Part 2 (2/2)

When lilacs last in the dooryard bloomed.

Sparkles from the wheel.

Brother of all with generous hand.

As a strong bird on pinions free.

For a just estimate of Whitman, as for a clear comprehension of the symbolism contained in Leaves of Gra.s.s, a few blades of the latter will not suffice. It must be all, or none. The two poems here given should be taken, therefore, not as representative of the whole, but as types of two widely variant moods:

Of olden time, when it came to pa.s.s That the beautiful G.o.d, Jesus, should finish his work on earth, Then went Judas, and sold the divine youth, And took pay for his body.

Curst was the deed, even before the sweat of the clutching hand grew dry; And darkness frown'd upon the seller of the like of G.o.d, Where, as though earth lifted her breast to throw him from her, and heaven refus'd him, He hung in the air, self-slaughter'd.

The cycles, with their long shadows, have stalked silently forward Since those days--many a pouch enwrapping meanwhile Its fee, like that paid for the son of Mary.

And still goes one, saying, ”What will ye give me, and I will deliver this man unto you?”

And they make the covenant, and pay the pieces of silver.

Look forth, deliverer, Look forth, first-born of the dead, Over the tree-tops of Paradise; See thyself in yet-continued bonds, Toilsome and poor, thou bear'st man's form again, Thou art reviled, scourged, put into prison, Hunted from the arrogant equality of the rest; With staves and swords throng the willing servants of authority, Again they surround thee, mad with devilish spite; Toward thee stretch the hands of a mult.i.tude, like vultures' talons, The nearest spit in thy face, they smite thee with their palms; Bruised, b.l.o.o.d.y, and pinion'd is thy body, More sorrowful than death is thy soul.

Witness of anguish, brother of slaves, Not with thy price closed the price of thine image: And still Iscariot plies his trade.

I

The soul, Forever and forever--longer than soil is brown and solid--longer than water ebbs and flows.

II

Each is not for its own sake, I say the whole earth and all the stars in the sky are for religion's sake.

III

In this broad earth of ours, Amid the measureless grossness and the slag, Enclosed and safe within its central heart, Nestles the seed perfection.

By every life a share or more or less, None born but it is born, conceal'd or unconceal'd the seed is waiting.

IV

Do you not see O my brothers and sisters?

It is not chaos or death--it is form, union, plan--it is eternal life--it is Happiness.

V

The song is to the singer, and comes back most to him, The love is to the lover, and comes back most to him--it cannot fail.

VI

I see Hermes, unsuspected, dying, well-beloved, saying to the people _Do not weep for me, This is not my true country, I have lived banish'd from my true country, I now go back there, I return to the celestial sphere where every one goes in his turn._

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