Spain, 1873–74
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 immortalface 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.
By Broad Potomac’s Shore
By broad Potomac’s shore, again old tongue,(Still uttering, still ejaculating, canst never cease this babble?)Again old heart so gay, again to you, your sense, the full flushspring returning,Again the freshness and the odors, again Virginia’s summer sky,pellucid blue and silver,Again the forenoon purple of the hills,Again the deathless grass, so noiseless soft and green,Again the blood-red roses blooming.
Perfume this book of mine O blood-red roses!Lave subtly with your waters every line Potomac!Give me of you O spring, before I close, to put between its pages!O forenoon purple of the hills, before I close, of you!O deathless grass, of you!
From Far Dakota’s Canyons [June 25, 1876]
From far Dakota’s canyons,Lands of the wild ravine, the dusky Sioux, the lonesome stretch, thesilence,Haply to-day a mournful wall, haply a trumpet-note for heroes.
The battle-bulletin,The Indian ambuscade, the craft, the fatal environment,The cavalry companies fighting to the last in sternest heroism,In the midst of their little circle, with their slaughter’d horsesfor breastworks,The fall of Custer and all his officers and men.
Continues yet the old, old legend of our race,The loftiest of life upheld by death,The ancient banner perfectly maintain’d,O lesson opportune, O how I welcome thee!
As sitting in dark days,Lone, sulky, through the time’s thick murk looking in vain forlight, for hope,From unsuspected parts a fierce and momentary proof,(The sun there at the centre though conceal’d,Electric life forever at the centre,)Breaks forth a lightning flash.
Thou of the tawny flowing hair in battle,I erewhile saw, with erect head, pressing ever in front, bearing abright sword in thy hand,Now ending well in death the splendid fever of thy deeds,(I bring no dirge for it or thee, I bring a glad triumphal sonnet,)Desperate and glorious, aye in defeat most desperate, most glorious,After thy many battles in which never yielding up a gun or a color,Leaving behind thee a memory sweet to soldiers,Thou yieldest up thyself.