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Stedman and Hutchinson, comps. A Library of American Literature:
An Anthology in Eleven Volumes. 1891.
Vols. IX–XI: Literature of the Republic, Part IV., 1861–1889


By Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803–1882)

[From Poems. Revised Edition. Edited by J. E. Cabot. 1884.]

LONG I followed happy guides,

I could never reach their sides;

Their step is forth, and, ere the day,

Breaks up their leaguer, and away.

Keen my sense, my heart was young,

Right good-will my sinews strung,

But no speed of mine avails

To hunt upon their shining trails.

On and away, their hasting feet

Make the morning proud and sweet;

Flowers they strew,—I catch the scent;

Or tone of silver instrument

Leaves on the wind melodious trace;

Yet I could never see their face.

On eastern hills I see their smokes,

Mixed with mist by distant lochs.

I met many travellers

Who the road had surely kept;

They saw not my fine revellers,—

These had crossed them while they slept.

Some had heard their fair report,

In the country or the court.

Fleetest couriers alive

Never yet could once arrive,

As they went or they returned,

At the house where these sojourned.

Sometimes their strong speed they slacken,

Though they are not overtaken;

In sleep their jubilant troop is near,—

I tuneful voices overhear;

It may be in wood or waste,—

At unawares ’tis come and past.

Their near camp my spirit knows

By signs gracious as rainbows.

I thenceforward and long after,

Listen for their harp-like laughter,

And carry in my heart, for days,

Peace that hallows rudest ways.