Drum-Taps and Sequel to Drum-Taps

DRUM-TAPS.

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- 
 tationprecipitaion;) 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;)   [ begin page 7 ]ppp.01865.013.jpg 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.

SHUT NOT YOUR DOORS TO ME PROUD LIBRARIES.

CAVALRY CROSSING A FORD.

SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAY-BREAK.

POET.

Fresh and rosy red, the sun is mounting high; On floats the sea in distant blue, careering through its  
 channels; On floats the wind over the breast of the sea, setting in  
 toward land; The great steady wind from west and west-by-south, Floating so buoyant, with milk-white foam on the waters. But I am not the sea, nor the red sun; I am not the wind, with girlish laughter; Not the immense wind which strengthens—not the  
 wind which lashes; Not the spirit that ever lashes its own body to terror and  
 death:   [ begin page 11 ]ppp.01865.017.jpg But I am of that which unseen comes and sings, sings, 
 sings, Which babbles in brooks and scoots in showers on the  
 land; Which the birds know in the woods, mornings and  
 evenings, And the shore-sands know, and the hissing wave, and  
 that banner and pennant, Aloft there flapping and flapping.

FATHER.

Child of mine, you fill me with anguish; To be that pennant would be too fearful;   [ begin page 14 ]ppp.01865.020.jpg Little you know what it is this day, and henceforth  
 forever; It is to gain nothing, but risk and defy everything; Forward to stand in front of wars—and O, such wars! 
 —what have you to do with them? With passions of demons, slaughter, premature death?

POET. (Finale.)

My limbs, my veins dilate; The blood of the world has fill'd me full—my theme is  
 clear at last: —Banner so broad, advancing out of the night, I sing  
 you haughty and resolute; I burst through where I waited long, too long, deafen'd  
 and blinded; My sight, my hearing and tongue, are come to me, (a  
 little child taught me;) I hear from above, O pennant of war, your ironical call  
 and demand; Insensate! insensate! (yet I at any rate chant you,) O  
 banner! Not houses of peace are you, nor any nor all their pros- 
 perity, (if need be, you shall have every one of 
 those houses to destroy them; You thought not to destroy those valuable houses, stand- 
 ing fast, full of comfort, built with money; May they stand fast, then? Not an hour, unless you, 
 above them and all, stand fast;) —O banner! not money so precious are you, nor farm  
 produce you, nor the material good nutriment, Nor excellent stores, nor landed on wharves from the  
 ships; Not the superb ships, with sail-power or steam-power, 
 fetching and carrying cargoes, Nor machinery, vehicles, trade, nor revenues,—But  
 you, as henceforth I see you, Running up out of the night, bringing your cluster of  
 stars, (ever-enlarging stars;) Divider of day-break you, cutting the air, touch'd by  
 the sun, measuring the sky, (Passionately seen and yearn'd for by one poor little  
 child, While others remain busy, or smartly talking, forever  
 teaching thrift, thrift;) O you up there! O pennant! where you undulate like  
 a snake, hissing so curious,   [ begin page 16 ]ppp.01865.022.jpg Out of reach—an idea only—yet furiously fought for, 
 risking bloody death—loved by me! So loved! O you banner leading the day, with stars  
 brought from the night! Valueless, object of eyes, over all and demanding all—  
 O banner and pennant! I too leave the rest—great as it is, it is nothing—  
 houses, machines are nothing—I see them not; I see but you, O warlike pennant! O banner so broad, 
 with stripes, I sing you only, Flapping up there in the wind.

BY THE BIVOUAC'S FITFUL FLAME.

1861.

FROM PAUMANOK STARTING I FLY LIKE A BIRD.

BEGINNING MY STUDIES.

THE CENTENARIAN'S STORY.

VOLUNTEER OF 1861, (At Washington Park, Brooklyn, assisting the Centenarian.)

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. 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? Why, what comes over you now, old man? Why do you tremble, and clutch my hand so convul- 
 sively? 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;   [ begin page 20 ]ppp.01865.026.jpg Green the midsummer verdure, and fresh blows the dal- 
 lying breeze, O'er proud and peaceful cities, and arm of the sea be- 
 tween. But drill and parade are over—they march back to  
 quarters; Only hear that approval of hands! hear what a clap- 
 ping! As wending, the crowds now part and disperse—but  
 we, old man, 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, 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 a-gone, 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, 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 disap- 
 pear:   [ begin page 21 ]ppp.01865.027.jpg Rude forts appear again, the old hoop'd guns are  
 mounted; 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 Declara- 
 tion: It was read here—the whole army paraded—it was  
 read to us here; By his staff surrounded, the general stood in the mid- 
 dle—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, 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; 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, stern- 
 ly confronting death? It was the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand  
 strong,   [ begin page 22 ]ppp.01865.028.jpg 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. 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! 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; 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 young- 
 est men, two thousand strong; Few return'd—nearly all remain in Brooklyn.   [ begin page 23 ]ppp.01865.029.jpg 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; 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. I saw him at the river-side, Down by the ferry, lit by torches, hastening the embar- 
 cation; 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; 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; The two, the past and present, have interchanged; I myself, as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, 
 am now speaking.   [ begin page 24 ]ppp.01865.030.jpg 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? It is well—a lesson like that, always comes good; I must copy the story, and send it eastward and west- 
 ward; 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; 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, 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.

PIONEERS! O PIONEERS!

QUICKSAND YEARS THAT WHIRL ME I KNOW NOT WHITHER.

THE DRESSER.

On, on I go—(open, doors of time! open, hospital  
 doors!)   [ begin page 33 ]ppp.01865.039.jpg 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.)

Thus in silence, in dream's projections, Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hos- 
 pitals;   [ begin page 34 ]ppp.01865.040.jpg The hurt and the wounded I pacify with soothing hand, I sit by the restless all the dark night—some are so  
 young; 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.)

WHEN I HEARD THE LEARN'D ASTRONOMER.

RISE O DAYS FROM YOUR FATHOMLESS DEEPS

3

Thunder on! stride on Democracy! strike with vengeful  
 stroke! And do you rise higher than ever yet, O days, O cities!   [ begin page 37 ]ppp.01865.043.jpg Crash heavier, heavier yet, O storms! you have done  
 me good; My soul, prepared in the mountains, absorbs your im- 
 mortal 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; 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 lighting—I have witness'd  
 my cities electric; I have lived to behold man burst forth, and warlike  
 America rise; Hence I will seek no more the food of the northern soli- 
 tary wilds, No more on the mountains roam, or sail the stormy sea.

A CHILD'S AMAZE.

BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!

COME UP FROM THE FIELDS FATHER.

CITY OF SHIPS.

MOTHER AND BABE.

VIGIL STRANGE I KEPT ON THE FIELD ONE NIGHT.

VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night, When you, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side  
 that day, One look I but gave, which your dear eyes return'd, 
 with a look I shall never forget; One touch of your hand to mine, O boy, reach'd up as  
 you lay on the ground; Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested  
 battle; Till late in the night reliev'd, to the place at last again I  
 made my way; Found you in death so cold, dear comrade—found your  
 body, son of responding kisses, (never again on  
 earth responding;) Bared your face in the starlight—curious the scene—  
 cool blew the moderate night-wind; Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me  
 the battle-field spreading; Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet, there in the fragrant  
 silent night; But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh—Long, 
 long I gazed; Then on the earth partially reclining, sat by your side, 
 leaning my chin in my hands; Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with  
 you, dearest comrade—Not a tear, not a word; Vigil of silence, love and death—vigil for you, my son  
 and my soldier, As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones up- 
 ward stole; Vigil final for you, brave boy, (I could not save you, 
 swift was your death,   [ begin page 43 ]ppp.01865.049.jpg I faithfully loved you and cared for you living—I think  
 we shall surely meet again;) Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the  
 dawn appear'd, My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his  
 form, Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head, 
 and carefully under feet; And there and then, and bathed by the rising sun, my 
 son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I de- 
 posited; Ending my vigil strange with that—vigil of night and  
 battle-field dim; Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth  
 responding;) Vigil for comrade swiftly slain—vigil I never forget, 
 how as day brighten'd, I rose from the chill ground, and folded my soldier well  
 in his blanket, And buried him where he fell.

BATHED IN WAR'S PERFUME.

A MARCH IN THE RANKS HARD-PREST, AND THE ROAD UNKNOWN.

A MARCH in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown; A route through a heavy wood, with muffled steps in the  
 darkness; Our army foil'd with loss severe, and the sullen remnant  
 retreating; Till after midnight glimmer upon us, the lights of a  
 dim-lighted building; We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the  
 dim-lighted building; 'Tis a large old church, at the crossing roads—'tis now  
 an impromptu hospital; —Entering but for a minute, I see a sight beyond all  
 the pictures and poems ever made: Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving  
 candles and lamps, And by one great pitchy torch, stationary, with wild red  
 flame, and clouds of smoke; By these, crowds, groups of forms, vaguely I see, on the  
 floor, some in the pews laid down; At my feet more distinctly, a soldier, a mere lad, in 
 danger of bleeding to death, (he is shot in the ab- 
 domen;) I staunch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is  
 white as a lily;) Then before I depart I sweep my eyes o'er the scene, 
 fain to absorb it all; Faces, varieties, postures beyond description, most in  
 obscurity, some of them dead; Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell  
 of ether, the odor of blood;   [ begin page 45 ]ppp.01865.051.jpg The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms of soldiers  
 —the yard outside also fill'd; Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, 
 some in the death-spasm sweating; An occasional scream or cry, the doctor's shouted orders  
 or calls; The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the  
 glint of the torches; These I resume as I chant—I see again the forms, I  
 smell the odor; Then hear outside the orders given, Fall in, my men,  
 Fall in; But first I bend to the dying lad—his eyes open—a  
 half-smile gives he me; Then the eyes close, calmly close, and I speed forth to  
 the darkness, Resuming, marching, as ever in darkness marching, on  
 in the ranks, The unknown road still marching.

LONG, TOO LONG, O LAND.

A SIGHT IN CAMP IN THE DAY-BREAK GREY AND DIM.

A FARM PICTURE.

GIVE ME THE SPLENDID SILENT SUN.

1

GIVE me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full- 
 dazzling; Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the  
 orchard; Give me a field where the unmow'd grass grows; Give me an arbor, give me the trellis'd grape; Give me fresh corn and wheat—give me serene-moving  
 animals, teaching content; Give me nights perfectly quiet, as on high plateaus west  
 of the Mississippi, and I looking up at the stars; Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers, 
 where I can walk undisturb'd; Give me for marriage a sweet-breath'd woman, of whom  
 I should never tire; Give me a perfect child—give me, away, aside from the  
 noise of the world, a rural domestic life; Give me to warble spontaneous songs, reliev'd, recluse  
 by myself, for my own ears only; Give me solitude—give me Nature—give me again, 
 O Nature, your primal sanities! —These, demanding to have them, (tired with ceaseless  
 excitement, and rack'd by the war-strife;) These to procure, incessantly asking, rising in cries from  
 my heart, While yet incessantly asking, still I adhere to my city; Day upon day, and year upon year, O city, walking  
 your streets, Where you hold me enchain'd a certain time, refusing  
 to give me up; Yet giving to make me glutted, enrich'd of soul—you  
 give me forever faces;   [ begin page 48 ]ppp.01865.054.jpg (O I see what I sought to escape, confronting, reversing  
 my cries; I see my own soul trampling down what it ask'd for.)

2

Keep your splendid silent sun; Keep your woods, O Nature, and the quiet places by  
 the woods; Keep your fields of clover and timothy, and your corn- 
 fields and orchards; Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields, where the Ninth- 
 month bees hum; Give me faces and streets! give me these phantoms in- 
 cessant and endless along the trottoirs! Give me interminable eyes! give me women! give me  
 comrades and lovers by the thousand! Let me see new ones every day! let me hold new ones  
 by the hand every day! Give me such shows! give me the streets of Manhattan! Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching—give  
 me the sound of the trumpets and drums! (The soldiers in companies or regiments—some, starting  
 away, flush'd and reckless; Some, their time up, returning, with thinn'd ranks—  
 young, yet very old, worn, marching, noticing  
 nothing;) —Give me the shores and the wharves heavy-fringed  
 with the black ships! O such for me! O an intense life! O full to repletion, 
 and varied! The life of the theatre, bar-room, huge hotel, for me! The saloon of the steamer! the crowded excursion for  
 me! the torch-light procession! The dense brigade, bound for the war, with high piled  
 military wagons following; People, endless, streaming, with strong voices, passions, 
 pageants; Manhattan streets, with their powerful throbs, with the  
 beating drums, as now;   [ begin page 49 ]ppp.01865.055.jpg The endless and noisy chorus, the rustle and clank of  
 muskets, (even the sight of the wounded;) Manhattan crowds with their turbulent musical chorus  
 —with varied chorus and light of the sparkling  
 eyes; Manhattan faces and eyes forever for me.

OVER THE CARNAGE ROSE PROPHETIC A VOICE.

DID YOU ASK DULCET RHYMES FROM ME?

YEAR OF METEORS. (1859-60.)

YEAR of meteors! brooding year! I would bind in words retrospective, some of your deeds  
 and signs; I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad; I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair, 
 mounted the scaffold in Virginia; (I was at hand—silent I stood, with teeth shut close—I  
 watch'd; I stood very near you, old man, when cool and indiffer- 
 ent, but trembling with age and your unheal'd  
 wounds, you mounted the scaffold;) I would sing in my copious song your census returns of  
 The States, The tables of population and products—I would sing of  
 your ships and their cargoes, The proud black ships of Manhattan, arriving, some  
 fill'd with immigrants, some from the isthmus  
 with cargoes of gold; Songs thereof would I sing—to all that hitherward  
 comes would I welcome give; And you would I sing, fair stripling! welcome to you  
 from me, sweet boy of England! Remember you surging Manhattan's crowds, as you  
 passed with your cortege of nobles? There in the crowds stood I, and singled you out with  
 attachment; I know not why, but I loved you…(and so go forth  
 little song, Far over sea speed like an arrow, carrying my love all  
 folded,   [ begin page 52 ]ppp.01865.058.jpg And find in his palace the youth I love, and drop these  
 lines at his feet;) —Nor forget I to sing of the wonder, the ship as she  
 swam up my bay, Well-shaped and stately the Great Eastern swam up my  
 bay, she was 600 feet long, Her moving swiftly, surrounded by myriads of small  
 craft, I forget not to sing; Nor the comet that came unannounced, out of the north, 
 flaring in heaven, Nor the strange huge meteor procession, dazzling and  
 clear, shooting over our heads, (A moment, a moment long, it sail'd its balls of unearth- 
 ly light over our heads, Then departed, dropt in the night, and was gone;) —Of such, and fitful as they, I sing—with gleams from  
 them would I gleam and patch these chants; Your chants, O year all mottled with evil and good! 
 year of forebodings! year of the youth I love! Year of comets and meteors transient and strange!—lo! 
 even here, one equally transient and strange! As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone, 
 what is this book, What am I myself but one of your meteors?

THE TORCH.

YEARS OF THE UNPERFORM'D.

YEARS of the unperform'd! your horizon rises—I see it  
 parting away for more august dramas; I see not America only—I see not only Liberty's nation, 
 but other nations preparing; I see tremendous entrances and exits—I see new com- 
 binations—I see the solidarity of races; I see that force advancing with irresistible power on the  
 world's stage; (Have the old forces played their parts? are the acts  
 suitable to them closed?) I see Freedom, completely arm'd, and victorious, and  
 very haughty, with Law by her side, both issuing  
 forth against the idea of caste; —What historic denouements are these we so rapidly  
 approach? I see men marching and countermarching by swift mil- 
 lions; I see the frontiers and boundaries of the old aristocracies  
 broken; I see the landmarks of European kings removed; I see this day the People beginning their landmarks, (all  
 others give way;) Never were such sharp questions ask'd as this day; Never was average man, his soul, more energetic, more  
 like a God; Lo, how he urges and urges, leaving the masses no  
 rest; His daring foot is on land and sea everywhere—he col- 
 onizes the Pacific, the archipelagoes; With the steam-ship, the electric telegraph, the news- 
 paper, the wholesale engines of war, With these, and the world-spreading factories, he inter- 
 links all geography, all lands;   [ begin page 54 ]ppp.01865.060.jpg —What whispers are these, O lands, running ahead of  
 you, passing under the seas? Are all nations communing? is there going to be but  
 one heart to the globe? Is humanity forming, en-masse?—for lo! tyrants trem- 
 ble, crowns grow dim; The earth, restive, confronts a new era, perhaps a gen- 
 eral divine war; No one knows what will happen next—such portents  
 fill the days and nights; Years prophetical! the space ahead as I walk, as I vain- 
 ly try to pierce it, is full of phantoms; Unborn deeds, things soon to be, project their shapes  
 around me; This incredible rush and heat—this strange extactic  
 fever of dreams, O years! Your dreams, O years, how they penetrate through me! 
 (I know not whether I sleep or wake!) The perform'd America and Europe grow dim, retiring  
 in shadow behind me, The unperform'd, more gigantic than ever, advance, ad- 
 vance upon me.

YEAR THAT TREMBLED AND REEL'D BENEATH ME.

THE VETERAN'S VISION.

WHILE my wife at my side lies slumbering, and the wars  
 are over long, And my head on the pillow rests at home, and the mys- 
 tic midnight passes, And through the stillness, through the dark, I hear, just  
 hear, the breath of my infant, There in the room, as I wake from sleep, this vision  
 presses upon me: The engagement opens there and then, in my busy brain  
 unreal; The skirmishers begin—they crawl cautiously ahead—  
 I hear the irregular snap! snap! I hear the sounds of the different missiles—the short  
 t-h-t! t-h-t! of the rifle balls; I see the shells exploding, leaving small white clouds—  
 I hear the great shells shrieking as they pass; The grape, like the hum and whirr of wind through the  
 trees, (quick, tumultuous, now the contest rages!) All the scenes at the batteries themselves rise in detail  
 before me again; The crashing and smoking—the pride of the men in  
 their pieces; The chief gunner ranges and sights his piece, and selects  
 a fuse of the right time; After firing, I see him lean aside, and look eagerly off  
 to note the effect; —Elsewhere I hear the cry of a regiment charging—  
 (the young colonel leads himself this time, with  
 brandish'd sword;) I see the gaps cut by the enemy's volleys, (quickly  
 fill'd up—no delay;) I breathe the suffocating smoke—then the flat clouds  
 hover low, concealing all;   [ begin page 56 ]ppp.01865.062.jpg Now a strange lull comes for a few seconds, not a shot  
 fired on either side; Then resumed, the chaos louder than ever, with eager  
 calls, and orders of officers; While from some distant part of the field the wind wafts  
 to my ears a shout of applause, (some special  
 success;) And ever the sound of the cannon, far or near, (rousing, 
 even in dreams, a devilish exultation, and all the  
 old mad joy, in the depths of my soul;) And ever the hastening of infantry shifting positions—  
 batteries, cavalry, moving hither and thither; (The falling, dying, I heed not—the wounded, dripping 
 and red, I heed not—some to the rear are hob- 
 bling;) Grime, heat, rush—aid-de-camps galloping by, or on a  
 full run; With the patter of small arms, the warning s-s-t of the  
 rifles, (these in my vision I hear or see,) And bombs bursting in air, and at night the vari-color'd  
 rockets.

O TAN-FACED PRAIRIE-BOY.

CAMPS OF GREEN.

Now in those camps of green—in their tents dotting  
 the world; In the parents, children, husbands, wives, in them—  
 in the old and young, Sleeping under the sunlight, sleeping under the moon- 
 light, content and silent there at last, Behold the mighty bivouac-field, and waiting-camp of  
 us and ours and all,   [ begin page 58 ]ppp.01865.064.jpg Of our corps and generals all, and the President over the 
 corps and generals all And each of us, O soldiers, and of each and all in the  
 ranks we fight, (There without hatred we shall all meet.)

AS TOILSOME I WANDER'D VIRGINIA'S WOODS.

HYMN OF DEAD SOLDIERS.

THE SHIP.

A BROADWAY PAGEANT.

(RECEPTION JAPANESE EMBASSY, JUNE 16, 1860.)

When million-footed Manhattan, unpent, descends to  
 its pavements; When the thunder-cracking guns arouse me with the  
 proud roar I love; When the round-mouth'd guns, out of the smoke and  
 smell I love, spit their salutes; When the fire-flashing guns have fully alerted me—  
 when heaven-clouds canopy my city with a  
 delicate thin haze; When, gorgeous, the countless straight stems, the for- 
 ests at the wharves, thicken with colors; When every ship, richly drest, carries her flag at the  
 peak; When pennants trail, and street-festoons hang from the  
 windows;   [ begin page 62 ]ppp.01865.070.jpg When Broadway is entirely given up to foot-passengers  
 and foot-standers—when the mass is densest; When the facades of the houses are alive with people—  
 when eyes gaze, riveted, tens of thousands at a  
 time; When the guests from the islands advance—when the  
 pageant moves forward, visible; When the summons is made—when the answer that  
 waited thousands of years, answers; I too, arising, answering, descend to the pavements, 
 merge with the crowd, and gaze with them.

Not the errand-bearing princes, nor the tann'd Japa- 
 nee only;   [ begin page 63 ]ppp.01865.069.jpg Lithe and silent, the Hindoo appears—the whole Asiatic  
 continent itself appears—the Past, the dead, The murky night-morning of wonder and fable, inscruta- 
 ble, The envelop'd mysteries, the old and unknown hive- 
 bees, The North—the sweltering South—Assyria—the  
 Hebrews—the Ancient of ancients, Vast desolated cities—the gliding Present—all of  
 these, and more, are in the pageant-procession.

Young Libertad! With the venerable Asia, the all-mother, Be considerate with her, now and ever, hot Libertad—  
 for you are all;   [ begin page 65 ]ppp.01865.071.jpg Bend your proud neck to the long-off mother, now  
 sending messages over the archipelagoes to you; Bend your proud neck low for once, young Libertad.

FLAG OF STARS, THICK-SPRINKLED BUNTING.

OLD IRELAND.

LOOK DOWN FAIR MOON.

OUT OF THE ROLLING OCEAN, THE CROWD.

WORLD, TAKE GOOD NOTICE.

I SAW OLD GENERAL AT BAY.

OTHERS MAY PRAISE WHAT THEY LIKE.

SOLID, IRONICAL, ROLLING ORB.

HUSH'D BE THE CAMPS TO-DAY.

A. L. BURIED APRIL 19, 1865.

WEAVE IN, WEAVE IN, MY HARDY LIFE.

TURN O LIBERTAD.

BIVOUAC ON A MOUNTAIN SIDE.

PENSIVE ON HER DEAD GAZING, I HEARD THE MOTHER OF ALL.

NOT YOUTH PERTAINS TO ME.

WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOOR-YARD BLOOM'D.

3

In the door-yard fronting an old farm-house, near the  
 white-wash'd palings, Stands the lilac bush, tall-growing, with heart-shaped leaves  
 of rich green, With many a pointed blossom, rising, delicate, with the  
 perfume strong I love,   [ begin page 4 ]ppp.01865.084.jpg With every leaf a miracle……and from this bush in the  
 door-yard, With its delicate-color'd blossoms, and heart-shaped leaves  
 of rich green, A sprig, with its flower, I break.

6

Coffin that passes through lanes and streets, Through day and night, with the great cloud darkening the  
 land, With the pomp of the inloop'd flags, with the cities draped  
 in black,   [ begin page 5 ]ppp.01865.085.jpg With the show of the States themselves, as of crape-veil'd  
 women, standing, With processions long and winding, and the flambeaus of  
 the night, With the countless torches lit—with the silent sea of faces, 
 and the unbared heads, With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre  
 faces, With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices  
 rising strong and solemn; With all the mournful voices of the dirges, pour'd around  
 the coffin, The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—Where  
 amid these you journey, With the tolling, tolling bells' perpetual clang; Here! coffin that slowly passes. I give you my sprig of lilac.

8

O western orb, sailing the heaven! Now I know what you must have meant, as a month since  
 we walk'd, As we walk'd up and down in the dark blue so mystic, As we walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night,   [ begin page 6 ]ppp.01865.086.jpg As I saw you had something to tell, as you bent to me night  
 after night, As you droop'd from the sky low down, as if to my side, 
 (while the other stars all look'd on;) As we wander'd together the solemn night, (for something  
 I know not what, kept me from sleep;) As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west, 
 ere you went, how full you were of woe; As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze, in the cool  
 transparent night, As I watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the nether- 
 ward black of the night, As my soul, in its trouble, dissatisfied, sank, as where you, 
 sad orb, Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.

16

Come, lovely and soothing Death, Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, In the day, in the night, to all, to each, Sooner or later, delicate Death. Prais'd be the fathomless universe, For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious; And for love, sweet love—But praise! O praise and praise, For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding Death. Dark Mother, always gliding near, with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?   [ begin page 10 ]ppp.01865.090.jpg Then I chant it for thee—I glorify thee above all; I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come  
 unfalteringly. Approach, encompassing Death—strong Deliveress! When it is so—when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing  
 the dead, Lost in the loving, floating ocean of thee, Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death. From me to thee glad serenades, Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee—adornments and  
 feastings for thee; And the sights of the open landscape, and the high-spread  
 sky, are fitting, And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night. The night, in silence, under many a star; The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose  
 voice I know; And the soul turning to thee, O vast and well-veil'd Death, And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. Over the tree-tops I float thee a song! Over the rising and sinking waves—over the myriad fields, 
 and the prairies wide; Over the dense-pack'd cities all, and the teeming wharves  
 and ways, I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death!

17

To the tally of my soul, Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, With pure, deliberate notes, spreading, filling the night. Loud in the pines and cedars dim, Clear in the freshness moist, and the swamp-perfume; And I with my comrades there in the night.   [ begin page 11 ]ppp.01865.091.jpg While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed, As to long panoramas of visions.

RACE OF VETERANS.

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!

SPIRIT WHOSE WORK IS DONE.

CHANTING THE SQUARE DEIFIC.

2

Consolator most mild, the promis'd one advancing, With gentle hand extended, the mightier God am I, Foretold by prophets and poets, in their most rapt proph- 
 ecies and poems; From this side, lo! the Lord CHRIST gazes—lo! Hermes I—  
 lo! mine is Hercules' face; All sorrow, labor, suffering, I, tallying it, absorb in myself; Many times have I been rejected, taunted, put in prison, 
 and crucified—and many times shall be again; All the world have I given up for my dear brothers' and  
 sisters' sake—for the soul's sake;   [ begin page 16 ]ppp.01865.096.jpg Wending my way through the homes of men, rich or  
 poor, with the kiss of affection; For I am affection—I am the cheer-bringing God, with hope, 
 and all-enclosing Charity; (Conqueror yet—for before me all the armies and soldiers  
 of the earth shall yet bow—and all the weapons of  
 war become impotent:) With indulgent words, as to children—with fresh and sane  
 words, mine only; Young and strong I pass, knowing well I am destin'd my- 
 self to an early death: But my Charity has no death—my Wisdom dies not, neither  
 early nor late, And my sweet Love, bequeath'd here and elsewhere, never  
 dies.

4

Santa SPIRITA, breather, life, Beyond the light, lighter than light, Beyond the flames of hell—joyous, leaping easily above hell;   [ begin page 17 ]ppp.01865.097.jpg Beyond Paradise—perfumed solely with mine own perfume; Including all life on earth—touching, including God—  
 including Saviour and Satan; Ethereal, pervading all, (for without me, what were all? 
 what were God?) Essence of forms—life of the real identities, permanent, 
 positive, (namely the unseen,) Life of the great round world, the sun and stars, and of  
 man—I, the general Soul, Here the square finishing, the solid, I the most solid, Breathe my breath also through these little songs.

I HEARD YOU, SOLEMN-SWEET PIPES OF THE ORGAN.

NOT MY ENEMIES EVER INVADE ME.

O ME! O LIFE!

AH POVERTIES, WINCINGS, AND SULKY RETREATS.

AS I LAY WITH MY HEAD IN YOUR LAP, CAMERADO.

THIS DAY, O SOUL.

IN CLOUDS DESCENDING, IN MIDNIGHT SLEEP.

AN ARMY ON THE MARCH.

DIRGE FOR TWO VETERANS.

HOW SOLEMN, AS ONE BY ONE.

LO! VICTRESS ON THE PEAKS!

RECONCILIATION.

TO THE LEAVEN'D SOIL THEY TROD.