Turn O Libertad, for the war is over,
From it and all henceforth expanding, doubting no more, resolute,
sweeping the world,
Turn from lands retrospective recording proofs of the past,
From the singers that sing the trailing glories of the past,
From the chants of the feudal world, the triumphs of kings, slavery,
caste,
Turn to the world, the triumphs reserv'd and to come--give up that
backward world,
Leave to the singers of hitherto, give them the trailing past,
But what remains remains for singers for you--wars to come are for
you,
(Lo, how the wars of the past have duly inured to you, and the wars
of the present also inure;)
Then turn, and be not alarm'd O Libertad--turn your undying face,
To where the future, greater than all the past,
Is swiftly, surely preparing for you.



TO THE LEAVEN'D SOIL THEY TROD.


To the leaven'd soil they trod calling I sing for the last,
(Forth from my tent emerging for good, loosing, untying the
tent-ropes,)
In the freshness the forenoon air, in the far-stretching circuits and
vistas again to peace restored,
To the fiery fields emanative and the endless vistas beyond, to the
South and the North,