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68
O my rapt verse, my call—mock me not!
Not for the bards of the past—not to invoke them have I launch'd you forth,
Not to call even those lofty bards here by Ontario's shores,
Have I sung, so capricious and loud, my savage song.
69
Bards for my own land, only, I invoke;
(For the war, the war is over—the field is clear'd,)
Till they strike up marches henceforth triumphant and onward,
To cheer, O mother, your boundless, expectant soul.
70
Bards grand as these days so grand!
Bards of the great Idea! Bards of the peaceful inventions! (for the war, the war is over!)
Yet Bards of the latent armies—a million soldiers waiting ever-ready,
Bards towering like hills—(no more these dots, these pigmies, these little piping straws, these gnats, that fill the hour, to pass for poets;)
Bards with songs as from burning coals, or the lightning's fork'd stripes!
Ample Ohio's bards—bards for California! inland bards—bards of the war;
(As a wheel turns on its axle, so I find my chants turning finally on the war;)
Bards of pride! Bards tallying the ocean's roar, and the swooping eagle's scream!
You, by my charm, I invoke!
