Our Old Feuillage

    Always Florida's green peninsula - always the priceless delta

    of Louisiana - always the cotton-fields of Alabama and

    Texas，

    Always California's golden hills and hollows， and the silver

    mountains of New Mexico - always soft-breath'd Cuba，

    Always the vast slope drain'd by the Southern sea， inseparable

    with the slopes drain'd by the Eastern and Western seas，

    The area the eighty-third year of these States， the three and a half

    millions of square miles，

    The eighteen thousand miles of sea-coast and bay-coast on the

    main， the thirty thousand miles of river navigation，

    The seven millions of distinct families and the same number of

    dwellings - always these， and more， branching forth

    into numberless branches，

    Always the free range and diversity - always the continent

    of Democracy；

    Always the prairies， pastures， forests， vast cities， travelers， Kanada，

    the snows；

    Always these compact lands tied at the hips with the belt stringing

    the huge oval lakes；

    Always the West with strong native persons， the increasing density

    there， the habitans， friendly， threatening， ironical， scorning invaders；

    All sights， South， North， East - all deeds promiscuously done at

    all times，

    All characters， movements， growths， a few noticed， myriads unnoticed，

    Through Mannahatta's streets I walking， these things gathering，

    On interior rivers by night in the glare of pine knots， steam-boats

    wooding up，

    Sunlight by day on the valley of the Susquehanna， and on the

    valleys of the Potomac and Rappahannock， and the valleys of

    the Roanoke and Delaware，

    In their northerly wilds beasts of prey haunting the Adirondacks

    the hills， or lapping the Saginaw waters to drink，

    In a lonesome inlet a sheldrake lost from the flock， sitting on

    the water rocking silently，

    In farmers' barns oxen in the stable， their harvest labor done，

    they rest standing， they are too tired，

    Afar on arctic ice the she-walrus lying drowsily while her cubs

    play around，

    The hawk sailing where men have not yet sail'd， the farthest polar

    sea， ripply， crystalline， open， beyond the floes，

    White drift spooning ahead where the ship in the tempest dashes，

    On solid land what is done in cities as the bells strike midnight

    together，

    In primitive woods the sounds there also sounding， the howl of the

    wolf， the scream of the panther， and the hoarse bellow of the elk，

    In winter beneath the hard blue ice of Moosehead lake， in summer

    visible through the clear waters， the great trout swimming，

    In lower latitudes in warmer air in the Carolinas the large black

    buzzard floating slowly high beyond the tree tops，

    Below， the red cedar festoon'd with tylandria， the pines and

    cypresses growing out of the white sand that spreads far and flat，

    Rude boats descending the big Pedee， climbing plants， parasites with

    color'd flowers and berries enveloping huge trees，

    The waving drapery on the live-oak trailing long and low， noiselessly

    waved by the wind，

    The camp of Georgia wagoners just after dark， the supperfires and

    the cooking and eating by whites and negroes，

    Thirty or forty great wagons， the mules， cattle， horses， feeding

    from troughs，

    The shadows， gleams， up under the leaves of the old sycamore-trees，

    the flames with the black smoke from the pitch-pine curling and rising；

    Southern fishermen fishing， the sounds and inlets of North Carolina's

    coast， the shad-fishery and the herring-fishery， the large

    sweep-seines， the windlasses on shore work'd by horses， the

    clearing， curing， and packing-houses；

    Deep in the forest in piney woods turpentine dropping from the

    incisions in the trees， there are the turpentine works，

    There are the negroes at work in good health， the ground in all

    directions is cover'd with pine straw；

    In Tennessee and Kentucky slaves busy in the coalings， at the forge，

    by the furnace-blaze， or at the corn-shucking，

    In Virginia， the planter's son returning after a long absence， joyfully

    welcom'd and kiss'd by the aged mulatto nurse，

    On rivers boatmen safely moor'd at nightfall in their boats under

    shelter of high banks，

    Some of the younger men dance to the sound of the banjo or fiddle，

    others sit on the gunwale smoking and talking；

    Late in the afternoon the mocking-bird， the American mimic， singing

    in the Great Dismal Swamp，

    There are the greenish waters， the resinous odor， the plenteous moss，

    the cypress-tree， and the juniper-tree；

    Northward， young men of Mannahatta， the target company from

    an excursion returning home at evening， the musket-muzzles

    all bear bunches of flowers presented by women；

    Children at play， or on his father's lap a young boy fallen asleep，

    （how his lips move！ how he smiles in his sleep！）

    The scout riding on horseback over the plains west of the Mississippi，

    he ascends a knoll and sweeps his eyes around；

    California life， the miner， bearded， dress'd in his rude costume，

    the stanch California friendship， the sweet air， the graves one

    in passing meets solitary just aside the horse-path；

    Down in Texas the cotton-field， the negro-cabins， drivers driving

    mules or oxen before rude carts， cotton bales piled on banks

    and wharves；

    Encircling all， vast-darting up and wide， the American Soul，

    with equal hemispheres， one Love， one Dilation or Pride；

    In arriere the peace- talk with the Iroquois the aborigines， the

    calumet， the pipe of good-will， arbitration， and indorsement，