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◈ LEAVES OF GRASS (풀잎) ◈

◇ BOOK XXI. DRUM-TAPS ◇

《해설》목차 서문 1권 2권 3권 4권 5권 6권 7권 8권 9권 10권 11권 12권 13권 14권 15권 16권 17권 18권 19권 20권 21권 22권 23권 24권 25권 26권 27권 28권 29권 30권 31권 32권 33권 34권 35권

1855
월트 휘트먼 (Walt Whitman)

목 차 [숨기기]

1. 2월 2일
2. 2월 4일
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4. 2월 9일
5. 2월 11일
6. 2월 12일
7. 2월 14일
8. 2월 25일
9. 2월 26일
10. 2월 28일
   10.1. Come Up from the Fields Father
   10.2. Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night
   10.3. A March in the Ranks Hard-Prest, and the Road Unknown
   10.4. A Sight in Camp in the Daybreak Gray and Dim
   10.5. As Toilsome I Wander'd Virginia's Woods
   10.6. Not the Pilot
   10.7. Year That Trembled and Reel'd Beneath Me
   10.8. The Wound-Dresser
   10.9. Long, Too Long America
   10.10. Give Me the Splendid Silent Sun
   10.11. Dirge for Two Veterans
   10.12. Over the Carnage Rose Prophetic a Voice
   10.13. I Saw Old General at Bay
   10.14. The Artilleryman's Vision
   10.15. Ethiopia Saluting the Colors
   10.16. Not Youth Pertains to Me
   10.17. Race of Veterans
   10.18. World Take Good Notice
   10.19. O Tan-Faced Prairie-Boy
   10.20. Look Down Fair Moon
   10.21. Reconciliation
   10.22. How Solemn As One by One [Washington City, 1865]
   10.23. As I Lay with My Head in Your Lap Camerado
   10.24. Delicate Cluster
   10.25. To a Certain Civilian
   10.26. Lo, Victress on the Peaks
   10.27. Spirit Whose Work Is Done [Washington City, 1865]
   10.28. Adieu to a Soldier
   10.29. Turn O Libertad
   10.30. To the Leaven'd Soil They Trod

1. BOOK XXI. DRUM-TAPS

1.1. 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 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.

1.2. 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 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 Allghanies,

Or down from the great lakes or in Pennsylvania, or on deck along

the Ohio river,

Or southward along the Tennessee or Cumberland rivers, or at

Chattanooga on the mountain top,

Saw I your gait and saw I your sinewy limbs clothed in blue, bearing

weapons, robust year,

Heard your determin'd voice launch'd forth again and again,

Year that suddenly sang by the mouths of the round-lipp'd cannon,

I repeat you, hurrying, crashing, sad, distracted year.

1.3. Beat! Beat! Drums!

Beat! beat! drums!—blow! bugles! blow!

Through the windows—through doors—burst like a ruthless force,

Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,

Into the school where the scholar is studying;

Leave not the bridegroom quiet—no happiness must he have now with

his bride,

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,

No bargainers' bargains by day—no brokers or speculators—would

they continue?

Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?

Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?

Then rattle quicker, heavier drums—you bugles wilder blow.

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,

Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the

hearses,

So strong you thump O terrible drums—so loud you bugles blow.

1.4. From Paumanok Starting I Fly Like a Bird

From Paumanok starting I fly like a bird,

Around and around to soar to sing the idea of all,

To the north betaking myself to sing there arctic songs,

To Kanada till I absorb Kanada in myself, to Michigan then,

To Wisconsin, Iowa, Minnesota, to sing their songs, (they are inimitable;)

Then to Ohio and Indiana to sing theirs, to Missouri and Kansas and

Arkansas to sing theirs,

To Tennessee and Kentucky, to the Carolinas and Georgia to sing theirs,

To Texas and so along up toward California, to roam accepted everywhere;

To sing first, (to the tap of the war-drum if need be,)

The idea of all, of the Western world one and inseparable,

And then the song of each member of these States.

1.5. Song of the Banner at Daybreak

Poet:

O A new song, a free song,

Flapping, flapping, flapping, flapping, by sounds, by voices clearer,

By the wind's voice and that of the drum,

By the banner's voice and child's voice and sea's voice and father's voice,

Low on the ground and high in the air,

On the ground where father and child stand,

In the upward air where their eyes turn,

Where the banner at daybreak is flapping.

Words! book-words! what are you?

Words no more, for hearken and see,

My song is there in the open air, and I must sing,

With the banner and pennant a-flapping.

I'll weave the chord and twine in,

Man's desire and babe's desire, I'll twine them in, I'll put in life,

I'll put the bayonet's flashing point, I'll let bullets and slugs whizz,

(As one carrying a symbol and menace far into the future,

Crying with trumpet voice, Arouse and beware! Beware and arouse!)

I'll pour the verse with streams of blood, full of volition, full of joy,

Then loosen, launch forth, to go and compete,

With the banner and pennant a-flapping.

Pennant:

Come up here, bard, bard,

Come up here, soul, soul,

Come up here, dear little child,

To fly in the clouds and winds with me, and play with the measureless light.

Child:

Father what is that in the sky beckoning to me with long finger?

And what does it say to me all the while?

Father:

Nothing my babe you see in the sky,

And nothing at all to you it says—but look you my babe,

Look at these dazzling things in the houses, and see you the money-

shops opening,

And see you the vehicles preparing to crawl along the streets with goods;

These, ah these, how valued and toil'd for these!

How envied by all the earth.

Poet:

Fresh and rosy red the sun is mounting high,

On floats the sea in distant blue careering through its channels,

On floats the wind over the breast of the sea setting in toward land,

The great steady wind from west or west-by-south,

Floating so buoyant with milk-white foam on the waters.

But I am not the sea nor the red sun,

I am not the wind with girlish laughter,

Not the immense wind which strengthens, not the wind which lashes,

Not the spirit that ever lashes its own body to terror and death,

But I am that which unseen comes and sings, sings, sings,

Which babbles in brooks and scoots in showers on the land,

Which the birds know in the woods mornings and evenings,

And the shore-sands know and the hissing wave, and that banner and pennant,

Aloft there flapping and flapping.

Child:

O father it is alive—it is full of people—it has children,

O now it seems to me it is talking to its children,

I hear it—it talks to me—O it is wonderful!

O it stretches—it spreads and runs so fast—O my father,

It is so broad it covers the whole sky.

Father:

Cease, cease, my foolish babe,

What you are saying is sorrowful to me, much 't displeases me;

Behold with the rest again I say, behold not banners and pennants aloft,

But the well-prepared pavements behold, and mark the solid-wall'd houses.

Banner and Pennant:

Speak to the child O bard out of Manhattan,

To our children all, or north or south of Manhattan,

Point this day, leaving all the rest, to us over all—and yet we know

not why,

For what are we, mere strips of cloth profiting nothing,

Only flapping in the wind?

Poet:

I hear and see not strips of cloth alone,

I hear the tramp of armies, I hear the challenging sentry,

I hear the jubilant shouts of millions of men, I hear Liberty!

I hear the drums beat and the trumpets blowing,

I myself move abroad swift-rising flying then,

I use the wings of the land-bird and use the wings of the sea-bird,

and look down as from a height,

I do not deny the precious results of peace, I see populous cities

with wealth incalculable,

I see numberless farms, I see the farmers working in their fields or barns,

I see mechanics working, I see buildings everywhere founded, going

up, or finish'd,

I see trains of cars swiftly speeding along railroad tracks drawn by

the locomotives,

I see the stores, depots, of Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, New Orleans,

I see far in the West the immense area of grain, I dwell awhile hovering,

I pass to the lumber forests of the North, and again to the Southern

plantation, and again to California;

Sweeping the whole I see the countless profit, the busy gatherings,

earn'd wages,

See the Identity formed out of thirty-eight spacious and haughty

States, (and many more to come,)

See forts on the shores of harbors, see ships sailing in and out;

Then over all, (aye! aye!) my little and lengthen'd pennant shaped

like a sword,

Runs swiftly up indicating war and defiance—and now the halyards

have rais'd it,

Side of my banner broad and blue, side of my starry banner,

Discarding peace over all the sea and land.

100

Banner and Pennant:

101

Yet louder, higher, stronger, bard! yet farther, wider cleave!

102

No longer let our children deem us riches and peace alone,

103

We may be terror and carnage, and are so now,

104

Not now are we any one of these spacious and haughty States, (nor

105

any five, nor ten,)

106

Nor market nor depot we, nor money-bank in the city,

107

But these and all, and the brown and spreading land, and the mines

108

below, are ours,

109

And the shores of the sea are ours, and the rivers great and small,

110

And the fields they moisten, and the crops and the fruits are ours,

111

Bays and channels and ships sailing in and out are ours—while we over all,

112

Over the area spread below, the three or four millions of square

113

miles, the capitals,

114

The forty millions of people,—O bard! in life and death supreme,

115

We, even we, henceforth flaunt out masterful, high up above,

116

Not for the present alone, for a thousand years chanting through you,

117

This song to the soul of one poor little child.

118

Child:

119

O my father I like not the houses,

120

They will never to me be any thing, nor do I like money,

121

But to mount up there I would like, O father dear, that banner I like,

122

That pennant I would be and must be.

123

Father:

124

Child of mine you fill me with anguish,

125

To be that pennant would be too fearful,

126

Little you know what it is this day, and after this day, forever,

127

It is to gain nothing, but risk and defy every thing,

128

Forward to stand in front of wars—and O, such wars!—what have you

129

to do with them?

130

With passions of demons, slaughter, premature death?

131

Banner:

132

Demons and death then I sing,

133

Put in all, aye all will I, sword-shaped pennant for war,

134

And a pleasure new and ecstatic, and the prattled yearning of children,

135

Blent with the sounds of the peaceful land and the liquid wash of the sea,

136

And the black ships fighting on the sea envelop'd in smoke,

137

And the icy cool of the far, far north, with rustling cedars and pines,

138

And the whirr of drums and the sound of soldiers marching, and the

139

hot sun shining south,

140

And the beach-waves combing over the beach on my Eastern shore,

141

and my Western shore the same,

142

And all between those shores, and my ever running Mississippi with

143

bends and chutes,

144

And my Illinois fields, and my Kansas fields, and my fields of Missouri,

145

The Continent, devoting the whole identity without reserving an atom,

146

Pour in! whelm that which asks, which sings, with all and the yield of all,

147

Fusing and holding, claiming, devouring the whole,

148

No more with tender lip, nor musical labial sound,

149

But out of the night emerging for good, our voice persuasive no more,

150

Croaking like crows here in the wind.

151

Poet:

152

My limbs, my veins dilate, my theme is clear at last,

153

Banner so broad advancing out of the night, I sing you haughty and resolute,

154

I burst through where I waited long, too long, deafen'd and blinded,

155

My hearing and tongue are come to me, (a little child taught me,)

156

I hear from above O pennant of war your ironical call and demand,

157

Insensate! insensate! (yet I at any rate chant you,) O banner!

158

Not houses of peace indeed are you, nor any nor all their

159

prosperity, (if need be, you shall again have every one of those

160

houses to destroy them,

161

You thought not to destroy those valuable houses, standing fast,

162

full of comfort, built with money,

163

May they stand fast, then? not an hour except you above them and all

164

stand fast;)

165

O banner, not money so precious are you, not farm produce you, nor

166

the material good nutriment,

167

Nor excellent stores, nor landed on wharves from the ships,

168

Not the superb ships with sail-power or steam-power, fetching and

169

carrying cargoes,

170

Nor machinery, vehicles, trade, nor revenues—but you as henceforth

171

I see you,

172

Running up out of the night, bringing your cluster of stars,

173

(ever-enlarging stars,)

174

Divider of daybreak you, cutting the air, touch'd by the sun,

175

measuring the sky,

176

(Passionately seen and yearn'd for by one poor little child,

177

While others remain busy or smartly talking, forever teaching

178

thrift, thrift;)

179

O you up there! O pennant! where you undulate like a snake hissing

180

so curious,

181

Out of reach, an idea only, yet furiously fought for, risking bloody

182

death, loved by me,

183

So loved—O you banner leading the day with stars brought from the night!

184

Valueless, object of eyes, over all and demanding all—(absolute

185

owner of all)—O banner and pennant!

186

I too leave the rest—great as it is, it is nothing—houses, machines

187

are nothing—I see them not,

188

I see but you, O warlike pennant! O banner so broad, with stripes,

189

sing you only,

190

Flapping up there in the wind.

1.6. Rise O Days from Your Fathomless Deeps

Rise O days from your fathomless deeps, till you loftier, fiercer sweep,

Long for my soul hungering gymnastic I devour'd what the earth gave me,

Long I roam'd amid the woods of the north, long I watch'd Niagara pouring,

I travel'd the prairies over and slept on their breast, I cross'd

the Nevadas, I cross'd the plateaus,

I ascended the towering rocks along the Pacific, I sail'd out to sea,

I sail'd through the storm, I was refresh'd by the storm,

I watch'd with joy the threatening maws of the waves,

I mark'd the white combs where they career'd so high, curling over,

I heard the wind piping, I saw the black clouds,

Saw from below what arose and mounted, (O superb! O wild as my

heart, and powerful!)

Heard the continuous thunder as it bellow'd after the lightning,

Noted the slender and jagged threads of lightning as sudden and

fast amid the din they chased each other across the sky;

These, and such as these, I, elate, saw—saw with wonder, yet pensive

and masterful,

All the menacing might of the globe uprisen around me,

Yet there with my soul I fed, I fed content, supercilious.

'Twas well, O soul—'twas a good preparation you gave me,

Now we advance our latent and ampler hunger to fill,

Now we go forth to receive what the earth and the sea never gave us,

Not through the mighty woods we go, but through the mightier cities,

Something for us is pouring now more than Niagara pouring,

Torrents of men, (sources and rills of the Northwest are you indeed

inexhaustible?)

What, to pavements and homesteads here, what were those storms of

the mountains and sea?

What, to passions I witness around me to-day? was the sea risen?

Was the wind piping the pipe of death under the black clouds?

Lo! from deeps more unfathomable, something more deadly and savage,

Manhattan rising, advancing with menacing front—Cincinnati, Chicago,

unchain'd;

What was that swell I saw on the ocean? behold what comes here,

How it climbs with daring feet and hands—how it dashes!

How the true thunder bellows after the lightning—how bright the

flashes of lightning!

How Democracy with desperate vengeful port strides on, shown

through the dark by those flashes of lightning!

(Yet a mournful wall and low sob I fancied I heard through the dark,

In a lull of the deafening confusion.)

Thunder on! stride on, Democracy! strike with vengeful stroke!

And do you rise higher than ever yet O days, O cities!

Crash heavier, heavier yet O storms! you have done me good,

My soul prepared in the mountains absorbs your immortal strong nutriment,

Long had I walk'd my cities, my country roads through farms, only

half satisfied,

One doubt nauseous undulating like a snake, crawl'd on the ground before me,

Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft, ironically hissing low;

The cities I loved so well I abandon'd and left, I sped to the

certainties suitable to me,

Hungering, hungering, hungering, for primal energies and Nature's

dauntlessness,

I refresh'd myself with it only, I could relish it only,

I waited the bursting forth of the pent fire—on the water and air

waited long;

But now I no longer wait, I am fully satisfied, I am glutted,

I have witness'd the true lightning, I have witness'd my cities electric,

I have lived to behold man burst forth and warlike America rise,

Hence I will seek no more the food of the northern solitary wilds,

No more the mountains roam or sail the stormy sea.

1.7. Virginia—The West

The noble sire fallen on evil days,

I saw with hand uplifted, menacing, brandishing,

(Memories of old in abeyance, love and faith in abeyance,)

The insane knife toward the Mother of All.

The noble son on sinewy feet advancing,

I saw, out of the land of prairies, land of Ohio's waters and of Indiana,

To the rescue the stalwart giant hurry his plenteous offspring,

Drest in blue, bearing their trusty rifles on their shoulders.

Then the Mother of All with calm voice speaking,

As to you Rebellious, (I seemed to hear her say,) why strive against

me, and why seek my life?

When you yourself forever provide to defend me?

For you provided me Washington—and now these also.

1.8. City of Ships

City of ships!

(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!

O the beautiful sharp-bow'd steam-ships and sail-ships!)

City of the world! (for all races are here,

All the lands of the earth make contributions here;)

City of the sea! city of hurried and glittering tides!

City whose gleeful tides continually rush or recede, whirling in and

out with eddies and foam!

City of wharves and stores—city of tall facades of marble and iron!

Proud and passionate city—mettlesome, mad, extravagant city!

Spring up O city—not for peace alone, but be indeed yourself, warlike!

Fear not—submit to no models but your own O city!

Behold me—incarnate me as I have incarnated you!

I have rejected nothing you offer'd me—whom you adopted I have adopted,

Good or bad I never question you—I love all—I do not condemn any thing,

I chant and celebrate all that is yours—yet peace no more,

In peace I chanted peace, but now the drum of war is mine,

War, red war is my song through your streets, O city!

1.9. The Centenarian's Story

[Volunteer of 1861-2, at Washington Park, Brooklyn, assisting

the Centenarian.]

Give me your hand old Revolutionary,

The hill-top is nigh, but a few steps, (make room gentlemen,)

Up the path you have follow'd me well, spite of your hundred and

extra years,

You can walk old man, though your eyes are almost done,

Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me.

Rest, while I tell what the crowd around us means,

On the plain below recruits are drilling and exercising,

There is the camp, one regiment departs to-morrow,

Do you hear the officers giving their orders?

Do you hear the clank of the muskets?

Why what comes over you now old man?

Why do you tremble and clutch my hand so convulsively?

The troops are but drilling, they are yet surrounded with smiles,

Around them at hand the well-drest friends and the women,

While splendid and warm the afternoon sun shines down,

Green the midsummer verdure and fresh blows the dallying breeze,

O'er proud and peaceful cities and arm of the sea between.

But drill and parade are over, they march back to quarters,

Only hear that approval of hands! hear what a clapping!

As wending the crowds now part and disperse—but we old man,

Not for nothing have I brought you hither—we must remain,

You to speak in your turn, and I to listen and tell.

[The Centenarian]

When I clutch'd your hand it was not with terror,

But suddenly pouring about me here on every side,

And below there where the boys were drilling, and up the slopes they ran,

And where tents are pitch'd, and wherever you see south and south-

east and south-west,

Over hills, across lowlands, and in the skirts of woods,

And along the shores, in mire (now fill'd over) came again and

suddenly raged,

As eighty-five years agone no mere parade receiv'd with applause of friends,

But a battle which I took part in myself—aye, long ago as it is, I

took part in it,

Walking then this hilltop, this same ground.

Aye, this is the ground,

My blind eyes even as I speak behold it re-peopled from graves,

The years recede, pavements and stately houses disappear,

Rude forts appear again, the old hoop'd guns are mounted,

I see the lines of rais'd earth stretching from river to bay,

I mark the vista of waters, I mark the uplands and slopes;

Here we lay encamp'd, it was this time in summer also.

As I talk I remember all, I remember the Declaration,

It was read here, the whole army paraded, it was read to us here,

By his staff surrounded the General stood in the middle, he held up

his unsheath'd sword,

It glitter'd in the sun in full sight of the army.

Twas a bold act then—the English war-ships had just arrived,

We could watch down the lower bay where they lay at anchor,

And the transports swarming with soldiers.

A few days more and they landed, and then the battle.

Twenty thousand were brought against us,

A veteran force furnish'd with good artillery.

I tell not now the whole of the battle,

But one brigade early in the forenoon order'd forward to engage the

red-coats,

Of that brigade I tell, and how steadily it march'd,

And how long and well it stood confronting death.

Who do you think that was marching steadily sternly confronting death?

It was the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand strong,

Rais'd in Virginia and Maryland, and most of them known personally

to the General.

Jauntily forward they went with quick step toward Gowanus' waters,

Till of a sudden unlook'd for by defiles through the woods, gain'd at night,

The British advancing, rounding in from the east, fiercely playing

their guns,

That brigade of the youngest was cut off and at the enemy's mercy.

The General watch'd them from this hill,

They made repeated desperate attempts to burst their environment,

Then drew close together, very compact, their flag flying in the middle,

But O from the hills how the cannon were thinning and thinning them!

It sickens me yet, that slaughter!

I saw the moisture gather in drops on the face of the General.

I saw how he wrung his hands in anguish.

Meanwhile the British manoeuvr'd to draw us out for a pitch'd battle,

But we dared not trust the chances of a pitch'd battle.

We fought the fight in detachments,

Sallying forth we fought at several points, but in each the luck was

against us,

Our foe advancing, steadily getting the best of it, push'd us back

to the works on this hill,

Till we turn'd menacing here, and then he left us.

That was the going out of the brigade of the youngest men, two thousand

strong,

Few return'd, nearly all remain in Brooklyn.

That and here my General's first battle,

No women looking on nor sunshine to bask in, it did not conclude

with applause,

Nobody clapp'd hands here then.

But in darkness in mist on the ground under a chill rain,

Wearied that night we lay foil'd and sullen,

While scornfully laugh'd many an arrogant lord off against us encamp'd,

Quite within hearing, feasting, clinking wineglasses together over

their victory.

So dull and damp and another day,

But the night of that, mist lifting, rain ceasing,

Silent as a ghost while they thought they were sure of him, my

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General retreated.

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I saw him at the river-side,

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Down by the ferry lit by torches, hastening the embarcation;

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My General waited till the soldiers and wounded were all pass'd over,

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And then, (it was just ere sunrise,) these eyes rested on him for

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the last time.

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Every one else seem'd fill'd with gloom,

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Many no doubt thought of capitulation.

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But when my General pass'd me,

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As he stood in his boat and look'd toward the coming sun,

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I saw something different from capitulation.

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[Terminus]

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Enough, the Centenarian's story ends,

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The two, the past and present, have interchanged,

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I myself as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now speaking.

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And is this the ground Washington trod?

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And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters he cross'd,

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As resolute in defeat as other generals in their proudest triumphs?

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I must copy the story, and send it eastward and westward,

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I must preserve that look as it beam'd on you rivers of Brooklyn.

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See—as the annual round returns the phantoms return,

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It is the 27th of August and the British have landed,

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The battle begins and goes against us, behold through the smoke

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Washington's face,

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The brigade of Virginia and Maryland have march'd forth to intercept

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the enemy,

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They are cut off, murderous artillery from the hills plays upon them,

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Rank after rank falls, while over them silently droops the flag,

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Baptized that day in many a young man's bloody wounds.

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In death, defeat, and sisters', mothers' tears.

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Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn! I perceive you