He never forgets that he is the poet of free America and of democracy; he encourages thwarted revolutionists with his hymns of hope. He even disregards his pulsing naturalistic inspiration that he may set forth a sort of democratic mythology.[1] But beneath the rhetorical and possibly ridiculous elements in this Promethean and Garibaldian phase of his poetry, there is a noble basis of natural generosity, of love for liberty, and of broad sympathy for those who cannot live as they desire to live.
He too, like all towering spirits, lived and moved in the pursuit of liberty:
From this hour I ordain myself loos’d of limits and imaginary lines,
Going where I list, my own master total and absolute,
Listening to others, considering well what they say.
Pausing, searching, receiving, contemplating,
Gently, but with undeniable will, divesting myself of the holds that would hold me.[2]
And he encourages rebellion in others also. So he writes, To a Foil’d European Revolutionaire:
Not songs of loyalty alone are these,
But songs of insurrection also.[3]
And he is
Lifted now and always against whoever scorning assumes to rule me.[4]
