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THE WOUND-DRESSER.

1

AN old man bending I come among new faces,

Years looking backward resuming in answer to children,

Come tell us old man, as from young men and maidens that love          me,

(Arous'd and angry, I'd 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;)

Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these          chances,

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Of unsurpass'd heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was          equally brave;)

Now be witness again, paint the mightiest armies of earth,

Of those armies so rapid so wondrous what saw you to tell us?

What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics,

Of hard-fought engagements or sieges tremendous what deepest          remains?

2

O maidens and young men I love and that love me,

What you ask of my days those the strangest and sudden your          talking recalls,

Soldier alert I arrive after a long march cover'd with sweat and          dust,

In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in          the rush of successful charge,

Enter the captur'd works—yet lo, like a swift-running river they          fade,

Pass and are gone they fade—I dwell not on soldiers' perils or          soldiers' joys,

(Both I remember well—many the hardships, few the joys, yet I          was content.)

But in silence, in dreams' projections,

While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on,

So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off          the sand,

With hinged knees returning I enter the doors, (while for you up          there,

Whoever you are, follow without noise and be of strong heart.)

Bearing the bandages, water and sponge,

Straight and swift to my wounded I go,

Where they lie on the ground after the battle brought in,

Where their priceless blood reddens the grass the ground,

Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof'd hospital,

To the long rows of cots up and down each side I return,

To each and all one after another I draw near, not one do I miss,

An attendant follows holding a tray, he carries a refuse pail,

Soon to be fill'd with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and fill'd          again.

I onward go, I stop,

With hinged knees and steady hand to dress wounds,

I am firm with each, the pangs are sharp yet unavoidable,

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One turns to me his appealing eyes—poor boy! I never knew          you,

Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that          would save you.

3

On, on I go, (open doors of time! open hospital doors!)

The crush'd head I dress, (poor crazed hand tear not the bandage          away,)

The neck of the cavalry-man with the bullet through and through          I examine,

Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life          struggles hard,

(Come sweet death! be persuaded O beautiful death!

In mercy come quickly.)

From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand,

I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter          and blood,

Back on his pillow the soldier bends with curv'd neck and side-          falling head,

His eyes are closed, his face is pale, he dares not look on the          bloody stump,

And has not yet look'd on it.

I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep,

But a day or two more, for see the frame all wasted and sinking,

And the yellow-blue countenance see.

I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet-wound,

Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sicken-          ing, so offensive,

While the attendant stands behind aside me holding the tray and          pail.

I am faithful, I do not give out,

The fractur'd thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen,

These and more I dress with impassive hand, (yet deep in my          breast a fire, a burning flame.)

4

Thus in silence in dreams' projections,

Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals,

The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand,

I sit by the restless all the dark night, some are so young,

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Some suffer so much, I recall the experience sweet and sad,

(Many a soldier's loving arms about this neck have cross'd and          rested,

Many a soldier's kiss dwells on these bearded lips.)

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