Drum-Taps

Aroused and angry,
I thought to beat the alarum, and urge relentless war;
But soon my fingers fail’d me, my face droop’d, and I resign’d
myself,
To sit by the wounded and soothe them, or silently watch the dead.

Drum-Taps

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 clench’d hand the pavement.

A shock electric–the night sustain’d it;
Till with ominous hum, our hive at day-break 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 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 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 salutes for
courtesies merely;
Put in something else 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!