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SANDS AT SEVENTY.
THE WALLABOUT MARTYRS .
Swell -- Last of Ebó, and Daylight Waning — And Yet Not You
Waves - Then Last of Al.)
AFTER THE SUPPER AND TALK
PREFACE NOTE TO SECOND ANNEX
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GOOD-BYE, MY PANCY.
SAIL OUT FOR Good, EIDÓLON YACHT
OLD AGE ECHOES (Posthumous Additions).
To SOAR IN FREEDOM AND IN FULLNESS OF POWER
A THOUGHT OF COLUMBUS
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ONE'S-SELF I SING. NE'S-SELF I sing, a simple separate person,
Of physiology from top to toe I sing,
say the Form complete is worthier far,
AS I PONDER'D IN SILENCE.
As I ponder'd in silence,
retreat, victory deferr'd and wavering,
(Yet methinks certain, or as good as certain, at the last, the field
IN CABIN’D SHIPS AT SEA. IN cabin'd ships at sea, The boundless blue on every side expanding, With whistling winds and music of the waves, the large imperious
waves, Or some lone bark buoy'd on the dense marine, Where joyous full of faith, spreading white sails, She cleaves the ether mid the sparkle and the foam of day, or
under many a star at night, By sailors young and old haply will I, a reminiscence of the land,
be read, In full rapport at last. Here are our thoughts, voyagers' thoughts, Here not the land, firm land, alone appears, may then by them be
said, The sky o'erarches here, we feel the undulating deck beneath our
feet, We feel the long pulsation, ebb and flow of endless motion, The tones of unseen mystery, the vague and vast suggestions of the
briny world, the liquid-flowing syllables, The perfume, the faint creaking of the cordage, the melancholy
rhythm, The boundless vista and the horison far and dim are all here, And this is ocean's poem. Then falter not O book, fulfil your destiny, You not a reminiscence of the land alone, You too as a lone bark cleaving the ether, purpos'd I know not
whither, yet ever full of faith, Consort to every ship that sails, sail you ! Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold
it here in every leaf;) Speed on my book ! spread your white sails my little bark athwart
the imperious waves, Chant on, sail on, bear o'er the boundless blue from me to every
sea, This song for mariners and all their ships.
TO FOREIGN LANDS. I HEARD that you ask'd for something to prove this puzzle the New
World, And to define America, her athletic Democracy, Therefore I send you my poems that you behold in them what you
TO A HISTORIAN. You who celebrate bygones, Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races, the life
that has exhibited itself, Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates,
rulers and priests, I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself
in his own rights, Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself, (the
great pride of man in himself,) Chanter of Personality, outlining what is yet to be, I project the history of the future.
TO THEE OLD CAUSE. To thee old cause ! Thou peerless, passionate, good cause, Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea, Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands, After a strange sad war, great war for thee, (I think all war through time was really fought, and ever will be
really fought, for thee,) These chants for thee, the eternal march of thee.
(A war O soldiers not for itself alone, Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in
Thou orb of many orbs !