O to work in mines, or forging iron, Foundry casting, the foundry itself, the rude high roof, the ample and shadow'd space, The furnace, the hot liquid pour'd out and running. O to resume the joys of the soldier! To feel the presence of a brave commanding officer-to feel his sympathy! To behold his calmness—to be warm'd in the rays of his smile! To see men fall and die and not complain ! To taste the savage taste of blood-to be so devilish! O the whaleman's joys! O I cruise my old cruise again! I feel the ship's motion under me, I feel the Atlantic breezes fan ning me, I hear the cry again sent down from the mast-head, There — she blows! Again I spring up the rigging to look with the rest wild with excitement, we descend, I leap in the lower'd boat, we row toward our prey where he lies, We approach stealthy and silent, I see the mountainous mass, lethargic, basking, I see the harpooneer standing up, I see the weapon dart from his vigorous arm; O swift again far out in the ocean the wounded whale, settling, running to windward, tows me, Again I see him rise to breathe, we row close again, I see a lance driven through his side, press'd deep, turn'd in the wound, Again we back off, I see him settle again, the life is leaving him fast, As he rises he spouts blood, I see him swim in circles narrower and narrower, swiftly cutting the water—I see him die, He gives one convulsive leap in the centre of the circle, and then falls flat and still in the bloody foam. O the old manhood of me, my noblest joy of all! My children and grand-children, my white hair and beard, My largeness, calmness, majesty, out of the long stretch of my life. O ripen'd joy of womanhood! O happiness at last! I am more than eighty years of age, I am the most venerable mother, How clear is my mind-how all people draw nigh to me! What attractions are these beyond any before? what bloom more than the bloom of youth? What beauty is this that descends upon me and rises out of me? O the orator's joys! To inflate the chest, to roll the thunder of the voice out from the ribs and throat, To make the people rage, weep, hate, desire, with yourself, O the joy of my soul leaning pois'd on itself, receiving identity through materials and loving them, observing characters and absorbing them, My soul vibrated back to me from them, from sight, hearing, touch, which finally see, Nor my material body which finally loves, walks, laughs, shouts, embraces, procreates. O the farmer's joys! Ohioan's, Illinoisian's, Wisconsinese', Kanadian's, Iowan's, Kansian's, Missourian's, Oregonese' joys! To rise at peep of day and pass forth nimbly to work, To plough land in the fall for winter-sown crops, To plough land in the spring for maize, To train orchards, to graft the trees, to gather apples in the fall. O to bathe in the swimming-bath, or in a good place along shore, To splash the water! to walk ankle-deep, or race naked along the shore. O to realize space! The plenteousness of all, that there are no bounds, To emerge and be of the sky, of the sun and moon and flying clouds, as one with them. O the joy of a manly self-hood! To be servile to none, to defer to none, not to any tyrant known or unknown, To walk with erect carriage, a step springy and elastic, To look with calm gaze or with a flashing eye, To speak with a full and sonorous voice out of a broad chest, To confront with your personality all the other personalities of the earth. Know'st thou the excellent joys of youth? Joys of the dear companions and of the merry word and laughing face? Joy of the glad light-beaming day, joy of the wide-breath'd games? Joy of sweet music, joy of the lighted ball-room and the dancers? Joy of the plenteous dinner, strong carouse and drinking? Yet O my soul supreme! Know'st thou the joys of pensive thought? Joys of the free and lonesome heart, the tender, gloomy heart? Joys of the solitary walk, the spirit bow'd yet proud, the suffering and the struggle? The agonistic throes, the ecstasies, joys of the solemn musings day or night? Joys of the thought of Death, the great spheres Time and Space? Prophetic joys of better, loftier love's ideals, the divine wife, the sweet, eternal, perfect comrade? Joys all thine own undying one, joys worthy thee O soul. O while I live to be the ruler of life, not a slave, To meet life as a powerful conqueror, No fumes, no ennui, no more complaints or scornful criticisms, To these proud laws of the air, the water and the ground, proving my interior soul impregnable, And nothing exterior shall ever take command of me. For not life's joys alone I sing, repeating the joy of death! The beautiful touch of Death, soothing and benumbing a few moments, for reasons, Myself discharging my excrementitious body to be burn'd, or render'd to powder, or buried, My real body doubtless left to me for other spheres, My voided body nothing more to me, returning to the purifications, further offices, eternal uses of the earth. O to attract by more than attraction! How it is I know not-yet behold! the something which obeys none of the rest, It is offensive, never defensive — yet how magnetic it draws. O to struggle against great odds, to meet enemies undaunted! To mount the scaffold, to advance to the muzzles of guns with perfect nonchalance ! To be indeed a God! O to sail to sea in a ship! To leave this steady unendurable land, To leave the tiresome sameness of the streets, the sidewalks and the houses, To leave you O you solid motionless land, and entering a ship, O to have life henceforth a poem of new joys! To dance, clap hands, exult, shout, skip, leap, roll on, float on! To be a sailor of the world bound for all ports, A ship itself, (see indeed these sails I spread to the sun and air,) A swift and swelling ship full of rich words, full of joys. SONG OF THE BROAD-AXE. JEAPON shapely, naked, wan, Head from the mother's bowels drawn, Wooded flesh and metal bone, limb only one and lip only one, Gray-blue leaf by red-heat grown, helve produced from a little seed sown, Resting the grass amid and upon, To be lean'd and to lean on. Strong shapes and attributes of strong shapes, masculine trades, sights and sounds, Long varied train of an emblem, dabs of music, Fingers of the organist skipping staccato over the keys of the great organ. Welcome are all earth's lands, each for its kind, Welcome are lands of pine and oak, Welcome are lands of the lemon and fig, Welcome are lands of gold, Welcome are lands of wheat and maize, welcome those of the grape, Welcome are lands of sugar and rice, Welcome the cotton-lands, welcome those of the white potato and sweet potato, Welcome are mountains, flats, sands, forests, prairies, Welcome the rich borders of rivers, table-lands, openings, Welcome the measureless grazing-lands, welcome the teeming soil of orchards, flax, honey, hemp ; Welcome just as much the other more hard-faced lands, Lands of coal, copper, lead, tin, zinc, Lands of iron-lands of the make of the axe. 3 The log at the wood-pile, the axe supported by it, The sylvan hut, the vine over the doorway, the space clear'd for a garden, The irregular tapping of rain down on the leaves after the storm is lull'd, The wailing and moaning at intervals, the thought of the sea, The thought of ships struck in the storm and put on their beam ends, and the cutting away of masts, The sentiment of the huge timbers of old-fashion'd houses and barns, The remember'd print or narrative, the voyage at a venture of men, families, goods, The disembarkation, the founding of a new city, The voyage of those who sought a New England and found it, the outset anywhere, The settlements of the Arkansas, Colorado, Ottawa, Willamette, The slow progress, the scant fare, the axe, rifle, saddle-bags; The beauty of all adventurous and daring persons, The beauty of wood-boys and wood-men with their clear un trimm'd faces, The beauty of independence, departure, actions that rely on themselves, The American contempt for statutes and ceremonies, the boundless impatience of restraint, The loose drift of character, the inkling through random types, the solidification; The butcher in the slaughter-house, the hands aboard schooners and sloops, the raftsman, the pioneer, |