FIRST O SONGS FOR A PRELUDE.
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irst 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 thansteel!)How you sprang--how you threw off the costumes of peace withindifferent hand,How your soft opera-music changed, and the drum and fife were heardin their stead,How you led to the war, (that shall serve for our prelude, songs ofsoldiers,)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 andturbulent 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'shammer, tost aside with precipitation,)The lawyer leaving his office and arming, the judge leaving thecourt,The driver deserting his wagon in the street, jumping down, throwingthe reins abruptly down on the horses' backs,The salesman leaving the store, the boss, book-keeper, porter, allleaving;Squads gather everywhere by common consent and arm,The new recruits, even boys, the old men show them how to wear theiraccoutrements, 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, thesunrise cannon and again at sunset,Arm'd regiments arrive every day, pass through the city, and embarkfrom the wharves,(How good they look as they tramp down to the river, sweaty, withtheir guns on their shoulders!How I love them! how I could hug them, with their brown faces andtheir 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 thepublic buildings and stores,The tearful parting, the mother kisses her son, the son kisses hismother,(Loth is the mother to part, yet not a word does she speak to detainhim,)The tumultuous escort, the ranks of policemen preceding, clearing theway,The unpent enthusiasm, the wild cheers of the crowd for theirfavorites,The artillery, the silent cannons bright as gold, drawn along, rumblelightly 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, nomere parade now;War! an arm'd race is advancing! the welcome for battle, no turningaway;War! be it weeks, months, or years, an arm'd race is advancing towelcome it.
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