Over the Western sea hither from Niphon come,

Courteous, the swart-cheek'd two-sworded envoys,

Leaning back in their open barouches, bare-headed, impassive,

Ride to-day through Manhattan.

Libertad! I do not know whether others behold what I behold,

In the procession along with the nobles of Niphon, the errand-bearers,

Bringing up the rear, hovering above, around, or in the ranks marching,

But I will sing you a song of what I behold Libertad.

When million-footed Manhattan unpent descends to her pavements,

When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the proud roar love,

When the round-mouth'd guns out of the smoke and smell I love

spit their salutes,

When the fire-flashing guns have fully alerted me, and

heaven-clouds canopy my city with a delicate thin haze,

When gorgeous the countless straight stems, the forests at the

wharves, thicken with colors,

When every ship richly drest carries her flag at the peak,

When pennants trail and street-festoons hang from the windows,

When Broadway is entirely given up to foot-passengers and

foot-standers, when the mass is densest,

When the facades of the houses are alive with people, when eyes

gaze riveted tens of thousands at a time,

When the guests from the islands advance, when the pageant moves

forward visible,

When the summons is made, when the answer that waited thousands

of years answers,

I too arising, answering, descend to the pavements, merge with the

crowd, and gaze with them.