110. Drum-Taps

Aroused and angry,
I thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war;
But soon my fingers fail’d me, my face droop’d, and I resign’d myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead.



1

FIRST, O songs, for a prelude,       
Lightly strike on the stretch’d tympanum, pride and joy in my city,       
How she led the rest to arms—how she gave the cue,       
How at once with lithe limbs, unwaiting a moment, she sprang;       
(O superb! O Manhattan, my own, my peerless!            5   
O strongest you in the hour of danger, in crisis! O truer than steel!)       
How you sprang! how you threw off the costumes of peace with indifferent hand;       
How your soft opera-music changed, and the drum and fife were heard in their stead;       
How you led to the war, (that shall serve for our prelude, songs of soldiers,)       
How Manhattan drum-taps led.     10   
     
2

Forty years had I in my city seen soldiers parading;       
Forty years as a pageant—till unawares, the Lady of this teeming and turbulent city,       
Sleepless amid her ships, her houses, her incalculable wealth,       
With her million children around her—suddenly,       
At dead of night, at news from the south,     15   
Incens’d, struck with clench’d hand the pavement.       
     
A shock electric—the night sustain’d it;       
Till with ominous hum, our hive at day-break pour’d out its myriads.       
     
From the houses then, and the workshops, and through all the doorways,       
Leapt they tumultuous—and lo! Manhattan arming.     20   
     
3

To the drum-taps prompt,       
The young men falling in and arming;       
The mechanics arming, (the trowel, the jack-plane, the blacksmith’s hammer, tost aside with precipitation;)       
The lawyer leaving his office, and arming—the judge leaving the court;       
The driver deserting his wagon in the street, jumping down, throwing the reins abruptly down on the horses’ backs;     25   
The salesman leaving the store—the boss, book-keeper, porter, all leaving;       
Squads gather everywhere by common consent, and arm;       
The new recruits, even boys—the old men show them how to wear their accoutrements—they buckle the straps carefully;       
Outdoors arming—indoors arming—the flash of the musket-barrels;       
The white tents cluster in camps—the arm’d sentries around—the sunrise cannon, and again at sunset;     30   
Arm’d regiments arrive every day, pass through the city, and embark from the wharves;       
(How good they look, as they tramp down to the river, sweaty, with their guns on their shoulders!       
How I love them! how I could hug them, with their brown faces, and their clothes and knapsacks cover’d with dust!)       
The blood of the city up—arm’d! arm’d! the cry everywhere;       
The flags flung out from the steeples of churches, and from all the public buildings and stores;     35   
The tearful parting—the mother kisses her son—the son kisses his mother;       
(Loth is the mother to part—yet not a word does she speak to detain him;)       
The tumultuous escort—the ranks of policemen preceding, clearing the way;       
The unpent enthusiasm—the wild cheers of the crowd for their favorites;       
The artillery—the silent cannons, bright as gold, drawn along, rumble lightly over the stones;     40   
(Silent cannons—soon to cease your silence!       
Soon, unlimber’d, to begin the red business;)       
All the mutter of preparation—all the determin’d arming;       
The hospital service—the lint, bandages, and medicines;       
The women volunteering for nurses—the work begun for, in earnest—no mere parade now;     45   
War! an arm’d race is advancing!—the welcome for battle—no turning away;       
War! be it weeks, months, or years—an arm’d race is advancing to welcome it.       
     
4

Mannahatta a-march!—and it’s O to sing it well!       
It’s O for a manly life in the camp!       
And the sturdy artillery!     50   
The guns, bright as gold—the work for giants—to serve well the guns:       
Unlimber them! no more, as the past forty years, for salutes for courtesies merely;       
Put in something else now besides powder and wadding.       
     
5

And you, Lady of Ships! you Mannahatta!       
Old matron of this proud, friendly, turbulent city!     55   
Often in peace and wealth you were pensive, or covertly frown’d amid all your children;       
But now you smile with joy, exulting old Mannahatta!

111. 1861



AARM’D year! year of the struggle!       
No dainty rhymes or sentimental love verses for you, terrible year!       
Not you as some pale poetling, seated at a desk, lisping cadenzas piano;       
But as a strong man, erect, clothed in blue clothes, advancing, carrying a rifle on your shoulder,       
With well-gristled body and sunburnt face and hands—with a knife in the belt at your side,            5   
As I heard you shouting loud—your sonorous voice ringing across the continent;       
Your masculine voice, O year, as rising amid the great cities,       
Amid the men of Manhattan I saw you, as one of the workmen, the dwellers in Manhattan;       
Or with large steps crossing the prairies out of Illinois and Indiana,       
Rapidly crossing the West with springy gait, and descending the Alleghanies;     10   
Or down from the great lakes, or in Pennsylvania, or on deck along the Ohio river;       
Or southward along the Tennessee or Cumberland rivers, or at Chattanooga on the mountain top,       
Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs, clothed in blue, bearing weapons, robust year;       
Heard your determin’d voice, launch’d forth again and again;       
Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipp’d cannon,     15   
I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.

112. Beat! Beat! Drums!



1

BEAT! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!       
Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force,       
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;       
Into the school where the scholar is studying;       
Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with his bride;            5   
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his grain;       
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums—so shrill you bugles blow.       
     
2

Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!       
Over the traffic of cities—over the rumble of wheels in the streets:       
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds;     10   
No bargainers’ bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—Would they continue?       
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?       
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?       
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow.       
     
3

Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow!     15   
Make no parley—stop for no expostulation;       
Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer;       
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;       
Let not the child’s voice be heard, nor the mother’s entreaties;       
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the hearses,     20   
So strong you thump, O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.

113. From Paumanok Starting



FROM Paumanock starting, I fly like a bird,       
Around and around to soar, to sing the idea of all;       
To the north betaking myself, to sing there arctic songs,       
To Kanada, till I absorb Kanada in myself—to Michigan then,       
To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs, (they are inimitable;)            5   
Then to Ohio and Indiana to sing theirs—to Missouri and Kansas and Arkansas, to sing theirs,       
To Tennessee and Kentucky—to the Carolinas and Georgia, to sing theirs,       
To Texas, and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere;       
To sing first, (to the tap of the war-drum, if need be,)       
The idea of all—of the western world, one and inseparable.     10   
And then the song of each member of These States.

114. Rise, O Days



1

RISE, O days, from your fathomless deeps, till you loftier, fiercer sweep!       
Long for my soul, hungering gymnastic, I devour’d what the earth gave me;       
Long I roam’d the woods of the north—long I watch’d Niagara pouring;       
I travel’d the prairies over, and slept on their breast—I cross’d the Nevadas, I cross’d the plateaus;       
I ascended the towering rocks along the Pacific, I sail’d out to sea;            5   
I sail’d through the storm, I was refresh’d by the storm;       
I watch’d with joy the threatening maws of the waves;       
I mark’d the white combs where they career’d so high, curling over;       
I heard the wind piping, I saw the black clouds;       
Saw from below what arose and mounted, (O superb! O wild as my heart, and powerful!)     10   
Heard the continuous thunder, as it bellow’d after the lightning;       
Noted the slender and jagged threads of lightning, as sudden and fast amid the din they chased each other across the sky;       
—These, and such as these, I, elate, saw—saw with wonder, yet pensive and masterful;       
All the menacing might of the globe uprisen around me;       
Yet there with my soul I fed—I fed content, supercilious.     15   
     
2

’Twas well, O soul! ’twas a good preparation you gave me!       
Now we advance our latent and ampler hunger to fill;       
Now we go forth to receive what the earth and the sea never gave us;       
Not through the mighty woods we go, but through the mightier cities;       
Something for us is pouring now, more than Niagara pouring;     20   
Torrents of men, (sources and rills of the Northwest, are you indeed inexhaustible?)       
What, to pavements and homesteads here—what were those storms of the mountains and sea?       
What, to passions I witness around me to-day? Was the sea risen?       
Was the wind piping the pipe of death under the black clouds?       
Lo! from deeps more unfathomable, something more deadly and savage;     25   
Manhattan, rising, advancing with menacing front—Cincinnati, Chicago, unchain’d;       
—What was that swell I saw on the ocean? behold what comes here!       
How it climbs with daring feet and hands! how it dashes!       
How the true thunder bellows after the lightning! how bright the flashes of lightning!       
How DEMOCRACY, with desperate vengeful port strides on, shown through the dark by those flashes of lightning!     30   
(Yet a mournful wail and low sob I fancied I heard through the dark,       
In a lull of the deafening confusion.)       
     
3

Thunder on! stride on, Democracy! strike with vengeful stroke!       
And do you rise higher than ever yet, O days, O cities!       
Crash heavier, heavier yet, O storms! you have done me good;     35   
My soul, prepared in the mountains, absorbs your immortal strong nutriment;       
—Long had I walk’d my cities, my country roads, through farms, only half-satisfied;       
One doubt, nauseous, undulating like a snake, crawl’d on the ground before me,       
Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft, ironically hissing low;       
—The cities I loved so well, I abandon’d and left—I sped to the certainties suitable to me;     40   
Hungering, hungering, hungering, for primal energies, and Nature’s dauntlessness,       
I refresh’d myself with it only, I could relish it only;       
I waited the bursting forth of the pent fire—on the water and air I waited long;       
—But now I no longer wait—I am fully satisfied—I am glutted;       
I have witness’d the true lightning—I have witness’d my cities electric;     45   
I have lived to behold man burst forth, and warlike America rise;       
Hence I will seek no more the food of the northern solitary wilds,       
No more on the mountains roam, or sail the stormy sea.

115. City of Ships



CITY of ships!       
(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!       
O the beautiful, sharp-bow’d steam-ships and sail-ships!)       
City of the world! (for all races are here;       
All the lands of the earth make contributions here;)            5   
City of the sea! city of hurried and glittering tides!       
City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and out, with eddies and foam!       
City of wharves and stores! city of tall façades of marble and iron!       
Proud and passionate city! mettlesome, mad, extravagant city!       
Spring up, O city! not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself, warlike!     10   
Fear not! submit to no models but your own, O city!       
Behold me! incarnate me, as I have incarnated you!       
I have rejected nothing you offer’d me—whom you adopted, I have adopted;       
Good or bad, I never question you—I love all—I do not condemn anything;       
I chant and celebrate all that is yours—yet peace no more;     15   
In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine;       
War, red war, is my song through your streets, O city!

116. The Centenarian’s Story



GIVE me your hand, old Revolutionary;       
The hill-top is nigh—but a few steps, (make room, gentlemen;)       
Up the path you have follow’d me well, spite of your hundred and extra years;       
You can walk, old man, though your eyes are almost done;       
Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me.            5   
     
Rest, while I tell what the crowd around us means;       
On the plain below, recruits are drilling and exercising;       
There is the camp—one regiment departs to-morrow;       
Do you hear the officers giving the orders?       
Do you hear the clank of the muskets?     10   
     
Why, what comes over you now, old man?       
Why do you tremble, and clutch my hand so convulsively?       
The troops are but drilling—they are yet surrounded with smiles;       
Around them, at hand, the well-drest friends, and the women;       
While splendid and warm the afternoon sun shines down;     15   
Green the midsummer verdure, and fresh blows the dallying breeze,       
O’er proud and peaceful cities, and arm of the sea between.       
But drill and parade are over—they march back to quarters;       
Only hear that approval of hands! hear what a clapping!       
     
As wending, the crowds now part and disperse—but we, old man,     20   
Not for nothing have I brought you hither—we must remain;       
You to speak in your turn, and I to listen and tell.       
     
THE CENTENARIAN.

When I clutch’d your hand, it was not with terror;       
But suddenly, pouring about me here, on every side,       
And below there where the boys were drilling, and up the slopes they ran,     25   
And where tents are pitch’d, and wherever you see, south and south-east and south-west,       
Over hills, across lowlands, and in the skirts of woods,       
And along the shores, in mire (now fill’d over), came again, and suddenly raged,       
As eighty-five years agone, no mere parade receiv’d with applause of friends,       
But a battle, which I took part in myself—aye, long ago as it is, I took part in it,     30   
Walking then this hill-top, this same ground.       
     
Aye, this is the ground;       
My blind eyes, even as I speak, behold it re-peopled from graves;       
The years recede, pavements and stately houses disappear;       
Rude forts appear again, the old hoop’d guns are mounted;     35   
I see the lines of rais’d earth stretching from river to bay;       
I mark the vista of waters, I mark the uplands and slopes:       
Here we lay encamp’d—it was this time in summer also.       
     
As I talk, I remember all—I remember the Declaration;       
It was read here—the whole army paraded—it was read to us here;     40   
By his staff surrounded, the General stood in the middle—he held up his unsheath’d sword,       
It glitter’d in the sun in full sight of the army.       
     
’Twas a bold act then;       
The English war-ships had just arrived—the king had sent them from over the sea;       
We could watch down the lower bay where they lay at anchor,     45   
And the transports, swarming with soldiers.       
     
A few days more, and they landed—and then the battle.       
     
Twenty thousand were brought against us,       
A veteran force, furnish’d with good artillery.       
     
I tell not now the whole of the battle;     50   
But one brigade, early in the forenoon, order’d forward to engage the red-coats;       
Of that brigade I tell, and how steadily it march’d,       
And how long and how well it stood, confronting death.       
     
Who do you think that was, marching steadily, sternly confronting death?       
It was the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong,     55   
Rais’d in Virginia and Maryland, and many of them known personally to the General.       
     
Jauntily forward they went with quick step toward Gowanus’ waters;       
Till of a sudden, unlook’d for, by defiles through the woods, gain’d at night,       
The British advancing, wedging in from the east, fiercely playing their guns,       
That brigade of the youngest was cut off, and at the enemy’s mercy.     60   
     
The General watch’d them from this hill;       
They made repeated desperate attempts to burst their environment;       
Then drew close together, very compact, their flag flying in the middle;       
But O from the hills how the cannon were thinning and thinning them!       
     
It sickens me yet, that slaughter!     65   
I saw the moisture gather in drops on the face of the General;       
I saw how he wrung his hands in anguish.       
     
Meanwhile the British maneuver’d to draw us out for a pitch’d battle;       
But we dared not trust the chances of a pitch’d battle.       
     
We fought the fight in detachments;     70   
Sallying forth, we fought at several points—but in each the luck was against us;       
Our foe advancing, steadily getting the best of it, push’d us back to the works on this hill;       
Till we turn’d, menacing, here, and then he left us.       
     
That was the going out of the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong;       
Few return’d—nearly all remain in Brooklyn.     75   
     
That, and here, my General’s first battle;       
No women looking on, nor sunshine to bask in—it did not conclude with applause;       
Nobody clapp’d hands here then.       
     
But in darkness, in mist, on the ground, under a chill rain,       
Wearied that night we lay, foil’d and sullen;     80   
While scornfully laugh’d many an arrogant lord, off against us encamp’d,       
Quite within hearing, feasting, klinking wine-glasses together over their victory.       
     
So, dull and damp, and another day;       
But the night of that, mist lifting, rain ceasing,       
Silent as a ghost, while they thought they were sure of him, my General retreated.     85   
     
I saw him at the river-side,       
Down by the ferry, lit by torches, hastening the embarcation;       
My General waited till the soldiers and wounded were all pass’d over;       
And then, (it was just ere sunrise,) these eyes rested on him for the last time.       
     
Every one else seem’d fill’d with gloom;     90   
Many no doubt thought of capitulation.       
     
But when my General pass’d me,       
As he stood in his boat, and look’d toward the coming sun,       
I saw something different from capitulation.       
     
TERMINUS.

Enough—the Centenarian’s story ends;     95   
The two, the past and present, have interchanged;       
I myself, as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now speaking.       
     
And is this the ground Washington trod?       
And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters he cross’d,       
As resolute in defeat, as other generals in their proudest triumphs?    100   
     
It is well—a lesson like that, always comes good;       
I must copy the story, and send it eastward and westward;       
I must preserve that look, as it beam’d on you, rivers of Brooklyn.       
     
See! as the annual round returns, the phantoms return;       
It is the 27th of August, and the British have landed;    105   
The battle begins, and goes against us—behold! through the smoke, Washington’s face;       
The brigade of Virginia and Maryland have march’d forth to intercept the enemy;       
They are cut off—murderous artillery from the hills plays upon them;       
Rank after rank falls, while over them silently droops the flag,       
Baptized that day in many a young man’s bloody wounds,    110   
In death, defeat, and sisters’, mothers’ tears.       
     
Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn! I perceive you are more valuable than your owners supposed;       
Ah, river! henceforth you will be illumin’d to me at sunrise with something besides the sun.       
     
Encampments new! in the midst of you stands an encampment very old;       
Stands forever the camp of the dead brigade.    115

117. An Army Corps on the March



WITH its cloud of skirmishers in advance,       
With now the sound of a single shot, snapping like a whip, and now an irregular volley,       
The swarming ranks press on and on, the dense brigades press on;       
Glittering dimly, toiling under the sun—the dust-cover’d men,       
In columns rise and fall to the undulations of the ground,            5   
With artillery interspers’d—the wheels rumble, the horses sweat,       
As the army corps advances.

118. Cavalry Crossing a Ford



A LINE in long array, where they wind betwixt green islands;       
They take a serpentine course—their arms flash in the sun—Hark to the musical clank;       
Behold the silvery river—in it the splashing horses, loitering, stop to drink;       
Behold the brown-faced men—each group, each person, a picture—the negligent rest on the saddles;       
Some emerge on the opposite bank—others are just entering the ford—while,            5   
Scarlet, and blue, and snowy white,       
The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind.

119. Bivouac on a Mountain Side



I SEE before me now, a traveling army halting;       
Below, a fertile valley spread, with barns, and the orchards of summer;       
Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt in places, rising high;       
Broken, with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall shapes, dingily seen;       
The numerous camp-fires scatter’d near and far, some away up on the mountain;            5   
The shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, large-sized flickering;       
And over all, the sky—the sky! far, far out of reach, studded, breaking out, the eternal stars.