On, on the Same, Ye Jocund Twain!
ON, ON THE SAME, YE JOCUND TWAIN!
ON, on the same, ye jocund twain! My life and recitative, containing birth, youth, mid-age years, Fitful as motley-tongues of flame, inseparably twined and mergedin one—combining all, My single soul—aims, confirmations, failures, joys—Nor single
soul alone, I chant my nation's crucial stage, (America's, haply humanity's)
—the trial great, the victory great, A strange eclaircissement of all the masses past, the eastern
world, the ancient, medieval, Here, here from wanderings, strayings, lessons, wars, defeats—
here at the west a voice triumphant—justifying all, A gladsome pealing cry—a song for once of utmost pride and
satisfaction; I chant from it the common bulk, the general average horde,
(the best no sooner than the worst)—And now I chant old
age, (My verses, written first for forenoon life, and for the summer's,
autumn's spread, I pass to snow-white hairs the same, and give to pulses winter-
cool'd the same;) As here in careless trill, I and my recitatives, with faith and
love, Wafting to other work, to unknown songs, conditions, On, on, ye jocund twain! continue on the same!