And in regions far, Such heroes bring ye forth, As those from whom we came....
The nation being established conceives the empire. The race, born of the romance of empire and nourished upon the adventure of freedom, turns to the wilderness.
Beyond these eastern mountains, the adventure of freedom is resumed, and the romance of empire lives anew!
[_Freedom turns at the shout and the music begins a soft, wild march theme. Suddenly possessed again, Freedom evokes the Western migration. As she begins to speak the first of it begins: a few timorous stragglers who appear from the trees at the left of the stage and peer up at her. Her gestures sweep them across the scene and they come, stopping here and there to build their camp fires. At the end of her harangue, five or six groups have spaced themselves along the line of the forestage, and from each group and its camp fire rises a thin column of smoke so that the varied and splendid processional of adventure which is to come will be seen behind this delicate colonnade._]
Out of the east, Into the west, A vision of empire, my people, A vision of rivers and prairies, Of western mountains and a western ocean. And of a wider Freedom! New cities sleep unborn On the shores of the lakes and the rivers, Cities to be erected In a loftier image of Freedom, Cities, whence new generations, Forgetful of all save courage, Shall in their turn set out Into further western regions, Building cities and cities, Building always for Freedom, Building, renewing, creating.... Westward, westward, and westward, Over the walls of the mountains, Over the blight of the desert, To the urgent, star-scattered horizon, Where the stars and the sun and the moon Rise into the wind and the heavens, Out of the western ocean, Out of the west and the east, People, my people, set forward, For Freedom! For Freedom! For Freedom!
[_With this, the musical accompaniment to Freedom’s words resolves itself into a triumphal march and the full bulk of the procession appears crossing from left to right of the stage. First are small wagons, so light you might almost carry them, as Birkbeck said of them, “yet strong enough to bear a good load of bedding, utensils and provisions and a swarm of young citizens.” Others have two horses and, sometimes, a cow or so. Other wagons are covered with canvas and blankets. There are Conestoga wagons and prairie schooners with herds of stock and sheep and the crowd of emigrants is gaily dressed as any gang of gipsies, red-shirted men, blue and yellow-skirted women, bright clothes for the children and bright blankets. And a great light grows up on the right of the stage into which this procession moves and all the while the circuit riders and hunters scatter through the crowd on their respective, mimed businesses. At the same time, shouting over the music, the two Spokesmen and the Choir have maintained a steady crescendo comment from the “Pioneers, O Pioneers!” of Walt Whitman._]