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Revolt! and the bullet for tyrants !
helped, that defeat is great, And that death and dismay are great.
A great year and place;
touch the Mother's heart closer than any yet.
ing, amid the roar of cannon, curses, shouts,
crash of falling buildings; Was not so sick from the blood 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 shocked at the repeated fusillades of the guns.
Pale, silent, stern, what could I say to that long-accrued
3. O 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 repressed, can never be destroyed; Here too could rise at last, murdering and ecstatic; Here too demanding full arrears of vengeance.
4. 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 be
queathed cause, as for all lands, And I send these words to Paris with my love, And I guess some chansonniers there will understand
them, For I guess there is latent music yet in France—floods
of it. Oh I hear already the bustle of instruments, they will
soon be drowning all that would interrupt them, Oh I think the east wind brings a triumphal and free
march, It reaches hither-it swells me to joyful madness,-I will run transpose it in words, to justify it, I will yet sing a song
you, ma fenime!
TO YOU. WHOEVER you are, I fear you are walking the walks of
dreams, I fear these supposed realities are to melt from under
your feet and hands; Even now, your features, joys, speech, house, trade,
manners, troubles, follies, costume, crimes, dissipate away
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 Whoever you are, now I place my hand upon you,
my poem ; I whisper with my lips close to your ear, I have loved many women and men, but I love none
better than you.
Oh I have been dilatory and dumb;
chanted nothing but you.
justice to yourself; None but have found you imperfect-I only find no im
perfection in you; None but would subordinate you—I only am he who
will never consent to subordinate you; I only am he who places over you no master, owner,
better, God, beyond what waits intrinsically in
yourself. Painters have painted their swarming groups, and the
centre figure of all, From the head of the centre figure spreading a nimbus
of gold-coloured light ; But I paint myriads of heads, but paint no head with
out its nimbus of gold-coloured light; From my hand, from the brain of every man and womai
it streams, effulgently flowing for ever. Oh I could sing such grandeurs and glories about you You have not known what you are—you have slumbered
upon yourself all your life; Your eyelids 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, what is their return? The mockeries are not you ; Underneath them, and within then, I see you lurk; I pursue you where none else has pursued you ; Silence, the desk, the flippant expression, the night, the
accustomed routine, if these conceal you from others, or from yourself, they do not conceal you 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 deformed 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 ; No pluck, no endurance in others, but as good is in
you ; No pleasure waiting for others, but an equal pleasure
waits 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 are! claim
your own at
hazard ! These shows of the east and west are tame, coinpared
to you; These immense meadows-these interminable rivers,
you 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 from your ankles—you find an unfail
ing sufficiency; Old or young, male or female, rude, low, rejected by
the rest, whatever you are promulges itself; Through birth, life, death, burial, the means are pro
vided, nothing is scanted; Through angers, losses, ambition, ignorance, ennui,
what you are picks its way.
YEARS OF THE MODERN. YEARS of the modern ! years of the unperformed ! Your horizon rises—I see it parting away for more
august dramas; I see not America only—I see not only Liberty's nation,
but other nations preparing; I see tremendous entrances and exits—I see new com
binations—I see the solidarity of races ; I see that force advancing with irresistible power on the
world's stage ; (Have the old forces, the old wars, played their parts ?
are the acts suitable to them closed ?) I see Freedom, completely armed, and victorious, and
very haughty, with Law on one side, and Peace
on the other, A stupendous Trio, all issuing forth against the idea of
caste ; -What historic denouements are these we so rapidly
approach? I see men marching and countermarching by swift mil
lions ; I see the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocracies
broken; I see the landmarks of European kings removed ; I see this day the People beginning their landmarks,
(all others give way ;) - Never were such sharp questions asked as this day ; Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more
like a God. Lo! how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no
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 whispers are these, O lands, running ahead of
you, passing under the seas ?