Chapter 12

His own parents; He that had fathered him, and she that had conceived him in her womb, and birthed him, They gave this child more of themselves than that; They gave him afterward every day--they became part of him. The mother at home, quietly placing the dishes on the supper-table; The mother with mild words--clean her cap and gown, a wholesome odour falling off her person and clothes as she walks by; The father, strong, self-sufficient, manly, mean, angered, unjust; The blow, the quick loud word, the tight bargain, the crafty lure, The family usages, the language, the company, the furniture--the yearning and swelling heart, Affection that will not be gainsaid--the sense of what is real--the thought if after all it should prove unreal, The doubts of day-time and the doubts of night-time--the curious whether and how-- Whether that which appears so is so, or is it all flashes and specks? Men and women crowding fast in the streets--if they are not flashes and specks, what are they? The streets themselves, and the façades of houses, and goods in the windows, Vehicles, teams, the heavy-planked wharves--the huge crossing at the ferries, The village on the highland, seen from afar at sunset--the river between; Shadows, aureola and mist, light falling on roofs and gables of white or brown, three miles off; The schooner near by, sleepily dropping down the tide--the little boat slack-towed astern, The hurrying tumbling waves quick-broken crests slapping, The strata of coloured clouds, the long bar of maroon-tint, away solitary by itself-the spread of purity it lies motionless in, The horizon's edge, the flying sea-crow, the fragrance of salt marsh and shore mud;-- These became part of that child who went forth every day, and who now goes, and will always go forth every day.

[Footnote 1: The name of "morning-glory" is given to the bindweed, or a sort of bindweed, in America. I am not certain whether this expressive name is used in England also.]

[Footnote 2: A dun-coloured little bird with a cheerful note, sounding like the word Phoebe.]

_A WORD OUT OF THE SEA._

1.

Out of the rocked cradle, Out of the mocking-bird's throat, the musical shuttle, Out of the Ninth-month midnight, Over the sterile sands, and the fields beyond, where the child, leaving his bed, wandered alone, bareheaded, barefoot, Down from the showered halo, Up from the mystic play of shadows, twining and twisting; as if they were alive, Out from the patches of briars and blackberries, From the memories of the birds that chanted to me, From your memories, sad brother--from the fitful risings and fallings I heard, From under that yellow half-moon, late-risen, and swollen as if with tears, From those beginning notes of sickness and love, there in the transparent mist, From the thousand responses of my heart, never to cease, From the myriad thence-aroused words, From the word stronger and more delicious than any,-- From such, as now they start, the scene revisiting, As a flock, twittering, rising, or overhead passing, Borne hither--ere all eludes me, hurriedly,-- A man--yet by these tears a little boy again, Throwing myself on the sand, confronting the waves, I, chanter of pains and joys, uniter of here and hereafter, Taking all hints to use them, but swiftly leaping beyond them, A reminiscence sing.

2.

Once, Paumanok, When the snows had melted, and the Fifth-month grass was growing, Up this sea-shore, in some briars, Two guests from Alabama--two together, And their nest, and four light-green eggs spotted with brown; And every day the he-bird, to and fro, near at hand, And every day the she-bird, crouched on her nest, silent, with bright eyes; And every day I, a curious boy, never too close, never disturbing them, Cautiously peering, absorbing, translating.

3.

_Shine! shine! shine! Pour down your warmth, great Sun! While we bask--we two together.

Two together! Winds blow South, or winds blow North, Day come white or night come black, Home, or rivers and mountains from home, Singing all time, minding no time, If we two but keep together_.

4.

Till of a sudden, Maybe killed, unknown to her mate, One forenoon the she-bird crouched not on the nest, Nor returned that afternoon, nor the next, Nor ever appeared again.

And thenceforward, all summer, in the sound of the sea, And at night, under the full of the moon, in calmer weather, Over the hoarse surging of the sea, Or flitting from briar to briar by day, I saw, I heard at intervals, the remaining one, the he-bird, The solitary guest from Alabama.

5.

_Blow! blow! blow! Blow up, sea-winds, along Paumanok's shore! I wait and I wait, till you blow my mate to me_.

6.

Yes, when the stars glistened. All night long, on the prong of a moss-scalloped stake, Down, almost amid the slapping waves, Sat the lone singer, wonderful, causing tears.

He called on his mate; He poured forth the meanings which I, of all men, know. Yes, my brother, I know; The rest might not--but I have treasured every note; For once, and more than once, dimly, down to the beach gliding, Silent, avoiding the moonbeams, blending myself with the shadows, Recalling now the obscure shapes, the echoes, the sounds and sights after their sorts, The white arms out in the breakers tirelessly tossing, I, with bare feet, a child, the wind wafting my hair, Listened long and long.

Listened, to keep, to sing--now translating the notes, Following you, my brother.

7.

_Soothe! soothe! soothe! Close on its wave soothes the wave behind, And again another behind, embracing and lapping, every one close,-- But my love soothes not me, not me.

Low hangs the moon--it rose late; O it is lagging--O I think it is heavy with love, with love.

O madly the sea pushes, pushes upon the land, With love--with love. O night! do I not see my love fluttering out there among the breakers? What is that little black thing I see there in the white?

Loud! loud! loud! Loud. I call to you, my love! High and clear I shoot my voice over the waves; Surely you must know who is here, is here; You must know who I am, my love.

Low-hanging moon! What is that dusky spot in your brown yellow? O it is the shape, the shape of my mate! O moon, do not keep her from me any longer!

Land! land! O land! Whichever way I turn, O I think you could give me my mate back again, if you only would; For I am almost sure I see her dimly whichever way I look.

O rising stars! Perhaps the one I want so much will rise, will rise with some of you.

O throat! O trembling throat! Sound clearer through the atmosphere! Pierce the woods, the earth; Somewhere, listening to catch you, must be the one I want.

Shake out, carols! Solitary here--the night's carols! Carols of lonesome love! Death's carols! Carols under that lagging, yellow, waning moon! O, under that moon, where she droops almost down into the sea! O reckless, despairing carols!

But soft! sink low; Soft! let me just murmur; And do you wait a moment, you husky-noised sea; For somewhere I believe I heard my mate responding to me, So faint--I must be still, be still to listen; But not altogether still, for then she might not come immediately to me.

Hither, my love! Here I am! Here! With this just-sustained note I announce myself to you; This gentle call is for you, my love, for you!

Do not be decoyed elsewhere! That is the whistle of the wind--it is not my voice; That is the fluttering, the flattering of the spray; Those are the shadows of leaves.

O darkness! O in vain! O I am very sick and sorrowful!

O brown halo in the sky, near the moon, drooping upon the sea! O troubled reflection in the sea! O throat! O throbbing heart! O all!--and I singing uselessly, uselessly all the night.!

Yet I murmur, murmur on! O murmurs--you yourselves make me continue to sing, I know not why.

O past! O life! O songs of joy! In the air--in the woods--over fields; Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved! But my love no more, no more with me! We two together no more_!

8.

The aria sinking; All else continuing--the stars shining, The winds blowing--the notes of the bird continuous echoing, With angry moans the fierce old Mother incessantly moaning, On the sands of Paumanok's shore, grey and rustling; The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching; The boy ecstatic--with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere, dallying, The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting; The aria's meaning the ears, the soul, swiftly depositing, The strange tears down the cheeks coursing; The colloquy there--the trio--each uttering; The undertone--the savage old Mother, incessantly crying, To the boy's soul's questions sullenly timing--some drowned secret hissing To the outsetting bard of love.

9.

Demon or bird! (said the boy's soul,) Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it mostly to me? For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, Now I have heard you, Now in a moment I know what I am for--I awake; And already a thousand singers--a thousand songs, clearer, louder, and more sorrowful than yours, A thousand warbling echoes, have started to life within me, Never to die.

O you singer, solitary, singing by yourself--projecting me; O solitary me, listening--never more shall I cease perpetuating you; Never more shall I escape, never more, the reverberations, Never more the cries of unsatisfied love be absent from me, Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there, in the night, By the sea, under the yellow and sagging moon, The messenger there aroused--the fire, the sweet hell within, The unknown want, the destiny of me.

O give me the clue! (it lurks in the night here somewhere;) O if I am to have so much, let me have more! O a word! O what is my destination? I fear it is henceforth chaos;-- O how joys, dreads, convolutions, human shapes and all shapes, spring as from graves around me!

O phantoms! you cover all the land, and all the sea! O I cannot see in the dimness whether you smile or frown upon me; O vapour, a look, a word! O well-beloved! O you dear women's and men's phantoms!

A word then, (for I will conquer it,) The word final, superior to all, Subtle, sent up--what is it?--I listen; Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea-waves? Is that it from your liquid rims and wet sands?

10.

Whereto answering, the Sea, Delaying not, hurrying not, Whispered me through the night, and very plainly before daybreak, Lisped to me the low and delicious word DEATH; And again Death--ever Death, Death, Death, Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my aroused child's heart, But edging near, as privately for me, rustling at my feet, Creeping thence steadily up to my ears, and laving me softly all over, Death, Death, Death, Death, Death.

Which I do not forget, But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother, That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok's grey beach, With the thousand responsive songs, at random, My own songs, awaked from that hour; And with them the key, the word up from the waves, The word of the sweetest song, and all songs, That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet, The Sea whispered me.

_CROSSING BROOKLYN FERRY._

1.

Flood-tide below me! I watch you face to face; Clouds of the west! sun there half an hour high! I see you also face to face.

2.

Crowds of men and women attired in the usual costumes, how curious you are to me! On the ferry-boats the hundreds and hundreds that cross, returning home, are more curious to me than you suppose; And you that shall cross from shore to shore years hence are more to me, and more in my meditations, than you might suppose.

3.

The impalpable sustenance of me from all things, at all hours of the day; The simple, compact, well-joined scheme--myself disintegrated, every one disintegrated, yet part of the scheme; The similitudes of the past, and those of the future; The glories strung like beads on my smallest sights and hearings--on the walk in the street, and the passage over the river; The current rushing so swiftly, and swimming with me far away; The others that are to follow me, the ties between me and them; The certainty of others--the life, love, sight, hearing, of others.

Others will enter the gates of the ferry, and cross from shore to shore; Others will watch the run of the flood-tide; Others will see the shipping of Manhattan north and west, and the heights of Brooklyn to the south and east; Others will see the islands large and small; Fifty years hence, others will see them as they cross, the sun half an hour high; A hundred years hence, or ever so many hundred years hence, others will see them, Will enjoy the sunset, the pouring-in of the flood-tide, the falling-back to the sea of the ebb-tide. It avails not, neither time nor place--distance avails not; I am with you--you men and women of a generation, or ever so many generations hence; I project myself--also I return--I am with you, and know how it is.

Just as you feel when you look on the river and sky, so I felt; Just as any of you is one of a living crowd, I was one of a crowd; Just as you are refreshed by the gladness of the river and the bright flow, I was refreshed; Just as you stand and lean on the rail, yet hurry with the swift current, I stood, yet was hurried; Just as you look on the numberless masts of ships, and the thick-stemmed pipes of steamboats, I looked.

I too many and many a time crossed the river, the sun half an hour high; I watched the twelfth-month sea-gulls--I saw them high in the air, floating with motionless wings, oscillating their bodies, I saw how the glistening yellow lit up parts of their bodies, and left the rest in strong shadow, I saw the slow-wheeling circles, and the gradual edging toward the south.

I too saw the reflection of the summer sky in the water, Had my eyes dazzled by the shimmering track of beams, Looked at the fine centrifugal spokes of light round the shape of my head in the sun-lit water, Looked on the haze on the hills southward and southwestward, Looked on the vapour as it flew in fleeces tinged with violet, Looked toward the lower bay to notice the arriving ships, Saw their approach, saw aboard those that were near me, Saw the white sails of schooners and sloops, saw the ships at anchor, The sailors at work in the rigging, or out astride the spars. The round masts, the swinging motion of the hulls, the slender serpentine pennants, The large and small steamers in motion, the pilots in their pilot-houses, The white wake left by the passage, the quick tremulous whirl of the wheels, The flags of all nations, the falling of them at sunset, The scallop-edged waves in the twilight, the ladled cups, the frolicsome crests and glistening, The stretch afar growing dimmer and dimmer, the grey walls of the granite store-houses by the docks, On the river the shadowy group, the big steam-tug closely flanked on each side by the barges--the hay-boat, the belated lighter, On the neighbouring shore, the fires from the foundry chimneys burning high and glaringly into the night, Casting their flicker of black, contrasted with wild red and yellow light, over the tops of houses and down into the clefts of streets.

These, and all else, were to me the same as they are to you; I project myself a moment to tell you--also I return.

I loved well those cities; I loved well the stately and rapid river; The men and women I saw were all near to me; Others the same--others who look back on me because I looked forward to them; The time will come, though I stop here to-day and to-night.

What is it, then, between us? What is the count of the scores or hundreds of years between us?

Whatever it is, it avails not--distance avails not, and place avails not.

I too lived--Brooklyn, of ample hills, was mine; I too walked the streets of Manhattan Island, and bathed in the waters around it; I too felt the curious abrupt questionings stir within me; In the day, among crowds of people, sometimes they came upon me, In my walks home late at night, or as I lay in my bed, they came upon me.

I too had been struck from the float for ever held in solution, I too had received identity by my Body; That I was, I knew, was of my body--and what I should be, I knew, I should be of my body.

It is not upon you alone the dark patches fall, The dark threw patches down upon me also; The best I had done seemed to me blank and suspicious; My great thoughts, as I supposed them, were they not in reality meagre? would not people laugh at me?

It is not you alone who know what it is to be evil; I am he who knew what it was to be evil; I too knitted the old knot of contrariety, Blabbed, blushed, resented, lied, stole, grudged; Had guile, anger, lust, hot wishes I dared not speak; Was wayward, vain, greedy, shallow, sly, cowardly, malignant; The wolf, the snake, the hog, not wanting in me; The cheating look, the frivolous word, the adulterous wish, not wanting; Refusals, hates, postponements, meanness, laziness, none of these wanting.

But I was Manhattanese, friendly and proud! I was called by my nighest name by clear loud voices of young men as they saw me approaching or passing, Felt their arms on my neck as I stood, or the negligent leaning of their flesh against me as I sat; Saw many I loved in the street, or ferry-boat, or public assembly, yet never told them a word; Lived the same life with the rest, the same old laughing, gnawing, sleeping; Played the part that still looks back on the actor or actress, The same old rôle, the rôle that is what we make it,--as great as we like, Or as small as we like, or both great and small.

Closer yet I approach you: What thought you have of me, I had as much of you-- I laid in my stores in advance; I considered long and seriously of you before you were born.

Who was to know what should come home to me? Who knows but I am enjoying this? Who knows but I am as good as looking at you now, for all you cannot see me?

It is not you alone, nor I alone; Not a few races, nor a few generations, nor a few centuries; It is that each came or comes or shall come from its due emission, without fail, either now or then or henceforth.

Everything indicates--the smallest does, and the largest does; A necessary film envelops all, and envelops the Soul for a proper time.

Now I am curious what sight can ever be more stately and admirable to me than my mast-hemmed Manhatta, My river and sunset, and my scallop-edged waves of flood-tide; The sea-gulls oscillating their bodies, the hay-boat in the twilight, and the belated lighter; Curious what Gods can exceed these that clasp me by the hand, and with voices I love call me promptly and loudly by my nighest name as I approach; Curious what is more subtle than this which ties me to the woman or man that looks in my face, Which fuses me into you now, and pours my meaning into you.

We understand, then, do we not? What I promised without mentioning it have you not accepted? What the study could not teach--what the preaching could not accomplish, is accomplished, is it not? What the push of reading could not start, is started by me personally, is it not?

4.

Flow on river! flow with the flood-tide, and ebb with the ebb-tide! Frolic on, crested and scallop-edged waves! Gorgeous clouds of the sunset, drench with your splendour me, or the men and women generations after me! Cross from shore to shore, countless crowds of passengers! Stand up, tall masts of Mannahatta!-stand up, beautiful hills of Brooklyn! Bully for you! you proud, friendly, free Manhattanese! Throb, baffled and curious brain! throw out questions and answers! Suspend here and everywhere, eternal float of solution!

Blab, blush, lie, steal, you or I or any one after us! Gaze, loving and thirsting eyes, in the house, or street, or public assembly! Sound out, voices of young men! loudly and musically call me by my nighest name! Live, old life! play the part that looks back on the actor or actress! Play the old role, the role that is great or small, according as one makes it! Consider, you who peruse me, whether I may not in unknown ways be looking upon you: Be firm, rail over the river, to support those who lean idly, yet haste with the hasting current; Fly on, sea-birds! fly sideways, or wheel in large circles high in the air; Receive the summer sky, you water! and faithfully hold it, till all downcast eyes have time to take it from you; Diverge, fine spokes of light, from the shape of my head, or any one's head, in the sun-lit water; Come on, ships from the lower bay! pass up or down, white-sailed schooners, sloops, lighters! Flaunt away, flags of all nations! be duly lowered at sunset; Burn high your fires, foundry chimneys! cast black shadows at nightfall; cast red and yellow light over the tops of the houses; Appearances, now or henceforth, indicate what you are; You necessary film, continue to envelop the soul; About my body for me, and your body for you, be hung our divinest aromas; Thrive, cities! bring your freight, bring your shows, ample and sufficient rivers! Expand, being than which none else is perhaps more spiritual! Keep your places, objects than which none else is more lasting!

We descend upon you and all things--we arrest you all; We realise the soul only by you, you faithful solids and fluids; Through you colour, form, location, sublimity, ideality; Through you every proof, comparison, and all the suggestions and determinations of ourselves.

You have waited, you always wait, you dumb, beautiful ministers! you novices! We receive you with free sense at last, and are insatiate henceforward; Not you any more shall be able to foil us, or withhold yourselves from us; We use you, and do not cast you aside--we plant you permanently within us; We fathom you not--we love you--there is perfection in you also; You furnish your parts toward eternity; Great or small, you furnish your parts toward the soul.

_NIGHT AND DEATH._

1.

Night on the prairies. The supper is over--the fire on the ground burns low; The wearied emigrants sleep, wrapped in their blankets; I walk by myself--I stand and look at the stars, which I think now I never realised before.

Now I absorb immortality and peace, I admire death, and test propositions.

How plenteous! How spiritual! How _resumé_! The same Old Man and Soul--the same old aspirations, and the same content.

2.

I was thinking the day most splendid, till I saw what the not day exhibited, I was thinking this globe enough, till there sprang out so noiseless around me myriads of other globes.

Now, while the great thoughts of space and eternity fill me, I will measure myself by them: And now, touched with the lives of other globes, arrived as far along as those of the earth, Or waiting to arrive, or passed on farther than those of the earth, I henceforth no more ignore them than I ignore my own life, Or the lives of the earth arrived as far as mine, or waiting to arrive.

3.

O I see now that life cannot exhibit all to me-as the day cannot, I see that I am to wait for what will be exhibited by death.

_ELEMENTAL DRIFTS._

1.

Elemental drifts! O I wish I could impress others as you and the waves have just been impressing me.