 |
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| 1. |
| 2. |
| 3. |
| 4. |
| 5. |
| 6. |
| 7. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 | Leaves of grass. |  |
10
50 Alone, far in the wilds
and mountains, I hunt,
Wandering, amazed at my own lightness and glee;
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh kill'd game;
Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves, with my dog and gun by my side.
51 The Yankee clipper is under her three sky-sails — she cuts the sparkle and scud;
My eyes settle the land — I bend at her prow, or shout joyously from the deck.
52 The boatman and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me;
I tuck'd my trowser-ends in my boots, and went and
had a good
time:
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.
53 I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far-west — the bride was a red girl;
Her father and his friends sat near, cross-legged and dumbly smoking — they had moccasins to their feet, and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders;
On a bank lounged the trapper — he was drest mostly in skins — his luxuriant beard and curls pro- tected his neck — he held his bride by the hand;
She had long eye-lashes — her head was bare — her coarse straight locks descended upon her volup- tuous limbs and reach'd to her feet.
54 The runaway slave came to my house and stopt out- side;
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the wood- pile;
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak,
And went where he sat on a log, and led him in and assured him,
And brought water, and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet,
And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north;
(I had him sit next me at table — my fire-lock lean'd in the corner.)
Wandering, amazed at my own lightness and glee;
In the late afternoon choosing a safe spot to pass the night,
Kindling a fire and broiling the fresh kill'd game;
Falling asleep on the gather'd leaves, with my dog and gun by my side.
51 The Yankee clipper is under her three sky-sails — she cuts the sparkle and scud;
My eyes settle the land — I bend at her prow, or shout joyously from the deck.
52 The boatman and clam-diggers arose early and stopt for me;
33
You should have been with us that day round the chowder-kettle.
53 I saw the marriage of the trapper in the open air in the far-west — the bride was a red girl;
Her father and his friends sat near, cross-legged and dumbly smoking — they had moccasins to their feet, and large thick blankets hanging from their shoulders;
On a bank lounged the trapper — he was drest mostly in skins — his luxuriant beard and curls pro- tected his neck — he held his bride by the hand;
She had long eye-lashes — her head was bare — her coarse straight locks descended upon her volup- tuous limbs and reach'd to her feet.
54 The runaway slave came to my house and stopt out- side;
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the wood- pile;
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy and weak,
And went where he sat on a log, and led him in and assured him,
And brought water, and fill'd a tub for his sweated body and bruis'd feet,
And gave him a room that enter'd from my own, and gave him some coarse clean clothes,
And remember perfectly well his revolving eyes and his awkwardness,
And remember putting plasters on the galls of his neck and ankles;
He staid with me a week before he was recuperated and pass'd north;
(I had him sit next me at table — my fire-lock lean'd in the corner.)
34
| Leaves of grass. | |