Chapter Writers of New York and Pennsylvania of Index by Simonds History of American Literature

the people. This "leisurely journey and working expedition," as Whitman termed it, takes him through the Middle States and down the Ohio and Mississippi to New Orleans, where for a time he works in a newspaper office. Retracing his steps in part, he visits the Great Lakes, sees Niagara, and crosses into Canada, finally returning through Central New York and down the Hudson.

Leaves of Grass.

In 1855, appeared the first edition of Whitman's poems, entitled Leaves of Grass, a title which was used by the poet with each subsequent issue until the eighth edition, in 1892. This first volume was perhaps more widely talked about than widely read. To most of those who did read it, it was both mystifying and repellent. Not only did they find here a startling freedom of speech which shocked them and an apparent egotism that amazed, but they found also a form of expression that bade defiance to every principle of constructive art.

"I celebrate myself, and sing myself,"

chanted the poet;¹

"And what I assume you shall assume,
For every atom belonging to me as good belongs to you.

"I loafe and invite my soul,
I lean and loafe at my ease observing a spear of summer grass.
. . . . .
"A child said What is the grass? fetching it to me with full hands;
How could I answer the child? I do not know what it is any more than he.

"I guess it must be the flag of my disposition, out of hopeful green stuff woven.

"Or I guess it is the handkerchief of the Lord,
A scented gift and remembrancer designedly dropt,
Bearing the owner's name someway in the corners, that we may see and remark, and say Whose?

"Or I guess the grass is itself a child, the produced babe of the vegetation.
. . . . .
"And now it seems to me the beautiful uncut hair of graves."

This indeed seemed anarchy rather than art, and it is not surprising that a new generation of readers was born before the real significance of this strange verse began to be clear. Yet Emerson recognized the strength of originality in the "message" and wrote Whitman a friendly and appreciative letter, which, with very poor taste, Walt included in the next edition of his poems. In time it became evident that the Song of Myself was to be interpreted as typical and universal rather than egotistic, and that the spirit of Walt Whitman's poetry was democratic rather than personal.

Whitman's Verse.

The peculiar verse-form Whitman persistently maintained. It represents his revolt from artificiality. It was premeditated and, indeed, acquired with some effort. Of his compositions in this first volume, he said: "I had great trouble in leaving out the stock `poetical' touches, but succeeded at last."1 Rhyme and metre were abolished -- but not melody or rhythm. The device of the "catalogue" became his favorite method of suggestion, often picturesque, often musical, but often, too, unorganized and bewildering. In later years Whitman's poetry became less turgid and, at times, even symmetrical. The objectionable freedoms of the early work disappeared entirely and the poetical quality grew more tangible.

The Poet's War Record.

The Civil War stirred Whitman mightily. The spirit of his verse during this period attains a dignity and strength that is notable; but this is not all. A brother who had enlisted was wounded; and late in 1862, Walt went to Washington to nurse him. For the next two years the poet gave himself wholly to the hospitals. The service which he then performed, sometimes in the camps, sometimes on the field, can hardly be described. Stalwart, health-breathing, sympathetic, he assisted the surgeons, dressed the wounds, spoke tender encouragement to the suffering, scattered his simple little gifts among the sick, took the last message, and held the dying soldier in his arms.² His own superb health finally broke. In Drum-Taps (1865) are included some of his finest compositions, notably the vivid descriptive poems Cavalry Crossing a Ford, Bivouac on a Mountain-side, An Army Corps on the March, and By the Bivouac's Fitful Flame, pictures