Immigrants arriving, fifteen or twenty thousand in a
week,
The carts hauling goods—the manly race of drivers
of horses—the brown-faced sailors,
The summer-air, the bright sun shining, and the sailing
clouds aloft,
The winter snows, the sleigh-bells—the broken ice in
the river, passing along, up or down, with the
flood-tide or ebb-tide;
The mechanics of the city, the masters, well-formed,
beautiful-faced, looking you straight in the eyes;
Trottoirs thronged—vehicles—Broadway—the women—
the shops and shows,
The parades, processions, bugles playing, flags flying,
drums beating;
A million people—manners free and superb—open
voices—hospitality—the most courageous and
friendly young men;
The free city! no slaves! no owners of slaves!
The beautiful city! the city of hurried and sparkling
waters! the city of spires and masts!
The city nested in bays! my city!
The city of such women, I am mad to be with them!
I will return after death to be with them!
The city of such young men, I swear I cannot live
happy, without I often go talk, walk, eat, drink,
sleep, with them!
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