New-York tribune., 1871-09-09
THE BATTLE or THE BARDs

We have never regretted 30 much "A yesfer-
day the limited capacity Of eight pages which COM
peed US 70 omit some portions Of Mr. whtmsn's re-
msrksble poem. II was perhaps the most rsmart able
which hss ever been delivered before an Ipeus,r,.
Assembly and We arc assured by the officers Of tbs
Signal Service that II is not probable tb.t an
other suoh disturbance Of the eIementa win ,sr.
place this century. 10 Is this consideration which m.
ducss 10 print the following choice extract which wa
yesterday ransomed st great expense from the hand. ~
tho Celtic lady who sweeps out the onace. The Might
Editor has been severely censured for ssugterins this
exquisite moroccan and compared to tho base Judesu
who threwa pearl away richer than ell his agate.
WALT WHITMAN.
who was 1t sang Of the procreant urge, recounted
sextillions Of subjectsi
Who but myself, the Kosmos yawpins abroad con-
cerned not at all about either the effect or the
answer;
Straddng the Continent gathering into my hairy
bosom the growtbs, whatever they were, and
nothing sighted nothing forgotten
AHez am the One the only One, and this is my
Chant Democratique.
Where is he that heard not, and she that heard not
and they that heard not, before and during and
afterf
All is wholesome and clean, and al is the efluent
strain impeccable sweet of the casper of com
rades.
II there were anything else, I would sing It;
But there is nothing, jot TITLE least little
scraping of subject matter:
No, there is nothing at all, and all Of you know it,
I'VE mako room for further portions Of our report Of
the opening of the Institute, which crowded
yesterdayI
When Mr.. Whitman's voice had died away among the
patent pumps and cornuters which numbered the vast
amphitheater, slight but elegantly formed gentleman
lounged forward from the regsrstors and said
In q voice OF singular sweetness,
"Ar this free hghti"
His face was the face Raphael and his boo were the
boots Of Cinderella. His black cilrls fell damply over
hgh pale brow but not materially Injured by tho
fall An enormous diamond the dying gift OF Pinky the
Blk, whom he had tenderiy shot In church ono day ri
Sandy Bar for being hsltsecond out Of time on the
ssssrsa his By one Of sSss
but his mustaehe was dyed by Day Martin. ,
"ve hesrd , he sOnnSsa putting ms nara ofsina
Ill jest chiPin. Pm from Roaring Camp near skunk.
know anything" He read with exquisite expression the
following:
WhOi Well-comin' so suddent
Tm hardly ready to say
know but I'd rather you would MT
Put it to me just that way.
Not that my stripe is modest
That was rubbed off long ago:
And hare been questioned the oldest
And Pm not altogether slow.
COme,-set up to this here table!
You!-bring us two more beersl
Could MT put it as q fable.
Sich as boy often hears I
You know every gardner mulchos
Round some particular tree:
Men read, in the deepest gulches
And so-they we found out me!
Twas cuttin' queer sort o. capers.
SO the folks out there said;
But ask you to look in the papers,
And see what stuff 8 most read.
Why, Jim the very way met you
People knows, far and near
Knows from my tellin-and yet YOU
Ask me who's first! It's queer.
Hang it what's the use O. beatin'
Round the bush in this here wayi
And you doin' all the treatin',
And me with nothing to say!
Here's to US this way can show it,
If you have MT already guessed
We re drnkin' the health O. the poet
That's lattened out all the rest
Here long, lank, farmerlOOking man, with travel.
stained garments Of Kentucky jeans weather-beaten
fsse, rough with two days of szled beard enormous
brown hands and wrists protrudng from tho abort COAT
sleeves and general air Of melancholy and tobacco
about him, souching to the platform, and taxing
on has tatterec fur cap, ssid to the President:
"GooA morning, Jedge! drapped In to take o hand
long the other poets but amt got better
this, reckon III skeet back to spunky Pint Why
Jedgel my little Gsbe-hes at school at Hell's Bend in
MagoOpin Codogg skin ef he can't sing the socks