No More Learning

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. Let the age and wars of other nations be
chanted, and their eras and characters be illustrated, and that finish the
verse. Not so the great psalm of the republic. Here the theme is creative,
and has vista.
Here comes one among the well-beloved stone-cutters, and
plans with decision and science, and sees the solid and beautiful forms of
the future where there are now no solid forms.

Of all nations, the United States, with veins full of poetical stuff, most
needs poets, and will doubtless have the greatest, and use them the
greatest. Their Presidents shall not be their common referee so much as
their poets shall. Of all mankind, the great poet is the equable man. Not
in him, but off from him, things are grotesque or eccentric, or fail of
their sanity. Nothing out of its place is good, and nothing in its place is
bad. He bestows on every object or quality its fit proportions, neither
more nor less. He is the arbiter of the diverse, and he is the key. He is
the equaliser of his age and land: he supplies what wants supplying, and
checks what wants checking. If peace is the routine, out of him speaks the
spirit of peace, large, rich, thrifty, building vast and populous cities,
encouraging agriculture and the arts and commerce--lighting the study of
man, the soul, immortality--federal, state or municipal government,
marriage, health, free-trade, intertravel by land and sea--nothing too
close, nothing too far off,--the stars not too far off. In war, he is the
most deadly force of the war. Who recruits him recruits horse and foot: he
fetches parks of artillery, the best that engineer ever knew. If the time
becomes slothful and heavy, he knows how to arouse it: he can make every
word he speaks draw blood. Whatever stagnates in the flat of custom or
obedience or legislation, he never stagnates. Obedience does not master
him, he masters it. High up out of reach, he stands turning a concentrated
light; he turns the pivot with his finger; he baffles the swiftest runners
as he stands, and easily overtakes and envelops them.