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it seems to me if I could know those men better, I should become attached to them, as I do to men in my

own lands, It seems to me they are as wise, beautiful, benevolent, as any in my own lands; O I know

WHAT think you I take my pen in hand to record?

it harmed me, giving others the same chances and rights as myself—As if it were not indispensable to my

AS I sit with others, at a great feast, suddenly, while the music is playing, To my mind, (whence it

if that were not the resumé; Of Histories—As if such, however complete, were not less complete than my

poems; As if the shreds, the records of nations, could possibly be as lasting as my poems; As if here

that was not the end of those nations, or any person of them, any more than this shall be the end of my

Thither every-day life, speech, utensils, politics, per- sons persons , estates, Thither we also, I with my

Debris 5 DESPAIRING cries float ceaselessly toward me, day and night, The sad voice of Death—the call of my

alarmed, uncertain, This sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding—tell me my

Receive me and my lover too—he will not let me go without him.

my clothes were stolen while I was abed, Now I am thrust forth, where shall I run?

I descend my western course, my sinews are flaccid, Perfume and youth course through me, and I am their

carefully darn my grandson's stockings.

How he informs against my brother and sister, and takes pay for their blood!

How perfect is my Soul! How perfect the earth, and the minutest thing upon it!

My Soul! if I realize you, I have satisfaction, Animals and vegetables!

I cannot define my satisfaction, yet it is so, I cannot define my life, yet it is so.

To My Soul TO MY SOUL.

The States—but I cannot tell whither or how long; Perhaps soon, some day or night while I am singing, my

Then all may arrive to but this; The glances of my eyes, that swept the daylight, The unspeakable love

I interchanged with women, My joys in the open air—my walks through the Man- nahatta Manahatta , The

of my mouth, rude, ignorant, arrogant— my many faults and derelictions, 38* The light touches, on my

I remember I said to myself at the winter-close, before my leaves sprang at all, that I would become

a candid and unloosed summer-poet, I said I would raise my voice jocund and strong, with reference to

what was promised, When each part is peopled with free people, When there is no city on earth to lead my

I have pressed through in my own right, I have offered my style to every one—I have jour- neyed journeyed

Remember my words—I love you—I depart from materials, I am as one disembodied, triumphant, dead.

, Manrico's passionate call, Ernani's, sweet Gennaro's, I fold thenceforth, or seek to fold, within my

My science-friend, my noblest woman-friend, (Now buried in an English grave—and this a memory-leaf for

Small the Theme of My Chant. From the 1867 edition L. of G. SMALL THE THEME OF MY CHANT.

Small the theme of my Chant, yet the greatest—namely, One's- Self One's-Self —a simple, separate person

My Days I sing, and the Lands—with interstice I knew of hap- less hapless War.

the midday sun, the impalpable air—for life, mere life, For precious ever-lingering memories, (of you my

mother dear —you, father—you, brothers, sisters, friends,) For all my days—not those of peace alone—the

war's chosen ones, The cannoneers of song and thought—the great artillerists—the foremost leaders, captains

them without me were seeds only, latent, unborn; And forever, by day and night, I give back life to my

current songs of beauty, peace, decorum, I cast a reminiscence—(likely 'twill offend you, I heard it in my

their sense, their ears, towards his murmuring, half- caught half-caught words: "Let me return again to my

Give me my old wild battle-life again!"

than old Voltaire's, yet greater, Proof of this present time, and thee, thy broad expanse, America, To my

and tide, Some three days since on their own soil live-sprouting, Now here their sweetness through my

August now;) You pallid banner-staves—you pennants valueless—you over- stay'd overstay'd of time, Yet my

or "To the Leaven'd Soil they Trod," Or "Captain! My Captain!"

thy Equal Brood," and many, many more unspecified, From fibre heart of mine—from throat and tongue—(My

. * *The two songs on this page are eked out during an afternoon, June, 1888, in my seventieth year,

Good-Bye My Fancy. GOOD-BYE MY FANCY.

GOOD-BYE * my fancy—(I had a word to say, But 'tis not quite the time—The best of any man's word or say

My life and recitative, containing birth, youth, mid-age years, Fitful as motley-tongues of flame, inseparably

twined and merged in 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

common bulk, the general average horde, (the best no sooner than the worst)—And now I chant old age, (My

snow-white hairs the same, and give to pulses winter- cool'd the same;) As here in careless trill, I and my

My 71st Year. MY 71ST YEAR.

AFTER surmounting three-score and ten, With all their chances, changes, losses, sorrows, My parents'

deaths, the vagaries of my life, the many tearing passions of me, the war of '63 and '4, As some old

thee, Thy smile, eyes, face, calm, silent, loving as ever: So let the wreath hang still awhile within my

—In my rambles and explorations I found a woody place near the creek, where for some reason the birds

Nor for myself—my own rebellious self in thee? Down, down, proud gorge!

One consideration rising out of the now dead soldier's example as it passes my mind, is worth taking

If the war had continued any long time these States, in my opinion, would have shown and proved the most

AH, whispering, something again, unseen, Where late this heated day thou enterest at my window, door,

utterance to my heart beyond the rest—and this is of them,) So sweet thy primitive taste to breathe within—thy

soothing fingers on my face and hands, Thou, messenger-magical strange bringer to body and spirit of

, now gone—haply from endless store, God-sent, (For thou art spiritual, Godly, most of all known to my

Illinois, Ohio, From the measureless West, Virginia, the South, the Carolinas, Texas, (Even here in my

Each name recall'd by me from out the darkness and death's ashes, Henceforth to be, deep, deep within my

these little potencies of progress, politics, culture, wealth, inventions, civilization,) Have lost my

"Finally my children, to envelop each word, each part of the rest, Allah is all, all, all—is immanent

of cities and the shop- fronts shopfronts , (Account for it or not—credit or not—it is all true, And my

peering, dallying with all—war, peace, day and night absorbing, Never even for one brief hour abandoning my

I sing of life, yet mind me well of death: To-day shadowy Death dogs my steps, my seated shape, and has

More evolutionary, vast, puzzling, O my soul! More multiform far—more lasting thou than they.

My Canary Bird. MY CANARY BIRD.

Queries to My Seventieth Year. QUERIES TO MY SEVENTIETH YEAR.

After the dazzle of day is gone, Only the dark, dark night shows to my eyes the stars; After the clangor

of organ majestic, or chorus, or perfect band, Silent, athwart my soul, moves the symphony true.

Would you the undulation of one wave, its trick to me transfer, Or breathe one breath of yours upon my

past war, the battles, hospital sights, the wounded and the dead, Myself through every by-gone phase—my

idle youth—old age at hand, My three-score years of life summ'd up, and more, and past, By any grand

Where day and night I wend thy surf-beat shore, Imaging to my sense thy varied strange suggestions, (

These snowy hairs, my feeble arm, my frozen feet, For them thy faith, thy rule I take, and grave it to

Far back, related on my mother's side, Old Salt Kossabone, I'll tell you how he died: (Had been a sailor

destination"—these the last words— when Jenny came, he sat there dead, Dutch Kossabone, Old Salt, related on my

This face owes to the sexton his dismalest fee, An unceasing death-bell tolls there. 3 Features of my

I saw the face of the most smear'd and slobbering idiot they had at the asylum, And I knew for my consolation

what they knew not, I knew of the agents that emptied and broke my brother, The same wait to clear the

near the garden pickets, Come here she blushingly cries, Come nigh to me limber-hipp'd man, Stand at my

upon you, Fill me with albescent honey, bend down to me, Rub to me with your chafing beard, rub to my

refreshing night the walks of Paradise, I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses; Thy song expands my

and for my sensuous eyes, Bring the old pageants, show the feudal world.

the terrible tableaus. 7 O trumpeter, methinks I am myself the instrument thou playest, Thou melt'st my

heart, my brain—thou movest, drawest, chan- gest changest them at will; And now thy sullen notes send

soul, renew its languishing faith and hope, Rouse up my slow belief, give me some vision of the future

THEE for my recitative, Thee in the driving storm even as now, the snow, the winter-day declining, Thee

Roll through my chant with all thy lawless music, thy swinging lamps at night, Thy madly-whistled laughter

my South! O quick mettle, rich blood, impulse and love! good and evil! O all dear to me!

O dear to me my birth-things—all moving things and the trees where I was born—the grains, plants, rivers

, Dear to me my own slow sluggish rivers where they flow, distant, over flats of silvery sands or through

, the Tombigbee, the Santee, the Coosa and the Sabine, O pensive, far away wandering, I return with my

parrots in the woods, I see the papaw-tree and the blos- soming blossoming titi; Again, sailing in my

I WAS asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon lo!

there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient, I see that the word of my

my city!

Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter'd, Invoking here and now I challenge for my