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Leaves of Grass (1881-82)
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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,
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How your soft opera-music changed, and the drum and fife were
heard in their stead,
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How you led to the war, (that shall serve for our prelude, songs
of soldiers,)
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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,
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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. |
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From the houses then and the workshops, and through all the
doorways,
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Leapt they tumultuous, and lo! Manhattan arming. |
The young men falling in and arming, |
The mechanics arming, (the trowel, the jack-plane, the black-
smith's hammer, tost aside with precipitation,)
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The lawyer leaving his office and arming, the judge leaving the
court,
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The driver deserting his wagon in the street, jumping down,
throwing the reins abruptly down on the horses' backs,
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The salesman leaving the store, the boss, book-keeper, porter, all
leaving;
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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,
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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,
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Arm'd regiments arrive every day, pass through the city, and
embark from the wharves,
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(How good they look as they tramp down to the river, sweaty,
with their guns on their shoulders!
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How I love them! how I could hug them, with their brown faces
and their clothes and knapsacks cover'd with dust!)
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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,
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The tearful parting, the mother kisses her son, the son kisses his
mother,
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(Loth is the mother to part, yet not a word does she speak to
detain him,)
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The tumultuous escort, the ranks of policemen preceding, clearing
the way,
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The unpent enthusiasm, the wild cheers of the crowd for their
favorites,
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The artillery, the silent cannons bright as gold, drawn along,
rumble lightly over the stones,
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(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;
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War! an arm'd race is advancing! the welcome for battle, no
turning away;
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War! be it weeks, months, or years, an arm'd race is advancing
to welcome it.
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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,
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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,
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But now you smile with joy exulting old Mannahatta. |
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