THE FLIGHT OF THE EAGLE 191 
than the old. But I do not propose to go over the 
whole list here; I only wish to indicate that the 
absorption is well commenced abroad, and that prob- 
ably her poet will at last reach America by way of 
those far-off, roundabout channels. The old mother 
will first masticate and moisten the food which is 
still too tough for her offspring. 
When I first fell in with “‘ Leaves of Grass” I 
was taken by isolated passages scattered here and 
there through the poems; these I seized upon, and 
gave myself no concern about the rest. Single lines 
in it often went to the bottom of the questions that 
were vexing me. The following, though less here 
than when encountered in the frame of mind which 
the poet begets in you, curiously settled and strati- 
fied a certain range of turbid fluctuating inquiry: 
“There was never any more inception than there is now, — 
Nor any more youth or age than there is now; 
And will never be any more perfection than there is now, 
Nor any more heaven or hell than there is now.”’ 
These lines, also, early had an attraction for me I 
could not define, and were of great service: — 
** Pleasantly and well-suited I walk, 
Whither I walk I cannot define, but I know it is good, 
The whole universe indicates that it is good, 
The past and the present indicate that it is good.’’ 
In the following episode, too, there was to me 
something far deeper than the words or story: — 
“The runaway slave came to my house and stopt outside; 
I heard his motions crackling the twigs of the wood-pile; 
Through the swung half-door of the kitchen I saw him limpsy 
and weak, 
