No More Learning

Here is the hospitality which for ever indicates heroes. Here are the
roughs and beards and space and ruggedness and nonchalance that the soul
loves. Here the performance, disdaining the trivial, unapproached in the
tremendous audacity of its crowds and groupings and the push of its
perspective, spreads with crampless and flowing breadth, and showers its
prolific and splendid extravagance. One sees it must indeed own the riches
of the summer and winter, and need never be bankrupt while corn grows from
the ground, or the orchards drop apples, or the bays contain fish, or men
beget children.

Other states indicate themselves in their deputies: but the genius of the
United States is not best or most in its executives or legislatures, nor in
its ambassadors or authors or colleges, or churches, or parlours, nor even
in its newspapers or inventors, but always most in the common people. Their
manners, speech, dress, friendships,--the freshness and candour of their
physiognomy--the picturesque looseness of their carriage--their deathless
attachment to freedom--their aversion to anything indecorous or soft or
mean--the practical acknowledgment of the citizens of one state by the
citizens of all other states--the fierceness of their roused resentment--
their curiosity and welcome of novelty--their self-esteem and wonderful
sympathy--their susceptibility to a slight--the air they have of persons
who never knew how it felt to stand in the presence of superiors--the
fluency of their speech--their delight in music, the sure symptom of manly
tenderness and native elegance of soul--their good temper and open-
handedness--the terrible significance of their elections, the President's
taking off his hat to them, not they to him--these too are unrhymed poetry.
It awaits the gigantic and generous treatment worthy of it.

The largeness of nature or the nation were monstrous without a
corresponding largeness and generosity of the spirit of the citizen. Not
nature, nor swarming states, nor streets and steamships, nor prosperous
business, nor farms nor capital nor learning, may suffice for the ideal of
man, nor suffice the poet. No reminiscences may suffice either. A live
nation can always cut a deep mark, and can have the best authority the
cheapest--namely, from its own soul. This is the sum of the profitable uses
of individuals or states, and of present action and grandeur, and of the
subjects of poets. --As if it were necessary to trot back generation after
generation to the eastern records! As if the beauty and sacredness of the
demonstrable must fall behind that of the mythical! As if men do not make
their mark out of any times!
As if the opening of the western continent by
discovery, and what has transpired since in North and South America, were
less than the small theatre of the antique, or the aimless sleep-walking of
the Middle Ages! The pride of the United States leaves the wealth and
finesse of the cities, and all returns of commerce and agriculture, and all
the magnitude or geography or shows of exterior victory, to enjoy the breed
of full-sized men, or one full-sized man unconquerable and simple.

The American poets are to enclose old and new; for America is the race of
races. Of them a bard is to be commensurate with a people. To him the other
continents arrive as contributions: he gives them reception for their sake
and his own sake. His spirit responds to his country's spirit: he
incarnates its geography and natural life and rivers and lakes. Mississippi
with annual freshets and changing chutes, Missouri and Columbia and Ohio
and Saint Lawrence with the Falls and beautiful masculine Hudson, do not
embouchure where they spend themselves more than they embouchure into him.
The blue breadth over the inland sea of Virginia and Maryland, and the sea
off Massachusetts and Maine, and over Manhattan Bay, and over Champlain and
Erie, and over Ontario and Huron and Michigan and Superior, and over the
Texan and Mexican and Floridian and Cuban seas, and over the seas off
California and Oregon, is not tallied by the blue breadth of the waters
below more than the breadth of above and below is tallied by him. When the
long Atlantic coast stretches longer, and the Pacific coast stretches
longer, he easily stretches with them north or south. He spans between them
also from east to west, and reflects what is between them. On him rise
solid growths that offset the growths of pine and cedar and hemlock and
live-oak and locust and chestnut and cypress and hickory and lime-tree and
cottonwood and tulip-tree and cactus and wild-vine and tamarind and
persimmon, and tangles as tangled as any cane-brake or swamp, and forests
coated with transparent ice and icicles, hanging from the boughs and
crackling in the wind, and sides and peaks of mountains, and pasturage
sweet and free as savannah or upland or prairie,--with flights and songs
and screams that answer those of the wild-pigeon and high-hold and orchard-
oriole and coot and surf-duck and red-shouldered-bawk and fish-hawk and
white-ibis and Indian-hen and cat-owl and water-pheasant and qua-bird and
pied-sheldrake and blackbird and mocking-bird and buzzard and condor and
night-heron and eagle. To him the hereditary countenance descends, both
mother's and father's. To him enter the essences of the real things and
past and present events--of the enormous diversity of temperature and
agriculture and mines--the tribes of red aborigines--the weather-beaten
vessels entering new ports, or making landings on rocky coasts--the first
settlements north or south--the rapid stature and muscle--the haughty
defiance of '76, and the war and peace and formation of the constitution--
the union always surrounded by blatherers, and always calm and
impregnable--the perpetual coming of immigrants--the wharf-hemmed cities
and superior marine--the unsurveyed interior--the loghouses and clearings
and wild animals and hunters and trappers--the free commerce--the fisheries
and whaling and gold-digging--the endless gestations of new states--the
convening of Congress every December, the members duly coming up from all
climates and the uttermost parts--the noble character of the young
mechanics and of all free American workmen and workwomen--the general
ardour and friendliness and enterprise--the perfect equality of the female
with the male--the large amativeness--the fluid movement of the
population--the factories and mercantile life and labour-saving machinery--
the Yankee swap--the New York firemen and the target excursion--the
Southern plantation life--the character of the north-east and of the north-
west and south-west-slavery, and the tremulous spreading of hands to
protect it, and the stern opposition to it which shall never cease till it
ceases, or the speaking of tongues and the moving of lips cease. For such
the expression of the American poet is to be transcendent and new. It is to
be indirect, and not direct or descriptive or epic. Its quality goes
through these to much more.