Where the deep-bolted stars themselves still shift and range! Shall we to more continuance make pretence? Renown builds tombs; a life-estate is Wit; And, bit by bit, The cunning years steal all from us but woe: Leaves are we, whose decays no har vest sow. But, when we vanish hence, Shall they lie forceless in the dark below, Save to make green their little length of sods, Or deepen pansies for a year or two, Who now to us are shining-sweet as gods? Was dying all they had the skill to do? That were not fruitless: but the Soul resents Such short-lived service, as if blind events Ruled without her, or earth could so endure; She claims a more divine investiture Of longer tenure than Fame's airy rents; Whate'er she touches doth her nature share; Her inspiration haunts the ennobled air, Gives eyes to mountains blind, Ears to the deaf earth, voices to the wind, And her clear trump sings succor everywhere By lonely bivouacs to the wakeful mind; For soul inherits all that soul could dare: Yea, Manhood hath a wider span And larger privilege of life than man. The single deed, the private sacrifice, So radiant now through proudly-hidden tears, Is covered up ere long from mortal eyes With thoughtless drift of the deciduous years; But that high privilege that makes all men peers, That leap of heart whereby a people rise Up to a noble anger's height, And, flamed on by the Fates, not shrink, but grow more bright, That swift validity in noble veins, Of being set on flame By the pure fire that flies all contact base, But wraps its chosen with angelic might, These are imperishable gains, Sure as the sun, medicinal as light, These hold great futures in their lusty reins And certify to earth a new imperial race. X Who now shall sneer? Who dare again to say we trace Dumb are those names erewhile in battle loud; Dream-footed as the shadow of a cloud, They flit across the ear: That is best blood that hath most iron in't, To edge resolve with, pouring without stint For what makes manhood dear. Hapsburgs, and Guelfs, whose thin bloods crawl Down from some victor in a borderbrawl! How poor their outworn coronets, Matched with one leaf of that plain civic wreath Our brave for honor's blazon shall be queath, Through whose desert a rescued Nation sets Her heel on treason, and the trumpet hears Shout victory, tingling Europe's sullen ears With vain resentments and more vain regrets! XI Not in anger, not in pride, Pure from passion's mixture rude, But with far-heard gratitude, Still with heart and voice renewed, To heroes living and dear martyrs dead, The strain should close that consecrates our brave. Lift the heart and lift the head! Lofty be its mood and grave, Through whose heart in such an Beats no march of conscious power, A hero half, and half the whim of But the pith and marrow of a Drawing force from all her men, Pulsing it again through them, Come back, then, noble pride, for 'tis her dower! How could poet ever tower, If his passions, hopes, and fears, If his triumphs and his tears, Kept not measure with his people? Boom, cannon, boom to all the winds and waves! Clash out, glad bells, from every rocking steeple! Banners, advance with triumph, bend your staves! And from every mountain-peak Let beacon-fire to answering beacon speak, Katahdin tell Monadnock, Whiteface he, And so leap on in light from sea to sea, Till the glad news be sent Making earth feel more firm and air breathe braver: "Be proud! for she is saved, and all have helped to save her! She that lifts up the manhood of the poor, She of the open soul and open door, With room about her hearth for all mankind! The fire is dreadful in her eyes no more; From her bold front the helm she doth unbind, Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin, And bids her navies, that so lately hurled Their crashing battle, hold their thunders in, Swimming like birds of calm along the unharmful shore. No challenge sends she to the elder world, That looked askance and hated; a light scorn Plays o'er her mouth, as round her mighty knees She calls her children back, and waits the morn Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas." XII Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release! Thy God, in these distempered days, Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways, And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace! Bow down in prayer and praise! No poorest in thy borders but may now Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised brow. O Beautiful! my Country! ours once more! Smoothing thy gold of war-dishevelled hair O'er such sweet brows as never other wore, And letting thy set lips, Freed from wrath's pale eclipse, The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, What words divine of lover or of poet Could tell our love and make thee know it, Among the Nations bright beyond compare? What were our lives without thee? What all our lives to save thee? We reck not what we gave thee; We will not dare to doubt thee, But ask whatever else, and we will dare! WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892) Song of the Open Road I AFOOT and light-hearted, I take to the open road, Healthy, free, the world before me, The long brown path 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. 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. Here the profound lesson of reception, neither preference or denial; The black with his woolly head, the felon, the diseas'd, the illiterate person, 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 eloping couple, The early market-man, the hearse, the moving of furniture into the town, 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. 3 You air that serves me with breath to speak! You objects that call from diffusion my meanings, and give them shape! You light that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers! You paths worn in the irregular hollows by the roadsides! I think you are latent with unseen existences-you are so dear to me. You flagg'd walks of the cities! you strong curbs at the edges! You ferries! you planks and posts of wharves! you timber-lined sides! you distant ships! You rows of houses! you window-pierced façades! 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 trodden crossings ! From all that has been near you, I believe you have imparted to yourselves, and now would impart the same secretly to me; From the living and the dead I think you have peopled your impassive surfaces, and the spirits thereof would be evident and amicable with me. The earth expanding right hand and left hand, The picture alive, every part in its best light, The music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted, The cheerful voice of the public roadthe gay 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 say, I am already prepared-1 am well-beaten and undenied-adhere to me? O 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 think 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 happy. 5 From this hour, freedom ! From this hour I ordain myself loos'd of limits and imaginary lines, Going where I list, my own master, total and absolute, Listening to others, and considering well what they say, Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating, 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 larger, better than I thought; I can repeat over to men and women, You have done such good to me, I would do the same to you. 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 new 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 me. 6 Now if a thousand perfect men were to appear, it would not amaze me; Now if a thousand beautiful forms of women appear'd, it would not astonish me. Now I see the secret of the making of the best persons, It is to grow 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 strength and will overwhelms law, and mocks all authority and all argument against it. Here is the test of wisdom; Wisdom is not finally tested in schools; Wisdom cannot be pass'd from one having it, to another not having it; Wisdom is of the Soul, 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 reëxamine 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 apropos; Do you know what it is, as you pass, to be loved by strangers? Do you know the talk of those turning eye-balls? 7 Here is the efflux of the Soul; The efflux of the Soul comes from within, through embower'd gates, ever provoking questions: These yearnings, why are they? These thoughts in the darkness, why are they? Why are there men and women that while they are nigh me, the sun-light expands my blood? Why, when they leave me, do my pennants of joy sink 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;) What is it I interchange so suddenly with strangers? What with some driver, 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? |