Chapter 10

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 walked my cities, my country roads, through farms, only half satisfied; One doubt, nauseous, undulating like a snake, crawled on the ground before me, Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft, ironically hissing low; --The cities I loved so well I abandoned and left--I sped to the certainties suitable to me Hungering, hungering, hungering, for primal energies, and Nature's dauntlessness, I refreshed 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 witnessed the true lightning--I have witnessed 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.

_BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS!_

1.

Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows--through doors--burst like a force of ruthless men, 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, ploughing 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; 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; Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you thump, O terrible drums--so loud you bugles blow.

_SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAYBREAK._

POET.

O a new song, a free song, Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer, By the wind's voice and that of the drum, By the banner's voice, and child's voice, and sea's voice, and father's voice, Low on the ground and high in the air, On the ground where father and child stand, In the upward air where their eyes turn, Where the banner at daybreak is flapping.

Words! book-words! what are you? Words no more, for hearken and see, My song is there in the open air--and I must sing, With the banner and pennant a-flapping.

I'll weave the chord and twine in, Man's desire and babe's desire--I'll twine them in, I'll put in life; I'll put the bayonet's flashing point--I'll let bullets and slugs whizz; I'll pour the verse with streams of blood, full of volition, full of joy; Then loosen, launch forth, to go and compete, With the banner and pennant a-flapping.

BANNER AND PENNANT.

Come up here, bard, bard; Come up here, soul, soul; Come up here, dear little child, To fly in the clouds and winds with us, and play with the measureless light.

CHILD.

Father, what is that in the sky beckoning to me with long finger? And what does it say to me all the while?

FATHER.

Nothing, my babe, you see in the sky; And nothing at all to you it says. But look you, my babe, Look at these dazzling things in the houses, and see you the money-shops opening; And see you the vehicles preparing to crawl along the streets with goods: These! ah, these! how valued and toiled for, these! How envied by all the earth!

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: 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.

CHILD.

O father, it is alive--it is full of people--it has children! O now it seems to me it is talking to its children! I hear it--it talks to me--O it is wonderful! O it stretches--it spreads and runs so fast! O my father, It is so broad it covers the whole sky!

FATHER.

Cease, cease, my foolish babe, What you are saying is sorrowful to me--much it displeases me; Behold with the rest, again I say--behold not banners and pennants aloft; But the well-prepared pavements behold--and mark the solid-walled houses.

BANNER AND PENNANT.

Speak to the child, O bard, out of Manhattan; Speak to our children all, or north or south of Manhattan, Where our factory-engines hum, where our miners delve the ground, Where our hoarse Niagara rumbles, where our prairie-ploughs are ploughing; Speak, O bard! point this day, leaving all the rest, to us over all--and yet we know not why; For what are we, mere strips of cloth, profiting nothing, Only flapping in the wind?

POET.

I hear and see not strips of cloth alone; I hear the tramp of armies, I hear the challenging sentry; I hear the jubilant shouts of millions of men--I hear LIBERTY! I hear the drums beat, and the trumpets blowing; I myself move abroad, swift-rising, flying then; I use the wings of the land-bird, and use the wings of the sea-bird, and look down as from a height. I do not deny the precious results of peace--I see populous cities, with wealth incalculable; I see numberless farms--I see the farmers working in their fields or barns; I see mechanics working--I see buildings everywhere founded, going up, or finished; I see trains of cars swiftly speeding along railroad tracks, drawn by the locomotives; I see the stores, depots, of Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, New Orleans; I see far in the west the immense area of grain--I dwell a while, hovering; I pass to the lumber forests of the north, and again to the southern plantation, and again to California; Sweeping the whole, I see the countless profit, the busy gatherings, earned wages; See the identity formed out of thirty-six spacious and haughty States, (and many more to come;) See forts on the shores of harbours--see ships sailing in and out; Then over all, (aye! aye!) my little and lengthened pennant shaped like a sword Runs swiftly up, indicating war and defiance--And now the halyards have raised it, Side of my banner broad and blue--side of my starry banner, Discarding peace over all the sea and land.

BANNER AND PENNANT.

Yet louder, higher, stronger, bard! yet farther, wider cleave! No longer let our children deem us riches and peace alone; We can be terror and carnage also, and are so now. Not now are we one of these spacious and haughty States, (nor any five, nor ten;) Nor market nor depot are we, nor money-bank in the city; But these, and all, and the brown and spreading land, and the mines below, are ours; And the shores of the sea are ours, and the rivers great and small; And the fields they moisten are ours, and the crops, and the fruits are ours; Bays and channels, and ships sailing in and out, are ours--and we over all, Over the area spread below, the three millions of square miles--the capitals, The thirty-five millions of people--O bard! in life and death supreme, We, even we, from this day flaunt out masterful, high up above, Not for the present alone, for a thousand years, chanting through you This song to the soul of one poor little child.

CHILD.

O my father, I like not the houses; They will never to me be anything--nor do I like money! But to mount up there I would like, O father dear--that banner I like; That pennant I would be, and must be.

FATHER.

Child of mine, you fill me with anguish, To be that pennant would be too fearful; Little you know what it is this day, and henceforth for ever; 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.

Demons and death then I sing; Put in all, aye all, will I--sword-shaped pennant for war, and banner so broad and blue, And a pleasure new and ecstatic, and the prattled yearning of children, Blent with the sounds of the peaceful land, and the liquid wash of the sea; And the icy cool of the far, far north, with rustling cedars and pines; And the whirr of drums, and the sound of soldiers marching, and the hot sun shining south; And the beach-waves combing over the beach on my eastern shore, and my western shore the same; And all between those shores, and my ever-running Mississippi, with bends and chutes; And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of Missouri; The CONTINENT--devoting the whole identity, without reserving an atom, Pour in! whelm that which asks, which sings, with all, and the yield of all.

BANNER AND PENNANT.

Aye all! for ever, for all! From sea to sea, north and south, east and west, Fusing and holding, claiming, devouring the whole; No more with tender lip, nor musical labial sound, But out of the night emerging for good, our voice persuasive no more, Croaking like crows here in the wind.

POET.

My limbs, my veins dilate; The blood of the world has filled 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, deafened 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 prosperity; if need be, you shall have every one of those houses to destroy them; You thought not to destroy those valuable houses, standing 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 daybreak you, cutting the air, touched by the sun, measuring the sky, Passionately seen and yearned for by one poor little child, While others remain busy, or smartly talking, for ever teaching thrift, thrift; O you up there! O pennant! where you undulate like a snake, hissing so curious, 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.

_THE BIVOUAC'S FLAME._

By the bivouac's fitful flame, A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow;--but first I note The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline, The darkness, lit by spots of kindled fire--the silence; Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving; The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily watching me;) While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous thoughts, Of life and death--of home and the past and loved, and of those that are far away; A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground, By the bivouac's fitful flame.

_BIVOUAC ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE._

I see before me now a travelling 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 scattered near and far, some away up on the mountain; The shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, large-sized, flickering; And over all, the sky--the sky! far, far out of reach, studded with the eternal stars.

_CITY OF SHIPS._

City of ships! (O the black ships! O the fierce ships! O the beautiful, sharp-bowed 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 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! 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 offered 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; In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine; War, red war, is my song through your streets, O city!

_VIGIL ON THE FIELD._

VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night, When you, my son and my comrade, dropped at my side that day. One look I but gave, which your dear eyes returned with a look I shall never forget; One touch of your hand to mine, O boy, reached up as you lay on the ground. Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle; Till, late in the night relieved, 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 battlefield 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 upward stole; Vigil final for you, brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death, 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 appeared, My comrade I wrapped in his blanket, enveloped 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 deposited; Ending my vigil strange with that--vigil of night and battlefield dim; Vigil for boy of responding kisses, never again on earth responding; Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget--how as day brightened I rose from the chill ground, and folded my soldier well in his blanket, And buried him where he fell.

_THE FLAG._

Bathed in war's perfume--delicate flag! O to hear you call the sailors and the soldiers! flag like a beautiful woman! O to hear the tramp, tramp, of a million answering men! O the ships they arm with joy! O to see you leap and beckon from the tall masts of ships! O to see you peering down on the sailors on the decks! Flag like the eyes of women.

_THE WOUNDED._

A march in the ranks hard-pressed, and the road unknown; A route through a heavy wood, with muffled steps in the darkness; Our army foiled 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 abdomen;) 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 odour of blood; The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms of soldiers--the yard outside also filled; 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 odour; 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.

_A SIGHT IN CAMP._

1.

A sight in camp in the daybreak grey and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless, As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent, Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, untended lying; Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen blanket, Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

2.

Curious, I halt, and silent stand; Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first, just lift the blanket; Who are you, elderly man, so gaunt and grim, with well-greyed hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes? Who are you, my dear comrade?

Then to the second I step--And who are you, my child and darling? Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third--a face nor child nor old, very calm, as of beautiful yellow-white ivory: Young man, I think I know you--I think this face of yours is the face of the Christ Himself; Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again He lies.

_A GRAVE._

1.

As toilsome I wandered Virginia's woods, To the music of rustling leaves kicked by my feet--for 'twas autumn-- I marked at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier; Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat--easily all could I understand; The halt of a mid-day hour--when, Up! no time to lose! Yet this sign left On a tablet scrawled and nailed on the tree by the grave, _Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade_.

2.

Long, long I muse,--then on my way go wandering, Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life. Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt,--alone, or in the crowded street,-- Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave, comes the inscription rude in Virginia's woods, _Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade_.

_THE 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, Years hence) "of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances, Of unsurpassed 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, covered 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 captured 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, In nature's reverie sad, with hinged knees returning, I enter the doors--(while for you up there, Whoever you are, follow me 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 roofed 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 filled with clotted rags and blood, emptied, and filled 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; 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.

On, on I go--(open, doors of time! open, hospital doors!) The crushed 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 curved 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 looked on it.