Section 26

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 ;
War! anarm’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 !
} Drum-Taps for ‘gather ” reads ‘ gathering,” 2 Drum-Taps for ‘¢ arm?’ reads
DRUM-TAPS 243
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 !
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 !
a 1861.
First published in ‘* Drum-Taps,” 186s.
Arm’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,
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 Indi-
ana, 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 ;
244 LEAVES OF GRASS
Heard your determin’d voice, launch’d forth again and again ;
Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipp’d cannon,
I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.
ad BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!
First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,” 1865. iL
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 ;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gather- ing 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
SEKEELS Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers must sleep in those beds ; $e)
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! 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 ;
» Drum-Taps reads ‘¢ burst like a force of ruthless men.”’
DRUM-TAPS 245
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie await-
ing the hearses, 20 So strong you thump, O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow. &
FROM PAUMANOK STARTING I FLY LIKE A BIRD. First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,”’ 1865.
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 ; )
Then to Ohio and Indiana to sing theirs—to Missouri and Kan- sas 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.
&
1
RISE, O DAYS, FROM YOUR FATHOMLESS DEEPS. First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,”’ 1865. I
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 ;
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 ;
246 LEAVES OF GRASS
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 !) ite) Heard the continuous thunder, as it bellow’d after the light- ning ;
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.
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 ae 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 ;
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 light-
ning ! 30 (Yet a mournful wail and low sob I fancied I heard through me dark,
In a lull of the deafening confusion. )
‘¢ ; 7
DRUM-TAPS 247
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 ;
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 Na-
. ture’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 ;
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.
oe
CITY OF: SHIPS. First published in “‘ Drum-Taps,” 1865. 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 ;) 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 facades of marble and iron !
248 LEAVES OF GRASS
Proud and passionate city! mettlesome, mad, extravagant city !
Spring up, O city! not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself, warlike ! ste)
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 con- demn anything ;
I chant and celebrate all that is yours—yet peace no more ;
In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine ;
War, red war, is my song through your streets, O city!
&*
THE CENTENARIAN’S STORY.
VOLUNTEER OF 1861-2. (At Washington Park, Brooklyn, assisting the Centenarian.)
First published in ‘‘ Drum-Taps,” 1865.
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 ? rie)
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 ;
Green the midsummer verdure, and fresh blows the dallying breeze,
O’er proud and peaceful cities, and arm of the sea between.
eal, =e
DRUM-TAPS uO 246
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,
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 ;
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 ;
250 , LEAVES OF GRASS
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.
JT tell not now the whole of the battle ; 5°
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 confront- ing death ?
It was the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong,
Rais’d in Virginia and Maryland, and many of them known per- sonally 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 play- ing 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 environ-
ment ;
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.
DRUM-TAPS 251
We fought the fight in detachments ; 70 Sallying forth, we fought at several points—but i 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.
That, and here, my General’s first battle ;
No women looking on, nor sunshine to bask in—it aid not con- clude 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.
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 ; go 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.
252 LEAVES OF GRASS
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.
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 tri- umphs ? 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 Brook- lyn.
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, 110
In death, defeat, and sisters’, mothers’ tears.
Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn! I perceive you are more valu- able 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.