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The separate, countless free identities, like eyesight;
The true realities, Eidolons.

Not this the World,

Nor these the Universes-they the Universes,

Purport and end-ever the permanent life of life,
Eidólons, Eidolons.

Beyond thy lectures, learn'd professor,

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Beyond thy telescope or spectroscope, observer keen-beyond all mathematics,

Beyond the doctor's surgery, anatomy-beyond the chemist with his chemistry,

The entities of entities, Eidolons.

Unfix'd, yet fix'd;

Ever shall be-ever have been, and are,
Sweeping the present to the infinite future,
Eidolons, Eidólons, Eidolons.

The prophet and the bard,

Shall yet maintain themselves-in higher stages yet,

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Shall mediate to the Modern, to Democracy-interpret yet to

them,

God, and Eidolons.

And thee, My Soul !

Joys, ceaseless exercises, exaltations !

Thy yearning amply fed at last, prepared to meet,

Thy mates, Eidolons.

Thy Body permanent,

The Body lurking there within thy Body,

The only purport of the Form thou art-the real I myself,
An image, an Eidólon.

Thy very songs, not in thy songs;

No special strains to sing-none for itself;

But from the whole resulting, rising at last and floating,
A round, full-orb'd Eidolon.

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PRAYER OF COLUMBUS.

First published in Harper's Magazine, March, 1871. Included in "Two Rivulets," 1876

It was near the close of his indomitable and pious life-on his last voyage when nearly 70 years of age-that Columbus, to save his two remaining ships from foundering in the Caribbean Sea in a terrible storm, had to run them ashore on the Island of Jamaicawhere, laid up for a long and miserable year-1503-he was taken very sick, had several relapses, his men revolted, and death seem'd daily imminent; though he was eventually rescued, and sent home to Spain to die, unrecognized, neglected and in want......It is only ask'd, as preparation and atmosphere for the following lines, that the bare authentic facts be recall'd and realized, and nothing contributed by the fancy. See, the Antillean Island, with its florid skies and rich foliage and scenery, the waves beating the solitary sands, and the hulls of the ships in the distance. See, the figure of the great Admiral, walking the beach, as a stage, in this sublimest tragedy-for what tragedy, what poem, so piteous and majestic as the real scene?-and hear him uttering-as his mystical and religious soul surely utter'd, the ideas following-perhaps, in their equivalents, the very words.

A BATTER'D, wreck'd old man,

Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home,

Pent by the sea, and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months, Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken'd, and nigh to death,

I take my way along the island's edge,

Venting a heavy heart.

I am too full of woe!

Haply, I may not live another day;

ΙΟ

I can not rest, O God-I can not eat or drink or sleep,
Till I put forth myself, my prayer, once more to Thee,
Breathe, bathe myself once more in Thee-commune with Thee,
Report myself once more to Thee.

Thou knowest my years entire, my life,

(My long and crowded life of active work-not adoration merely ;)

Thou knowest the prayers and vigils of my youth;

Thou knowest my manhood's solemn and visionary meditations; Thou knowest how, before I commenced, I devoted all to come to Thee;

Thou knowest I have in age ratified all those vows, and strictly kept them;

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Thou knowest I have not once lost nor faith nor ecstasy in Thee; (In shackles, prison'd, in disgrace, repining not, Accepting all from Thee-as duly come from Thee.)

All my emprises have been fill'd with Thee,

My speculations, plans, begun and carried on in thoughts of

Thee,

Sailing the deep, or journeying the land for Thee;
Intentions, purports, aspirations mine-leaving results to Thee.

O I am sure they really come from Thee!

The urge, the ardor, the unconquerable will,

The potent, felt, interior command, stronger than words,
A message from the Heavens, whispering to me even in sleep,
These sped me on.

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By me, and these, the work so far accomplish'd (for what has been, has been ;)

By me Earth's elder, cloy'd and stifled lands, uncloy'd, un

loos'd;

By me the hemispheres rounded and tied-the unknown to the known.

The end I know not-it is all in Thee;

Or small, or great, I know not-haply, what broad fields, what

lands;

Haply, the brutish, measureless human undergrowth I know, Transplanted there, may rise to stature, knowledge worthy Thee; Haply the swords I know may there indeed be turn'd to reap

ing-tools;

Haply the lifeless cross I know-Europe's dead cross-may bud and blossom there.

One effort more-my altar this bleak sand:

That Thou, O God, my life hast lighted,

With ray of light, steady, ineffable, vouchsafed of Thee,

(Light rare, untellable-lighting the very light!

Beyond all signs, descriptions, languages!)

For that, O God-be it my latest word—here on my knees,
Old, poor, and paralyzed-I thank Thee.

My terminus near,

The clouds already closing in upon me,

The voyage balk'd-the course disputed, lost,

I yield my ships to Thee.

Steersman unseen! henceforth the helms are Thine;

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Take Thou command-(what to my petty skill Thy navigation ?)

My hands, my limbs grow nerveless;

My brain feels rack'd, bewilder'd;

Let the old timbers part-I will not part!

I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me; Thee, Thee, at least, I know.

Is it the prophet's thought I speak, or am I raving?
What do I know of life? what of myself?

I know not even my own work, past or present;
Dim, ever-shifting guesses of it spread before me,
Of newer, better worlds, their mighty parturition,
Mocking, perplexing me.

And these things I see suddenly-what mean they?
As if some miracle, some hand divine unseal'd my eyes,
Shadowy, vast shapes, smile through the air and sky,
And on the distant waves sail countless ships,
And anthems in new tongues I hear saluting me.

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SPAIN, 1873-'74.

Published in "Two Rivulets," 1876.

OUT of the murk of heaviest clouds,

Out of the feudal wrecks, and heap'd-up skeletons of kings,
Out of that old entire European debris-the shatter'd mummeries,
Ruin'd cathedrals, crumble of palaces, tombs of priests,

Lo! Freedom's features, fresh, undimm'd, look forth—the same immortal face looks forth;

(A glimpse as of thy mother's face, Columbia,

A flash significant as of a sword,

Beaming towards thee.)

Nor think we forget thee, Maternal ;

Lag'd'st thou so long? Shall the clouds close again upon thee?
Ah, but thou hast Thyself now appear'd to us—we know thee;
Thou hast given us a sure proof, the glimpse of Thyself;
Thou waitest there, as everywhere, thy time.

OUT FROM BEHIND THIS MASK.

To confront a Portrait. Published in "Two Rivulets," 1876.

I

OUT from behind this bending, rough-cut Mask,

(All straighter, liker Masks rejected—this preferr'd,)

This common curtain of the face, contain'd in me for me, in you for you, in each for each,

{Tragedies, sorrows, laughter, tears-O heaven!

The passionate, teeming plays this curtain hid!)
This glaze of God's serenest, purest sky,

This film of Satan's seething pit,

This heart's geography's map-this limitless small continent— this soundless sea;

Out from the convolutions of this globe,

This subtler astronomic orb than sun or moon-than Jupiter,

Venus, Mars;

ΙΟ

This condensation of the Universe-(nay, here the only Universe,

Here the IDEA-all in this mystic handful wrapt ;)

These burin'd eyes, flashing to you, to pass to future time,

To launch and spin through space revolving, sideling-from these to emanate,

To You, whoe'er you are-a Look.

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A Traveler of thoughts and years-of peace and war,

Of youth long sped, and middle age declining,

(As the first volume of a tale perused and laid away, and this

the second,

Songs, ventures, speculations, presently to close,)

Lingering a moment, here and now, to You I opposite turn, 20 As on the road, or at some crevice door, by chance, or open'd window,

Pausing, inclining, baring my head, You specially I greet,

To draw and clench your Soul, for once, inseparably with

mine,

Then travel, travel on.

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