Then falter not O book, fulfil your destiny,
You not a reminiscence of the land alone,
You too as a lone bark cleaving the ether, purpos’d I know not
    whither, yet ever full of faith,
Consort to every ship that sails, sail you! 
Bear forth to them folded my love, (dear mariners, for you I fold it
    here in every leaf;)
Speed on my book! spread your white sails my little bark athwart the
    imperious waves,
Chant on, sail on, bear o’er the boundless blue from me to every sea,
This song for mariners and all their ships.

} To Foreign Lands

I heard that you ask’d for something to prove this puzzle the New World,
And to define America, her athletic Democracy,
Therefore I send you my poems that you behold in them what you wanted.

} To a Historian

You who celebrate bygones,
Who have explored the outward, the surfaces of the races, the life
    that has exhibited itself,
Who have treated of man as the creature of politics, aggregates,
    rulers and priests,
I, habitan of the Alleghanies, treating of him as he is in himself
    in his own rights,
Pressing the pulse of the life that has seldom exhibited itself,
    (the great pride of man in himself,)
Chanter of Personality, outlining what is yet to be,
I project the history of the future.

} To Thee Old Cause

To thee old cause! 
Thou peerless, passionate, good cause,
Thou stern, remorseless, sweet idea,
Deathless throughout the ages, races, lands,
After a strange sad war, great war for thee,
(I think all war through time was really fought, and ever will be
    really fought, for thee,)
These chants for thee, the eternal march of thee.

(A war O soldiers not for itself alone,
Far, far more stood silently waiting behind, now to advance in this book.)

Thou orb of many orbs! 
Thou seething principle! thou well-kept, latent germ! thou centre! 
Around the idea of thee the war revolving,
With all its angry and vehement play of causes,
(With vast results to come for thrice a thousand years,)
These recitatives for thee,—­my book and the war are one,
Merged in its spirit I and mine, as the contest hinged on thee,
As a wheel on its axis turns, this book unwitting to itself,
Around the idea of thee.

} Eidolons

     I met a seer,
Passing the hues and objects of the world,
The fields of art and learning, pleasure, sense,
     To glean eidolons.

     Put in thy chants said he,
No more the puzzling hour nor day, nor segments, parts, put in, Put first before the rest as light for all and entrance-song of all,
     That of eidolons.

     Ever the dim beginning,
Ever the growth, the rounding of the circle,
Ever the summit and the merge at last, (to surely start again,)
     Eidolons! eidolons!