Must I pass from my song for thee-- From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee, O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night? 21. Yet each I keep, and all; The song, the wondrous chant of the grey-brown bird, And the tallying chant, the echo aroused in my soul, With the lustrous and drooping star, with the countenance full of woe; With the lilac tali, and its blossoms of mastering odour; Comrades mine, and I in the midst, and their memory ever I keep--for the dead I loved so well; For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands--and this for his dear sake; Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul, With the holders holding my hand, nearing the call of the bird, There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim. [Footnote 1: "The evening star, which, as many may remember night after night, in the early part of that eventful spring, hung low in the west with unusual and tender brightness."--JOHN BURROUGHS.] _O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!_ (FOR THE DEATH OF LINCOLN.) 1. O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done! The ship has weathered every wrack, the prize we sought is won. The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring. But, O heart! heart! heart! Leave you not the little spot Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. 2. O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells! Rise up! for you the flag is flung, for you the bugle trills: For you bouquets and ribboned wreaths; for you the shores a-crowding: For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning. O Captain! dear father! This arm I push beneath you. It is some dream that on the deck You've fallen cold and dead! 3. My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still: My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will. But the ship, the ship is anchored safe, its voyage closed and done: From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won! Exult, O shores! and ring, O bells! But I, with silent tread, Walk the spot my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. _PIONEERS! O PIONEERS!_ 1. Come, my tan-faced children, Follow well in order, get your weapons ready; Have you your pistols? have you your sharp-edged axes? Pioneers! O pioneers! 2. For we cannot tarry here, We must march, my darlings, we must bear the brunt of danger, We, the youthful sinewy races, all the rest on us depend. Pioneers! O pioneers! 3. O you youths, Western youths, So impatient, full of action, full of manly pride and friendship, Plain I see you, Western youths, see you tramping with the foremost, Pioneers! O pioneers! 4.