An Address On Walt Whitman - Robert G Ingersoll 1890

WALT WHITMAN
(p. 5103.
WALT WHITMAN.
AN ADDRESS
BY
ROBERTO. INGERSOLL
LIBERTY
IN
LITERATURE.
Delivered in Philadelphia, Oct. 21, 1890. Alo Funeral dress Delivered at Harleigb, Camden, N. J.,
Ad
March
30, 1892.
WITH PORTRAIT OF WHITMAN.

AUTHORIZED EDITION.
NEW YORK;
THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY,

28
LAFAYETTK PLACE.
Copyrighted, 1890,
BY
THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY.
TESTIMONIAL
TO
WALT WHITMAN.
OF
all
the placid hours in his peaceful
life,
those that Walt
Whitman spent on
the stage of
Horticultural Hall last night must have been
among
the most gratifying, says the Philadel22, 1890.
phia Press of October
To
a testi-
monial, intended to cheer his declining years,
not only in a complimentary sense, came some
eighteen hundred or more people to listen to

a tribute to the aged poet by Col. Robert G.
Ingersoll, such as
living
seldom
falls to
the lot of
man
to
hear about himself.
On
the stage sat
many admirers
of the vener-
able torch-bearer of
modern poetic thought, as
4;
LIBERTY
IIST
MTERATURE.
Colonel Ingersoli described him, young and old,
men and women.

"
There were white beards,
but none were so white as that of the author of
Leaves of Grass."
He
sat calm
and sedate
in
his easy wheeled chair, with his usual garb of
gray, with his cloudy white hair falling over

his white,
turned-down collar that must have
been three inches wide.

from the orator's
ity
;
No
burst of eloquence
lips disturbed that
equanim-
no tribute of applause moved him from his
habitual calm.
And when
said,
the lecturer,
having concluded,
"We
have met to-night to honor our-
by honoring the author of 'Leaves of " and the audience started to leave the Grass,'
selves
hall,
the
man
they had honored reached for-
ward with
"
his cane
and attracted Colonel Inger-
soll's attention.
Do
not leave yet," said Colonel Ingersoli,

to say."
"
1
Mr. Whitman has a word

This
is
what he
said,
and no more characterlips or
'
istic
thing ever
fell
;
from the poet's
flowed from his pen
TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN.

"After
all,
5
factors
my
friends,
the
main
being the curious

presence
testimony called personal

to
and
to
face
face
meeting, I have
myself,
come here
be
among you and show
and thank you with
my
living voice for coming,
and Robert Ingersoil for speaking.
And
so
with such brief testimony of showing myself,
and such good

hail
will
.
and gratitude, I bid you
and farewell."
THE ADDRESS.
Let us Put Wreaths on the Brows of the Living.
I.
IN the year 1855 the American people
knew
but
little of
books.
Their
ideals,' their
models,
were English.
Young and
Pollok, Addison and
Watts were regarded as great poets. Some of the more reckless read Thomson's "Seasons"
and the poems and novels of Sir Walter
Scott.
few, not
quite
orthodox,
delighted in the
mechanical monotony of Pope, and the really
wicked
those lost to
all religious
shame
were
worshipers of Shakespeare.
The
really ortho-
dox Protestant, untroubled by doubts, considered
Milton the greatest poet of them
all.
Byron and Shelley were hardly respectable

to
not
be read by young persons.
It
was admitted
LIBERTY IN LITERATURE.
all
on
of
hands that Burns was a child

his
of nature
whom
mother was ashamed and proud.

free
In the blessed year aforesaid, candor,
and
sincere
speech,
were
under
the
ban.
Creeds at that time were entrenched behind

statutes,
ity,
prejudice, custom, ignorance, stupid-
Puritanism
and slavery
that
is
to say,
slavery of
mind and body.

it
Of course
always has been, and forever will
be, impossible for slavery, or
any kind or form
of injustice, to
produce a great poet.
There are
hundreds
side of
of verse
makers and writers on the

but they
wrong
enemies of progress
are not poets, they are not
men
of genius.
At
this time a
is
young man
he to
whom
this
testimonial
fallen the
given
of
he upon whose head have
this
more than seventy winters man, born within the sound of the sea,
snows
world a book, "Leaves of Grass."
is,
gave
to the
This book was, and

soul.
the true transcript of a
The man
is
unmasked.
No
drapery of
hypocrisy, no pretense, no fear.

as original in form as in thought.
The book was

All customs

were forgotten or disregarded,
all
rules broken
nothing
mechanical
no
imitation
sponta-
neous, running and winding
like a river, multi-
tudinous in
sea
its
thoughts as the waves of the

or measured.
nothing mathematical
In
is
everything a touch of chaos
lacking what
called form as clouds lack form, but not lack-
ing the splendor of sunrise or the glory of sunset.
It
was a marvelous collection and aggre-
gation of fragments, hints, suggestions,

ries,
memo-
and prophecies, weeds and flowers, clouds

clods,
aijd
sights
and sounds, emotions and

constellations.
passions, waves,
shadows and
His book was received by many with disdain,

with horror, with indignation and protest
the
by
few as a marvelous, almost miraculous,

to the
message
world
full of
thought, philos-
ophy, poetry and music.
In
the
republic
of
mediocrity genius
fills
is
dangerous.
A
is
great soul appears and
the
world with new and marvelous harmonies.

his
In
words
the old Promethean flame.
The
line.
heart of nature beats and throbs in his
10
The respectable prudes and pedagogues sound

the alarm, and cry, or rather screech
"
:
Is this
a book for a young person?"
A poem
as nature
true to
fills
life
as a
Greek statue
candid
these barren souls with fear.
They
forget that drapery about the perfect
was suggested by immodesty. The provincial prudes, and others

mold, pretend that love
passion
a
is
of
like
a duty rather than a
kind of self-denial
not an overof pre-
mastering
joy.
They preach the gospel

they cast
tense and pantalettes.

cerity, of truth,
In the presence of sin-
down
their eyes and
endeavor to
feel immodest*.
is
To them,
the most
beautiful thing
blush.
hypocrisy adorned with a
They have no idea

glorying in
its
of
an honest, pure passion,

intense,
strength
intoxicated
with the beautiful, giving even to inanimate

things pulse and motion, and that transfigures, ennobles, and idealizes the object of its adoration.
They do not walk the
streets of the city of

life
they explore the sewers

"
they stand in
the gutters and cry
Unclean
;
!"
They pretend
;
that beauty is a snare
that love is a Delilah

is
that the highway of joy
the broad road, lined
with flowers and
filled
with perfume, leading to
the city of eternal sorrow.
Since the year 1855 the American people
have developed
they are somewhat acquainted
with the literature of the world.
They have
witnessed the most tremendous of revolutions,

not only upon the fields of battle, but in the
world of thought.
concluded that
it is
The American
citizen has
hardly worth while being a
sovereign unless he has the right to think for

himself.
And now, from
this hight,
with the vantage-
ground of to-day, I propose to examine this book and to state, in a general way, what Walt Whitman has dne, what he has accomplished,
and the place he has won in the world
thought.
of
12
II.
THE EELIGION OF THE BODY.

Walt Whitman
book, where
ually
all
stood,
when he published
his
stand to-night
line
on the perpetends and

to the
moving
where
history
full
prophecy begins.
He was
of life
very tips of his fingers
brave, eager, candid,
pyous
the
with health.
He was
and
acquainted with
of
past.
He knew something
philosophy
art
song and
of
story,
of
much
the
heroic dead, of brave suffering, of the thoughts

of
men, the habits of the people
rich as well
as poor
familiar with labor, a friend of
wind
and wave, touched by love and friendshipliking the
open road, enjoying the
fields
and
paths, the crags
friend of the forest
feeling
that he
willing
was
free
neither master nor slave
that all
should know his thoughts
open as the sky, candid as nature
and he gave
13
his thoughts, his dreams, his conclusions, his
hopes, and his mental portrait to his fellow-
men.
Walt Whitman announced the gospel

body.
of the
He
confronted the people.
He
denied
the depravity of man.
He
insisted that love is
not a crime
that
;
men and women should be
proudly natural
that they need not grovel on
the earth and cover their faces for shame.
He
taught the dignity and glory of the father and
mother
the sacredness of maternity.
Maternity, tender and pure as the tear of

pity,
holy as suffering
the crown, the flower,
the ecstasy of love.
People had been taught from bibles and from

creeds that maternity was a kind of crime
the
;
that
woman
in
should be purified by some cerebuilt in
mony
god.
some temple
honor of some
"
This barbarism was attacked in
Leaves
of Grass."
The glory
tion
of
of simple life
was sung
a declarafor
independence
was
made
each
and alL
14
yet this appeal to
And
manhood and
It
to
womanhood was misunderstood.

nounced simply because
it
was de-
was
in
with the great trend of nature.
harmony To me, the
most obscene word

It
in our language is celibacy. for people to
was not the fashion
speak or
write their thoughts.
We
were flooded with
the literature of hypocrisy.
The
writers did
not
faithfully
describe the worlds in which

to
they lived.
They endeavored
hut in which
make a
fash-
ionable world.
tage or
palace,
They pretended
that the cot-
the
they dwelt was a

little
and they called the

their
area in which
they threw
slops
their
domain, their
of
realm, their empire.
They were ashamed
the real, of what
their
world actually was.

lies,
They imitated
and
lands.
that is to say, they told
these lies filled
the
literature
of
most
Walt Whitman defended the sacredness

love,
of
the purity of passion
the passion that the world with art
builds every
home and
fills
and song.
15
They
sion
cried out
is
"
:
He
!
is
a defender of paslives in the mire.
he
a libertine
!"
He
He
lacks spirituality
Whoever differs with

with a led multitude
multitude of taggers
the multitude, especially

that is to say, with a
will find out
from their
leaders that he has committed an unpardonable

sin.
It is a
if
crime to travel a road of your own,
especially
you put up guide-boards
for the
information of others.
Many, many centuries ago Epicurus, the greatest man of his century, and of many centuries before
and
;
after, said
is
"
:
Happiness
is
the
only good
happiness
the supreme end." generous,
This
noble
man was
temperate, frugal,
all
and yet through
these years he has
been denounced by the hypocrites of the world

as a
It
mere eater and drinker.
was said that Whitman had exaggerated the importance of love that he had made too
much
of this passion.
Lat me say that no poet

has had imagi-
not excepting Shakespeare
nation enough to exaggerate the importance of
16
love
human
and
all
a passion that contains
all
hights
depths
ample as space, with a sky in
which
within
glitter all constellations,

it
and that has
all
storms,
all
lightnings, all wrecks
and
ruins, all griefs, all sorrows, all shadows,

all
and
the joy and sunshine of which the heart
and brain are capable.
No
writer must be measured by a wr ord or
paragraph.
He
all.
is to
be measured by his work

of
by the tendency, not

tendency of
one
line,
but by the
Which way does

it
the great stream tend?
Is
for
good or
evil ?
Are the motives high and

?
noble, or low and infamous
"We cannot measure Shakespeare by a few

lines, neither
can we measure the Bible by a
" few chapters, nor " Leaves of Grass by a few
paragraphs.
In each there are many things

:
that I neither approve nor believe
but in
all
books you
foolishness,
will find a of
mingling of wisdom and

mistakes
in
prophecies and
other words,
be defects.
among the The mine
excellencies there will

is
not
all
gold, or all

silver,
17
or
all
diamonds
there are baser metals.
The
trees of the forest are not all of one size.

of
On some
the highest there are dead and
useless limbs, and there
neath the bushes, weeds,
may be growing beand now and then a

books of the
poisonous vine.
If
I were
to
edit the
great
world, I might leave out

leave out the best.
of
some
lines
and I might
I have no right to
make
my
brain a sieve and say that only that

to the rest of
which passes through belongs

the
human
race.
I claim the right to choose.

all.
I give that right to
Walt Whitman had the courage

his
to express
thought
here
let
the
candor
say
it
to
tell
the joy
truth.
And
me
gives
to look
me
a kind
of perfect satisfaction
above the big-
oted bats, the satisfied owls and wrens and

chickadees, and see the great eagle poised, circling higher
and higher, unconscious

it
of their
existence.
And
gives
me
joy, a
kind of per-
fect satisfaction, to
look above the petty pas-
sions and jealousies of small and respectable
18
above the considerations of place and power and reputation, and see a brave, intrepid
people
man.
It
must be remembered that the American
people had separated from the Old World

that
we had declared not only the independ-
ence of colonies, but the independence of the

individual.
We
had done more
we had
de-
clared that the state could no longer be ruled
by the Church, and that the Church could not be ruled by the state, and that the individual
could not be ruled by the Church.
larations were
in
These dec-
danger of being forgotten.
We
needed a new voice, sonorous, loud
and
clear, a
new poet
for
America
for the
new epoch,
somebody new day.
to chant
the morning song of the
The great man who

his mind, fascinates
gives a true transcript of

instructs.
and
Most writers
to
suppress individuality.
the public.
They wish
please
They
flatter the
stupid and pander
to the prejudice of their readers.
They
write
for the
market
making books as other me-

chanics
19
make
shoes.
They have no message

they are simply the slaves
are
they bear no torch

of customers.
The books they manufacture

;"
handled by " the trade

harmless.
they are regarded as

object;
The
pulpit
does not
the
young person can read the monotonous pages

without a blush
or a thought.
On
the
title
pages of these books you will find the imprint

of
the great publishers
on the rest of the
pages, nothing.
These books might be pre-
scribed for insomnia.
20
III.
Men
of talent,
men
of business, touch life
upon few sides. They travel but the beaten The creative spirit is not in them. They path.
regard with suspicion a poet
who touches
life
on every
side.
They have
little
confidence in
that divine tiling called sympathy, and they do
not and cannot understand the

into the hopes, the aims,
others.
man who
enters
of all
and the feelings
In
little
all
genius there
is
;
the touch of chaos
of
the vagabond
and
the
successful
sells,
tradesman, the
man who buys and
or
manages a bank, does not care
to deal with a
person who has only poems for collaterals

they have a
little
fear of such people,
and
re-
gard them as the awkward countryman does a

sleight-of-hand performer.
In every age in which books have been pro-
TESTIMOX AL TO WALT WHITMAN.
21
cluced the governing class, the respectable, have
been opposed
to the
works
of real genius.
If
what are known as the best people could have had their way, if the pulpit had been consulted
the provincial moralists the works of Shake-
speare would have been suppressed.
Not
a line
would have reached our time.
And
the same
may be
If the
said of every dramatist of his age.
Scotch Kirk could have decided, noth-
ing would have been

If the
known
of
Robert Burns.
good people, the orthodox, could have

say, not
had their
one line of Voltaire would
now be known.
All the plates of the French
Encyclopedia would have been destroyed with

the thousands that were destroyed.
Nothing
would have been known

Diderot, or
of
D'Alembert, Grimm,
Titans
any
of
the
who warred
against the thrones and altars and laid the
foundation of modern literature not only, but
what
tion.
is of far
greater moment, universal educa-
It is not too
much
to say that every
book
now held
in high esteem
would have been de-
22
stroyed,
if
LIBERTY ix LITERATURE.
those in authority could have had
their will.
Every book
of
modern
times, that
intel-
has a real value, that has enlarged the
lectual horizon of mankind, that has developed
the brain, that
has furnished real food for
thought, can be found in the Index Expurgatorius of the Papacy,
and nearly every one has
been commended
to the fi^ee
minds
of
men by
the denunciations of Protestants.

If the
guardians of society, the protectors of
"young persons," could have had their way, we should have known nothing of Byron or Shelley. The voices that thrill the world
would now be
silent.
If
authority could have
had
its
way, the world would have been as
ignorant
now
as
it
was when our ancestors

their
lived in holes or
hung from dead limbs by
prehensile
tails.
But we are not forced

If
to
go very
far back.
first
Shakespeare had been published for the
time now, those divine plays
greater than con-
tinents and seas, greater even than the constellations of the midnight sky
would be excluded
23
from the mails by the decision of the present

enlightened postmaster-general.
The poets have always

better than the real world.
lived
in
an ideal
world, and that ideal world has always been far
As a consequence,
the enthusiasm of
they have forever roused, not simply the imagination,
but the energies

race.
the
human
The great poets have been on the

oppressed
of
side of the
the
downtrodden.
They have
suffered with the imprisoned and the enslaved,
and whenever and wherever man has suffered

for
the
right,
wherever the
hero has
been
stricken
down
whether on
field or scaffold
some man
of genius has
walked by his
side,
and some poet has given form and expression,

not simply to his deeds, but to his aspirations.
From
the Greek and
Roman world we
The
and
the orators
still
hear the voices of a few.

losophers,
speak.
poets, the phistill
the
artists
Countless millions have been covered

of
by the waves
oblivion,
but the few
who
uttered the elemental truths,
who had sym-
24
pathy for the whole human race, and who were

great enough to prophesy a grander day, are as
alive to-night as
when they
roused, by their
bodily presence, by their living voices, by their
works
men.
of
art,
the enthusiasm of their fellow
Think
of wealth
of the respectable people, of the
men
manto
and position, those who dwelt
in
sions, children of success,
who went down
the grave voiceless, and whose
names we do not
know.
less
Think
of the vast multitudes, the end-
processions, that entered the caverns of
eternal night
leaving no thought
!
no truth as
a legacy to mankind
The great poets have sympathized with the

people.
They have uttered

cry.
in
all
ages the
human
Unbought by
gold,
unawed by
power, they have lifted high the torch that

illuminates the world.
TKSTIMONIAL TO WALT WHtTMAN.
25
IV.
Walt Whitman
is in
the highest sense a be-
liever in democracy.
He knows
that there
is
but one excuse for government

tion of liberty
;
the preserva-
to the
end that man may be

is
happy.
for
He knows
that there
but one excuse

the
any
institution, secular
;
and religious
is
preservation of liberty
and that there
but
one excuse for schools, for universal education,

for the ascertainment of facts, namely, the pres-
He resents the arrogance and cruelty of power. He has sworn never to be tyrant or slave. He has solemnly declared
ervation of liber ty.
I speak the pass-word
primeval, I give the sign of democracy,

all
'
By God!
I will
accept nothing which
cannot have their
counterpart of on the same terms.
This one declaration covers the entire ground.

It is a declaration of independence,
and
it
is
26
also a declaration of justice, that is to say, a
declaration of the independence of the individual,
and a declaration that
all
shall
be
free.
:
The man who has

I
this spirit can truthfully say

hat to nothing
have taken
off ray
known
or
unknown.
am
for those that
have never been master'd.
There
is
in
Whitman what he
calls
"
The
boundless impatience of restraint"
together
with that sense of justice which compelled him

to say,
"Neither a servant nor a master

wise enough to
am
I."
He was
self
know
that giving
others the same rights that he claims for him-
harm him, and he was great " As if it were not indispensaenough to say ble to my own rights that others possess the
could not
:
same."
He
felt
as all should feel, that the liberty of
no man
is safe
is in
unless the liberty of each

little of
is safe.
There
our country a
the old ser-
vile spirit, a little of the
to others.
bowing and cringing Many Americans do not understand
that the officers of the government are simply

the servants of the people.
27
so de-
Nothing
is
moralizing as the worship of place.
Whitman
has reminded the people of this country that

they are supreme, and he has said to them
The President
is
:
there in the
White House
for you,
it
is
not
you who
are here for him,
The
Secretaries act in their bureaus for you,
not you here for
them.
Doctrines, politics
and
civilization
exurge from you,
Sculpture and monuments and any thing inscribed anywhere

are tallied in you.
He
describes the ideal American citizen
the
one who
Says
indifferently
and
alike
How
are you, friend ?" to
the
President at his levee,
And he
says "Go.>d-day,
my
brother," to
Cudge that hoes
in
the sugar- field.
Long ago, when the politicians were wrong, when the judges were subservient, when the
pulpit was a coward, Walt
Whitman shouted
Man
The
shall not hold property in

least develop'd
man.
is
pors
>n
on earth
just as
important and
per-
sacred to himself or herself as the most develop'd
son
is
to himself or herself.
28
This
is
the very soul of true democracy.

is
Beauty
not
all
there
It
is of
is
poetry.
It
must
contain the truth.
not simply an oak,
rude and grand, neither

is
is it
simply a
vine.
It
both.
Around the oak
of truth runs the vine
of beauty.
Walt Whitman
and
is
utters the elemental truths
the poet of democracy.
He
is
also the
poet of individuality.
29
INDIVIDUALITY.
In order to protect the liberties of a nation,
we must
is
protect the individual.
democracy
a nation of free individuals.
The individuals The

na-
are not to be sacrificed to the nation.

tion exists only for the
purpose of guarding
and protecting the individuality of men and
women.
"
Walt Whitman
has
told
us that
The whole theory
of the universe is directed
unerringly to one single individual
namely
to
You."
And he has
city
is
also told us
is
that the greatest

"
the greatest nation
where the
citizen
always the head and ideal."
And
A
If
that
is
great city
it
that
which has the greatest men and women,

huta
it
be a few ragged
the whole world,
13
still
the
greatest
city in
30
By
this test
maybe
is
the greatest city on the
continent to-night
Camden.
:
This poet has asked of us this question

What do you suppose
free will
satisfy
?
the
soul,
except
to
walk
and
own no
superior
The man who asks
this question has left
no
impress of his lips in the dust, and has no dirt
upon
his knees.
He was
The
great enough to say
soul has that
measureless pride which revolts from every

its
lesson
but
own.
He
carries
:
the idea of individuality to
its
utmost hight
What do you
suppose I would intimate
to
is
you
in
hu'n^
dred ways, but that
man
or
woman
as good as
God?
And
that there
is
no God any more divine than Yourself?
Glorying in individuality, in the freedom of

the soul, he cries out
to struggle against great
:
odds, to meet enemies undaunted!
To be
entirely
alone
1
with
them,
to
find
how much one
can stand
To look
strife,
torture,
prison, popular odium, face
to face

To mount
with
tho
perf(
31
scaffold,
i-t
to
advance to the muzzles of guns

I
nonchalance
To be indeed a God!
And
again
the joy of a manly self-hood
To be
servile
to
none, to defer
to
none,
not to any tyrant
known
To walk with
or
unknown,
step springy and elastic,
erect carriage, a
To
look with calm gaze or with a flashing eye,

full
To speak with To
and sonorous voice out of a broad

all
chest,
confront with your personality
the other personalities of
the earth.
Walt Whitman
is
is willing to
stand alone.
:
He
sufficient
I
unto himself, and he says

I
Henceforth
ask not good-fortune,
myself
am
good-fortune.
Strong and content
I travel
the open road.
He
is
one of
in
Those that look carelessly

ernors, as to say
the faces of Presidents and Govare
"Who
you?"
And
to say
:
not only
"
this,
but he has the courage

is
Nothing, not God,

self."
greater to one
than one's
32
Walt Whitman
is
the poet of Individuality
the defender of the rights of each for the
sake of
as
all
and his sympathies are as wide
the world.
race.
He
is
the
defender
of
the
whole
33
VI.
HUMANITY.
The great poet
nitely sympathetic
is
intensely
human
infi-
entering into the joys and
griefs of others, bearing their burdens,
knowis
ing their sorrows.
Brain without heart

act
not
the
much
they must
together.
When
respectable people of the North, the rich, the

successful, were willing to carry out the
gitive
I
Fu-
Slave law, Walt

I
Whitman
said
am
the hounded slave,
wince at the bite of the dogs,
Hell
and despair are upon me, crack and again crack the
marksmen,
I clutch
the
rails of
the fence,
skin,
my
gore dribs, thinn'd with
the ooze of
I
fall
my
on the weeds and stones,

haul close,
the
The
riders spur their unwilling horses,
Taunt
my
dizzy ears, and
beat
me
violently over
head
with whip-stocks.
34
LIBERTY IX LITERATURE.
my
changes of garments,
lie
Agonies are one of

I
do not ask the
wounded person -how

. .
feels,
myself
become the wounded person.

I
...
feel
see myself in prison shaped like another man,
And
For
the dull uninterrnitted pain.
me
the keepers of
convicts shoulder their
carbines
and
keep watch,
It is I let
out in the morning and barr'd at night
Not a mutineer walks handcuffd

to
to jail
but I
am
handcuff'd
him and walk by
his side.
Judge not as the judge judges, but as the sun

helpless
thing.
falling
upon a
Of the very worst he had the

*ness to say
infinite tender-
"
:
Not
until the
sun excludes you
will
exclude you."
this
In
lands,
life
;
age
of
greed when
houses
and
and stocks and bonds, outrank human

is
when gold
more
of value
than blood,
all
:
these
words should be read by

the psalm sings instead of the singer,
When When
the script preaches instead of the preacher,

When
35
the pulpit descends and goes instead of the carver that
carved the supporting desk.
When
can
touch the body of books by night or

again,
day,
and
when they touch my body back
When
a university course convinces like a slumbering
woman
and child convince,
When
the minted gold
in
the vault smiles like the night-
watchman's daughter,
When
warrantee deeds loafe

friendly companions,
in
chairs opposite
and are
my
1 intend
to
reach them
my
hand, and
make
as
much
of them
as I do of
men and women
like you.
36
VII.
The poet
too, deals in
is
is
also a painter, a sculptor

color.
lie,
form and
of
necessity
The great poet a great artist. With a few

filling
words he creates pictures,

with living
feel
his
canvas
men and women
with those
who
and speak.
Have you ever read
the ac-
count of the stage-driver's funeral?

read
it
:
Let
me
Cold dash
of waves at the ferry-wharf, posh and ice in the
river, half-frozen
mud
in the streets,
gray discouraged sky overhead, the
short last daylight of
December,
hearse and stages, the funeral of an old Broadway stagedriver,
the cortege mostly drivers.
Steady the trot
to the cemetery,
duly rattles the death-bell,

is
The gate
is
pass'd, the new-dug grave
halted
at,
the
liv-
ing alight, the hearse uncloses,

Tho
coffin
is
37
is laid
pass'd out, lowcr'd and settled, the

coffin,
is
whip
in,
on the
the earth
flatted
is
swiftly shovel'd
The mound above
with the spades

it
silence,
A
He
minute
is
no one moves or speaks
is
done,
decently put
away
is
there any thing
more?
bad-
He was
a good fellow, frec-mouth'd, quick-temper'd, not
looking,
Ready with
life
or death for a friend, fond of
women, gambled,
ate hearty, drank heart)-,
Had known what

toward the
Died,
it
was
to
be
flush,
grew
low-spirited
contribution,
lasr,
sicken'd,
was helped by a
his
aged forty-one years
and that was
funeral.
Let me read you another description

of a
one
woman
Behold a woman!
She looks out from her quaker
cap,
her face
is
clearer
and
more boautiful than the sky.
She
sits
in
an
armchair under
the shaded
porch
of the
farmhouse,
The sun
just
shines on her old white head.
Her ample gown

Her grandsons
spun
it
is
of cream-hued linen,
the
flax,
raised
and
her
grand-daughters
with
tlie
distaff
and the wheel.
38
of the
earth,
The melodious character

The
finish
beyond
to
which philosophy
go,
cannot go
and
does
not wish
The
justified
mother of men.
Would you hear

Would you
stars ?
of
an old-time sea fight

the light of
the
learn
who won by
moon and
List to the yarn, as

it
my
grandmother's father the sailor told
to me.
Our
foe
was no skulk
in his ship I
tell
you, (said
is
he,)
His was the surly

or
truer,
English phick,
and there
will
no tougher
;
and never was, and never
be
Along the lower'd eve he came horribly raking
us.
We
My
closed
with
him.
the
yards
entangled,
the
cannon
touched,
captain lash'd fast with
his
owm
hands.
We
On
had
receiv'd
some
eighteen
pound
shots
under
the
water,
our
lower-guu-deck
killing all
two large pieces had burst
at
the
first fire,
around and blowing up overhead.
Fighting at sun-down, fighting at dark,
Ten
o'clock at night, the Full

gain,
moon
well up, our leaks on the

reported,
and
live foot of water

The master-at-arms
39
loosing the prisoners confined in the after-
hold to give them a chance for themselves.
The
transit
to
and from the magazine
is
now
stopt
by the
sentinels,
They see so many strange

trust
faces they do not
know whom
to
Our
frigate
takes
if
fire,
The other usks

If our
we demand quarter?
struck and the
fighting
colors are
done?
Now
laugh content, for

tain,
hear the voice of
my
little
cap-
"We
have not
struck,''
he composedly
fighting."
cries,
"we
have just
begun our part of the

Only three guns are
in
use,
One
is
directed
by the captain
himself against the enemy's
mainmast,
Two
well serv'd with grape and canister silence his
musketry
and
clear his decks.
The
tops alone second the
fire
of this
little
battery, especially
the main-top,
They hold out bravely during the whole

Not a moment's
cease,
fast
of the action.
The
leaks gain
on the pumps, the
fire
eat*
toward the
powder-magazine.
40
One of
the
pumps has been shot away,
are sinking.
little
it
is
generally
thought we
Serene stands the
captain,
is
He
is
not hurried, his voice

to
neither high nor low,
His eyes give more light
us than our battle-lanterns.
Toward twelve there

render to us.
in
the beams of the
moon they
sur-
Stretch'd
and
still lies
the midnight,
Two
Our
great hulls motionless on the breast of the darkness,

vessel
riddled and
slowly sinking, preparations to pass

conquer'd,
coldly
to the one
we have
the
The
captain
on
quarter-deck
giving
his
orders
through a countenance white as a sheet,
Near by the corpse of the child
that serv'd in the cabin,
The dead
face of
an old
salt
with long white hair and care-
fully curl'd whiskers,
The flames
spite of all
that can
be done flickering
aloft
and
below,
The husky
duty,
voices
of
the two or three officers yet
fit
for
Formless stacks of bodies and bodies by themselves, dabs of

flesh
upon the masts and
spars,
Cut of cordage, dangle of rigging, slight shock of the soothe

of waves,
Black
and
scent,
impassive guns,
litter
of powder-parcels,
strong
41
few large stars overhead,
silent
and mournful shining,

of sedgy grass and
fields
Delicate sniffs of sea-breeze, smells
by the shore, death-messages

vivors,
given
charge
to sur-
The
hiss
of the
surgeon's knife,
the
gnawing teeth of
his
saw,
Wheeze, cluck, swash of
falling blood, short
wild scream, and
long, dull, tapering groan.
Some people
that
it
say that this
is
not poetry
lacks measure and rhyme.
42
VIJL
WHAT
The whole world
commerce
exchange
sounds,
IS
is
POETRY?
invisible
engaged in the
of thought. of
That
is
to say, in t]^
thoughts
colors
and
forms.
by words, symbols, The motions of
the silent, invisible world, where feeling glows
and thought flames

of
that contains all
seeds
action
are
made known only by sounds

and
is
and
colors, forms, objects, relations, uses
qualities
so that
the visible universe

of
is
dictionary,
an
aggregation
symbols,
by
which and through which

invisible
carried on the
commerce
of thought.
Each
object
is
capable of
in
many meanings,
to
or of being used
many ways
the brain.
convey ideas or states of
feeling or of facts that take place in the world

of
The
greatest poet
is
the one
who
selects

the best, the most
43
appropriate
symbols to
convey the
thoughts.
best,
the highest, the sublimest

of his
Each man occupies a world

is
own.
is
He
the only citizen of his world.
He
subject and sovereign, and the best he can

is
do
in
to give the facts concerning the world
which
he
lives
to
the citizens of
other
worlds.
No two
of all
of
these
worlds
are alike.
They
are
kinds, from the
flat,
barren,
and uninteresting
eled and worthless
from the small and shrivto those
whose
rivers
and
mountains and seas and constellations
belittle
and cheapen the

ants of
visible world.
The
inhabit-
these
marvelous worlds
have been
the singers of songs, utterers of great speech

the creators of art.
And
here lies the difference between creimitators

:
ators and
the
creator tells what
passes in his
not.
own world
the imitator does
The
imitator abdicates, and
by the
fact
like
of imitation falls
upon
his knees.
talk,
He
is
one who, hearing a traveler

others that he
pretends to
has traveled.
44
In
nearly
all
lainls,
the
poet
has
been
privileged
for the sake of beauty, they have
allowed him to speak, and for

he has told
that
reason
the story of the oppressed, and
has excited the indignation of
honest
men
all
and even the pity

others, has
of
of
tyrants.
He, above
added
to the
intellectual
beauty
the world.
He
and
has been the true creator has

left
of
language,
his
impress
on
mankind.
What
poetry
I
it
have
is
said
of
is
not
only
true All
of
true
all
speech.
are
as
compelled
dictionary.
to
use
the
visible
world
Words have been invented and

invented
for the reason that
are
being
new
powers are found in the old symbols, new The qualities, relations, uses and meanings.
growth
of the
of
language
is
necessary on account
development of the human mind.
The
savage needs but few symbols
the civilized
many The
must
the poet most of

old
all.
idea was, however, that the a
poet
be
rhymer.
Before
printing
was
45
the
known,
it
was said
the
rhyme
of
assists
exists.
memory.
Is
That excuse no longer
rhyme a necessary part

judgment, rhyme
is is
poetry?
to
In
ex\
my
a hindrance
pression.
The rhymer
introduce
compelled to wander
from his subject
to say more or less than he
means
to
irrelevant matter
that
interferes
continually with
the dramatic ac-
tion
and
is
a perpetual obstruction to sincere
utterance.
All
poems,
of
necessity,
must be
is
short.
The highly and purely The
poetic
the sudden
bursting into blossom of a great and tender

thought.
planting
of
the
seed,
the
growth, the
bud and
flower must be rapid.
The spring must be quick and warm

soil
the
perfect, the sunshine
and rain enough
everything should tend to hasten, nothing to

delay.
tion
In poetry, as in wit, the crystalliza-
must be sudden.
are rhythmical.
The greatest poems

rhyme
is
While
a hindrance, rhythm the poetic.
seems to be
a,
the comrade of
Khythm has
46
natural foundation.
rises
relax,
Under emotion, the blood

muscles
the
fall
and and
falls,
the
contract
and
is
this
action of
blood
of
as
rhythmical as the rise and
the
sea.
In
the
highest
form
be
in
of
expression,
the
this
thought
should
harmony with
natural ebb and flow.
The highest
that an
its
poetic truth
is
expressed in
rhythmical form.
I have sometimes thought

its
own words, chooses own garments, and that when the thought
idea selects
has possession, absolutely, of the speaker or

writer,
he unconsciously allows the thought
to clothe itself.
The
great
poetry
of
the
world
keeps
time with the winds and the waves.

I
do not
at
accent
by rhythm a accurately measured

is
mean
recurring
intervals.
Perfect time
the
death of music.
There
should always be room for eager haste and

delicious
delay,
in
and
whatever change there

time,
may be
itself
the
rhythm or
the action
should suggest
perfect freedom.
47
believe
word
more
about
rhythm.
that certain feelings and passions
joy, grief,
emulation,
ular
revenge,
in
produce
the
certain
molecevery
movements
is
brain
that
thought
accompanied
by certain physical
that
certain
phenomena.
Now
in
it
may be
the
sounds, colors, and forms produce the same
molecular action
brain
that
accom-
panies certain feelings, and that these sounds,

colors and forms produce
first,
the molecular
movements and these

the
feelings,
in their turn reproduce
emotions
producing
and
the
states
of
mind
like
capable
of
same
that
or
molecular
call
movements.
So
what
we
heroic music, produces the same molecin
ular action
ical
the
brain
the
same
physreal
call
changes
of
that are produced

;
by the
feeling
heroism
that the sounds
we
plaintive
produce the same molecular movethe
ment
in
brain that
grief,
or the twi-
light of grief, actually produces.
There may
be a rhythmical molecular movement belonging to each state of mind, that accompanies
48
each
that
thought
music, or
the
or
passion,
and
or
it
may
be
pro-
painting,
state
of
sculpture,
duces
that
same
mind
or
or
feeling
produces
the
music
painting
or
sculpture,
lar
by
producing
the same
molecu-
movements.
spirit,
All arts are born of the same
and
express
that
is
like
thoughts
in
different
like
ways
states
of
to
say,
they produce
mind and
the
feeling.
The
sculptor, the painter,
composer, the poet, the orator, work to
the same end, with different materials.
The
color
painter
expresses
;
through
form
and
and relation
relation.
the sculptor through form and

also
The poet
give
paints
relation
and chisels
his
words
form,
and
color.
His statues and his paintings do not crumble,
neither do they fade, nor

as
will
they as
long
language
endures.
The
composer
touches the passions, produces the very states

of
feeling
produced
by
the
painter
and
these
sculptor, the
poet and orator.
In
all

there must be
49
pro-
rhythm
to
say,
that
is to
say,
portion
that is
harmony, melody.
is
So that the greatest poet

idealizes
the one
who
the
common, who gives new meansymbols,

life.
ings to old
who
transfigures
the
ordinary things of
the
He must
and with
deal with
hopes and
fears,
the experi-
ences of the people.
The
fect
poetic is not the exceptional.

is like
per-
poem
must
a perfect day.
of
It
has the
ease.
of
undefinable
It
charm
naturalness and
to
not
appear
be
the
result
great labor.
that
We
feel, in
spite of
ourselves,
man does
best
that
which
he
does
easiest.
The great poet
is
the instrumentality, not
always of his time,

time,
but of the best of his
and he must be in unison and accord

his
race.
is.
with the ideals of
The sublimer
of
he
is,
the
simpler he
The thoughts
in
the people must

of feeling
be clad
the
garments
apt,
the
words must be known,
50
familiar.
The hight must be
in the thought,
in the sympathy.
In the olden time they used to have
May
was
old
their
day
parties,
and
the
prettiest
child
crowned Queen of
blacksmith
little
May.
wife
in
Imagine
looking
an
at
and
his
daughter
clad
white
and
crowned
with roses.
looked at
They would wonder while they her, how they ever came to have
a child.
the
It
is
so beautiful
thus that
children
the
poet
ideals
clothes
of
intellectual
or
the
people.
They must not
be
gemmed and garlanded beyond

tion
of
the recogniall
their
parents.
Out from
the
flowers and
beauty
must
look the eyes of
the child they know.
We
cites
have grown
art.
tired
of
gods and god-
desses in
Milton's heavenly militia ex-
our laughter.
Light-houses have driven
sirens from the dangerous coasts.
We
have
found that we do not depend on the imagination

for
wonders
there
are
millions
of
miracles under our
feet.
51
Nothing can be more marvelous than the
common and everyday

phantoms
have
facts
of
life.
The
been cast aside.

for
Men and
In
the
all
women
are
enough
is
men and women.

tragedy and
their lives
all
the
comedy that they can comprehend. The painter no longer crowds his canvas
with the winged and
life
impossible
he paints
as he sees
in
it,
people as he knows them,

is
and
whom
the
he
interested.
"The Anis
gelus,"
perfection of pathos,
nothing
in
but
two
peasants
bending
their
heads
thankfulness as they hear the solemn sound

of the
distant bell
to
two peasants, who have

for
nothing
be
thankful
nothing
but
weariness and want, nothing but the crusts

that
they
soften
with
look
their tears
at
nothing.
And
feel
yet as
you
that
picture you
that they have something besides to be
thankful for
that they
have
life,
love,
and
hope
and so the distant bell makes music
in their simple hearts.
52
IX.
The
attitude
of
Whitman toward
Towards
creeds, he
religion
has not been understood.

of worship,
all
forms
towards
all
has main-
tained the attitude of absolute fairness.
He
does not believe that Nature has given her

last
message to man.
all
He
does not believe
that
has
been ascertained.
written
He
denies
entire
that any sect has

truth.
lieving,
down the
He
believes in progress, and, so

:
be-
he says
We
consider bibles and religions divine

are not -divine,
do not say they
I say they have all
grown out of you, and may grow out of
you
It is not
still,
they
who
give the
life,
it is
you who give the
life.
His
[the poet's]
things,
thoughts are the
hymns
of the praise of
In the dispute on
God and
eternity
he
is
silent

Have you thought
there could be but a single supreme?
53
There can be any number of supremes

vail
one does not counter-
another any more than one eyesight countervails
another.
Upon
the great questions, as to the great
problems, he feels only the serenity of a great
and well-poised
No
array of terms
soul.
can say
death.
how much
am
at peace about
God and about

I
hear and behold

not in the
God
in
every object, yet understand
God
least,
Nor do
understand
. . .
who
there can
be more wonderful than
myself.
In the faces of
men and women
see God, and
in
my own
face in the glass, 1

find
letters
is
from
God
dropt in
the street, and every one
sign'd by God's name.
The whole
visible
world
is
regarded by him
as a revelation, and so is the invisible world,
and with
Not
this feeling
to
he writes
objecting
special
revelations
considering
a curl
just
of
smoke
or a
hair
on
the
back of
my hand
as
curious as any revelation.
54
The creeds do not

ogies are not enough
at
best,
satisfy, the old

;
mythol-
they are too narrow
giving only
hints
and suggestions
and feeling this lack in that which has been

written and preached,
Magnifying and applying come
Whitman
I,
says
Outbidding at the start the old cautious hucksters,
Taking myself the exact dimensions of Jehovah,

Lithographing
grandson,
Kronos,
Zeus
his
son,
and
Hercules
his
Buying
In
drafts of Osiris, Isis, Belus,

portfolio placing Manito
Brahma, Buddha,
Allah on a
leaf,
my
loose,
the
crucifix
engraved,
the
hideous-faced
Mexitli,
"With
Odin
and
and
every idol
and image,
Taking
them
more.
all
for
what they are worth, and not a cent
Whitman keeps open

lectually hospitable.
to a
house.
He
is
intel-
He
extends
his
hand
new
idea.
it
He
does not accept a creed
because
is
wrinkled
and
old
and
has a
long white beard.
He knows
that hypocrisy
it
has a venerable look, and that

looks
relies
on
and masks
on stupidity
and
fear.

Neither does
55
he
new.
reject
or
accept
the
new
because
it
is
He
wants the truth, and
so he welcomes
all until
he knows just who
and what they
are.
56
X.
PHILOSOPHY.
Walt Whitman
is
a philosopher.
The more a man has thought, the more he has studied, the more he has traveled
intellectually,
the less certain
he
is.
Only
the very ignorant are perfectly satisfied that
they know.
To
the
common man
the great
problems are easy.

accounting
for
He
has
no trouble in
the
universe.
you the origin and destiny of why and the wherefore of things.
he
is
He can man and

As a
tell
the
rule,
is
a believer in
special
to
providence, and
that every-
egotistic
enough
suppose
thing that happens in the universe happens

in reference to him.
A
the
colony of red ants lived at the foot of

Alps.
It
happened one
day,
that
an
avalanche destroyed the hill; and one of the

ants
57
could
was
heard
to
remark
"
:
Who
have taken so much trouble to destroy our
home ?"
Walt Whitman walked by the side of the " where the fierce old mother endlessly sea
cries
for
her castaways," and endeavored to
think out, to fathom the mystery of being;
and he said
I too
but signify at the utmost a
little
wash'd-up
drift,
few sands and dead leaves
to gather,
drift.
Gather, and merge myself as part of the sanda and
Aware now
that
amid
all
that blab
whose echoes
least
recoil
upon
me
I
have not once had the
idea
who
or
what
am,
all
But that before
my
arrogant
poems the
real
Me
stands
yet untouch'd, untold, altogether unreach'd,
Withdrawn
far,
mocking mo with mock-congratulatory signs
and bows,
With
peals of distant ironical laughter at every

written,
word
have
Pointing in silence
beneath.
I perceive I
.
.
to
.
these
songs,
and then to the sand
have not
really understood
any
thing, not
a single
object,
and that no man ever can.
58
is
There
in our
language
one
no
profounder
poem
Drifts."
than
the
entitled
"Elemental
The
been,
effort
to
find
the
be,
origin
has
ever
and
will
forever
fruitless.
Those
life
who endeavor
semble a
thinks
to find the secret
of
re-
man
if
looking
in
the
mirror,
who
quick
that
he
only
the
could
be
enough he could grasp

sees behind the glass.
image
that
he
The
"
latest
word
of
:
this
poet
upon
this
subject is as follows
To me
this
is
life
with
all
its
realities
and functions
finally
a mystery, the real
something yet to be evolved, and the stamp
and shape and

important,
life
here
the
somehow
main,
this
giving an
to
perhaps
.
outline
something further.
everything
inside
of
else,
all
Somehow
stands
hangs over
it,
and
behind
is
facts,
and
the
concrete
life
and
anc)
material,
sense.
and the worldly

is
affairs of
That
the
purport
and
meaning
59
behind
all
the
other
meanings
of
LEAVES
OF GRASS."
As a matter
gin and
the
of
fact,
the questions of ori-
destiny
are
beyond
can
the
see
grasp of
a
is
human
;
mind.
We
that,
certain
indis-
distance
tinct
;
beyond
everything
is
and beyond the indistinct

In the presence of
everything
destiny,
is
the un-
seen.
these
mysteries
so
far
and
mystery
are
is
as
origin,
and
nature
concerned
the intelligent, honest

"
say,
man
a
compelled to
do not know."
few
truths like
the brain
In the great midnight

stars of
shine on forever a
and from
struggling
man come
a few
few
gleams
of
light
momentary sparks.
that
Some have contended

spirit
;
everything
is
is
others that everything
matter
and
again, others have maintained that
a part is
spirit
matter and a part
is
spirit;
;
some that
was
ter
first
and matter after

first
others that mat;
was
and
spirit
after
and
others
that matter and spirit have existed together.
60
of
But none
sibility
tell
these people can by any posis,
what matter
difference is
or what spirit
spirit
is,
or what the
matter.
between
and
The
ists
materialists
as
upon the spiritualand the spiritsubstantially crazy

;
look
ualists
regard
the
materialists
spiritualistic
;
as
low and
hold
is
groveling.
These
people
all,
matter in contempt
quite
little
but, after
matter
a mystery.
earth
it
You
4
take in your hand a

dust.
little
Do you know
;
what
is ?
In
this
dust you put a seed
the rain falls upon the seed grows

;
it;
the light strikes it;

;
it
bursts into blossom
it
produces
fruit.
is
What
this
it?
dust
Is
this
womb?
anything
Do you
in
understand
there
the
wide universe more wonderful than this?
Take a grain
of
sand, reduce
it
to
powder,
look at
take the smallest

it
possible
particle,
with a microscope, contemplate

it
its
every
part for days, and

a secret
remains the citadel of

fortress.
an impregnable
Bring
all

the theologians, philosophers, and
in
61
scientists
serried
ranks against
it;
let
them attack
on every side with all the arts and arms of thought and force. The citadel does not fall.
Over the battlements

victorious secret
floats the flag,
and the
smiles at the baffled hosts.
Walt Whitman did not and does not imagine

that
he
has
reached
the
limit
the
race.
end
of the road traveled
by the human
He knows
that every victory over nature is

battle.
but the preparation for another

truth was in
his
well
;
This
"
mind when he
it
said
Un-
derstand
sence of
success,
me
no
is
provided in the es-
things,
that
from
any fruition
shall
of
matter
what,
come
forth
something to make a greater struggle necessary."
This
is
the generalization of
all history.
62
XL
THE TWO POEMS.
There are two
have
first
of
call
these
poems
Out
to
which I
time
is
to
special
attention.
of
The
Sea."
entitled,
"A Word
the
The boy, coming out

the
of
of the rocked cradle,

fields,
wandering over the sands and

mystic
play
up from
of
shadows,
out
the
patches of briers and blackberries
from the
re-
memories
sponses of
of
birds
from
the
thousand
his
heart
goes back to the sea
and his childhood, and sings a reminiscence.
Two
guests
from
Alabama
two
birds
light
build their nest, and there were
four
green eggs, spotted with brown, and the two

birds sang for joy
Shine! shine! shine!
:
Pour down your warmth, great sun!

"While
we
bask,
we two
together.

Two
together!
south, or winds
63
Winds blow
blow north,
black,
Day come white, or night come

Home, or
Singing
rivers
and mountains from home,

minding no time,
all time,
While we two keep together.
In a
little
while one of the birds
is
missed
and
the
never
appeared again, and
all
through
summer
the mate, the solitary guest, was

:
singing of the lost

Blow
!
blow
blow
Blow up sea-winds along Paumanok's shore;

I
wait and I wait
till
you blow
my mate
to me.
And
the boy" that night, blending himself

feet,
with the shadows, with bare

to the sea,
went down
in the
where the white arms out

;
breakers were tirelessly tossing
listening to
the songs and translating the notes.
And
was
the singing bird called loud and high
for the mate,

in
wondering what the dusky spot
the
brown and
yellow,
seeing
the
mate whichever way he looked, piercing the
woods and the earth with
his song,
hoping
G4
that the
mate might hear his cry
stopping
that he might not lose her answer ; waiting and " Here I am then crying again And this
:
gentle call
is
for
of
you.
Do
wind
not
;
be deceived
by the whistle shadows ;" and

past!
the
those are the

:
at last crying
songs of joy!
fields,
happy
air, in the
life!
In the
woods, over
Loved! loved! loved! loved! loved!
But
my
mate no more, no more with me!
We
two together no more.
And
then the boy, understanding the song
that had
awakened
in
his breast a thousand
songs clearer and louder and more sorrowful
than the bird's, knowing that the cry of unsatisfied
love
;
would
never
again
be absent
from him
all,
thinking
of
then of the destiny of

the
and asking
the sea
sea
the
final
word,
and
answering,
delaying
not
and
hurrying not, spoke the low delicious word
"Death!" "ever Death!"
The next poem, one

as
that will live as long

"
:
our
language,
entitled
When
Lilacs
65
Last
in
the
Dooryard Bloom'd,"
is
on the
death of Lincoln,
The
sweetest, wisest soul of
all
ray days and lands.
One who reads

odor of the
"
lilac,
this
will
never forget the

"
the lustrous western star
and
"
the
grey-brown
bird
singing
in
the
pines and cedars."
In this poem the dramatic unities are perfectly preserved, the in
atmosphere and climate

event.
harmony with every

Never
will
he forget the solemn journey of
the coffin through

great
day and night, with

the
land,
the the
cloud
darkening
nor
pomp
and
of inlooped flags,
the processions long

of
winding,
flames,
the
flambeaus
silent
night,
faces,
the
the
torches'
the
the
sea of
unbared
heads,
thousand
voices
rising
strong and solemn, the dirges, the shuddering organs, the tolling
of lilac.
bells
and the sprig
And then
for a
moment they
will hear the
grey-brown bird singing
in the cedars, bash-
66
ful
and tender, while the lustrous

the
star lingers
in
West, and
they
will
remember the
to
pictures
hung on the chamber walls

the grey
adorn
the burial house
pictures of spring and farms
and homes, and

bright,
smoke
lucid
and
and the floods
of yellow gold
of the
gorgeous indolent sinking sun
the sweet her-
bage under foot

prolific
the green leaves of the trees

of.
the breast
the river with the wind-
dapple
here and there, and the varied and
ample land
and the most excellent sun so

the violet and purple
calm and haughty

with
just-felt
morn
born
breezes
the
gentle
soft
measureless light
ing
all
the miracle spreading, bath-
the
fulfill'd
noon
the
coming eve
and
the
delicious
stars.
and the
welcome
night
And
the
then again they will hear the song of

bird
in
grey-brown
the
limitless
dusk
will
amid the cedars and
pines.
Again they
remember the
lilac.
star,
and again the odor
of the
67
But most
lated and
of all, the
song of the bird transfor death

:
becoming the chant

A CHANT FOR DEATH.
Come
lovely
and soothing death,
Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,

In the day, in the night to
all,
to each,
Sooner or later delicate death.

Prais'd be the fathomless universe,
For
life
and
joy,
and for objects and knowledge curious,

but praise! praise! praise!
And
for love,
sweet love
For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.
Dark mother always gliding near with
soft feet,
fullest
Have none chanted

Then
I I
for thee
a chant of
welcome ?
all,
chant
thee
it
for thee, I glorify thee
above
bring
song
that
when thou must indeed come,
come
unfalteringly.
Approach strong
deliveress,
When
it
is
so,
when thou
hast taken them I joyously sing
the dead,
Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee,
Laved
in the flood of thy bliss
death.
From me
Dances
to thee glad serenades,
for
thee
propose
thee,
saluting
thee,
adornments and
feastings
for
68
And
the sights of the open
landscape
and the high spread
sky are
fitting,
fields,
And
life
and the
in
and the huge and thoughtful night

star,
The night
silence
under many a
the
The ocean shore and

voice
I
husky whispering wave whose
know,
vast and well-veil'd
death,
And
the soul turning to thee
And
the body gratefully nestling close to thee.

I
float
Over the tree-tops
thee a song,
the
Over the
rising
and sinking waves, over

prairies
myriad
fields
and the
wide,
cities
all
Over the dense-pack'd

and ways,
and
the
teeming wharves
I float this carol with joy,
with joy to thee
death.
This
poem, in memory
of
"
the sweetest,
wisest soul of all our days and lands," and for
whose sake
lilac
and star and bird entwined,
will last as long as the
memory
of Lincoln.
69
XIT.
OLD AGE.
Walt Whitman
is
not only the poet of childall,
hood, of youth, of manhood, but, above

old age.
of
He
has not been soured by slander

;
or petrified by prejudice
flattery
neither calumny nor
has made him revengeful or arrogant.
Now
sitting
by the
fireside, in the
winter of
breast,
life,
His jocund heart
still
beating in his
he
his
is just
as brave
and calm and kind as

days,
in
manhood's
proudest
when
roses
life's
blossomed in his cheeks.

seven steps.
"
He
has taken
Now, as the gamester might
say,
on velvet."
He
is
"
enjoying
old
age ex-
panded, broad, with the haughty breadth of

the universe
;
old age, flowing free, with the
delicious near-by freedom of
death
old age,
superbly rising, welcoming the ineffable aggregation of dying days."
70
Ke
is
" taking the loftiest look at last," and

:
before he goes he utters thanks

For
health,
the
life,
midday
sun,
the
impalpable
air
for
life,
mere*
For
precious
ever-lingering
memories,
brothers,
(of
you
my
mother
dear
you, father
you,
sisters,
friends,)
For
all
my
days -not those of peace alone
the days of
war
the same,
For gentle words, caresses,
gifts
from foreign lands,
For
shelter,
distant,
wine and meat
for
sweet appreciation,
countless,
(You
dim unknown
readers
or
young or old
un-
specified,
belov'd,
-
We
For
never met, and ne'er shall meet

brace,
long,
and yet our souls em-
close
and long.)
deeds,
beings,
groups,
love,
words,
books
for
colors,
forms,
For a
the
brave st-ong men-devo'ed,

in
hardy men
all
who've
all
forward sprung
freedom's help,
year.",
lands,
For braver, stronger, more dovoted men

I
(a special
laurel ere
go,
to
life's
war's chosen ones,

the great artillerists
The cannoneers of SMig and thought
the foremost leaders, captains of the soul).
It is a great thing to preach philosophy
far
greater to live
it.
The highest philosophy
71
accepts the inevitable with a smile, and greets

it
as though
it
were desired.
:
To be
The
satisfied
This
is
wealth
success.
real philosopher
knows that everything

con-
has happened that could have happened

sequently he accepts.
lived
He
is
glad that he has
glad that he has had his
moment on
the stage.
life.
In this spirit
Whitman has accepted
I
I
shall
shall
go
forth,
tell
traverse the States awhile, but I cannot
whither
or
how
soon
long,
Perhaps
some day or night while
am
singing
ray
voice will suddenly cease.
book,
chants
must
at
all
then amount to but this
Must we barely
it
arrive
this
;
beginning of us
and
yet
is
enough,
soul
soul,
we have
positively
appear'd
that
is
enough.
Yes, "Walt
his place
Whitman has appeared. He has upon the stage. The drama is not
is
still
ended.
His voice
heard.
Poet of Democracy
poet of
the
of all people.
soul.
He He
is is
the the
body and
He
has sounded
72
LIBERTY IN LITERATURE
the note of Individuality.
He
is
has given the
pass-word primeval.
manity
of
He
the Poet of
Huhas
Intellectual
Hospitality.
He
voiced the aspirations of America

all,
and, above
he
is
the poet of Love and Death.

his
How
grandly,
thought,
how bravely he has given and how superb is his farewell

:
his
leave-taking
After the supper and talk
after the
final
day
is
done,
As a
friend
from friends his

r
withdrawal prolonging,
lips repeating,
Good-bye and Good-b} e with emotional
(So hard for his hand to release those hands
no more will
they meet,
No more
for
communion of sorrow
arid joy, of old
and young,
far-stretching journey awaits him, to return
no more,)
off
Shunning, postponing severance
seeking
to
ward
the last
word ever so
little,
E'en at the exit-door turning
charges superfluous calling back
e'en as he descends the steps,
Something
fall
to
eke out a minute additional
shadows of night-
deepening,
lessening
Farewells, messages
dimmer the
forthgoer's visage
and form,
Soon
to
be lost
1
for
aye in
the darkness
loth,
so loth to
depart
73
lost,
And
is this all?
?
Will the forthgoer be
and forever
Is
death
the end
Over the
grave beiids Love sobbing, and by her side

stands
Hope and whispers

shall
We
leaf,
meet
all
again.
Before
is life.
all
life
is
death, and after
death
The
falling
touched with the hectic
flush, that testi-
fies of
autumn's death,
of spring.
is,
in a subtler sense, a
prophecy
Walt Whitman has dreamed great dreams, told great truths and uttered sublime thoughts.
He
t':e
has held aloft the torch and bravely led

way.
As you read the marvelous book, or the " Leaves of Grass," you feel person, called
the freedom of the antique world the voices of the
;
you hear
first
morning, of the
great
singers
storm.
voices elemental as those of sea and
The
ample,
horizon
enlarges,
the
heavens
the
grow
limitations
are
forgotten
realization of the will, the
accomplishment of
the ideal, seem to be within your power.

structions
Ob-
become petty and disappear.
The
74
chains and bars are broken, and the distinctions of caste are
lost.
The
soul
is
in
the
open
of
air,
under the blue and stars

Creeds,
to
the flag
philosore-
Nature.
theories
and
phies ask
constructed.
tions
be examined, contradicted,
Prejudices disappear, supersti-
vanish
places
clasp
and
custom
abdicates.
The
sacred
desires
become
hands
highways, duties and
and
become
drops
the
the
comrades
scepter,
falls
and
the
friends.
Authority
miter,
priest the
and
purple
from kings.
late,
The inanimate becomes
articu-
the meanest and humblest things utter
speech and the

song.
dumb and
of
voiceless burst into
A
of
feeling
independence takes posthe
session
the soul,
full
body expands, the

superiors vanish,
life
blood flows
flattery
is
and
art,
free,
a lost
and
becomes
rich,
royal,
and superb.
The
v.oiltl
becomes a perthe
conti-
sonal possession, and
tho
oceans,
nents, and constellations belong to you.
You
are in the center, everything radiates from you,
and in your veins beats and throbs the pulse

of all
free.
life.
75
You become
a rover, careless and
You wander by
the shores of all seas
and hear the eternal
psalm.
You
feel
the
silence of the wide forest,
and stand beneath
the intertwined and over arching boughs, en-
tranced with symphonies of winds and woods.
You
are borne on the tides of eager and swift
rivers,
hear the rush and roar of cataracts as
they
fall
beneath the seven-hued
arch,
and
watch the eagles as they circling soar*
You
traverse gorges dark and dim, and climb the
scarred and threatening
cliffs.
You stand
fall
in
orchards where the blossoms
like
snow,
where the birds nest and
sing,
and painted
through
those
the
moths make
aimless
live
journeys
the
happy
till
air.
You
lives of
who
the
fields,
earth, and walk amid the perfumed hear the reapers' song, and feel the
breadth and scope of earth and sky.
You
are
in the great cities, in the midst of multitudes,

of the
endless processions.
plains
You
with
are
on the
wide
the
prairies
hunter
and
feel
trapper, with savage and pioneer, and
you
76
the soft grass yielding under your feet.

sail in
You
the
many ships, and breathe the free air of You travel many roads, and countless sea.
paths.
You
;
visit palaces
and prisons, hospitals

convicts,
and courts
you pity kings and
and and
your sympathy goes out

insane,
to all the suffering
the oppressed
and enslaved, and even

the din of labor,
to the infamous.
all
You hear
field,
sounds of factory,
and
forest,
of all
tools,
instruments and machines.
You become
employ-
familiar with
men and women
of all
ments, trades and professions

burial, with
with birth and
wedding
feast
and funeral chant.

of war,
You
see the cloud

ineffable
and flame
perfect
and you
peace.
enjoy the
days
of
In this one book, in these wondrous "Leaves

of
Grass," you
find
hints and
all
suggestions,
is of life,
touches and fragments, of

that
lies
there
between the babe, whose rounded
cheeks dimple beneath his mother's laughing,

loving eyes, and the old man, snow-crowned,
who, with
death.
smile,
extends
his
hand
to
77 our-
We
selves
have
met
to-night
the
to
honor
by honoring
author of
"Leaves
of Grass."
A DDR eSS AT THB

Funeral
of
Walt
0.
Whitman
BY ROBERT
to Harlelgh,
INGERSOLL,
Camden, New Jersey, March 30, 1892,
AGAIN, we, in the mystery of Life, are brought

face to face with the mystery of Death.
A great
and we
man, a great American, the most eminent citizen

of this Republic, lies
dead before
us,
have met to pay tribute to his greatness and

his worth.
I
know he needs no words

is
of
mine.
His
of
it
fame
secure.
was, deep in the above all I have known, the poet of humanity, He was so great that he rose of sympathy.
He laid the foundations human heart and brain. He
80
above the greatest that he met without arrogance, and so great that he
stooped to the
lowest without conscious condescension.
He
never claimed to be lower or greater than any

of the sons of
men.
He came
meled
into our generation a free, untram-
spirit,
with sympathy for
all.
His arm
was beneath the form
of the sick.
He sympa-
thized with the imprisoned and despised, and
even on the brow of crime he was great enough

to place the kiss of
human sympathy.
enough
"
:
One
his,
of the greatest lines in our literature is

line is great
and the
to
do honor to
the greatest genius that has ever lived.

said,
He
speaking of an outcast
Not
until the
sun excludes you will I exclude you."
His charity was as wide as the

ever there was
fortune, the
it
sky,
and whermis-
human
suffering,
human
sympathy
of
Whitman bent above

and splendid plan
as the firmament bends above the earth.
He was
built on a broad
ample, without appearing to have limitations

passing easily for a brother of mountains and
seas and constellations
little
;
81
caring nothing for the
maps and
charts with which timid pilots

freely with
hug the shore, but giving himself

and tides
stars
the recklessness of genius to winds and waves

;
caring for nothing so long as the
were above him.

writers,
He walked among
and
men,
among
among verbal varnishers and

literary milliners
tailors,
veneerers,
among
with the unconscious majesty of an antique

god.
He was
the poet of that divine democracy

all
which gives equal rights to

daughters of men.
ican voice
;
the sons and
He
uttered the great Amer-
uttered a song worthy of the great
Republic.
No man
has ever said more for the
rights of humanity,
more
in favor of real de-
mocracy, of real justice.
He
neither scorned
slave.
nor cringed
was neither tyrant nor
He
asked only to stand the equal of his fellows
beneath the great

stars.
flag of nature, the
blue and
He was
the poet of
life.
It
was a joy simply

;
to breathe.
He
loved the clouds
he enjoyed
82
the breath of morning, the twilight, the wind,

the winding streams.
He
loved to look at the
sea
when
the waves burst into the whitecaps
of joy.
He
loved the
fields,
the hills
he was
all
acquainted with the
trees,
with birds, with
the beautiful objects of the earth.
He
not only
saw these
ing,
objects,
but understood their mean-
and he used them that he might exhibit
his heart to his fellow-men.
He was
ashamed
every
the
poet of
Love.
He was
that
not
of that divine passion that has built
home; that
divine
passion
has
painted every picture and given us every real
work
of art
that divine passion that has
made
some
the world worth living in and has given
value to
human
life.
He was
men
ural.
the poet of the natural, and taught

is
not to be ashamed of that which
nat-
He was
not only the poet of democracy,
not only the poet of the great Republic, but he
was the poet
of the
human
race.
He was
not
confined to the limits of this country, but his
83
to all the
sympathy went out over the seas

nations of the earth.
He
stretched out his hands and felt himself

all
the equal of
kings and of
all
princes,
and
the brother of
all
men, no matter how high, no
matter
how
low.
He
has uttered more supreme words than
any writer of our century, possibly of almost any other.
He was, above
all
all things,
a man, and
above genius, above

of intelligence,
the snow-capped peaks
above
all art, rises
the true man.
He was
life
the poet of Death.
He
accepted
all.
all
and
all
death, and he justified

all,
He had
and to
the courage to meet
and was great enough

all
and splendid enough to harmonize

accept
all
there
is
as a divine melody.
You know
been, but let
did,
better than I
what his
:
life
has
me
say one thing
Knowing
as he
what others can know and what they can not, he accepted and absorbed all theories, all
creeds, all religions,
and believed
in none.
all
His
philosophy was a sky that embraced
clouds
and accounted
for all clouds.
He had
a philos-
84
ophy and a religion of his own, broader, as he believed
and as I believe
than others.
all,
He
ac-
cepted all, he understood
and he was above all.
He was
as light.
absolutely true to himself.
He had
frankness and courage, and he was as candid
He was
willing that all the sons of
men should be
absolutely acquainted with his
heart and brain.
He had
nothing to conceal.
Frank, candid, pure, serene, noble, and yet for

years he was maligned and slandered, simply
because he had the candor of nature.
He
will
be understood
yet,
and that
for
which he was
candor
will
condemned
add
his
frankness,
his
to the glory
and greatness
of his fame.
;
He
to us
wrote a liturgy for mankind

life,
he wrote a
great and splendid psalm of
and he gave
the greatest
the
gospel of
humanity
gospel that can be preached.
He was
not afraid to live
not afraid to die.
For many years he and Death lived near neighHe was always willing and ready to bors.
meet and greet this king called Death, and for many months he sat in the deepening twilight
waiting for
the
85
night; waiting for the light.
He
filled
never lost his hope.

the valleys, he looked
When
the
mists
tops,
upon the mountain and when the mountains in darkness dis-
appeared, fixed his gaze upon the stars.
In his brain were the blessed memories of

the day and in his heart were mingled the
dawn and dusk
of
life.
He was
moment.
desert him.
clasp the
not afraid
he was cheerful every

of
The laughing nymphs
day did not
They remained
hands and
of
that they might
greet with smiles the
veiled and silent sisters
the night.
And
the
when they did come, Walt Whitman stretched

his
hand
to
them.
On
one
side were
nymphs
of day,
and on the other the
silent sis-
ters of the night,
and
so,
hand
in hand,
between
smiles and tears, he reached his journey's end.
From
the frontier of
life,
from the western
wave-kissed shore, he sent us messages of content

like
and hope, and these messages seem now strains of music blown by the " Mystic
"
Trumpeter
from Death's pale realm.
86
To-day we give back to Mother Nature, to her clasp and kiss, one of the bravest, sweetest
souls that ever lived in
human
clay.
Charitable as the air and generous as Nature,
he was negligent of
all
except to do and say

say.
what he believed he should do and should
And
I to-day thank
all
him, not only for you

the brave words he has
for all the
but for myself, for

uttered.
I thank
him
great and
splendid words he has said in favor of liberty,

in favor of
man and woman,
in favor of
moth-
erhood, in favor of fathers, in favor of children,
and I thank him

has said of death.
for the brave
words that he
He
rible
has lived, he has died, and death
is less ter-
than
it
was
before.
Thousands and
"
mill-
ions will walk
down
into the
dark valley of the

the hand.
shadow
"
holding Walt
Whitman by
Long
after
we
are dead the brave words he has

like
spoken
trumpets to the dying. And so I lay this little wreath upon this
will
sound
great man's tomb.

love
I loved
him
living,
and I
him
still.
A New Book About the The Best One of All
Bible.
THE BIBLE
By
JOHN
E.
REMSBURG.
Cloth,
Large IQmo.
500 pages.
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Eleven Chapters on the Authenticity of the
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Human
Origin
to refer in
Twenty-six pages of Index, enabling the reader an instant to any Authority quoted or
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titles of
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The
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The Pentateuch, The Prophets, The Hagiographa, The

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An Address On Walt Whitman - Robert G Ingersoll 1890

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An Address On Walt Whitman - Robert G Ingersoll 1890

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WALT WHITMAN

WITH PORTRAIT OF WHITMAN.

THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY,

THE TRUTH SEEKER COMPANY.

the placid hours in his peaceful

those that Walt

Horticultural Hall last night must have been

the most gratifying, says the Philadel22, 1890.

phia Press of October

monial, intended to cheer his declining years,

not only in a complimentary sense, came some

eighteen hundred or more people to listen to

hear about himself.

the stage sat

modern poetic thought, as

Colonel Ingersoli described him, young and old,

men and women.

There were white beards,

but none were so white as that of the author of

his easy wheeled chair, with his usual garb of

gray, with his cloudy white hair falling over

turned-down collar that must have

been three inches wide.

lips disturbed that

no tribute of applause moved him from his

have met to-night to honor our-

they had honored reached for-

and attracted Colonel Inger-

not leave yet," said Colonel Ingersoli,

Mr. Whitman has a word

and no more characterlips or

from the poet's

flowed from his pen

TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN.

being the curious

testimony called personal

among you and show

and thank you with

living voice for coming,

and Robert Ingersoil for speaking.

with such brief testimony of showing myself,

and such good

and gratitude, I bid you

TESTIMONIAL TO WALT WHITMAN.

IN the year 1855 the American people

Pollok, Addison and

mechanical monotony of Pope, and the really

dox Protestant, untroubled by doubts, considered

Milton the greatest poet of them

Byron and Shelley were hardly respectable

be read by young persons.

hands that Burns was a child

mother was ashamed and proud.

In the blessed year aforesaid, candor,

Creeds at that time were entrenched behind

prejudice, custom, ignorance, stupid-

mind and body.

always has been, and forever will

be, impossible for slavery, or

any kind or form

produce a great poet.

makers and writers on the

are not poets, they are not