Sends all her handmaid armies back to spin, No challenge sends she to the elder world, That looked askance and hated; a light scorn Plays o'er her mouth, as round her mighty knees She calls her children back, and waits the morn Of nobler day, enthroned between her subject seas." IX Bow down, dear Land, for thou hast found release! Hath taught thee the sure wisdom of His ways, And through thine enemies hath wrought thy peace! Bow down in prayer and praise! No poorest in thy borders but may now Lift to the juster skies a man's enfranchised brow. Freed from wrath's pale eclipse, The rosy edges of their smile lay bare, James Russell Lowell 94 ว O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN !1 CAPTAIN! my Captain! our fearful trip is done, The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring; But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up-for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills, For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths for you the shores a-crowding, or you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. 1 A tribute to Abraham Lincoln. Walt Whitman 295 ON THE RECEIPT OF MY MOTHER'S PICTURE THAT those lips had language! Life has passed Those lips are thine-thy own sweet smile I see, The same that oft in childhood solaced me; O welcome guest, though unexpected here! I will obey, not willingly alone, But gladly, as the precept were her own: A momentary dream that thou art she. My mother! when I learned that thou wast dead, A long, long sigh, and wept a last adieu! But was it such?--It was.- -Where thou art gone, But, though I less deplored thee, ne'er forgot. Where once we dwelt our name is heard no more, Children not thine have trod my nurs'ry floor; And where the gard'ner Robin, day by day, Drew me to school along the public way, Delighted with my bauble coach, and wrapped In scarlet mantle warm, and velvet cap, 'Tis now become a hist'ry little known, That once we called the past'ral house our own. Short-lived possession! but the record fair That mem'ry keeps of all thy kindness there, Still outlives many a storm that has effaced A thousand other themes less deeply traced. Thy nightly visits to my chamber made, That thou might'st know me safe and warmly laid; Thy morning bounties ere I left my home, The biscuit, or confectionary plum; The fragrant waters on my cheeks bestowed By thy own hand, till fresh they shone and glowed! All this, and more endearing still than all, Thy constant flow of love, that knew no fall, Adds joy to duty, makes me glad to pay Not scorned in Heav'n, though little noticed here. I pricked them into paper with a pin (And thou wast happier than myself the while, I would not trust my heart-the dear delight Thy unbound spirit into bonds again. Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast (The storms all weathered and the ocean crossed) Shoots into port at some well-havened isle, Where spices breathe, and brighter seasons smile, So thou, with sails how swift! hast reached the shore "Where tempests never beat, nor billows roar," And thy loved consort on the dang'rous tide |