Drum-Taps

Drum-Taps

FIRST O SONGS FOR A PRELUDE

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 prelude,
     songs of soldiers,)
How Manhattan drum-taps led.

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 clinch'd hand the pavement.

A shock electric, the night sustain'd it,
Till with ominous hum our hive at daybreak pour'd out its
     myriads.

From the houses then and the workshops, and through all
     the doorways,
Leapt they tumultuous, and lo! Manhattan arming.

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 precipitation,)
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 gather everywhere by common consent and arm,
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
     musketbarrels,
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 cover'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,)
The tumultuous escort, the ranks of policemen preceding,
     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 medicines,
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.

Mannahatta a-march — and it's O to sing it well!
It's O for a manly life in the camp.

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 salute or
     courtesies merely,
Put in something now besides powder and wadding.)

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.

1865 1867