III
Wanderer, wanderer, whither away?
What saith the evening unto thee?
"Wanderer, wanderer, hither, haste hither,
Into the glad-heart West with me!"
Saith the strong wind of the gold-green twilight,
Gathering out of the autumn hills,
"I am the word of the world's first dreamer
Who woke when Freedom walked on the hills.
"And the secret triumph from daring to doing,
From musing to marble, I will be,
Till the last fine fleck of the world is finished,
And Freedom shall walk alone by the sea.
"Who is thy heart's lord, who is thy hero?
Bruce or Cæsar or Charlemagne,
Hannibal, Olaf, Alaric, Roland?
Dare as they dared and the deed's done again!
"Here where they come of the habit immortal,
By the open road to the land of the Name,
Splendor and homage and wealth await thee
Of builded cities and bruited fame.
"Let loose the conquering toiler within thee;
Know the large rapture of deeds begun!
The joy of the hand that hews for beauty
Is the dearest solace beneath the sun."