Responsive to our summons，
Or rather to her long-nurs'd inclination1，
Join'd with an irresistible2， natural gravitation，
She comes！ I hear the rustling3 of her gown，
I scent4 the odor of her breath's delicious fragrance5，
I mark her step pine， her curious eyes a-turning， rolling，
Upon this very scene.
The dame6 of dames7！ can I believe then，
Those ancient temples， sculptures classic， could none of
them retain her？
Nor shades of Virgil and Dante， nor myriad8 memories，
poems， old associations， magnetize and hold on to her？
But that she's left them all - and here？
Yes， if you will allow me to say so，
I， my friends， if you do not， can plainly see her，
The same undying soul of earth's， activity's， beauty's，
heroism's expression，
Out from her evolutions hither come， ended the strata9 of
her former themes，
Hidden and cover'd by to-day's， foundation of to-day's，
Ended， deceas'd through time， her voice by Castaly's fountain，
Silent the broken-lipp'd Sphynx in Egypt， silent all those
century-baffling tombs，
Ended for aye the epics10 of Asia's， Europe's helmeted warriors11，
ended the primitive12 call of the muses13，
Calliope's call forever closed， Clio， Melpomene， Thalia dead，
Ended the stately rhythmus of Una and Oriana， ended the quest
of the Holy Graal，
Jerusalem a handful of ashes blown by the wind， extinct，
The Crusaders' streams of shadowy midnight troops sped with
the sunrise，
Amadis， Tancred， utterly14 gone， Charlemagne， Roland， Oliver
gone，
Palmerin， ogre， departed， vanish'd the turrets15 that Usk from
its waters reflected，
Arthur vanish'd with all his knights16， Merlin and Lancelot and
Galahad， all gone， dissolv'd utterly like an exhalation；
Pass'd！ pass'd！ for us， forever pass'd， that once so mighty17
world， now void， inanimate， phantom18 world，
Embroider'd， dazzling， foreign world， with all its gorgeous
legends， myths，
Its kings and castles proud， its priests and warlike lords
and courtly dames，
Pass'd to its charnel vault19， coffin'd with crown and armor on，
Blazon'd with Shakspere's purple page，
And dirged by Tennyson's sweet sad rhyme.
I say I see， my friends， if you do not， the illustrious emigr，
（having it is true in her day， although the same， changed，
journey'd considerable，）
Making directly for this rendezvous， vigorously clearing a
path for herself， striding through the confusion，
By thud of machinery and shrill steam-whistle undismay'd，
Bluff'd not a bit
