I do not know of any poetry to quote which adequately expresses this yearning for the Wild.  Approached from this side, the best poetry is tame.  I do not know where to find in any literature, ancient or modern, any account which contents me of that Nature with which even I am acquainted.  You will perceive that I demand something which no Augustan nor Elizabethan age, which no culture, in short, can give.  Mythology comes nearer to it than anything.  How much more fertile a Nature, at least, has Grecian mythology its root in than English literature!  Mythology is the crop which the Old World bore before its soil was exhausted, before the fancy and imagination were affected with blight; and which it still bears, wherever its pristine vigor is unabated.  All other literatures endure only as the elms which overshadow our houses; but this is like the great dragon-tree of the Western Isles, as old as mankind, and, whether that does or not, will endure as long; for the decay of other literatures makes the soil in which it thrives.

The West is preparing to add its fables to those of the East.  The valleys of the Ganges, the Nile, and the Rhine, having yielded their crop, it remains to be seen what the valleys of the Amazon, the Plate, the Orinoco, the St. Lawrence, and the Mississippi will produce.  Perchance, when, in the course of ages, American liberty has become a fiction of the past,—­as it is to some extent a fiction of the present,—­the poets of the world will be inspired by American mythology.

The wildest dreams of wild men, even, are not the less true, though they may not recommend themselves to the sense which is most common among Englishmen and Americans to-day.  It is not every truth that recommends itself to the common sense.  Nature has a place for the wild clematis as well as for the cabbage.  Some expressions of truth are reminiscent,—­others merely sensible, as the phrase is,—­others prophetic.  Some forms of disease, even, may prophesy forms of health.  The geologist has discovered that the figures of serpents, griffins, flying dragons, and other fanciful embellishments of heraldry, have their prototypes in the forms of fossil species which were extinct before man was created, and hence “indicate a faint and shadowy knowledge of a previous state of organic existence.”  The Hindoos dreamed that the earth rested on an elephant, and the elephant on a tortoise, and the tortoise on a serpent; and though it may be an unimportant coincidence, it will not be out of place here to state, that a fossil tortoise has lately been discovered in Asia large enough to support an elephant.  I confess that I am partial to these wild fancies, which transcend the order of time and development.  They are the sublimest recreation of the intellect.  The partridge loves peas, but not those that go with her into the pot.