FEINBERG/WHITMAN LITERARY FILE POETRY FILE "Resurgemus" (1850). Clipping. Box 29 Folder 3 Includes A. MS. corrections & notations.[*1586*] 1884 September Resurgemus: Clipping of Poem with Marginalia. A. MS. (4p. 24 1/2 x 14 1/2 cm.) Written in ink, with corrections in pencil, and page crossed out with blue pencil on pp. 229-232 of To-Day, containing the poem by Whitman 'Resurgemus' on pp. 230-232, 9 words: [At top of p. 232:] ? To-Day Magazine London Sept. '84 [Beside title:] ? [After line 4:] blank line [*>-------*] [Beside line 8, marked for insertion:] And you - [*^*] [Diagonal line across p. 229]Resurgemus ("Europe, the 72d and 73d Years of These States" in 1860 and subsequent editions). First published in the New York Tribune in 1850. Whitman used the poem untitled in the first edition of Leaves of Grass (1855). Reprint page proofs of version published in London, edited by Whitman in 1884.? To-Day Magazine London Sept '84 230 TO-DAY ? Resurgemus. Suddenly, out of its stale and drowsy air —the air of slaves— Like lightning Europe leapt forth, Sombre, superb, and terrible, As Ahimoth, brother of Death. [*blank line*] God, 'twas delicious ! That brief, tight, glorious grip, Upon the throats of kings. [*And you-*] You liars, paid to defile the people, Mark you now : Not for numberless agonies, murders, lusts, For court thieving in its manifold mean forms, Worming from his simplicity, the poor man's wages, For many a promise sworn by royal lips, And broken, and laughed at in the breaking ; Then in their power, not for all these, Did a blow fall in personal revenge, Or a hair draggle in blood : The people scorned the ferocity of kings. But the sweetness of mercy brewed bitter destruction, And frightened rulers come back :AN UNSOCIAL SOCIALIST. 229 behaviour was most unmanly ; and I told you so ; and you could not deny it," she said. "You pretended that you--you pretended to have feelings--you tried to make me believe that----- Oh, I am a fool to talk to you : you know perfectly well what I mean." "Perfectly. I tried to make you believe that I was in love with you. How do you know that I was not ?" She disdained to answer ; but as he waited calmly she said, "You had not right to be." "That does not prove that I was not. Come, Agatha, you pretended to like me when you did not care two straws about me. You confessed as much in that fatal letter, which I have somewhere at home. It has a great rent right across it ; and the mark of her heel : she must have stamped on it in her rage, poor girl ! So that I can show your own hand for the very deception you accused me--without proof--of having practised on you." "You are clever, and can twist things. What pleasure does it give you to make me miserable ?" "Ha !" he exclaimed, in an abrupt, sardonic laugh. "I dont know : you bewitch me, I think." Agatha made no reply, but walked on quickly to the end of the conservatory, where the others were waiting for them. "Where have you been ; and what have you been doing all this time ?" said Jane, as Trefusis came up, hurrying uncomfortably at Agatha's heels. "I dont know what you call it ; but I call it perfectly disgraceful." Sir Charles reddened at his wife's bad taste ; and Trefusis replied gravely, "We have been admiring the orchids, and talking about them. Miss Wylie takes an interest in them." (To be continued.) RESURGEMUS. 231 Each comes in state, with his train, Hangman, priest, and tax-gatherer, Soldier, lawyer, and sycophant ; An appalling procession of locusts ; And the king struts grandly again. Yet behind all, lo, a Shape, Vague as the night, draped interminably, Head, front, and form, in scarlet folds, Whose face and eyes none may see Out of its robes, only this-- The red robes lifted by the arm, One finger pointed high over the top, Like the head of a snake appears. Meanwhile corpses lie in new-made graves, Bloody corpses of young men ; The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily, The bullets of tyrants are flying ; The creatures of power laugh aloud ; And all these things bear fruits, and they are good. Those corpses of young men, Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets, Those hearts pierced by the grey lead, Cold and motionless as they seem, Live elsewhere with undying vitality ; They live in other young men, O kings, They live in brothers, again ready to defy you ; They were purified by death, They were taught and exalted. Not a grave of those slaughtered ones, But is growing its seed of Freedom, In its turn to bear seed, Which the winds shall carry afar, and resow, Vol.II.--No. 3. New Series. 232 TO-DAY. And the rain nourish. Not a disembodied spirit, Can the weapon of tyrants let loose, But it shall stalk invisibly over the earth, Whispering, counselling, cautioning. Liberty ! let others despair of thee, But I will never despair of thee : Is the house shut ? Is the master away ? Nevertheless, be ready, be not weary of watching, He will surely return ; his messengers come anon. WALT WHITMAN.