And the streets, how their throbbings throbb'd, and the cities pent-lo! then and there, Falling upon them all, and among them all, enveloping me with the rest, And I knew Death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death. 15 Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me, And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me, 120 And I in the middle, as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions, I fled forth to the hiding receiving night, that talks not, Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness, To the solemn shadowy cedars, and ghostly pines so still. And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me; The gray-brown bird I know, receiv'd us comrades three; And he sang what seem'd the carol of death, and a verse for him I love. From deep secluded recesses, From the fragrant cedars, and the ghostly pines so still, Came the carol of the bird. And the charm of the carol rapt me, As I held, as if by their hands, my comrades in the night; DEATH CAROL Come, lovely and soothing Death, 16 Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving, Prais'd be the fathomless universe, For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious; Dark Mother always gliding near, with soft feet, Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome? I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly. Approach, strong Deliveress! It'hen it is so when thou hast taken them, I joyously sing the dead, Laved in the flood of thy bliss, O Death. From me to thee glad serenades, Dances for thee I propose, saluting thee-adornments and feastings for thee; The night, in silence, under many a star; The ocean shore, and the husky whispering wave, whose voice I know; And the body gratefully nestling close to thee. 160 Over the tree-tops I float thee a song! Over the rising and sinking waves-over the myriad fields, and the prairies wide; Over the dense-pack'd cities all, and the teeming wharves and ways, I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee, O Death! To the tally of my soul, 17 Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird, With pure, deliberate notes, spreading, filling the night. And I saw, as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle-flags; Borne through the smoke of the battles, and pierc'd with missiles, I saw them, And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody; And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,) And the staffs all splinter'd and broken. I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them, And the white skeletons of young men-I saw them; I saw the débris and débris of all the dead soldiers of the war; But I saw they were not as was thought; They themselves were fully at rest-they suffer'd not; The living remain'd and suffer'd-the mother suffer'd, And the wife and the child, and the musing comrade suffer'd, And the armies that remain'd suffer'd. Passing the visions, passing the night; 19 Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands; Passing the song of the hermit bird, and the tallying song of my soul, (Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying, ever-altering song, As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night, 180 190 Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy, Covering the earth, and filling the spread of the heaven, As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,) Passing, I leave thee, lilac with heart-shaped leaves; I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring. I cease from my song for thee; From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee, O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night. 20 And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul, Yet each I keep, and all, retrievements out of the night; With the lustrous and drooping star, with the countenance full of woe, With the holders holding my hand, nearing the call of the bird, 200 Comrades mine, and I in the midst, and their memory ever I keep for the dead I loved so well; For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands . . . and this for his dear sake; Lilac and star and bird, twined with the chant of my soul, There in the fragrant pines, and the cedars dusk and dim. First published in "When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom'd," 1865-6. O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! 1 O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done; The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won; O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. 2 O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up for you the flag is flung-for you the bugle trills; For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths-for you the shores a-crowding; Here Captain! dear father! This arm beneath your head; It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead. 3 My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still; Exult, O shores, and ring, Ŏ bells! But I, with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead. 10 20 First published in "When Lilacs Last in the Door-yard Bloom'd," 1865-6. ONE'S-SELF I SING One's-self I sing-a simple, separate Person; Yet utter the word Democratic, the word En-masse. Of Physiology from top to toe I sing; Not physiognomy alone, nor brain alone, is worthy for the muse The Female equally with the male I sing. Of Life immense in passion, pulse, and power, Cheerful-for freest action form'd, under the laws divine, The Modern Man I sing. THE SINGER IN THE PRISON 1 O sight of shame, and pain, and dole! Rang the refrain along the hall, the prison, Rose to the roof, the vaults of heaven above, Pouring in floods of melody, in tones so pensive, sweet and strong, the like whereof was never heard, Reaching the far-off sentry, and the armed guards, who ceas'd their pacing, 2 O sight of pity, gloom, and dole! O pardon me, a hapless Soul! The sun was low in the west one winter day, When down a narrow aisle, amid the thieves and outlaws of the land, Plenteous, well-arm'd, watching, with vigilant eyes.) All that dark, cankerous blotch, a nation's criminal mass. Calmly a Lady walk'd. holding a little innocent child by either hand, Whom, seating on their stools beside her on the platform, She, first preluding with the instrument, a low and musical prelude, 3 THE HYMN. A Soul, confined by bars and bands, Cries, Help! O help! and wrings her hands; Blinded her eyes-bleeding her breast, Nor pardon finds, nor balm of rest. O sight of shame, and pain, and dole! Ceaseless. she paces to and fro; O sight of pity, gloom, and dole! O Life! no life, but bitter dole! Convict no more-nor shame, nor dole! 10 4 The singer ceas'd; One glance swept from her clear, calm eyes, o'er all those upturn'd faces; Strange sea of prison faces-a thousand varied, crafty, brutal, seam'd and beauteous faces; Then rising, passing back along the narrow aisle between them, While her gown touch'd them, rustling in the silence, She vanish'd with her children in the dusk. 5 While upon all, convicts and armed keepers, ere they stirr'd, (Convict forgetting prison, keeper his loaded pistol,) A hush and pause fell down, a wondrous minute, 50 With deep, half-stifled sobs, and sound of bad men bow'd, and moved to weeping, And youth's convulsive breathings, memories of home, The mother's voice in lullaby, the sister's care, the happy childhood, The long-pent spirit rous'd to reminiscence; -A wondrous minute then-But after, in the solitary night, to many, many there, Years after-even in the hour of death-the sad refrain-the tune, the voice, the words, Resumed the large, calm Lady walks the narrow aisle, O sight of shame, and pain, and dole! 60 1870. ETHIOPIA SALUTING THE COLORS (A REMINISCENCE OF 1864.) 1 Who are you, dusky woman, so ancient, hardly human, With your woolly-white and turban'd head, and bare bony feet? 2 ('Tis while our army lines Carolina's sand and pines, Forth from thy hovel door, thou, Ethiopia, com'st to me, As, under doughty Sherman, I march toward the sea.) 3 Me, master, years a hundred, since from my parents sunder'd, 4 No further does she say, but lingering all the day, Her high-borne turban'd head she wags, and rolls her darkling eye, 5 What is it, fateful woman-so blear, hardly human? |