Poem by Walt Whitman

Leaves of Grass. 21. Drum-Taps. 1. 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 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
      favourites,
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.

1. Leaves of Grass. 34. Sands at Seventy. 42. While Not the Past Forgetting
2. Leaves of Grass. 21. Drum-Taps. 35. How Solemn As One by One [Washington City, 1865]
3. Leaves of Grass. 30. Whispers of Heavenly Death. 5. Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours
4. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 7. The Pallid Wreath
5. Leaves of Grass. 35. Good-Bye My Fancy. 17. A Christmas Greeting

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