178. Thoughts



1

OF these years I sing,       
How they pass and have pass’d, through convuls’d pains as through parturitions;       
How America illustrates birth, muscular youth, the promise, the sure fulfillment, the Absolute Success, despite of people—Illustrates evil as well as good;       
How many hold despairingly yet to the models departed, 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,            5   
(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;       
How society waits unform’d, and is for awhile 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;     10   
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 convuls’d, and serve other parturitions and transitions,       
And how all people, sights, combinations, the Democratic 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 dropping into the ground—of birth,     15   
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, Colorado, 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;     20   
Of This Union, soak’d, welded in blood—of the solemn price paid—of the unnamed lost, ever present in my mind;       
—Of the temporary use of materials, for identity’s sake,       
Of the present, passing, departing—of the growth of completer men than any yet,       
Of myself, soon, perhaps, closing up my songs by these shores,       
Of California, of Oregon—and of me journeying to live and sing there;     25   
Of the Western Sea—of the spread inland between it and the 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 happiness in those high plateaus, ranging three thousand miles, warm and cold;       
Of mighty inland cities yet unsurvey’d and unsuspected, (as I am also, and as it must be;)     30   
Of the new and good names—of the modern developments—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;)     35   
Of the native scorn of grossness and gain there;       
(O it lurks in me night and day—What is gain, after all, to savageness and freedom?)

179. Song at Sunset



SPLENDOR of ended day, floating and filling me!       
Hour prophetic—hour resuming the past!       
Inflating my throat—you, divine average!       
You, Earth and Life, till the last ray gleams, I sing.       
     
Open mouth of my Soul, uttering gladness,            5   
Eyes of my Soul, seeing perfection,       
Natural life of me, faithfully praising things;       
Corroborating forever the triumph of things.       
     
Illustrious every one!       
Illustrious what we name space—sphere of unnumber’d spirits;     10   
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 whatever I see, or hear, or touch, to the last.       
     
Good in all,     15   
In the satisfaction and aplomb of animals,       
In the annual return of the seasons,       
In the hilarity of youth,       
In the strength and flush of manhood,       
In the grandeur and exquisiteness of old age,     20   
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!     25   
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—these men and women I love.     30   
     
Wonderful how 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!)     35   
How the trees rise and stand up—with strong trunks—with branches and leaves!       
(Surely there is something more in each of the tree—some living Soul.)       
     
O amazement of things! even the least particle!       
O spirituality of things!       
O strain musical, flowing through ages and continents—now reaching me and America!     40   
I take your strong chords—I intersperse them, and cheerfully pass them forward.       
     
I too carol the sun, usher’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,     45   
As I wander’d over the prairies,       
As I have lived—As I have look’d through my windows, my eyes,       
As I went forth in the morning—As I beheld the light breaking in the east;       
As I bathed on 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;     50   
Or cities, or silent woods, or peace, or even amid the sights of war;       
Wherever I have been, I have charged myself with contentment and triumph.       
     
I sing the Equalities, modern or old,       
I sing the endless finales of things;       
I say Nature continues—Glory continues;     55   
I praise with electric voice;       
For I do not see one imperfection in the 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.     60

180. When I heard the Learn’d Astronomer



WHEN I heard the learn’d astronomer;       
When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me;       
When I was shown the charts and the diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them;       
When I, sitting, heard the astronomer, where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room,       
How soon, unaccountable, I became tired and sick;            5   
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.

181. 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.

182. So Long



1

TO conclude—I announce what comes after me;       
I announce mightier 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,            5   
When there are plentiful athletic bards, inland and seaboard,       
When through These States walk a hundred millions of superb persons,       
When the rest part away for superb persons, and contribute to them,       
When breeds of the most perfect mothers denote America,       
Then to me and mine our due fruition.     10   
     
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 everyone—I have journey’d with confident step;       
While my pleasure is yet at the full, I whisper, So long!     15   
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;       
I announce uncompromising liberty and equality;       
I announce the justification of candor, and the justification of pride.     20   
     
I announce that the identity of These States is a single identity only;       
I announce the Union more and more compact, indissoluble;       
I announce splendors and majesties to make all the previous politics of the earth insignificant.       
     
I announce adhesiveness—I say it shall be limitless, unloosen’d;       
I say you shall yet find the friend you were looking for.     25   
     
I announce a man or woman coming—perhaps you are the one, (So long!)       
I announce the great individual, fluid as Nature, chaste, affectionate, compassionate, fully armed.       
     
I announce a life that shall be 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;     30   
I announce a race of splendid and savage old men.       
     
3

O thicker and faster! (So long!)       
O crowding too close upon me;       
I foresee too much—it means more than I thought;       
It appears to me I am dying.     35   
     
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,       
Swiftly on, but a little while alighting,     40   
Curious envelop’d messages delivering,       
Sparkles hot, seed ethereal, down in the dirt dropping,       
Myself unknowing, my commission obeying, to question it never daring,       
To ages, and ages yet, the growth of the seed leaving,       
To troops out of me, out of the army, the war arising—they the tasks I have set promulging,     45   
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 really undying;)       
The best of me then when no longer visible—for toward that I have been incessantly preparing.     50   
     
What is there more, that I lag and pause, and crouch extended with unshut mouth?       
Is there a single final farewell?       
     
4

My songs cease—I abandon them;       
From behind the screen where I hid I advance personally, solely to you.       
     
Camerado! This is no book;     55   
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 your arms—decease calls me forth.       
     
O how your fingers drowse me!     60   
Your breath falls around me like dew—your pulse lulls the tympans of my ears;       
I feel immerged from head to foot;       
Delicious—enough.       
     
Enough, O deed impromptu and secret!       
Enough, O gliding present! Enough, O summ’d-up past!     65   
     
5

Dear friend, whoever you are, take this kiss,       
I give it especially to you—Do not forget me;       
I feel like one who has done work for the day, to retire awhile;       
I receive 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!     70   
Remember my words—I may again return,       
I love you—I depart from materials;       
I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.

183. Passage to India



1

SINGING my days,       
Singing the great achievements of the present,       
Singing the strong, light works of engineers,       
Our modern wonders, (the antique ponderous Seven outvied,)       
In the Old World, the east, the Suez canal,            5   
The New by its mighty railroad 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!     10   
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.)     15   
     
2

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, Africa’s fables!     20   
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 religions;       
—O you temples fairer than lilies, pour’d over by the rising sun!       
O you fables, spurning the known, eluding the hold of the known, mounting to heaven!     25   
You lofty and dazzling towers, pinnacled, red as roses, burnish’d with gold!       
Towers of fables immortal, fashion’d from mortal dreams!       
You too I welcome, and fully, the same as the rest;       
You too with joy I sing.       
     
3

Passage to India!     30   
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 marriage,       
The oceans to be cross’d, the distant brought near,     35   
The lands to be welded together.       
     
(A worship new, I sing;       
You captains, voyagers, explorers, yours!       
You engineers! you architects, machinists, your!       
You, not for trade or transportation only,     40   
But in God’s name, and for thy sake, O soul.)       
     
4

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 Eugenie’s leading the van;     45   
I mark, from on deck, the strange landscape, the pure sky, the level sand in the distance;       
I pass swiftly the picturesque groups, 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 Railroad, surmounting every barrier;     50   
I see continual trains of cars winding along the Platte, carrying freight and passengers;       
I hear the locomotives rushing and roaring, and the shrill steam-whistle,       
I hear the echoes reverberate through the grandest scenery in the world;       
I cross the Laramie plains—I note the rocks in grotesque shapes—the buttes;       
I see the plentiful larkspur and wild onions—the barren, colorless, sage-deserts;     55   
I see in glimpses afar, or towering immediately above me, the great mountains—I see the Wind River 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,     60   
Or, crossing the great desert, the alkaline plains, I behold enchanting mirages of waters and meadows;       
Marking through these, and after all, in duplicate slender lines,       
Bridging the three or four thousand miles of land travel,       
Tying the Eastern to the Western sea,       
The road between Europe and Asia.     65   
     
(Ah Genoese, thy dream! thy dream!       
Centuries after thou art laid in thy grave,       
The shore thou foundest verifies thy dream!)       
     
5

Passage to India!       
Struggles of many a captain—tales of many a sailor dead!     70   
Over my mood, stealing and spreading they come,       
Like clouds and cloudlets in the unreach’d sky.       
     
Along all history, down 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,     75   
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,     80   
Thou, rondure of the world, at last accomplish’d.       
     
6

O, vast Rondure, swimming in space!       
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;     85   
Below, the manifold grass and waters, animals, mountains, 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, radiating,       
Adam and Eve appear, then their myriad progeny after them,     90   
Wandering, yearning, curious—with restless explorations,       
With questionings, baffled, formless, feverish—with never-happy hearts,       
With that sad, incessant refrain, Wherefore, unsatisfied Soul? and Whither, O mocking Life?       
     
Ah, who shall soothe these feverish children?       
Who justify these restless explorations?     95   
Who speak the secret of impassive Earth?       
Who bind it to us? What is this separate Nature, so unnatural?       
What 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;    100   
(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;    105   
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 fretted 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;    110   
The whole Earth—this cold, impassive, voiceless Earth, shall be completely justified;       
Trinitas divine shall be gloriously accomplish’d and compacted by the the Son of God, the poet,       
(He shall indeed pass the straits and conquer the mountains,       
He shall double the Cape of Good Hope to some purpose;)       
Nature and Man shall be disjoin’d and diffused no more,    115   
The true Son of God shall absolutely fuse them.       
     
7

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;)    120   
I see, O year, in you, the vast terraqueous globe, given, and giving all,       
Europe to Asia, Africa join’d, and they to the New World;       
The lands, geographies, dancing before you, holding a festival garland,       
As brides and bridegrooms hand in hand.       
     
8

Passage to India!    125   
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;    130   
(I, my shores of America walking to-day, behold, resuming 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,    135   
Old occult Brahma, interminably far back—the tender and junior Buddha,       
Central and southern empires, and all their belongings, possessors,       
The wars of Tamerlane, the reign of Aurungzebe,       
The traders, rulers, explorers, Moslems, Venetians, Byzantium, the Arabs, Portuguese,       
The first travelers, famous yet, Marco Polo, Batouta the Moor,    140   
Doubts to be solv’d, the map incognita, blanks to be fill’d,       
The foot of man unstay’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 awaken’d enterprise;    145   
Something swelling 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,    150   
Spreading 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,    155   
(History’s type of courage, 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, poverty, death.    160   
     
(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 God’s due occasion,       
Uprising in the night, it sprouts, blooms,       
And fills the earth with use and beauty.)    165   
     
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, repressless, I with thee, and thou with me,    170   
Thy circumnavigation of the world begin;       
Of man, the voyage of his mind’s return,       
To reason’s early paradise,       
Back, back to wisdom’s birth, to innocent intuitions,       
Again with fair Creation.    175   
 

   
11

O we can wait 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,)    180   
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.    185   
     
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 waking in the night,       
Thoughts, silent thoughts, of Time, and Space, and Death, like waters flowing,    190   
Bear me, indeed, as through the regions infinite,       
Whose air 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!    195   
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, spiritual fountain! affection’s source! thou reservoir!       
(O pensive soul of me! O thirst unsatisfied! waitest not there?    200   
Waitest not haply for us, somewhere there, the Comrade perfect?)       
Thou pulse! thou motive of the stars, suns, systems,       
That, circling, move in order, safe, harmonious,       
Athwart the shapeless vastnesses of space!       
     
How should I think—how breathe a single breath—how speak—if, out of myself,    205   
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,    210   
Thou matest Time, smilest content at Death,       
And fillest, swellest full, the vastnesses of Space.       
     
Greater than stars or suns,       
Bounding, O soul, thou journeyest forth;       
—What love, than thine and ours could wider amplify?    215   
What aspirations, wishes, outvie thine and ours, O soul?       
What dreams of the ideal? what plans of purity, perfection, strength?       
What cheerful willingness, for others’ sake, to give up all?       
For others’ sake to suffer all?       
     
Reckoning ahead, O soul, when thou, the time achiev’d,    220   
(The seas all cross’d, weather’d the capes, the voyage done,)       
Surrounded, copest, frontest God, yieldest, the aim attain’d,       
As, fill’d with friendship, love complete, the Elder Brother found,       
The Younger melts in fondness in his arms.       
     
12

Passage to more than India!    225   
Are thy wings plumed indeed for such far flights?       
O Soul, voyagest thou indeed on voyages like these?       
Disportest thou on waters such as these?       
Soundest below the Sanscrit and the Vedas?       
Then have thy bent unleash’d.    230   
     
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!    235   
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! O rain and snows!       
O day and night, passage to you!    240   
     
O sun and moon, and all you stars! Sirius and Jupiter!       
Passage to you!       
     
Passage—immediate passage! the blood burns in my veins!       
Away, O soul! hoist instantly the anchor!       
Cut the hawsers—haul out—shake out every sail!    245   
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;    250   
For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go,       
And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all.       
     
O my brave soul!       
O farther, farther sail!       
O daring joy, but safe! Are they not all the seas of God?    255   
O farther, farther, farther sail!

184. Thought



AS I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while 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—and 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,            5   
Of the veil’d tableau—Women gather’d 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?

185. 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, where I cast them!            5   
To pass on, (O living! always living!) and leave the corpses behind!

186. Proud Music of The Storm



1

PROUD music of the storm!       
Blast that careers so free, whistling across the prairies!       
Strong hum of forest tree-tops! Wind of the mountains!       
Personified dim shapes! you hidden orchestras!       
You serenades of phantoms, with instruments alert,            5   
Blending, with Nature’s rhythmus, all the tongues of nations;       
You chords left us by vast composers! you choruses!       
You formless, free, religious dances! you from the Orient!       
You undertone of rivers, roar of pouring cataracts;       
You sounds from distant guns, with galloping cavalry!     10   
Echoes of camps, with all the different bugle-calls!       
Trooping tumultuous, filling the midnight late, bending me powerless,       
Entering my lonesome slumber-chamber—Why have you seiz’d me?       
     
2

Come forward, O my Soul, and let the rest retire;       
Listen—lose not—it is toward thee they tend;     15   
Parting the midnight, entering my slumber-chamber,       
For thee they sing and dance, O Soul.       
     
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;     20   
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.       
     
3

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?     25   
     
(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.)       
     
4

Now airs antique and medieval fill me!       
I see and hear old harpers with their harps, at Welsh festivals:     30   
I hear the minnesingers, singing their lays of love,       
I hear the minstrels, gleemen, troubadours, of the feudal ages.       
     
5

Now the great organ sounds,       
Tremulous—while underneath, (as the hid footholds of the earth,       
On which arising, rest, and leaping forth, depend,     35   
All shapes of beauty, grace and strength—all hues we know,       
Green blades of grass, and warbling birds—children that gambol and play—the clouds of heaven above,)       
The strong base stands, and its pulsations intermits not,       
Bathing, supporting, merging all the rest—maternity of all the rest;       
And with it every instrument in multitudes,     40   
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,     45   
Of winds and woods and mighty ocean waves;       
A new composite orchestra—binder of years and climes—ten-fold renewer,       
As of the far-back days the poets tell—the Paradiso,       
The straying thence, the separation long, but now the wandering done,       
The journey done, the Journeyman come home,     50   
And Man and Art, with Nature fused again.       
     
6

Tutti! for Earth and Heaven!       
The Almighty Leader now for me, for once has signal’d with his wand.       
     
The manly strophe of the husbands of the world,       
And all the wives responding.     55   
     
The tongues of violins!       
(I think, O tongues, ye tell this heart, that cannot tell itself;       
This brooding, yearning heart, that cannot tell itself.)       
     
7

Ah, from a little child,       
Thou knowest, Soul, how to me all sounds became music;     60   
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;)       
The rain, the growing corn, the breeze among the long-leav’d corn,       
The measur’d sea-surf, beating on the sand,     65   
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.     70   
     
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.     75   
     
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,     80   
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!     85   
     
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.       
     
Awaking from her woes at last, retriev’d Amina sings;     90   
Copious as stars, and glad as morning light, the torrents 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;     95   
I hear in the William Tell, the music of an arous’d and angry people;       
I hear Meyerbeer’s Huguenots, the Prophet, or Robert;       
Gounod’s Faust, or Mozart’s Don Juan.       
     
10

I hear the dance-music of all nations,       
The waltz, (some delicious measure, lapsing, bathing me in bliss;)    100   
The bolero, to tinkling guitars 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, interspers’d with frantic shouts, as they spin around, turning always towards Mecca;    105   
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 shuffling of their feet.       
     
I see again the wild old Corybantian dance, the performers wounding each other;    110   
I see the Roman youth, to the shrill sound of flageolets, 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.)