The Complete Works of Walt Whitman. Walt Whitman

and wind around its base,

       I see the Humboldt range, I thread the valley and cross the river,

       I see the clear waters of lake Tahoe, I see forests of majestic pines,

       Or crossing the great desert, the alkaline plains, I behold

       enchanting mirages of waters and meadows,

       Marking through these and after all, in duplicate slender lines,

       Bridging the three or four thousand miles of land travel,

       Tying the Eastern to the Western sea,

       The road between Europe and Asia.

      (Ah Genoese thy dream! thy dream!

       Centuries after thou art laid in thy grave,

       The shore thou foundest verifies thy dream.)

      4

       Passage to India!

       Struggles of many a captain, tales of many a sailor dead,

       Over my mood stealing and spreading they come,

       Like clouds and cloudlets in the unreach’d sky.

      Along all history, down the slopes,

       As a rivulet running, sinking now, and now again to the surface rising,

       A ceaseless thought, a varied train — lo, soul, to thee, thy sight,

       they rise,

       The plans, the voyages again, the expeditions;

       Again Vasco de Gama sails forth,

       Again the knowledge gain’d, the mariner’s compass,

       Lands found and nations born, thou born America,

       For purpose vast, man’s long probation fill’d,

       Thou rondure of the world at last accomplish’d.

      5

       O vast Rondure, swimming in space,

       Cover’d all over with visible power and beauty,

       Alternate light and day and the teeming spiritual darkness,

       Unspeakable high processions of sun and moon and countless stars above,

       Below, the manifold grass and waters, animals, mountains, trees,

       With inscrutable purpose, some hidden prophetic intention,

       Now first it seems my thought begins to span thee.

      Down from the gardens of Asia descending radiating,

       Adam and Eve appear, then their myriad progeny after them,

       Wandering, yearning, curious, with restless explorations,

       With questionings, baffled, formless, feverish, with never-happy hearts,

       With that sad incessant refrain, Wherefore unsatisfied soul? and

       Whither O mocking life?

      Ah who shall soothe these feverish children?

       Who Justify these restless explorations?

       Who speak the secret of impassive earth?

       Who bind it to us? what is this separate Nature so unnatural?

       What is this earth to our affections? (unloving earth, without a

       throb to answer ours,

       Cold earth, the place of graves.)

      Yet soul be sure the first intent remains, and shall be carried out,

       Perhaps even now the time has arrived.

      After the seas are all cross’d, (as they seem already cross’d,)

       After the great captains and engineers have accomplish’d their work,

       After the noble inventors, after the scientists, the chemist, the

       geologist, ethnologist,

       Finally shall come the poet worthy that name,

       The true son of God shall come singing his songs.

      Then not your deeds only O voyagers, O scientists and inventors,

       shall be justified,

       All these hearts as of fretted children shall be sooth’d,

       All affection shall be fully responded to, the secret shall be told,

       All these separations and gaps shall be taken up and hook’d and

       link’d together,

       The whole earth, this cold, impassive, voiceless earth, shall be

       completely Justified,

       Trinitas divine shall be gloriously accomplish’d and compacted by

       the true son of God, the poet,

       (He shall indeed pass the straits and conquer the mountains,

       He shall double the cape of Good Hope to some purpose,)

       Nature and Man shall be disjoin’d and diffused no more,

       The true son of God shall absolutely fuse them.

      6

       Year at whose wide-flung door I sing!

       Year of the purpose accomplish’d!

       Year of the marriage of continents, climates and oceans!

       (No mere doge of Venice now wedding the Adriatic,)

       I see O year in you the vast terraqueous globe given and giving all,

       Europe to Asia, Africa join’d, and they to the New World,

       The lands, geographies, dancing before you, holding a festival garland,

       As brides and bridegrooms hand in hand.

      Passage to India!

       Cooling airs from Caucasus far, soothing cradle of man,

       The river Euphrates flowing, the past lit up again.

      Lo soul, the retrospect brought forward,

       The old, most populous, wealthiest of earth’s lands,

       The streams of the Indus and the Ganges and their many affluents,

       (I my shores of America walking to-day behold, resuming all,)

       The tale of Alexander on his warlike marches suddenly dying,

       On one side China and on the other side Persia and Arabia,

       To the south the great seas and the bay of Bengal,

       The flowing literatures, tremendous epics, religions, castes,

       Old occult Brahma interminably far back, the tender and junior Buddha,

       Central and southern empires and all their belongings, possessors,

       The wars of Tamerlane,the reign of Aurungzebe,

       The traders, rulers, explorers, Moslems, Venetians, Byzantium, the

       Arabs, Portuguese,

       The first travelers famous yet, Marco Polo, Batouta the Moor,

       Doubts to be solv’d, the map incognita, blanks to be fill’d,

       The foot of man unstay’d, the hands never at rest,

       Thyself O soul that will not brook a challenge.

      The mediaeval navigators rise before me,

       The world of 1492, with its awaken’d enterprise,

       Something swelling in humanity now like the sap of the earth in spring,

       The sunset splendor of chivalry declining.

      And who art thou sad shade?

       Gigantic, visionary, thyself a visionary,

       With majestic limbs and pious beaming eyes,

       Spreading around with every look of thine a golden world,