Poems By Walt Whitman Part 12

4.

Yet behind all, lowering, stealing--lo, a Shape, Vague as the night, draped interminably, head, front, and form, in scarlet folds, Whose face and eyes none may see: Out of its robes only this--the red robes, lifted by the arm-- One finger crooked, pointed high over the top, like the head of a snake appears.

5.

Meanwhile, corpses lie in new-made graves--b.l.o.o.d.y corpses of young men; The rope of the gibbet hangs heavily, the bullets of princes are flying, the creatures of power laugh aloud, And all these things bear fruits--and they are good.

Those corpses of young men, Those martyrs that hang from the gibbets--those hearts pierced by the grey lead, Cold and motionless as they seem, live elsewhere with unslaughtered vitality.

They live in other young men, O kings!

They live in brothers, again ready to defy you!

They were purified by death--they were taught and exalted.

Not a grave of the murdered for freedom but grows seed for freedom, in its turn to bear seed, Which the winds carry afar and resow, and the rains and the snows nourish.

Not a disembodied spirit can the weapons of tyrants let loose, But it stalks invisibly over the earth, whispering, counselling, cautioning.

6.

Liberty! let others despair of you! I never despair of you.

Is the house shut? Is the master away?

Nevertheless, be ready--be not weary of watching: He will soon return--his messengers come anon.

[Footnote 1: The years 1848 and 1849.]

_TO A FOILED REVOLTER OR REVOLTRESS._

1.

Courage! my brother or my sister!

Keep on! Liberty is to be subserved, whatever occurs; That is nothing that is quelled by one or two failures, or any number of failures, Or by the indifference or ingrat.i.tude of the people, or by any unfaithfulness, Or the show of the tushes of power, soldiers, cannon, penal statutes.

2.

What we believe in waits latent for ever through all the continents, and all the islands and archipelagoes of the sea.

What we believe in invites no one, promises nothing, sits in calmness and light, is positive and composed, knows no discouragement, Waiting patiently, waiting its time.

3.

The battle rages with many a loud alarm, and frequent advance and retreat, The infidel triumphs--or supposes he triumphs, The prison, scaffold, garrote, handcuffs, iron necklace and anklet, lead- b.a.l.l.s, do their work, The named and unnamed heroes pa.s.s to other spheres, The great speakers and writers are exiled--they lie sick in distant lands, The cause is asleep--the strongest throats are still, choked with their own blood, The young men drop their eyelashes toward the ground when they meet; But, for all this, Liberty has not gone out of the place, nor the infidel entered into possession.

When Liberty goes out of a place, it is not the first to go, nor the second or third to go, It waits for all the rest to go--it is the last.

When there are no more memories of heroes and martyrs, And when all life and all the souls of men and women are discharged from any part of the earth, Then only shall Liberty be discharged from that part of the earth, And the infidel and the tyrant come into possession.

4.

Then courage! revolter! revoltress!

For till all ceases neither must you cease.

5.

I do not know what you are for, (I do not know what I am for myself, nor what anything is for,) But I will search carefully for it even in being foiled, In defeat, poverty, imprisonment--for they too are great.

Did we think victory great?

So it is--But now it seems to me, when it cannot be helped, that defeat is great, And that death and dismay are great.

_DRUM TAPS._

_MANHATTAN ARMING._

1.

First, O songs, for a prelude, Lightly strike on the stretched 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.

2.

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 s.h.i.+ps, her houses, her incalculable wealth, With her million children around her--suddenly, At dead of night, at news from the South, Incensed, struck with clenched hand the pavement.

A shock electric--the night sustained it; Till, with ominous hum, our hive at daybreak poured out its myriads.

From the houses then, and the workshops, and through all the doorways, Leaped they tumultuous--and lo! Manhattan arming.

3.

To the drum-taps prompt, The young men falling in and arming; The mechanics arming, the trowel, the jack-plane, the black-smith's hammer, tossed aside with precipitation; The lawyer leaving his office, and arming--the judge leaving the court; The driver deserting his waggon 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 gathering everywhere by common consent, and arming; 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 cl.u.s.ter in camps--the armed sentries around--the sunrise cannon, and again at sunset; Armed regiments arrive every day, pa.s.s 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 covered with dust!

The blood of the city up--armed! armed! 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, unlimbered, to begin the red business!