Section 33

Fd
ADIEU TO A SOLDIER. First published in 1870. ApviEvu, O soldier ! You of the rude campaigning, (which we shared, ) The rapid march, the life of the camp, The hot contention of opposing fronts—the long manceuver, Red battles with their slaughter,—the stimulus—the strong, ter- rific game, ; Spell of all brave and manly hearts—the trains of Time through you, and like of you, all fill’d, With war, and war’s expression.
Adieu, dear comrade !
Your mission is fulfill’d—but I, more warlike,
Myself, and this contentious soul of mine, IO Still on our own campaigning bound,
Through untried roads, with ambushes, opponents lined, Through many a sharp defeat and many a crisis—often baffled, Here marching, ever marching on, a war fight out—aye here, To fiercer, weightier battles give expression.
& AS I WALK THESE BROAD, MAJESTIC DAYS.
First published in 1860 in ‘* Songs Before Parting,’’ under title of ‘‘ As 1 Walk Solitary, Unattended.”’ See line 7.
As I walk these broad, majestic days of peace,
(For the war, the struggle of blood finish’d, wherein, O terrific Ideal !
Against vast odds, having gloriously won,
Now thou stridest on—yet perhaps in time toward denser wars, —
Perhaps to engage in time in still more dreadful contests, dangers,
Longer campaigns and crises, labors beyond all others';
—As I walk solitary, unattended,
} Lines «-6 added in 1870.
MARCHES NOW THE WAR IS OVER 315
Around me I hear that eclat of the world—politics, produce, The announcements of recognized things—science, The approved growth of cities, and the spread of inventions. 10
I see the ships, (they will last a few years, ) The vast factories, with their foremen and workmen, And here the indorsement of all, and do not object to it.
But I too announce solid things ;?
Science, ships, politics, cities, factories, are not nothing—I watch them,’
Like a grand procession, to music of distant bugles, pouring, tri- umphantly moving—and grander heaving in sight ;*
They stand for realities—all is as it should be.
Then my realities ;
What else is so real as mine?
Libertad, and the divine average—Freedom to every slave on the face of the earth, 20
The rapt promises and luminé of seers—the spiritual world— these centuries-lasting songs,
And our visions, the visions of poets, the most solid announce- ments of any.
For we support all, fuse all,
After the rest is done and gone, we remain ;
There is no final reliance but upon us ;
Democracy rests finally upon us (I, my brethren, begin it, ) And our visions sweep through eternity.
&
WEAVE IN, WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE. First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,” 1865. WEAVE in! weave in, my hardy life! Weave yet* a soldier strong and full, for great campaigns to come ; Weave in red blood! weave sinews in, like ropes! the senses, sight weave in!
1
2 8 Line 16 added in 1870.
4 Drum Taps for “‘yet’’ reads ‘‘ weave.’’
316 LEAVES OF GRASS
Weave lasting sure! weave day and night the weft, the warp, in- cessant weave ! tire not!
(We know not what the use, O life! nor know the aim, the end —nor really aught we know ;
But know the work, the need goes on, and shall go on—the death-envelop’d march of peace as well as war goes on ;)
For great campaigns of peace the same, the wiry threads to weave ;
We know not why or what, yet weave, forever weave.
5d
RACE OF VETERANS. First published in ‘‘ When Lilacs Last in the Door-Yard Bloomed,’” 1865-6.
Race of veterans! Race of victors !?
Race of the soil, ready for conflict! race of the conquering march !
(No more credulity’s race, abiding-temper’d race ; )
Race henceforth’ owning no law but the law of itself ;
Race of passion and the storm.
LEAVES OF GRASS.
THIS COMPOST.
First published in 1856 under title of ‘‘ Poem of Wonder at The Resurrection of The heat.’?
I
SOMETHING startles me where I thought I was safest ;
I withdraw from the still woods I loved ;
I will not go now on the pastures to walk ;
I will not strip the clothes from my body to meet my lover the sea ;
I will not touch my flesh to the earth, as to other flesh, to renew me.
O how can it be that the ground does not sicken ?*
1 « Race of Victors !’? added in 1870,
> « Race henceforth’? added in 1870,
* 1856 reads ‘* How can the ground not sicken of men?” 1860 reads **O Earth! O how can the ground of you not sicken ?”’
LEAVES OF GRASS , 317
How can you be alive, you growths of spring ?
How can you furnish health, you blood of herbs, roots, orchards, grain P
Are they not continually putting distemper’d corpses within you?!
Is not every continent work’d over and over with sour dead ? 10
Where have you disposed of their carcasses ?
Those drunkards and gluttons of so many generations ;
Where have you drawn off all the foul liquid and meat ?
‘I do not see any of it upon you to-day—or perhaps I am de- ceived
I will run a furrow with my plough—I will press my spade through the sod, and turn it up underneath ;
I am sure I shall expose some of the foul meat.
2
Behold this compost! behold it well !?
Perhaps every mite has once form’d part of a sick person—Yet behold !
The grass of spring® covers the prairies,
The bean bursts noislessly through the mould in the garden, 20
The delicate spear of the onion pierces upward,
The apple-buds cluster together on the apple-branches,
The resurrection of the wheat appears with pale visage out of its graves,
The tinge awakes over the willow-tree and the mulberry-tree,
The he-birds carol mornings and evenings, while the she-birds sit on their nests,
The young of poultry break through the hatch’d eggs,
The new-born of animals appear—the calf is dropt from the cow, the colt from the mare,
Out of its little hill faithfully rise the potato’s dark green leaves,
Out of its hill rises the yellow maize-stalk—the lilacs bloom in the door-yards ;*
The summer growth is innocent and disdainful above all those strata of sour dead. 30
What chemistry ! That the winds are really not infectious,
1 1856 for ‘‘ within you’’ reads ‘‘in the earth.”
2 1856 60 read “Behold! This is the compost of billions of premature corpses.”’
3 & of spring’? added in 1870, ;
4 ¢
318 LEAVES OF GRASS
That this is no cheat, this transparent green-wash of the sea, which is so amorous after me,
That it is safe to allow it to lick my naked body all over with its tongues,
That it will not endanger me with the fevers that have deposited themselves in it,
That all is clean forever and forever.
That the cool drink from the well tastes so good, .
That blackberries are so flavorous and juicy,
That the fruits of the apple-orchard, and of the orange-orchard —that melons, grapes, peaches, plums, will none of them poison me,
That when I recline on the grass I do not catch any disease, 40
Though probably every spear of grass rises out of what was once a catching disease.
3
Now I am terrified at the Earth! it is that calm and patient,
It grows such sweet things out of such corruptions,
It turns harmless and stainless on its axis, with such endless suc- cessions of diseas’d corpses,
It distils such exquisite winds out of such infused fetor,
It renews with such unwitting looks, its prodigal, annual, sump- tuous crops,
It gives such divine materials to men, and accepts such leavings from them at last.
ed
UNNAMED LANDS.
First published in 1860.
Nations ten thousand years before These States, and many times ten thousand years before These States ;
Garner’d clusters of ages, that men and women like us grew up and travel’d their course, and pass’d on ;
What vast-built cities—what orderly republics—what pastoral tribes and nomads ;
What histories, rulers, heroes, perhaps transcending all others :
What laws, customs, wealth, arts, traditions ;
What sort of marriage—what costumes—what physiology and phrenology ;
What of liberty and slavery among them—what they thought of death and the soul ;
LEAVES OF GRASS 310
Who were witty and wise—who beautiful and poetic—who brut- ish and undevelop’d ; Not a mark, not a record remains—And yet all remains.
O I know that these men and women were not for nothing, any more than we are for nothing ; ste)
I know that they belong to the scheme of the world every bit as much as we now belong to it, and as all will henceforth belong to it.
Afar they stand—yet near to me they stand,
Some with oval countenances, learn’d and calm,
Some naked and savage—Some like huge collections of insects,
Some in tents—herdsmen, patriarchs, tribes, horsemen,
Some prowling through woods—Some living peaceably on farms, laboring, reaping, filling barns,
Some traversing paved avenues, amid temples, palaces, factories, libraries, shows, courts, theatres, wonderful monuments.
Are those billions of men really gone?
Are those women of the old experience of the earth gone?
Do their lives, cities, arts, rest only with us? 20 Did they achieve nothing for good, for themselves ?
I believe of all those billions of men and women that fill’d the unnamed lands, every one exists this hour, here or else- where, invisible to us, in exact proportion to what he or she grew from in life, and out of what he or she did, felt, became, loved, sinn’d, in life.
I believe that was not the end of those nations, or any person of them, any more than this shall be the end of my nation, or of me ;
Of their languages, governments, marriage, literature, products, games, wars, manners, crimes, prisons, slaves, heroes, poets,’ I suspect their results curiously await in the yet un- seen world—counterparts of what accrued to them in the seen world.
I suspect I shall meet them there,
I suspect I shall there find each old particular of those unnamed lands.
1 1860 adds ‘‘ phrenology, coins, medals, jurisprudence, amativeness.’’
320 LEAVES OF GRASS
MANNAHBHATTA.
First published in 1860.
I was asking for something specific and perfect for my city, Whereupon, lo! upsprang the aboriginal name !*
Now I see what there is in a name, a word, liquid, sane, unruly, musical, self-sufficient ;
¥-see that the word of my city is that word up there,
Because I see that word nested in nests of water-bays, superb, with tall and wonderful spires,
Rich, hemm’d thick all around with sailships and steamships— an island sixteen miles long, solid-founded,
Numberless crowded streets—high growths of iron, slender, strong, light, splendidly uprising toward clear skies ;
Tide swift and ample, well-loved by me, toward sundown,
The flowing sea-currents, the little islands, larger adjoining islands, the heights, the villas,
The countless masts, the white shore-steamers, the lighters, the ferry-boats, the black sea-steamers well-model’d ; site)
The down-town streets, the jobbers’ houses of business—the houses of business of the ship-merchants, and money- brokers—the river-streets ;
Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a week ;
The carts hauling goods—the manly race of drivers of horses— the brown-faced sailors ;
The summer air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing clouds aloft ;
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells—the broken ice in the river, passing along, up or down, with the flood tide or ebb- tide ;
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-form’d, beautiful- faced, looking you straight in the eyes ;
Trottoirs throng’ d—vehicles—Broadway—the women—the shops and shows,
The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying, drums beating ;
A million people—manners free and superb—open voices—hos- pitality—the most courageous and friendly young men ;
The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves! 20
The beautiful city, the city of hurried and sparkling waters! the city of spires and masts !
1 1860 reads ‘¢ And behold ! here is the aboriginal name !??
LEAVES OF GRASS 321
The city nested in bays! my city ! The city of such women, I am mad to be with them! I will return after death to be with them! The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live happy, with- out I often go talk, walk, eat, drink, sleep, with them!
*
OLD IRELAND. First published in “‘ Drum-Taps,’’ 1865 Far hence, amid an isle of wondrous beauty, Crouching over a grave, an ancient, sorrowful mother, Once a queen—now lean and tatter’d, seated on the ground, Her old white hair drooping dishevel’d round her shoulders ; At her feet fallen an unused royal harp, Long silent—she too long silent—mourning her shrouded hope and heir ; Of all the earth her heart most full of sorrow, because most full of love.
Yet a word, ancient mother ;
You need crouch there no longer on the cold ground, with fore- head between your knees ;
O you need not sit there, veil’d in your old white hair, so dis- hevel’d ; ike)
For know you, the one you mourn is not in that grave ;
It was an illusion—the heir, the son you love, was not really dead ;
The Lord is not dead—he is risen again, young and strong, in another country ;
Even while you wept there by your fallen harp, by the grave,
What you wept for, was translated, pass’d from the grave,
The winds favor’d, and the sea sail’d it,
And now with rosy and new blood,
Moves to-day in a new country.
am TO ORATISTS.
First published in 1860. To ORATISTS—to male or female, Vocalism,* measure, concentration, determination, and the divine power to use words. 1 1860767 add ‘‘ breath.”’
Zi
322 LEAVES OF GRASS
1Are you full-lung’d and limber-lipp’d from long trial? from vigorous practice? from physique?
Do you move in these broad lands as broad as they ??
Come duly to the divine power to use words?
For only at last, after many years—after chastity, friendship, procreation, prudence, and nakedness ;
After treading ground and breasting river and lake ;
After a loosen’d throat—after absorbing eras, temperaments, races—after knowledge, freedom, crimes ;
After complete faith—after clarifyings, elevations, and removing obstructions ;
After these, and more, it is just possible there comes to a man, a woman, the divine power to use words. 10
Then toward that man or that woman, swiftly hasten all—None refuse, all attend ;
Armies, ships, antiquities, the dead, libraries, paintings, ma- chines, cities, hate, despair, amity, pain, theft, murder, aspiration, form in close ranks ;
They debouch as they are wanted to march obediently through the mouth of that man, or that woman.
....O I see arise orators fit for inland America ; And I see it is as slow to become an orator as to become a man ; And I see that all’ power is folded in a great vocalism.
Of a great vocalism, the merciless light thereof shall pour, and the storm rage,
Every flash shall be a revelation, an insult,
The glaring flame on depths,* on heights, on suns, on stars,
On the interior and exterior of man or woman, | 20
On the laws of Nature—on passive materials,
On what you called death—(and what to you therefore was death,
As far as there can be death. )
1 1860 before line 3 reads ‘ Are you eligible ?”’ ” 1860 after line 4 adds ‘¢ Remembering inland America, the high plateaus, stretching long ? Remembering Kanada—remembering what edge of the Mexican Sea??? 3 “all”? added in 1870. * 1860 reads ‘flame turned on depths,’’ etc.
LEAVES OF GRASS 323
A HAND-MIRROR.
First published in 1860.
Ho.p it up sternly! See this it sends back! (Who is it? Is it you ?)
Outside fair costume—within ashes and filth,
No more a flashing eye-—no more a sonorous voice or springy step 5
Now some slave’s eye, voice, hands, step,
A drunkard’s breath, unwholesome eater’s face, venerealee’s flesh,
Lungs rotting away piecemeal, stomach sour and cankerous,
Joints rheumatic, bowels clogged with abomination,
Blood circulating dark and poisonous streams,
Words babble, hearing and touch callous,
No brain, no heart left—no magnetism of sex ; ie)
Such, from one look in this looking-glass ere you go hence,
Such a result so soon—and from such a beginning !
&
GERMS. First published in 1860.
Forms, qualities, lives, humanity, language, thoughts,
The ones known, and the ones unknown—the ones on the stars,
The stars themselves, some shaped, others unshaped,
Wonders as of those countries—the soil, trees, cities, inhabi- tants, whatever they may be,
Splendid suns, the moons and rings, the countless combinations and effects ;
Such-like, and as good as such-like, visible here or anywhere, stand provided for in a handful of space, which I extend my arm and half enclose with my hand ;
That contains the start of each and all—the virtue, the germs of all.’
x
OME! O LIFE’ First published in ‘‘ When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom’d,” 1865-6.
O mE! O life! . . . of the questions of these recurring ; Of the endless trains of the faithless—of cities fill’d with the foolish ;
1 1860 adds ‘‘ That is the theory as of origins.”’
3.24, LEAVES OF @RASS
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless ?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light—of the objects mean—of the struggle ever renew’ d ;
Of the poor results of all—of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me ;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest—with the rest me intertwined ;