On, on the Same, Ye Jocund Twain!

On, on the same, ye jocund twain!

My life and recitative, containing birth, youth, mid-age years,

Fitful as motley-tongues of flame, inseparably twined and merged in one — combining all,

My single soul — aims, confirmations, failures, joys — Nor single soul alone,

I chant my nation's crucial stage, ( America's, haply humanity's ) — the trial great, the victory great,

A strange eclaircissement of all the masses past, the eastern world, the ancient, medieval,

Here, here from wanderings, strayings, lessons, wars, defeats — here at the west a voice triumphant — justifying all,

A gladsome pealing cry — a song for once of utmost pride and satisfaction;

I chant from it the common bulk, the general average horde, ( the best sooner than the worst ) — And now I chant old age,

( My verses, written first for forenoon life, and for the summer's, autumn's spread,

I pass to snow-white hairs the same, and give to pulses winter-cool'd the same;)

As here in careless trill, I and my recitatives, with faith and love, wafting to other work, to unknown songs, conditions,

On, on ye jocund twain! continue on the same!