O past! O happy life! O songs of joy! The aria sinking, All else continuing, the stars shining, 125 130 The winds blowing, the notes of the bird continuous echoing, 135 The boy ecstatic, with his bare feet the waves, with his hair the atmosphere dallying, The yellow half-moon enlarged, sagging down, drooping, the face of the sea almost touching, The love in the heart long pent, now loose, now at last tumultuously bursting, The colloquy there, the trio, each uttering, The undertone, the savage old mother incessantly crying, To the boy's soul's questions sullenly timing, some drown'd secret hissing, Demon or bird (said the boy's soul,) Is it indeed toward your mate you sing? or is it really to me? 140 145 For I, that was a child, my tongue's use sleeping, now I have heard you, And already a thousand singers, a thousand songs, clearer, louder and more sorrowful than yours, A thousand warbling echoes have started to life within me, never to die. O you singer solitary, singing by yourself, projecting me, 150 O solitary me listening, never more shall I cease perpetuating you, Never more shall I escape, never more the reverberations, Never again leave me to be the peaceful child I was before what there in the night, By the sea under the yellow and sagging moon, 155 The messenger there arous'd, the fire, the sweet hell within, The unknown want, the destiny of me. O give me the clew! (it lurks in the night here somewhere,) O if I am to have so much, let me have more! A word then, (for I will conquer it,) The word final, superior to all, 160 Subtle, sent up-what is it?-I listen; Are you whispering it, and have been all the time, you sea waves? Whereto answering, the sea, 165 Delaying not, hurrying not, Whisper'd me through the night, and very plainly before daybreak, And again death, death, death, death, Hissing melodious, neither like the bird nor like my arous'd child's heart, 170 But edging near as privately for me rustling at my feet, Creeping thence steadily up to my ears and laving me softly all over, Which I do not forget, But fuse the song of my dusky demon and brother, That he sang to me in the moonlight on Paumanok's gray beach, My own songs awaked from that hour, And with them the key, the word up from the waves, The word of the sweetest song and all songs, That strong and delicious word which, creeping to my feet, 175 180 (Or like some old crone rocking the cradle, swathed in sweet garments, bending aside,) The sea whisper'd me. WHEN I HEARD THE LEARN'D ASTRONOMER When I heard the learn'd astronomer, When the proofs, the figures, were ranged in columns before me, When I was shown the charts and diagrams, to add, divide, and measure them, When I sitting heard the astronomer where he lectured with much applause in the lecture-room, How soon unaccountable I became tired and sick, Till rising and gliding out I wander'd off by myself, In the mystical moist night-air, and from time to time, Look'd up in perfect silence at the stars. 5 BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS! Beat! beat! drums!-blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows-through doors-burst like a ruthless force, Into the school where the scholar is studying; Leave not the bridegroom quiet-no happiness must he have now with his bride, 5 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. 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, 10 No bargainers' bargains by day-no brokers or speculators—would they continue? 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, 15 Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses, 20 So strong you thump O terrible drums-so loud you bugles blow. CAVALRY CROSSING A FORD A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands, They take a serpentine course, their arms flash in the sun-hark to the musical clank, Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses loitering stop to drink, Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person a picture, the negligent rest on the saddles, Some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford-while, The guidon flags flutter gayly in the wind. 5 COME UP FROM THE FIELDS FATHER Come up from the fields father, here's a letter from our Pete, And come to the front door mother, here's a letter from thy dear son. Lo, 'tis autumn, Lo, where the trees, deeper green, yellower and redder, Cool and sweeten Ohio's villages with leaves fluttering in the moderate wind, Where apples ripe in the orchards hang and grapes on the trellis'd vines, (Smell you the smell of the grapes on the vines? Smell you the buckwheat where the bees were lately buzzing?) Above all, lo, the sky so calm, so transparent after the rain, and with wondrous clouds, Below too, all calm, all vital and beautiful, and the farm prospers well. Down in the fields all prospers well, But now from the fields come father, come at the daughter's call, Fast as she can she hurries, something ominous, her steps trembling, Open the envelope quickly, O this is not our son's writing, yet his name is sign'd, O a strange hand writes for our dear son, O stricken mother's soul! 10 15 All swims before her eyes, flashes with black, she catches the main words only, Sentences broken, gunshot wound in the breast, cavalry skirmish, taken to hospital, 20 At present low, but will soon be better. Ah now the single figure to me, Amid all teeming and wealthy Ohio with ali its cities and farms, By the jamb of a door leans. 25 Grieve not so, dear mother, (the just-grown daughter speaks through her sobs, The little sisters huddle around speechless and dismay'd,) See, dearest mother, the letter says Pete will soon be better. Alas poor boy, he will never be better, (nor may-be needs to be better, that brave and simple soul,) While they stand at home at the door he is dead already, The only son is dead. But the mother needs to be better, She with thin form presently drest in black, By day her meals untouch'd, then at night fitfully sleeping, often waking, O that she might withdraw unnoticed, silent from life escape and withdraw, VIGIL STRANGE I KEPT ON THE FIELD ONE NIGHT Vigil strange I kept on the field one night; When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day, 30 35 One look I but gave which your dear eyes return'd with a look I shall never forget, One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach'd up as you lay on the ground, Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle, Till late in the night reliev'd 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, 10 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 sidt 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, 15 I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall surely meet again,) Til at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear'd, 20 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 battle-field dim, Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day brighten'd, I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket, And buried him where he fell. 25 A MARCH IN THE RANKS HARD-PREST, AND THE ROAD UNKNOWN A march in the ranks hard-prest, and the road unknown, A route through a heavy wood with muffled steps in the darkness, Our army foil'd with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating, We come to an open space in the woods, and halt by the dim-lighted building, 5 'Tis a large old church at the crossing roads, 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, 10 At my feet more distinctly a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of bleeding to death, (he is shot in the abdomen,) I stanch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white as a lily,) Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether, the odor of blood, The crowd, O the crowd of the bloody forms, the yard outside also fill'd, 15 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, But first I bend to the dying lad, his eyes open, a half-smile gives he me, GIVE ME THE SPLENDID SILENT SUN 20 20 25 1 Give me the splendid silent sun with all his beams full-dazzling, Give me an arbor, give me the trellis'd grape, Give me fresh corn and wheat, give me serene-moving animals teaching content, 5 Give me nights perfectly quiet as on high plateaus west of the Mississippi, and I looking up at the stars, Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturb'd, Give me for marriage a sweet-breath'd woman of whom I should never tire, Give me a perfect child, give me away aside from the noise of the world a rural domestic life, Give me to warble spontaneous songs recluse by myself, for my own ears only, 10 Give me solitude, give me Nature, give me again O Nature your primal sanities! These demanding to have them, (tired with ceaseless excitement, and rack'd by the war-strife,) These to procure incessantly asking, rising in cries from my heart, While yet incessantly asking still I adhere to my city, Day upon day and year upon year O city, walking your streets, 15 |