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AFTER all, not to create only, or found only, |
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But to bring, perhaps from afar, what is already founded, |
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To give it our own identity, average, limitless, free; |
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To fill the gross, the torpid bulk with vital religious fire; |
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Not to repel or destroy, so much as accept, fuse, rehabilitate; |
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To obey, as well as command—to follow, more than to lead; |
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These also are the lessons of our New World; |
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—While how little the New, after all—how much the Old, Old World! |
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Long, long, long, has the grass been growing, |
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Long and long has the rain been falling, |
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Long has the globe been rolling round. |
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Come, Muse, migrate from Greece and Ionia; |
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Cross out, please, those immensely overpaid accounts, |
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That matter of Troy, and Achilles’ wrath, and Eneas’, Odysseus’ wanderings; |
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Placard “Removed” and “To Let” on the rocks of your snowy Parnassus; |
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Repeat at Jerusalem—place the notice high on Jaffa’s gate, and on Mount Moriah; |
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The same on the walls of your Gothic European Cathedrals, and German, French and Spanish Castles; |
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For know a better, fresher, busier sphere—a wide, untried domain awaits, demands you. |
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Responsive to our summons, |
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Or rather to her long-nurs’d inclination, |
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Join’d with an irresistible, natural gravitation, |
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She comes! this famous Female—as was indeed to be expected; |
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(For who, so-ever youthful, ’cute and handsome, would wish to stay in mansions such as those, |
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When offer’d quarters with all the modern improvements, |
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With all the fun that ’s going—and all the best society?) |
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She comes! I hear the rustling of her gown; |
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I scent the odor of her breath’s delicious fragrance; |
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I mark her step divine—her curious eyes a-turning, rolling, |
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Upon this very scene. |
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The Dame of Dames! can I believe, then, |
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Those ancient temples classic, and castles strong and feudalistic, |
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could none of them restrain her? |
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Nor shades of Virgil and Dante—nor myriad memories, poems, old associations, magnetize and hold on to her? |
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But that she ’s left them all—and here? |
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Yes, if you will allow me to say so, |
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I, my friends, if you do not, can plainly see Her, |
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The same Undying Soul of Earth’s, activity’s, beauty’s, heroism’s Expression, |
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Out from her evolutions hither come—submerged the strata of her former themes, |
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Hidden and cover’d by to-day’s—foundation of to-day’s; |
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Ended, deceas’d, through time, her voice by Castaly’s fountain; |
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Silent through time the broken-lipp’d Sphynx in Egypt—silent those century-baffling tombs; |
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Closed for aye the epics of Asia’s, Europe’s helmeted warriors; |
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Calliope’s call for ever closed—Clio, Melpomene, Thalia closed and dead; |
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Seal’d the stately rhythmus of Una and Oriana—ended the quest of the Holy Graal; |
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Jerusalem a handful of ashes blown by the wind—extinct; |
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The Crusaders’ streams of shadowy, midnight troops, sped with the sunrise; |
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Amadis, Tancred, utterly gone—Charlemagne, Roland, Oliver gone, |
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Palmerin, ogre, departed—vanish’d the turrets that Usk reflected, |
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Arthur vanish’d with all his knights—Merlin and Lancelot and Galahad—all gone—dissolv’d utterly, like an exhalation; |
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Pass’d! pass’d! for us, for ever pass’d! that once so mighty World—now void, inanimate, phantom World! |
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Embroider’d, dazzling World! with all its gorgeous legends, myths, |
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Its kings and barons proud—its priests, and warlike lords, and courtly dames; |
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Pass’d to its charnel vault—laid on the shelf—coffin’d, with Crown and Armor on, |
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Blazon’d with Shakspeare’s purple page, |
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And dirged by Tennyson’s sweet sad rhyme. |
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I say I see, my friends, if you do not, the Animus of all that World, |
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Escaped, bequeath’d, vital, fugacious as ever, leaving those dead remains, and now this spot approaching, filling; |
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—And I can hear what maybe you do not—a terrible aesthetical commotion, |
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With howling, desperate gulp of “flower” and “bower,” |
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With “Sonnet to Matilda’s Eyebrow” quite, quite frantic; |
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With gushing, sentimental reading circles turn’d to ice or stone; |
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With many a squeak, (in metre choice,) from Boston, New York, Philadelphia, London; |
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As she, the illustrious Emigré, (having, it is true, in her day, although the same, changed, journey’d considerable,) |
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Making directly for this rendezvous—vigorously clearing a path for herself—striding through the confusion, |
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By thud of machinery and shrill steam-whistle undismay’d, |
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Bluff’d not a bit by drain-pipe, gasometers, artificial fertilizers, |
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Smiling and pleased, with palpable intent to stay, |
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She ’s here, install’d amid the kitchen ware! |
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But hold—don’t I forget my manners? |
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To introduce the Stranger (what else indeed have I come for?) to thee, Columbia: |
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In Liberty’s name, welcome, Immortal! clasp hands, |
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And ever henceforth Sisters dear be both. |
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Fear not, O Muse! truly new ways and days receive, surround you, |
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(I candidly confess, a queer, queer race, of novel fashion,) |
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And yet the same old human race—the same within, without, |
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Faces and hearts the same—feelings the same—yearnings the same, |
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The same old love—beauty and use the same. |
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We do not blame thee, Elder World—nor separate ourselves from thee: |
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(Would the Son separate himself from the Father?) |
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Looking back on thee—seeing thee to thy duties, grandeurs, through past ages bending, building, |
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We build to ours to-day. |
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Mightier than Egypt’s tombs, |
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Fairer than Grecia’s, Roma’s temples, |
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Prouder than Milan’s statued, spired Cathedral, |
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More picturesque than Rhenish castle-keeps, |
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We plan, even now, to raise, beyond them all, |
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Thy great Cathedral, sacred Industry—no tomb, |
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A Keep for life for practical Invention. |
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As in a waking vision, |
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E’en while I chant, I see it rise—I scan and prophesy outside and in, |
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Its manifold ensemble. |
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Around a Palace, |
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Loftier, fairer, ampler than any yet, |
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Earth’s modern Wonder, History’s Seven outstripping, |
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High rising tier on tier, with glass and iron façades. |
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Gladdening the sun and sky—enhued in cheerfulest hues, |
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Bronze, lilac, robin’s-egg, marine and crimson, |
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Over whose golden roof shall flaunt, beneath thy banner, Freedom, |
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The banners of The States, the flags of every land, |
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A brood of lofty, fair, but lesser Palaces shall cluster. |
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Somewhere within the walls of all, |
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Shall all that forwards perfect human life be started, |
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Tried, taught, advanced, visibly exhibited. |
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Here shall you trace in flowing operation, |
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In every state of practical, busy movement, |
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The rills of Civilization. |
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Materials here, under your eye, shall change their shape, as if by magic; |
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The cotton shall be pick’d almost in the very field, |
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Shall be dried, clean’d, ginn’d, baled, spun into thread and cloth, before you: |
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You shall see hands at work at all the old processes, and all the new ones; |
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You shall see the various grains, and how flour is made, and then bread baked by the bakers; |
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You shall see the crude ores of California and Nevada passing on and on till they become bullion; |
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You shall watch how the printer sets type, and learn what a composing stick is; |
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You shall mark, in amazement, the Hoe press whirling its cylinders, shedding the printed leaves steady and fast: |
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The photograph, model, watch, pin, nail, shall be created before you. |
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In large calm halls, a stately Museum shall teach you the infinite, solemn lessons of Minerals; |
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In another, woods, plants, Vegetation shall be illustrated—in another Animals, animal life and development. |
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One stately house shall be the Music House; |
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Others for other Arts—Learning, the Sciences, shall all be here; |
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None shall be slighted—none but shall here be honor’d, help’d, exampled. |
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This, this and these, America, shall be your Pyramids and Obelisks, |
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Your Alexandrian Pharos, gardens of Babylon, |
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Your temple at Olympia. |
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The male and female many laboring not, |
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Shall ever here confront the laboring many, |
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With precious benefits to both—glory to all, |
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To thee, America—and thee, Eternal Muse. |
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And here shall ye inhabit, Powerful Matrons! |
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In your vast state, vaster than all the old; |
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Echoed through long, long centuries to come, |
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To sound of different, prouder songs, with stronger themes, |
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Practical, peaceful life—the people’s life—the People themselves, |
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Lifted, illumin’d, bathed in peace—elate, secure in peace. |
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Away with themes of war! away with War itself! |
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Hence from my shuddering sight, to never more return, that show of blacken’d, mutilated corpses! |
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That hell unpent, and raid of blood—fit for wild tigers, or for lop-tongued wolves—not reasoning men! |
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And in its stead speed Industry’s campaigns! |
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With thy undaunted armies, Engineering! |
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Thy pennants, Labor, loosen’d to the breeze! |
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Thy bugles sounding loud and clear! |
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Away with old romance! |
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Away with novels, plots, and plays of foreign courts! |
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Away with love-verses, sugar’d in rhyme—the intrigues, amours of idlers, |
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Fitted for only banquets of the night, where dancers to late music slide; |
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The unhealthy pleasures, extravagant dissipations of the few, |
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With perfumes, heat and wine, beneath the dazzling chandeliers. |
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To you, ye Reverent, sane Sisters, |
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To this resplendent day, the present scene, |
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These eyes and ears that like some broad parterre bloom up around, before me, |
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I raise a voice for far superber themes for poets and for Art, |
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To exalt the present and the real, |
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To teach the average man the glory of his daily walk and trade, |
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To sing, in songs, how exercise and chemical life are never to be baffled; |
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Boldly to thee, America, to-day! and thee, Immortal Muse! |
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To practical, manual work, for each and all—to plough, hoe, dig, |
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To plant and tend the tree, the berry, the vegetables, flowers, |
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For every man to see to it that he really do something—for every woman too; |
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To use the hammer, and the saw, (rip or cross-cut,) |
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To cultivate a turn for carpentering, plastering, painting, |
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To work as tailor, tailoress, nurse, hostler, porter, |
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To invent a little—something ingenious—to aid the washing, cooking, cleaning, |
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And hold it no disgrace to take a hand at them themselves. |
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I say I bring thee, Muse, to-day and here, |
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All occupations, duties broad and close, |
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Toil, healthy toil and sweat, endless, without cessation, |
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The old, old general burdens, interests, joys, |
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The family, parentage, childhood, husband and wife, |
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The house-comforts—the house itself, and all its belongings, |
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Food and its preservations—chemistry applied to it; |
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Whatever forms the average, strong, complete, sweet-blooded Man or Woman—the perfect, longeve Personality, |
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And helps its present life to health and happiness—and shapes its Soul, |
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For the eternal Real Life to come. |
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With latest materials, works, |
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Steam-power, the great Express lines, gas, petroleum, |
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These triumphs of our time, the Atlantic’s delicate cable, |
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The Pacific Railroad, the Suez canal, the Mont Cenis tunnel; |
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Science advanced, in grandeur and reality, analyzing every thing, |
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This world all spann’d with iron rails—with lines of steamships |
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threading every sea, |
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Our own Rondure, the current globe I bring. |
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And thou, high-towering One—America! |
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Thy swarm of offspring towering high—yet higher thee, above all towering, |
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With Victory on thy left, and at thy right hand Law; |
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Thou Union, holding all—fusing, absorbing, tolerating all, |
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Thee, ever thee, I bring. |
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Thou—also thou, a world! |
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With all thy wide geographies, manifold, different, distant, |
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Rounding by thee in One—one common orbic language, |
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One common indivisible destiny and Union. |
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And by the spells which ye vouchsafe, |
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To those, your ministers in earnest, |
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I here personify and call my themes, |
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To make them pass before ye. |
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Behold, America! (And thou, ineffable Guest and Sister!) |
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For thee come trooping up thy waters and thy lands: |
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Behold! thy fields and farms, thy far-off woods and mountains, |
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As in procession coming. |
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Behold! the sea itself! |
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And on its limitless, heaving breast, thy ships: |
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See! where their white sails, bellying in the wind, speckle the green and blue! |
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See! thy steamers coming and going, steaming in or out of port! |
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See! dusky and undulating, their long pennants of smoke! |
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Behold, in Oregon, far in the north and west, |
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Or in Maine, far in the north and east, thy cheerful axemen, |
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Wielding all day their axes! |
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Behold, on the lakes, thy pilots at their wheels—thy oarsmen! |
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Behold how the ash writhes under those muscular arms! |
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There by the furnace, and there by the anvil, |
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Behold thy sturdy blacksmiths, swinging their sledges; |
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Overhand so steady—overhand they turn and fall, with joyous clank, |
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Like a tumult of laughter. |
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Behold! (for still the procession moves,) |
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Behold, Mother of All, thy countless sailors, boatmen, coasters! |
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The myriads of thy young and old mechanics! |
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Mark—mark the spirit of invention everywhere—thy rapid patents, |
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Thy continual workshops, foundries, risen or rising; |
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See, from their chimneys, how the tall flame-fires stream! |
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Mark, thy interminable farms, North, South, |
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Thy wealthy Daughter-States, Eastern, and Western, |
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The varied products of Ohio, Pennsylvania, Missouri, Georgia, Texas, and the rest; |
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Thy limitless crops—grass, wheat, sugar, corn, rice, hemp, hops, |
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Thy barns all fill’d—thy endless freight-trains, and thy bulging store-houses, |
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The grapes that ripen on thy vines—the apples in thy orchards, |
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Thy incalculable lumber, beef, pork, potatoes—thy coal—thy gold and silver, |
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The inexhaustible iron in thy mines. |
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All thine, O sacred Union! |
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Ship, farm, shop, barns, factories, mines, |
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City and State—North, South, item and aggregate, |
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We dedicate, dread Mother, all to thee! |
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Protectress absolute, thou! Bulwark of all! |
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For well we know that while thou givest each and all, (generous as God,) |
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Without thee, neither all nor each, nor land, home, |
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Ship, nor mine—nor any here, this day, secure, |
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Nor aught, nor any day secure. |
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And thou, thy Emblem, waving over all! |
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Delicate beauty! a word to thee, (it may be salutary;) |
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Remember, thou hast not always been, as here to-day, so comfortably ensovereign’d; |
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In other scenes than these have I observ’d thee, flag; |
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Not quite so trim and whole, and freshly blooming, in folds of stainless silk; |
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But I have seen thee, bunting, to tatters torn, upon thy splinter’d staff, |
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Or clutch’d to some young color-bearer’s breast, with desperate hands, |
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Savagely struggled for, for life or death—fought over long, |
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’Mid cannon’s thunder-crash, and many a curse, and groan and yell—and rifle-volleys cracking sharp, |
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And moving masses, as wild demons surging—and lives as nothing risk’d, |
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For thy mere remnant, grimed with dirt and smoke, and sopp’d in blood; |
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For sake of that, my beauty—and that thou might’st dally, as now, secure up there, |
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Many a good man have I seen go under. |
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Now here, and these, and hence, in peace all thine, O Flag! |
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And here, and hence, for thee, O universal Muse! and thou for them! |
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And here and hence, O Union, all the work and workmen thine! |
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The poets, women, sailors, soldiers, farmers, miners, students thine! |
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None separate from Thee—henceforth one only, we and Thou; |
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(For the blood of the children—what is it only the blood Maternal? |
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And lives and works—what are they all at last except the roads to Faith and Death?) |
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While we rehearse our measureless wealth, it is for thee, dear Mother! |
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We own it all and several to-day indissoluble in Thee; |
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—Think not our chant, our show, merely for products gross, or lucre—it is for Thee, the Soul, electric, spiritual! |
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Our farms, inventions, crops, we own in Thee! Cities and States in Thee! |
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Our freedom all in Thee! our very lives in Thee! |