forth at the thv^^atres, I should say it deserves to be treated with the same gravity, and on a jDar with the questions of ornamental confectionery at public dinners, or the arrangement of curtains and hangings in a ball- room— nor more, nor less. Of the other, I will not insult the reader's intelli- gence, (once really entering into the atmosphere of these Vistas,) by supposing it necessary to show, in de- tail, why the copious dribble, either of oui' little or well- known rhymesters, does not fulfil, in any respect, the needs and august occasions of this land. America de- mands a Poetry that is bold, modern, and all-surround- ing and kosmical, as she is herself. It must in no re- spect ignore science or the modern, but inspire itself Democeatig Vistas. 59 witli science and the modern. It must bend its vision toward the future, more than the past. Like America, it must extricate itself from even the greatest models of the past, and, while courteous to them, must have entire faith in itself and products out of its own origi- nal spirit only. Like her, it must place in the van, and hold up at all hazards, the banner of the divine pride of man in himself, (the radical foundation of the new religion.) Long' enough have the People been listening to poems in which common Humanity, deferential, bends low, humiliated, acknowledging superiors. But America listens to no such poems. Erect, inflated, and fully self- esteeming be the chant ; and then America will listen with pleased ears. — Nor may the genuine gold, the gems, when brought to light at last, be probably ushered forth from any of the quarters currently counted on. To-day, doubtless, the infant Genius of American poetic expression, (elud- ing those highly-refined imported and gilt-edged themes, and sentimental and butterfly flights, pleasant to New York, Boston, and Philadelphia publishers — causing tender spasms in the coteries, and warranted not to chafe the sensitive cuticle of the most exquisitely artifi- cial gossamer delicacy,) lies sleeping far away, happily •unrecognized and uninjured by the coteries, the art- wrifcers, the talkers and critics of the saloons, or the lecturers in the colleges — lies sleeping, aside, unreck- ing itself, in some Western idiom, or native Michigan or Tennessee repartee, or stump-speech — or in Ken- tucky or Georgia or the Carolinas — or in some slang or local song or allusion of the Manhattan, Boston, Phila- delphia or Baltimore mechanic — or up in the Maine woods — or off in the hut of the California miner, or crossing the Kocky mountains, or along the Pacific rail- road— or on the breasts of the young farmers of the Northwest, or Canada, or boatmen of the lakes. Eude and coarse nursing-beds these ; but only from such be- ginnings and stocks, indigenous here, may haply arrive, be grafted, and sprout, in time, flowers of genuine Amer- ican aroma, and fi'uits truly and fully our own. — I say it were a standing disgrace to These States — GO DEMOCRATIC Vistas. I say it were a disgrace to any nation, disiingnislied above others by the variety and vastness of its teiTito- ries, its materials, its inventive activit}^, and the splendid practicality of its people, not to rise and soar above others also in its original styles in Uterature and art, and its own supjily of intellectual and esthetic master- pieces, archetypal, and consistent with itself. I know not a land except ours that has not;, to some extent, however small, made its title clear. The Scotch have their born ballads, tunes subtly expressing their past and present, and expressing character. The Irish Lave theirs. England, Italy, France, Spain, theirs. AVhat has America? With exhaustless mines of the richest ore of epic, lyric, tale, tune, picture, &c., in the Four Years' War ; with, indeed, I sometimes think, the richest masses of material ever aiforded a nation, more varie- gated, and on a larger scale — the first sign of j^ropor- tionate, native, imaginative Soul, and first-class works to match, is, (I cannot too often repeat,) so far wanting. When the hundredth year of this Union arrives, there will be some Fort}"^ to Fifty great States, among them Canada and Cuba. The pojDulation will be sixty or sev- enty millions. The Pacific will be ours, and the Atlantic mainly oars. There will be daily electric communica- tion with every part of the globe. What an age ! What a land! Where, elsewhere, one so great? The Indi- viduahty of one nation must then, as always, lead the world. Can there be any doubt who the leader ought to be ? Bear in mind, though, that nothing less than the mightiest original non-subordinated Soul has ever really, gloriously led, or ever can lead. (This Soul — its other name, in these Vistas, is Literature.) In fond, fancy leaping those hundred years ahead, let us SiU'vey America's works, poems, philosophies, fulfill- ing prophecies, and giving form and decision to best ideals. Much that is now undreamed of, we might then perhaps see established, luxuriantly cropping forth, rich- ness, vigor of letters and of artistic expression, in whose products character will be a main reqairement, and not merely erudition or elegance. Democratic Vistas. 61 Intense and loving coinratlesliip, the personal and passionate attachmeut of man to man — which, hard to detiue, underlies the lessons and ideals of the profound saviours of every land and age, and which seems to promise, when thoroughly developed, cultivated and recognized in manners and Literature, the most sub- stantial hope and safety of the future of These States, will then be fully expressed.* A strong-fibred Joyousness, and Faith, and the sense of Health al fresco, may well enter into the preparation of future noble American authorship. Part of the test of a great Literatus shall be the absence in him of the idea of the covert, the artificial, the lurid, the malefi- cent, the de^dl, the grim estimates inherited from the Puritans, hell, natural depravity, and the hke. The great Literatus will be hnown, among the rest, by his cheerful simplicity, his adherence to natural standards, his limitless faith in God, his reverence, and by the ab- sence in him of doubt, ennui, bui'lesque, persiflage, or any strained and temporary fashion. Nor must I fail, again and yet again, to clinch, reit- erate more plainly still, (O that mdeed such survey as we fancy, may show in time this part completed also!) the lofty aim, surely the proudest and the purest, in vrhose service the futui'e Literatus, of whatever field, may gladly labor. As we have intimated, offsetting the * It is to the development, identification, and general prevalence of that fervid comradeship, (the adliesive love, at least rivaling the amative love hitherto possessing imaginative literature, if not going beyond it,) tliat I look for the counterbalance and offset of our materialistic and vulgar American Democracy, and for the sjiiritualization thereof. INIany will say it is a dream, and w\\\ not follow my inferences ; but I confidently expect a time when there ^\ill be seen, running like a half-hid warp through; all the myriad audible and visible worldly interests of America,' ui:reads of manly friendship, fond and loving, pure and sweet, strong and life-long, carried to degrees hitherto unknown — not only giving tone to individual character, and making it unprecedently emo- tional, muscular, heroic, and refined, but having deepest relations to general politics. I say Democracy infers such loving comrade- ship, as its most inevitable tvdn or coimterpart, without which it will be incomplete, in vain, and incapable of perpetuating itself. 62 Democratic Vistas. material civilization of oiu' race, our Nationality, its wealth, territories, factories, poiDulation, luxuries, pro- ducts, trade, and military and naval strength, and breathing breath of life into all these, and more, must be its Moral Civilization — the formulation, expression, and aidancy whereof, is the very highest height of lit- erature. And still within this wheel, revolves another wheel. The climax of this loftiest range of modern civilization, giving finish and hue, and rising above all the gorgeous shows and results of wealth, intellect, power, and art, as such — above even theology and reli- gious fervor— is to be its development, fi-om the eternal bases, and the fit expression, of absolute Conscience, moral soundness. Justice. I say there is nothing else higher, for Nation, Individual, or for Literature, than the idea, and practical realization and expression of the idea, of Conscience, kept at topmost mark, absolute in itself, well cultivated, uncontaminated by the manifold weeds, the cheats, changes, and vulgarities of the fash- ions of the world. Even in rehgious fervor there is a touch of animal heat. But moral conscientiousness, crystalline, without flaw, not Godlike only, entirely Human, awes and enchants me forever. Great is emo- tional Love, even in the order of the rational universe. But, if we must make gradations, I am clear there is something greater. Power, love, veneration, products, genius, esthetics, tried by subtlest comparisons, analyses, and in serenest moods, somewhere fail, somehow be- come vain. Then noiseless, with flowing steps, the lord, the sun, the last Ideal comes. By the names Eight, Justice, Truth, we suggest, but do not describe it. To the world of men it remains a di-eam, an idea as they call it. But no dream is it to the wise — but the proud- est, almost only soKd lasting thing of all. I say, again and forever, the triumph of America's democratic formules is to be the inauguration, growth, acceptance, and unmistakable supremacy among indi- viduals, cities, States, and the Nation, of moral Con- science. Its analogy in the material universe is what holds together this world, and every object upon it, and carries its dynamics on forever sure and safe. Its lack. Democratic Vistas, 63 and the persistent shirking of it, as in life, sociology, literature, politics, business, and even sermonizing, these times, or any times, still leaves the abysm, the mortal flaw and smutch, mocking civilization to-day, with all its unquestioned triumphs, and aU the civilization so far known. Such is the thought I would especially be- queath to any earnest persons, students of these Vistas, and following after me.* Present Literatiire, while magnificently fulfilling cer- tain popular demands, Vv'ith plenteous knovf ledge and verbal smartness, is profoundly sophisticated, insane, and its very joy is morbid. It needs retain the knowl- edge, and fulfil the demands, but needs to j)urge itself ; or rather needs to be born again, become unsophisti- cated, and become sane. It needs tally and exj)ress Nature, and the spirit of Nature, and to know and obey the standards. I say the question of Nature, largely considered, involves the questions of the esthetic, the emotional, and the religious — and involves happiness. A fitly born and bred race, growing up in right condi- * I am reminded as I write tliat out of this very Conscience, or idea of Conscience, of intense moral right, and in its name and strained construction, the worst fanaticisms, wars, persecutions, murders, &c.. have yet, in all lands, been broached, and have come to their devilish fruition. Much is to be said — but I may say here, and in response, that side by side with the unflagging stimu- lation of tlie elements of Religion and Conscience must henceforth move with equal sway, science, absolute reason, and the general proportionate development of the whole man. These scientific facts, deductions, are divine too — precious counted parts of moral civilization, and, with physical health, indispensable to it, to pre- vent fanaticism. For Abstract Religion, I perceive, is easily led astray, ever credulous, and is capable of devouring, remorseless, like fire and flame. Conscience, too, isolated from all else, and from the emotional nature, may but attain the beauty and purity of glacial, snowy ice. We want, for These States, for the general character, a cheerful, religious fervor, enhued with the ever-present modifications of the human emotions, friendship, benevolence, with a fair field for scientific inquiry, the right of individual judgment, and alrrays the cooling influences of material Nature. We want not again either the religious fervor of the Spanish In- quigitiou, uor the morality of the New England Puritans. G4 Democratic Vistas. tions of out-door as much as in-door harmony, ac- tivity, and development, would j^i'obably, from and in those conditions, find it enough merely to live — and would, in their relations to the sky, air, water, trees, &c., and to the countless common shov/s, and in the fact of Life itself, discover and achieve happiness — with Beirg suffused night and day by wholesome extasy, surpassing all the pleasures that wealth, amuse- ment, and even gratified intellect, erudition, or the sense of art, can give. In the proj^hetic literature of These States, Nature, true Nature, and the true idea of Nature, long absent, must, above all, become fully restored, enlarged, and must furnish the pervading atmosphere to poems, and the test of all high literary and esthetic compositions. I do not mean the smooth walks, trimm'd hedges, but- terflies, poseys and nightingales of the English poets, but the whole Orb, with its geologic history'-, the Kosmos, carrying fire and snow, that rolls through the illimitable areas, light as a feather, though weighing billions of tons. Furthermore, as by what we now partially call Nature is intended, at most, only what is entertainable by the physical conscience, the lessons of the esthetic, the sense of matter, and of good animal health — on these it must be distinctly accumulated, incorporated, that man, comprehending these, has, in towering super- addition, the Moral and Sj^iritual Consciences, indi- cating his destination beyond the ostensible, the mortal. To the heights of such estimate of Nature indeed ascending, we proceed to make observations for our Vistas, breathing rarest air. What is, I believe called Idealism seems to me to suggest, (guarding against ex- travagance, and ever modified even by its opposite,) the course of inquiry and desert of favor for our New World metaphysics, their foundation of and in literature, giv- ing hue to all.^ * The culmination and fruit of literary artistic expression, and its final fields of pleasure for the human soul, are in Metaphysics, includinfT the mysteries of the spiritual world, the soul itself, and tlie question of the immortal continuation of our identity. In all ages, the mind of man has brought up here — and always \yill. Democratic Vistas. 65 The elevating" and etlierealizing ideas of the Unkuovvn and of Unreality must be brought forward with au- Here, at least, of wliatever race or era, we stand on comraou ground. Applause, too, is unanimous, antique or modern. Those authors who work well in this field — though their reward, instead of a handsome percentage, or royalty, may be but simply the laurel-crown of the victors in tlie gi-eat Olympic games — will be dearest to humanity, and their Avorks, however esthetically defec- tive, will be treasured forever. The altitude of literature and poetry has always been Religion — and always will be. The In- dian Vedas, the Naijkas of Zoroaster, The Talmud of the Jews, the Old Testament also, the Gospel of Christ and his disciples, Plato's works, the Koran of Mohammed, the Edda of Snorro, and so on toward our own day, to Swedenborg, and to the invaluable contributions of Leibnitz, Kant and Hegel, — these, vnth. such poems only in which, (while singing well of jiersons and events, of the passions of man, and the shows of the material universe,) the rehgious tone, the consciousness of mystery, the recognition of the future, of the unknown, of Deity, over and under all, and of the divine purpose, are never absent, but indirectly give tone to all — exhibit literature's real heights and elevations, towering up like the great mountains of the earth. Standing on this ground — the last, the highest, only permanent ground — and sternly criticising, from it, all works, either of the literary, or any Art, we have peremptorily to dismiss every pre- tensive production, however fine its esthetic or intellectual points, which violates, or ignores, or even does not celebrate, the central Divine Idea of AH, suffusing imiverse, of eternal trains of purpose, in the development, by however slow degrees, of the physical, nroral, and spiritual Kosmos. I say he has studied, meditated to no profit, whatever may be his mere erudition, who has not ab- sorbed this simple consciousness and faith. It is not entirely new — but it is for America to elaborate it, and look to build upon and expand from it, with uncompromising reliance. Above the doors of teaching tlie inscription is to appear. Though little or nothing can be absolutely known, perceived, except from a point of view which is evanescent, yet we know at least one perma- nency, that Time and Space, in the ^Yi\\ of God, fm-nish successive chains, completions of material births and beginnings, solve all discrepancies, fears and doubts, and eventually fulfil happiness — and that the prophecy of those births, namely Spiritual results, throws the true arch over all teaching, all science. The local considerations of sin, disease, deformity, ignorance, death, &c., and their measurement by superficial mind, and ordinary legisla- tion and theology, are to be met by Science, boldly accepting, promulging tliJs faith, and planting the seeds of superber laws — of the explication of the physical universe through the spiritual — and clearing the way for a Religion, sweet and unimpugnable alike to little child or great savan. 66 Eeiiocratic Vistas. thority, as they are the legitimate heirs of the known, and of reahty, and at least as great as their parents. Fearless of scoffing, and of the ostent, let us take our stand, our ground, and never desert it, to confront the growing excess and arrogance of Eeahsm. To the cry, now victorious — the cry of Sense, science, flesh, in- comes, farms, merchandise, logic, intellect, demonstra- tions, solid perpetuities, buildings of brick and iron, or even the facts of the shows of trees, earth, rocks, &c., fear not my brethren, my sisters, to sound out with equally determined voice, that conviction brooding within tlie recesses of every envisioned soul — Illusions ! appai'itions ! figments all ! True, we must not condemn the show, neither absolutely deny it, for the indis25ensa- bility of its meanings ; but how clearly we see that, migrate in soul to 'what we can already conceive of su- perior and sj)iritual points of view, and, palpable as it seems under jiresent relations, it all and several might, nay certainly would, fall apart and vanish. — I hail with joy the oceanic, variegated, intense practical energy, the demand for facts, even the busi- ness materialism of the current age. Our States. But wo to the age or land in v/hich these things, movements, stopping at themselves, do not tend to ideas. As fuel to fiame, and flame to the heavens, so must wealth, science, materialism, unerringly feed the highest mind, the soul. Infinitude the flight : fathomless the mj'stery. Man, so diminutive, dilates beyond the sensible uni- verse, competes Vvith, outcopes Space and Time, medi- tating even one great idea. Thus, and thus only, does a human being, his spirit, ascend above, and justify, objective Nature, which, probably nothing in itself, is incredibly and divinely serviceable, indispensable, real, here. And as the purport of objective Nature is doubt- less folded, hidden, somewhere here — As somewhero here is what this globe and its manifold forms, and the light of day, and night's darkness, and life itself, with all its experiences, are for — it is here the great Litera- ture, especially verse, must get its inspiration and throb- bing blood. Then may WG attain to a j)oetry worthy Democratic Vistas. 67 the immortal gouI of man, and which while absorbing materials, and, in their own sense, the shows of Natiu-e, will, above all, have, both directly and indirectly, a free- ing, liuidizing, exjjanding, religious character, exulting with science, fructifying the moral elements, and stimu- lating aspirations, and meditations on the unknown. The jirocess, so far, is indirect and peculiar, and though it may be suggested, cannot be defined. Ob- serving, rapport,' and with intuition, the shows and forms presented by Nature, the sensuous luxuriance, the beautiful in li-sing men and women, the actual play of passions, in history and life — and, above all, from those developments either in Nature or human person- ality in which power, (dearest of all to the sense of the artist,) transacts itself — Out of these, and seizing what is in them, the poet, the esthetic worker in any field, by the divine magic of his genius, projects them, theii* analogies, by curious removes, indirections, in Litera- ture and Art. (No useless attempt to repeat the mate- rial creation, by daguerreotyping the exact likeness by mortal mental means.) This is the image-making fac- ulty, coping with material creation, and rivaling, almost triumphing over it. This alone, when all the other jiarts of a specimen of literature or art are ready and waiting, can breathe into it the breath of life, and endow it with Identity. " The true qiiestion to ask," says the Librarian of Congress in a pajjer read before the Social Science Convention at New York, October, 1869, "The true question to ask respecting a book, is. Has it helped any Jiuman Soul?" This is the hint, statement, not only of the great Literatus, his book, but of every great Artist. It may be that all works of art are to be fii'st tried by their art qualities, their image-forming talent, and their dramatic, pictorial, plot-constructing, euphonious and other talents. Then, whenever claiming to be first-class works, they are to be strictly and sternly tried by their foundation in, and radiation, in the highest sense, and always indirectly, of the ethic j^rinciples, and eligibility to free, arouse, dilate. As within the purposes of the Kosmos, and vivifying G8 Demockatic Vistas. all meteorology, and all the congeries of the mineral, vegetable and animal worlds — all the physical growth and development of man, and all the history' of the race in poHtics, rehgions, wars, &c., there is a moral purpose, a visible or invisible intention, certainly undex'lying all^ its results and proof needing to be patiently waited for — needing intuition, faith, idiosyncrasy, to its realization, which many, and especially the intellectual, do not have — so in the product, or congeries of the product, of the greatest Literatus. This is the last, profoundest meas- ure and test of a first-class literary or esthetic achieve- ment, and when understood and put in foi'ce must fain, I say, lead to works, books, nobler than any hitherto known. Lo ! Nature, (the only comj)lete, actual poem,) existing calmly in the di^'ine scheme, containing all, content, careless of the criticisms of a day, or these endless and wordy chatterers. And lo! to the con- sciousness of the soul, the permanent Identity, the thought, the something, before which the magnitude even of Democracy, Ai't, Literature, &c., dwindles, be- comes partial, measurable — something that fully satis- fies, (which those do not.) That something is the All, and the idea of All, with the accompanying idea of Eternity, and of itself, the Soul, buoyant, indestructi- ble, sailing space forever, "^dsiting every region, as a ship the sea. And again lo! the pulsations in all matter, all sjiirit, throbbing forever — the eternal beats, eternal systole and diastole of life in things — where- from I feel and know that death is not the ending, as was thought, but rather the real beginning — and that nothing ever is or can be lost, nor ever die, nor soul, nor matter. — ^I say in the future of These States must therefore arise Poets immenser far, and make great poems of Death. The poems of Life are great, but there must be the poems of the pui'ports of life, not only in itself, but beyond itself. I have eulogized Homer, the sacred bards of Jewry, Eschylus, Juvenal, Shakespeare, &c., and ack'nowledged their inestimable value. But, (with perhaps the exception, in some, not all respects, of the second mentioned,) I say there must, for future and Democratic Vistas. 69 Democratic purposes, ajipear j^oets, (dare I to si\j so ?) of higher class even than any of those — poets not only possessed of the religious fire and abandon of Isaiah, luxuriant in the epic talent of Homer, or for characters as Shakespeare, but consistent with the Hegelian for- mulas, and consistent with modern science. America needs, and the world needs, a class of bards who will, now and ever, so link and tally the rational physical being of man, with the ensembles of Time and Sj^ace, and with this vast and multiform show. Nature, sur- rounding him, ever tantahzing him, equally a part, and yet not a part of him, as to essentially harmonize, satisfy, and put at rest. Faith, very old, now scared away by science, must be restored, brought back, by the same power that caused her departure — restorcLl with new sway, deeper, wider, higher than ever. Surely, this uni- versal ennui, this coward fear, this shuddeiing at death, these low, degrading views, are not alwajs to rule the spirit pervading future society, as it has the past, and does the present. What the Roman Lucretius sought: most nobly, yet all too blindly, negatively to do for his age and its successors, must be done positively by some great coming Liter atus, esx^ecially Poet, who, while re- maining fully poet, will absorb whatever science indi- cates, with spiritualism, and out of them, and out of his own genius, will compose the great Poem of Death. Then will man indeed confront Natm'e, and confront Time and Space, both with science and con amove, and take his right place, prepared for life, master of fortune and misfortune. And then that which was long wanted will be supplied, and the ship that had it not before in all her voyages, will have an anchor. There arc stiU other standards, suggestions, for pro- ducts of high literatuses. That which really balances and conserves the social and political world is not so much legislation, police, treaties, and dread of punish- ment, as the latent eternal intuitional sense, in human- ity, of fairness, manliness, decorum, &c. Indeed, the perennial regulation, control and oversight, by self-sup- pliance, is sine qua non to Democracy ; and a highest. 70 Democratic Vistas. widest aim of Democratic literature may well l:)c to bring forth, cultivate, brace and strengthen this sense in individuals and society. A strong mastership of the general inferior self by the superior self, is to be aided, secured, indirectly but surely, by the literatus, in his works, shaping, for individual or aggregate Democracy, a great ^^assionate Body, in and along with v/hich goes a great masterful Spirit. And still, providing for contingencies, I fain coufi-ont the fact, the need of powerful native philosophs and orators and bards, These States, as rallying points to come, in times of danger, and to fend off ruin and de- fection. For history is long, long, long. Shift and turn the combinations of the statement as we may, the prob- lem of the future of America is in certain respects as dark as it is vast. Pride, competition, segregation, vicious Avilfulness, and license beyond example, brood already iijDon us. Unwieldy and immense, who shall hold in behemoth ? who bridle leviathan ? Flaunt it as we choose, athwart and over the roads of our progi'ess loom huge uncertainty, and dreadful, threatening gloom. It is useless to deny it : Democracy grows rankly up the thickest, noxious, deadliest j)lants and fi'uits of all — brings worse and worse invaders— needs newer, larger, stronger, keener compensations and compellers. Our lands, embracing so much, (embracing indeed the whole, rejecting none,) hold in their breast that flame also, capable of consuming themselves, consuming us all. Short as the span of our national life has been, already have death and downfall crowded close upon us — and wiU again crowd close, no doubt, even if warded off. Ages to come may never know, but I know, how narrowly, during the late Secession war — and more than once, and more than twice or thrice — our Nationality, (wherein bound up, as in a ship in a storm, depended, and yet depend, all our best life, all hope, all value,) just grazed, just by a hair escaped de- struction. Alas! to think of them! the agony and bloody sweat of certain of those hours! those crviel, sharp, suspended crises ! Democratic Vistas. 71 Even to-day, amid these wbirls, incredible flippancy, the blind fury of parties, infidelity, entire lack of first- clans captains and leaders, added to the plentiful mean- ness and vulgarity of the ostensible masses— that prob- lem, the Labor Question, beginning- to open like a yawning gulf, rapidly widening every year * — what prospect have we ? We sail a dangerous sea of seeth- ing currents, cross and under-currents, vortices — all so dark, untried — aiid whither shall we turn ? It seems as if the Almighty had sjDread before this Nation charts of imperial destinies, dazzling as the sun, yet with lines of blood, and many a deep intestine diffi- culty, and human aggregate of cankerous imperfection, — sa;)dug, Lo ! the roads, the only plans of development, * The Labor Question. — The immense problem of the rela- tion, adjustment, conflict, between Labor and its status and pay, on the one side, and the Capital of employers on the other side — looming up over These States like an ominous, limitless, murky cloud, perhaps before long to overshadow us all ; — the many thou- sands of decent working-people, through the cities and elsewhere, trying to keep up a good appearance, but living by daily toil, from hand to mouth, with nothing ahead, and no owned homes — the increasing aggregation of capital in the hands of a fcAV — the chaotic confusion of labor in the Southern States, consequent on the abrogation of slavery — the Asiatic immigration on our Pacific side — the advent of new machinery, dispensing more and more ■with hand -work — the growing, alarming spectacle of countless squads of vagabond children, roaming everywhere the streets and wharves of the great cities, getting trained for thievery and pros- titution— the hideousness and squalor of certain quarters of the cities — the advent of late years, and increasing frequency, of these pompous, nauseous, outside shows of vulgar wealth — (What a chance for a nev/ Juvenal !) — wealth acquired perhaps by some quack, some measureless financial rogue, triply brazen in impu- dence, only shielding himself by his money from a shaved head, a striped dress, and a felon's cell ; — and then, below all, the plausi- ble, sugar-coated, but abnormal and sooner or later inevitably ruinous delusion and loss, of our system of inflated paper-money currency, (cause of all conceivable swindles, false standards of value, and principal breeder and bottom of these enormous for- tunes for the few, and of poverty for the million") — wich that other plausible and sugar-coated delusion, the theory and ]iractice of a protective tariff", still clung to by many ; — such, with plenty more, stretching themselves through many a long year, for solution, stand as huge impedimenta of America's progress. 72 Democratic Vistas. long-, and vuried with all terrible balks and ebullitions. You said in your soul, I will be empire of emiDires, OTer- shadowing all else, past and present, putting tbe his- tory of old-world d;y'nasties, conquests, behind me, as of no account — making a new history, the history of Democracy, making old history a dwarf — I alone in- augurating largeness, culminating Time. If these, O lands of America, are indeed the prizes, the determina- tions of your Soul, be it so. But behold the cost, and already specimens of the cost. Behold, the anguish of suspense, existence itself wavering in the balance, un- certain whether to rise or fall ; ah'eady, close behind yoii or around you, thick winrows of corpses on battle- fields, countless maimed and sick in hosjDitals, treachery among Generals, folly in the Executive and Legislative departments, schemers, thieves everywhere — cant, cre- dulity, make-believe everywhere. Thought you great- ness was to ripen for you, like a pear ? If you would have gTcatness, know that you must conquer it through ages, centuries — must pay for it with a proportionate price For you too, as for all lands, the struggle, the traitor, the wily person in office, scrofulous wealth, the surfeit of prosperity, the demonism of greed, the hell ol passion, the decay of faith, the long postponement, the fossil-like lethargy, the ceaseless need of revolu- tions, prophets, thunderstorms, deaths, bii'ths, new pro- jections and invigorations of ideas and men. Yet I have dreamed, merged in that hidden-tangled ]Droblem of our fate, whose long unraveling stretches mysteriously through time — di'eamed cut, jDortrayed, hinted already — a little or a larger Band — a band of brave and true, unprecedented yet — armed and equipt at every point — the members separated, it may be, by different dates and States, or south, or north, or east, or west — Pacific or Atlantic — a j^ear, a century here, and other centiu'ies there — ^but always one, compact in Soul, conscience-conseiwing, God-inculcating, inspired achievers, not only in Literature, the greatest art, but achievers in all art — a new, undying order, d;yTiasty, from age to age transmitted — a band, a class, at least Democratic Vistas. 73 as fit to cope with current years, our dangers, needs, as those who, for their times, so long, so well, in armor or in cowl, upheld, and made illustrious, the Feudal, priestly world. To ofi'set Chivalry, indeed, those van- ished countless knights, and the old altars, abbeys, all their priests, ages and strings of ages, a knightlier and more sacred cause to-day demands, and shall supply, in a New World, to larger, grander work, more than the counterpart and tally of them. Arrived nov/, definitely, at an apex for These Vistas, I confess that the promulgation and belief in such a class or institution — a new and greater Literatus Order — its possibility, (naj^ certainty,) underlies these entii'c speculations — and that the rest, the other parts, as superstructures, are all founded upon it. It really seems to me the condition, not only of our future na- tional development, but of our perpetuation. In the highly artificial and materialistic bases of modern civiK- zation, with the corresponding arrangements and methods of living, the force-infusion of intellect alone, the depraving influences of riches just as much as pov- erty, the absence of all high ideals in character — wdth the long scries of tendencies, shapings, which few are strong enough to resist, and which now seem, with steam-engine speed, to be everywhere turning out the generations of humanity like uniform iron castings — all of which, as compared with the Feudal ages, we can yet do nothing better than accept, make the best of, and even welcome, upon the whole, for their oceanic practical grandeur, and their restless vfholesale knead- ing of the masses — I say of all this tremendous and dominant play of solely materialistic bearings upon current life in the United States, with the results as ah-eady seen, accumulating, and reaching far into the future, that they must either be confronted and met by at least an equally subtle and tremendous force-infusion for purposes of Spiritualization, for the pure conscience, for genuine esthetics, and for absolute and primal Man- liness and Womanhness — or else our modern civiliza- tion, with all its improvements, is in vain, and we are 74 Democeatic Vistas. on tlie road to a destiny, a status, equivalent, in (Lis real world, to that of the fabled damned. — To furnish, therefore, something like escape and foil and remedy — to restrain, with gentle but sufficient hand, the terrors of materialistic, intellectual, and demo- cratic civilization — to ascend to more ethereal, jei just as real, atmospheres — to invoke and set forth inefi'ablc portraits of Personal Perfection, (the true, final aim of all,) I say my eyes are fain to behold, though with straining sight — and my spirit to prophecy — far down the vistas of These States, that Order, Class, superbcr, far more efficient than any hitherto, arising. I say we must enlarge and entirely recast the theory of noble authorship, and conceive and put up as cur model, a Literatus — grouj^s, series of Literatuscs— not only con- sistent with modern science, practical, political, full of the arts, of highest erudition — not only possessed by, and possessors of. Democracy even — but with the equal of the burning fire and extasy of Conscience, which have brought down to us, over and through the centimes, that chain of old unparalleled Judean prophets, with their flashes cf power, wisdom, and poetic beauty, law- less as lightning, iiadefinite — yet power, wisdom, beauty, above all mere art, and surely, in some resjjects, above all else wo know of mere literature. Prospectiiig thus the coming unsped days, and that new Order in them — marking the endless train of exer- cise, development, unwind, in Nation as in man, vrhich life is for — we now proceed to note, as on the hopeful terraces or platforms of our history, to be enacted, not only amid peaceful growth, but amid all perturbations, end after not a few dej)artures, filling the vistas then, certain most coveted, stately arrivals. — A few years, and there will be an appropriate na- tive grand Opera, the lusty and wide-lipp'd offspring of Italian methods. Yet it will be no mere imitation, ncr follow precedents, any more than Natiu-e follows prece- dents. Vast oval halls will be constructed, on acoustic principles, in cities, where companies of musicians will perform lyrical pieces, born to the people of These Democratic Vistas. 75 States ; and the people will mate perfect music a part of their live?. Every phase, every trade ■will have its songs, beautifying those trades. Men on the land will have theirs, and men on the water theirs. Who novv^ is ready to begin that work for America, of composing music fit for us — songs, choruses, symphonies, cjieras, oi-atorios, fully identified with the body and soul of The States ? music complete in all its appointments, but in some fresh, courageous, melodious, undeniable styles — as all that is ever to permanently satisfy us must be. The composers to make such music are to leara every- thing that can bo possibly learned in the schools and traditions of their art, and then calmly dismiss all tradi- tions from them. Also, a great breed of orators will one day spread over The United States, and be continued. Blessed are the people where, (the nation's Unity and Identity prc- S3rved at all hazards,) strong emergencies, throes, occur. Strong emergencies will continually occur in America, and will be provided for. Such orators are wanted ay have never yet been heard upon the earth. What speci- men have we had where even the physicfil capacities of the voice have been fully accomplished ? I think there would be in the human voice, thoroughly practised and brought out, more seductive pathos than in any organ or any orchestra of stringed instruments, and a ring more impressive than that of artillery. Also, in a few years, there will be, in the cities of These States, immense Museums, with suites of halls, containing samples and illustrations from all the places and peoples of the earth, old and new. In these halls, in the presence of these illustrations, the noblest savans will deliver lectures to thousands of young men and women, on history, natural history, the sciences, &e. History itself will get released from being that false and distant thing, that fetish it has been. It will be- come a friend, a venerable teacher, a live being, with hands, voice, presence. It will be disgTaceful to a young person not to know chronology, geography, poems, heroes, deeds, and all the former nations, and 76 Demockatic Vistas. present ones also — and it will be disgraceful in a teaclier to teacli any less or more than be believes. — We see, fore-indicated, amid these prospects and ho^Des, new law-forces of spoken and written language — not merely the pedagogue-forms, correct, regular, familiar with precedents, made for matters of. outside propriety, fine words, thoughts definitely told out — but a language fanned by the breath of Nature, which leaps overhead, cares mostly for impetus and effects, and for what it plants and invigorates to grow — tallies life and character, and seldomer tells a thing than suggests or necessitates it. In fact, a new theory of literary compo- sition for imaginative works of the very first class, and especially for highest poems, is the sole course open to These States. Books are to be called foi', and supplied, on the as- sumption that the process of reading is not a half-sleep, but, in highest sense, an exercise, a eynmast's struggle ; that the reader is to do something for himself, must be on the alert, must himself or herself construct indeed the poem, argument, history, metaphysical essay — the text furnishing the hints, the clue, the start or frame- work. Not the book needs so much to be the complete thing, but the reader of the book does. That were to make a nation of supple and athletic minds, well- trained, intuitive, used to depend on themselves, and not on a few coteries of writers. — Investigating here, we see, not that it is a little thing we have, in having the bequeathed hbraries, countless shelves of volumes, records, &c. ; yet how serious the danger, depending entirely on them, of the bloodless vein, the nerveless arm, the false application, at second or third hand. After all, we see Life, not bred, (at least in its more modern and essential parts,) in those great old Libraries, nor America nor Democ- racy favored nor applauded there. "We see that the real interest of this People of ours in the Theology, History, Poetr}'', Politics, and Personal Models of the past, (of British islands, for instance, and indeed all the past,) is not necessarily to mould oui'selves or our literature upon them, but to attain fuller, mere definite Democratic Vistas. 77 comparisons, warnings, and tlie insight to ourselves, our own present, and our ov/n far grander, different, future history. Religion, social customs, &c. — We see that almost everything that has been ■written, sung, or stated, of old, with reference to hu- manity under the Feudal and Oriental institutes, reli- gions, and for otiier lands, needs to be re-written, re- sung, re-stated, in terms consistent with the institution of These States, and to come in range and obedient uniformity with them. We see, as in the universes of the material Kosmos, after meteorological, vegetable, and animal cycles, man at last arises, born through them, to prove them, con- centrate them, to turn ujdou them v/ith wonder and love — to command them, adorn them, and carry them upward into superior realms — so out of the series of the preceding social and political universes, now arise These States — their main purport being not in the new- ness and importance of their politics or inventions, but in new, grander, more advanced Religions, Literatures, and Art. We see that while many were supi^osing things estab- lished and completed, really the grandest things always remain ; and discover that the work of the New World is not ended, but only fairly begTin. We see our land, America, her Literature, Esthetics, &c., as, substantially, the getting in form, or effusement and statement, of deepest basic elements and loftiest final meanings, of History and Man — and the portrayal, (under the eternal laws and conditions of beauty,) of our own physiognomy, the subjective tie and expression of the objective, as from our own combination, continu- ation and points of view — and the deposit and record of the national mentality, character, appeals, heroism, wars, and even liberties — where these, and all, culmi- nate in native formulation, to be perpetuated ; — and not having which native, first-class formulatiou, she will flounder about, and her other, however imposing, eminent greatness, prove merely a passing gleam ; but truly having which, she will understand herself, live nobly, nobly contribute, emanate, and, swinging, poised 78 Demcciiatic Vistas. safely on herself, illumined and illuming, become a full- formed world, and diyine Mother not only of material but spiritual worlds, in ceaseless succession througli Time. Finally, we have to admit, we see, even to-day, an^l in all these things, the born Democratic taste and will of The United States, regardless of precedent, or of any authority but their own, beginning to arrive, seeking place — which, in due time, they will fully occupy. At lii'st, of course, under current prevalences of theology', conventions, criticism, &c., all appears impracticable — takes chances to be denied and misunderstood. There- with, of course, miu'murers, jrazzled persons, supercil- ious inquirers, (with a mighty stir and noise among these windy little gentlemen that swarm in literatiu'e, in the magazines.) But America, advancing steadily, evil as well as good, penetrating deep, without one thought of retraction, ascending, expanding, keeps her course, hundreds, thousands of years. GENERAL NOTES " SoCiETV." — I have myself little or no laopo from T/liat is teclinically called " Society " in our American cities. New York, of wliicli place I have spoken so sharply, still promises something, in time, out of its tremendous and varied materials, with a certain superiority of intiiitions, and the advantage of constant agitation, and ever new and rapid dealings of the cards. Of Boston, with its circles of social mummies, swathed in cerements harder than brass — its bloodless religion, (Unitarianism,) its complacent vanity of scientisni and literature, lots of grammatical correctness, mere knowledge, (always wearisome, in itself) — its zealous abstractions, ghosts of reforms — I should say, (ever admitting its business powers, its sharp, almost demoniac, intellect, and no lack, in its own way, of courage and generosity) — there is. at present, little of cheering, satistjdng sign. In the West, California, &c,, " society " is yet unfoi'med, peurile, seemingly unconscious of anything above a driving business, or to liberally spend the money made by it in the usual rounds and shows. Then there is, to the humorous observer of American attempts at fashion, according to the models of foreign courts and saloons, quite a comic side — particularly ^■isible at Washington City, — a sort of high life below stairs business. As if any farce could be funnier, for instance, than the scenes of the crowds, winter nights, meandering around our Presidents and their wives, Cabinet ofBcers, western or other Senators, Eepresentatives, &c.; born of good laboring, mechani?, or fanner stock and antecedents, attempt- ing those full-dress receptions, finesse of parlors, foreign ceremo- nies, etiquettes, &c. Indeed, considered with any sense of propriety, or any sense at all, the whole of this illy-played fashionable ]ilay and display, with their absorption of the best part of our wealthier citizens' time, money, energies, &c., is ridiculously out of place in the United States. As if our proper man and woman, (far, far greater ■words than " gentleman " and " lady,") could still fail to see, and presently achieve, not this spectral business, but something truly noble, active, sane, American — by modes, perfections of character, manners, costiunes, social relations, &c., adjusted to standards^ far, far diflforent from those ! 80 DeivIocratic Vistas. — Eminent and liberal foreigners, Britisli or continental, must at times have their faith fearfully tried by what they see of our Nev/ World personalities. The shallowest and least Ameiicau persons seem surest to push abroad and call without fail on well- known foreigners, who are doubtless affected with indescribable qualms by these queer ones. Then, more than half of our authors and writers evidently think it a great thing to be " aristocratic," and sneer at progress, democracy, revolution, &c. If some inter- national literary Snobs' Gallery were established, it is certain that America could contribute at least her fidl share of the portraits, and some very distinguished ones. Observe that the most impu- dent slanders, low insults, &c., on the great revolutionary authors, leaders, poets, &c., of Europe, have their origin and main circula tion in certain circles here. The treatment of Victor Hugo living, and Byron dead, are samples. Both deserving so well of America ; and both persistently attempted to be soiled here by unclean birds, male and female. — Meanwhile, I must still offset the like of the foregcing, and all it infers, by the recognition of the fact, that while the surfaces of current society here show so much that is dismal, noisome and vapory, there are, beyond question, inexhaustible sui)p]ies, as of true gold ore, in the mines of America's general humanity. Let us, not ignoring the dross, give fit stress to these precious, im- mortal values also. Let it be distinctly admitted, that — whatever may be said of our fashionable society, and of any foid fractions and episodes — only here in America, out of the long history, and manifold presentations of the ages, has at last arisen, and now stands, what never before took positive fonu and sway, The People — and that, viewed en-masse, and while fully acknowl- edging deficiencies, dangers, faults, this People, inchoate, latent, not yet come to majority, nor to its own religious, literary or esthetic expression, yet affords, to-day, an exultant justification of aJl the faith, all the hopes and ]irayers and proyjliecies of good men through the past — the stablest, solidest-based government of the world — the most assured in a future — the beaniing Pharos to whose perennial light all earnest eyes, the world over, are tending — And that already, in and from it, the Democratic prin- ciple, having been mortally tried by severest tests, fatalities, of war and peace, now issues from the trial, unharmed, trebly-in- vigorated, perhaps to commence forthwith its finally triumphant march around the globe. British Literature. — To avoid mistake, I would say that I not only commend the study of this literature, but wish our sources of supply and comparison vastly enlarged. American students may well derive from all former lands — from forenoon Greece and Eome, down to the perturbed medieval times, the Crusades, and so to Italy, the German intellect — all the older lit- eratures, and all the newer ones — from witty and warlike France, and markedly, and in many ways, and at many different periods, Genekal Notes. 81 from tlie enterprise and soul of the great Spanisli race — bearing ourselves always courteous, always deferential, indebted beyond measure to the mother-world, to all its nations dead, as all its na- tions living — the offspring, this America of ours, the Daughter, not by any means of the Sritish isles exclusively, but of the Con- tinent, and all continents. Indeed, it is time we shoiUd realize and fully fructify those germs we also hold from Italy, France, Spain, especially in the best imaginative productions of those lauds, which are, in many ways, loftier and subtler than the Eng- lish, or British, and indispensable to complete our service, propor- tions, education, reminiscences, &c The British element These States hold, and have always held, enormously beyond its fit pro- portions. I have already spoken of Shakespeare. Ho seems to me of astral genius, first class, entirely fit for feudalism. His contributions, especially to the literatiire of the passions, are im- mense, forever dear to humanitj — and his name is always to be reverenced in America. But there is much in him that is offen- sive to Democracy. He is not only the tally of Feudalism, but I should say Shakespeare is incarnated, uncompromising Feudal- ism, in literature. Then one seems to detect something in him — I hardly know how to describe it — even amid the dazzle of his genius; and, in inferior manifestations, it is found in nearly all leading British authors. (Perhaps we will have to import the words Snob, Snobbish, &c., after all.) While of the great poems of Asian antiquity, the Indian epics, the Book of Job, the Ionian Iliad, the uusurpassedly simple, loving, perfect idyls of the life and death of Christ, in the New Testament, (indeed Homer and the Biblical utterances intertwine familiarly with us, in the main,) and along down, of most of the characteristic imaginative or ro- mantic relics of the continent, as the Cid, Cervantes Don Quixote, &c., I should say they substantially adjust themselves to us, and, far off as they are, accord curiously %^ith our bed and board, to- day, in 1870, in Brooklj-n, Washington, Canada, Ohio, Texas, California — and with our notions, both of seriousness and of fun, and our standards of heroism, manliness, and even the Democratic requirements — those requirements are not only not fulfilled in the Shakesperean productions, bitt are insulted on every page. I add that — while England is among the greatest of lands in political freedom, or the idea of it, and in stalwart personal char- acter, &c. — the spirit of English literature is not great, at least is not greatest — and its products are no models for us. With the exception of Shakespeare, there is no first-class genius, or ap- proaching to first-class, in that literature — which, with a truly vast amount of value, and of artificial beauty, (largely from the classics,) is almost always material, sensual, not spiritual — almost always congests, makes plethoric, not frees, expands, dilates — is cold, anti-Democratic, loves to be sluggish and stately, and shows much of that characteristic of vulgar persons, the dread of saying or doing something not at all improper in itself, but unconven- tional, and that may be laughed at. In its best, the sombre per- 82 Democe.vtio Vkjtas. vades it ; — it is moody, melancholy, aud, to give it its due, ex- presses, in cliaractcrs and plots, those qualities, in an unrivaled nmuner. Yet not as the black thunderstorms, and in great nor- mal, crashing passions, as of the Greek dramatists — clearing the air, refreshing afterward, bracing with power ; but as in Hamlet, moping, sick, uncertain, and leaving ever after a secret taste for the blues, the morbid fascination, the luxury of wo (I cannot dismiss English, or British imaginative literature without the cheerful name of Walter Scott. In my opinion he deserves to stand next to Shakespeare. Both are, in their best and absolute quality, continental, not British — both teeming, luxuriant, true to their lands and origin, namely feudality, yet ascending into uni- versalism. Then, I should say, both deserve to be finally consid- ered and construed as shining suns, whom it Avcre ungracious to pick spots upon.) I strongly recommend all the young men and young women of tli3 United States to whom it may be eligible, to overhaul the well-freighted fleets, the literatures of Italy, Spain, France, Ger- many, so full of those elements of freedom, self possession, gay- lieartedncss, subtlety, dilation, needed in preparations for the future of The States. I only wish wo coiild have really good translations. I rejoice at the feeling for Oriental researches and poetry, and hopo it will go on. The Late WjOI.— The Secession War in tlie United States appears to me as the last great material and military outcro])ping of the Feudal spirit, in our N(>w World history, society, &c. Though it Avas not certain, hardly probable, that the effort for founding a Slave-Holding power, by breaking up the Union, should be successful, it Avas urged on by indomitable passion, pride and will. The signal doAvnfall cf this effort, the abolition of Slavery, and the extirpation of the Slaveholding Class, (cut out and thrown away like a tumor by surgical operation,) makes incomparably the longest advance for Radical Democracy, utterly removing its only really dangerous impediment, and insuring its progress in the United States — and thence, of course, over tho world (Our immediate years witness the solution of three vast, life-threatening calculi, in different parts of the world — the removal of serfdom in Russia, slavery in the United States, and of the meanest of Imperialisms in France.) Of the Sec3ssion War itself, we know, in tho ostent, what has been done. The numbers of the dead and wounded can be told, or approximated, the debt posted and put on recoivl, the material events narrated, &c. Meantime, the war being over, elections go on, laws are passed, political parties struggle, issue their jdat- forins, &c., jiist the same as befoi'e. But immensest resitlts of tho War — not only in Politics, but in Literature, Poems, and Sociol- ogy— are doubtless waiting yet tmformed, in the future. Hov/ long they will wait I cannot tell. The pageant of History's retrospect shows us, ages since, all Europe marching on tlic Cru- Geneeal Notes. . 83 sadcs, those wondrous armed iiprisings of tlio People, stirred by a mere idea, to grandest attempt — and, when once bafHed in it, returning, at intervals, twice, thrice, and again. An unsurpassed series of revolutionary events, influences. Yet it took over two liiiudred years for the seeds of the Crusades to germinate before beginning even to sprout. Two hundred years they lay, sleeping, not dead, but dormant in the ground. Then, out of them, un- erringly, arts, travel, navigation, politics, literature, freedom, in- ventions, the spirit of adventure, inquiry, all arose, grew, and steadily sped on to what v/e see at present. Far back there, that huge agitation-struggle of the Crusades, stands, as undoubtedly the embryo, the start, of the high preeminence of experiment, civilization and enterprise whicli tlie European nations have since sustained, and of which These States are the heirs. General Suffrage, EleCtioxs, &c. — It still remains doubtful to me vv'hether these vv-ill ever secure, officially, the best wit and capacity — v.diether, through tliem, the first-class geniuo of America will ever personally appear in the high political stations, the Presi- dency, Congress, the leading State offices, &c. Those offices, or the candidacy for them, arranged, won, by caucusinj^, nione}', the favoritism or pecuniary interest of rings, the superior manipula- tion of the ins over the outs, or the outs over the ins, are, indeed, at best, the mere business agencies of the people, are useful as formulating, neither the best and highest, but the average of the public judgment, sense, justice, (or sometimes want of judgment, sense, justice.) We elect Presidents, Congressmen, &c., not so much to have them consider and decide for us, but as surest jjrac- tical means of exin-essing the will of majorities on mooted ques- tions, measures, &c. As to general sulTrage, after all, since we have gone so far, the more general it is, the better. I favor the v/idest opening of the doors. Let the ventilation and area be wide enough, and all is safe. Wo can never have a born penitentiary' -bird, or panel-thief, or lowest gambling-hell or groggery keeper, for President — though sacli may not only emulate, but get, high offices from localities — even from the proud and wealthy city of New York. State Rights. — Freedom, (under the universal laws,) and the fair and uncramped play of Individuality, can only be had at all through strong-knit cohesion, identity. There are, who, talking of the rights of The States, as in separatism and independence, condemn a rigid nationality, centrality. But to .my mind, the freedom, as tlie existence at all, of The States, pre-necessitates such a Nationality, an imperial Union. Thus, it is to serve sepa- ratism that we favor generalization, consolidntion. It is to give, under the compaction of potent general law, an independent vitality and sv»'ay within their spheres, to The States singly, (really just as important a part of our scheme as the sacred Union itself,) that v/e insist on the jircservation of our Nation- 84 Democratic Vistas. ality forever, and fit all hazards. I say neither States, nor any thing like State Rif^hts, could permanently exist on any other terms. Latest rr.OJr EcTROPr:. — As I send my last pages to press, (Sept. 19, 1870,) the ocean-cable, continuing ils daily budget of Franco-German war-news — Louis Naj^oleon a prisoner, (his rat- cunning at an end) — the conquerors advanced on Paris — the French, assuming Ecpublican forms — seeking to negotiate with the King of Prussia, at the head of his armies — " liis Majesty," says the despatch, "refuses to treat, on any terms, with a govern- ment risen oiit of Democracy." Let us note the words, and not forget them. The official rela- tions of Our States, we know, are Avith the reigning kings, queens, &c., of the Old World. But the only deep, vast, emotional, real affinity of America is with the cause of Popular Government there — and especially in France. 0 that I could express, in my printed lines, the passionate yearnings, the pulses of sympathy, forever throbbing in the heart of These States, for sake of that — the eager eyes forever turned to that — watching it, struggling, appearing and disappearing, often apparently gone imder, yet never to be abandoned, in France, Italy, Spain, Germany, and in the British Islands. Advertisement. WALT WHITMAN'S BOOKS. Leaves of Grass, 384 i)a^es, paper covers price, $3 54 Passage to India, 130 pages, paper covers pfice, .f 1 00 Democratic Vistas . 84 pages, paper covers, price, 75 ct 9. i^" The above can be ordered from any Bookseller. H^^ Published in New- York, by J. S. Redfielp, 140 Fulton Street, up-staii's. Dealers supplied. Single ' copies sent by mail. JJ^" Can be obtained as follows : WasJilngfoH, J). C. Philp & Solomon, Pennsylvania Avenue, near Nintli Street. Parkek's, Seventh Street, opposite Post-office. Willard's Hotel, Pok-stanrl. Xew-York. llEDFiELD, 140 Fulton Street. F. B. Felt, 455 Broome Street. (Dealers sujiplied.) Brentano, 33 Union Square, Broadway. liosfoit. W. H. PiPRK & Co., 138 Washington Street. liroolxJyu. :\[. XEvr.N, 302 Fulton Street. London, Eiif/land. TiUT.NRR, 60 Paternoster Row. Sold by the Author, through the Post-office. Address at Wtdii- ington, D- C.^ giving full Post- ffice address. i Date Due ^l 1 0 '4S ^: '):o '- (|)