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1894
The American Spirit speaks:
IF the Led Striker call it a strike, | |
| Or the papers call it a war, | |
| They know not much what I am like, | |
| Nor what he is, my Avatar. | |
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| Through many roads, by me possessed, | 5 |
| He shambles forth in cosmic guise; | |
| He is the Jester and the Jest, | |
| And he the Text himself applies. | |
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| The Celt is in his heart and hand, | |
| The Gaul is in his brain and nerve; | 10 |
| Where, cosmopolitanly planned, | |
| He guards the Redskin’s dry reserve. | |
| |
| His easy unswept hearth he lends | |
| From Labrador to Guadeloupe; | |
| Till, elbowed out by sloven friends, | 15 |
| He camps, at sufferance, on the stoop. | |
| |
| Calm-eyed he scoffs at Sword and Crown, | |
| Or, panic-blinded, stabs and slays. | |
| Blatant he bids the world bow down, | |
| Or cringing begs a crust of praise; | 20 |
| |
| Or, sombre-drunk, at mine and mart, | |
| He dubs his dreary brethren Kings. | |
| His hands are black with blood—his heart | |
| Leaps, as a babe’s, at little things. | |
| |
| But, through the shift of mood and mood, | 25 |
| Mine ancient humour saves him whole— | |
| The cynic devil in his blood | |
| That bids him mock his hurrying soul; | |
| |
| That bids him flout the Law he makes, | |
| That bids him make the Law he flouts, | 30 |
| Till, dazed by many doubts, he wakes | |
| The drumming guns that—have no doubts; | |
| |
| That checks him foolish-hot and fond, | |
| That chuckles through his deepest ire, | |
| That gilds the slough of his despond | 35 |
| But dims the goal of his desire; | |
| |
| Inopportune, shrill-accented, | |
| The acrid Asiatic mirth | |
| That leaves him, careless ’mid his dead, | |
| The scandal of the elder earth. | 40 |
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| How shall he clear himself, how reach | |
| Your bar or weighed defence prefer— | |
| A brother hedged with alien speech | |
| And lacking all interpreter? | |
| |
| Which knowledge vexes him a space; | 45 |
| But, while Reproof around him rings, | |
| He turns a keen untroubled face | |
| Home, to the instant need of things. | |
| |
| Enslaved, illogical, elate, | |
| He greets the embarrassed Gods, nor fears | 50 |
| To shake the iron hand of Fate | |
| Or match with Destiny for beers. | |
| |
| Lo, imperturbable he rules, | |
| Unkempt, disreputable, vast— | |
| And, in the teeth of all the schools, | 55 |
| I—I shall save him at the last! | |
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