Drum Taps | Page 6

thee a song that
when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly._

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, still
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 salutes for 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.

EIGHTEEN SIXTY-ONE.
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 Indiana, Rapidly crossing the West with springy gait and
descending the Alleghanies, Or down from the great lakes or in