Good-Bye My Fancy

Sail Out for Good, Eidólon Pacbt!

HEAVE the anchor short!

Raise main-sail and jib-steer forth,

O little white-hull'd sloop, now speed on really deep waters,

(I will not call it our concluding voyage,

But outset and sure entrance to the truest, best, maturest;)
Depart, depart from solid earth-no more returning to these

shores,

Now on for aye our infinite free venture wending,

Spurning all yet tried ports, seas, hawsers, densities, gravitation, Sail out for good, eidólon yacht of me!

Lingering Last Drops.

AND whence and why come you?

We know not whence, (was the answer,)

We only know that we drift here with the rest,

That we linger'd and lagg'd-but were wafted at last, and are

now here,

To make the passing shower's concluding drops

Good-Bye Dy Fancy.

GOOD-BYE* my fancy-(I had a word to say,

But 't is not quite the time-The best of any man's word or say,

Is when its proper place arrives-and for its meaning,

I keep mine till the last.)

On, on the Same, Ve Jocund Twain!

ON, on the same, ye jocund twain!

My life and recitative, containing birth, youth, mid-age years, Fitful as motley-tongues of flame, inseparably twined and merged in one-combining all,

My single soul-aims, confirmations, failures, joys-Nor single soul alone,

I chant my nation's crucial stage, (America's, haply humanity's)

-the trial great, the victory great,

A strange éclaircissement of all the masses past, the eastern world, the ancient, medieval,

Here, here from wanderings, strayings, lessons, wars, defeatshere at the west a voice triumphant-justifying all,

A gladsome pealing cry—a song for once of utmost pride and satisfaction;

* Behind a Good-bye there lurks much of the salutation of another beginningto me, Development, Continuity, Immortality, Transformation, are the chiefest lifemeanings of Nature and Humanity, and are the sine qua non of all facts, and each fact.

Why do folks dwell so fondly on the last words, advice, appearance, of the departing? Those last words are not samples of the best, which involve vitality at its full, and balance, and perfect control and scope. But they are valuable beyond measure to confirm and endorse the varied train, facts, theories and faith of the whole preceding life.

I chant from it the common bulk, the general average horde, (the best no sooner than the worst)—And now I chant old

age,

(My verses, written first for forenoon life, and for the summer's,

autumn's spread,

I pass to snow-white hairs the same, and give to pulses wintercool'd the same;)

As here in careless trill, I and my recitatives, with faith and love, Wafting to other work, to unknown songs, conditions,

On, on, ye jocund twain! continue on the same!

My 71st year.

AFTER Surmounting three-score and ten,

With all their chances, changes, losses, sorrows,

My parents' deaths, the vagaries of my life, the many tearing

passions of me, the war of '63 and '4,

As some old broken soldier, after a long, hot, wearying march,

or haply after battle,

To-day at twilight, hobbling, answering company roll-call, Here, with vital voice,

Reporting yet, saluting yet the Officer over all.

Apparitions.

A VAGUE mist hanging 'round half the pages:

(Sometimes how strange and clear to the soul,

That all these solid things are indeed but apparitions, concepts, non-realities.)

The Dallid wreath.

SOMEHOW I cannot let it go yet, funeral though it is,

Let it remain back there on its nail suspended,

With pink, blue, yellow, all blanch'd, and the white now gray

and ashy,

One wither'd rose put years ago for thee, dear friend;

But I do not forget thee. Hast thou then faded ?

Is the odor exhaled? Are the colors, vitalities, dead?

No, while memories subtly play—the past vivid as ever;

For but last night I woke, and in that spectral ring saw thee,

Thy smile, eyes, face, calm, silent, loving as ever:

So let the wreath hang still awhile within my eye-reach,

It is not yet dead to me, nor even pallid.

An Ended Day.

THE Soothing sanity and blitheness of completion,

The pomp and hurried contest-glare and rush are done;
Now triumph! transformation! jubilate!*

*NOTE. - Summer country life. — Several years. — In my rambles and explorations I found a woody place near the creek, where for some reason the birds in happy mood seem'd to resort in unusual numbers. Especially at the beginning of the day, and again at the ending, I was sure to get there the most copious bird-concerts. I repair'd there frequently at sunrise- and also at sunset, or just before. . . Once the question arose in me: Which is the best singing, the first or the lattermost ? The first always exhilarated, and perhaps seem'd more joyous and stronger; but I always felt the sunset or late afternoon sounds more penetrating and sweeterseem'd to touch the soul—often the evening thrushes, two or three of them, responding and perhaps blending. Though I miss'd some of the mornings, I found myself getting to be quite strictly punctual at the evening utterances.

ANOTHER NOTE." He went out with the tide and the sunset," was a phrase