Published Works
In Whitman's Hand
Life & Letters
Commentary
Resources
Pictures & Sound
About the Archive
Published Works
Books
contents
|
previous
|
next
View Page 5a
View Page 6a
View Page 7a
contents
|
previous
|
next
View Page 5a
DRUM-TAPS.
| 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! |
|
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 pre-
lude, songs of soldiers,) |
| How Manhattan drum-taps led. |
| 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, |
| Incens'd, struck with clench'd hand the pavement. |
| 3 A shock electric—the night sustain'd it; |
|
Till with ominous hum, our hive at day-break, pour'd
out its myriads. |
View Page 6a
|
4
From the houses then, and the workshops, and
through all the doorways, |
| Leapt they tumultuous—and lo! Manhattan arming. |
| 5 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 precipi- tation;) |
|
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; |
|
The salesman leaving the store—the boss, book-keeper,
porter, all leaving; |
|
Squads gathering everywhere by common consent, and
arming; |
|
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; |
|
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 cov- er'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; |
|
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;) |
View Page 7a
|
The tumultuous escort—the ranks of policemen preceed-
ing, 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; |
| (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 medi-
cines; |
|
The women volunteering for nurses—the work begun
for, in earnest—no mere parade now; |
|
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. |
| 6 Mannahatta a-march!—and it's O to sing it well! |
| It's O for a manly life in the camp! |
| 7 And the sturdy artillery! |
|
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. |
| 8 And you, Lady of Ships! you Mannahatta! |
|
Old matron of the city! this proud, friendly, turbulent
city! |
|
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! |