Poems By Walt Whitman Part 15

By the bivouac's fitful flame, A procession winding around me, solemn and sweet and slow;--but first I note The tents of the sleeping army, the fields' and woods' dim outline, The darkness, lit by spots of kindled fire--the silence; Like a phantom far or near an occasional figure moving; The shrubs and trees, (as I lift my eyes they seem to be stealthily watching me;) While wind in procession thoughts, O tender and wondrous thoughts, Of life and death--of home and the past and loved, and of those that are far away; A solemn and slow procession there as I sit on the ground, By the bivouac's fitful flame.

_BIVOUAC ON A MOUNTAIN-SIDE._

I see before me now a travelling army halting; Below, a fertile valley spread, with barns, and the orchards of summer; Behind, the terraced sides of a mountain, abrupt in places, rising high; Broken with rocks, with clinging cedars, with tall shapes, dingily seen; The numerous camp-fires scattered near and far, some away up on the mountain; The shadowy forms of men and horses, looming, large-sized, flickering; And over all, the sky--the sky! far, far out of reach, studded with the eternal stars.

_CITY OF SHIPS._

City of ships!

(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!

O the beautiful, sharp-bowed 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 pa.s.sionate 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 offered me--whom you adopted, I have adopted; Good or bad, I never question you--I love all--I do not condemn anything; 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!

_VIGIL ON THE FIELD._

VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night, When you, my son and my comrade, dropped at my side that day.

One look I but gave, which your dear eyes returned with a look I shall never forget; One touch of your hand to mine, O boy, reached up as you lay on the ground.

Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle; Till, late in the night relieved, to the place at last again I made my way; Found you in death so cold, dear comrade--found your body, son of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding;) Bared your face in the starlight--curious the scene--cool blew the moderate night-wind.

Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battlefield spreading; Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet, there in the fragrant silent night.

But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh--Long, long I gazed; Then on the earth partially reclining, sat by your side, leaning my chin in my hands; Pa.s.sing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours, with you, dearest comrade-- Not a tear, not a word; Vigil of silence, love, and death--vigil for you, my son and my soldier, As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole; Vigil final for you, brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death, I faithfully loved you and cared for you living--I think we shall surely meet again;) Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appeared, My comrade I wrapped in his blanket, enveloped well his form, Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head, and carefully under feet; And there and then, and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave, I deposited; Ending my vigil strange with that--vigil of night and battlefield dim; Vigil for boy of responding kisses, never again on earth responding; Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget--how as day brightened I rose from the chill ground, and folded my soldier well in his blanket, And buried him where he fell.

_THE FLAG._

Bathed in war's perfume--delicate flag!

O to hear you call the sailors and the soldiers! flag like a beautiful woman!

O to hear the tramp, tramp, of a million answering men! O the ships they arm with joy!

O to see you leap and beckon from the tall masts of ships!

O to see you peering down on the sailors on the decks!

Flag like the eyes of women.

_THE WOUNDED._

A march in the ranks hard-pressed, and the road unknown; A route through a heavy wood, with m.u.f.fled steps in the darkness; Our army foiled with loss severe, and the sullen remnant retreating; Till after midnight glimmer upon us the lights of a dim-lighted building; We come to an open s.p.a.ce in the woods, and halt by the dim-lighted building.

'Tis a large old church, at the crossing roads--'tis now an impromptu hospital; --Entering but for a minute, I see a sight beyond all the pictures and poems ever made: Shadows of deepest, deepest black, just lit by moving, candles and lamps, And by one great pitchy torch, stationary, with wild red flame, and clouds of smoke; By these, crowds, groups of forms, vaguely I see, on the floor, some in the pews laid down; At my feet more distinctly, a soldier, a mere lad, in danger of bleeding to death, (he is shot in the abdomen;) I staunch the blood temporarily, (the youngster's face is white as a lily;) Then before I depart I sweep my eyes o'er the scene, fain to absorb it all; Faces, varieties, postures, beyond description, most in obscurity, some of them dead; Surgeons operating, attendants holding lights, the smell of ether, the odour of blood; The crowd, O the crowd of the b.l.o.o.d.y forms of soldiers--the yard outside also filled; Some on the bare ground, some on planks or stretchers, some in the death- spasm sweating; An occasional scream or cry, the doctor's shouted orders or calls; The glisten of the little steel instruments catching the glint of the torches; These I resume as I chant--I see again the forms, I smell the odour; Then hear outside the orders given, _Fall in, my men, Fall in_.

But first I bend to the dying lad--his eyes open--a half-smile gives he me; Then the eyes close, calmly close: and I speed forth to the darkness, Resuming, marching, as ever in darkness marching, on in the ranks, The unknown road still marching.

_A SIGHT IN CAMP._

1.

A sight in camp in the daybreak grey and dim, As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless, As slow I walk in the cool fresh air the path near by the hospital tent, Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, untended lying; Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen blanket, Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.

2.

Curious, I halt, and silent stand; Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first, just lift the blanket; Who are you, elderly man, so gaunt and grim, with well-greyed hair, and flesh all sunken about the eyes?

Who are you, my dear comrade?

Then to the second I step--And who are you, my child and darling?

Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming?

Then to the third--a face nor child nor old, very calm, as of beautiful yellow-white ivory: Young man, I think I know you--I think this face of yours is the face of the Christ Himself; Dead and divine and brother of all, and here again He lies.

_A GRAVE._

1.

As toilsome I wandered Virginia's woods, To the music of rustling leaves kicked by my feet--for 'twas autumn-- I marked at the foot of a tree the grave of a soldier; Mortally wounded he, and buried on the retreat--easily all could I understand; The halt of a mid-day hour--when, Up! no time to lose! Yet this sign left On a tablet scrawled and nailed on the tree by the grave, _Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade_.

2.

Long, long I muse,--then on my way go wandering, Many a changeful season to follow, and many a scene of life.

Yet at times through changeful season and scene, abrupt,--alone, or in the crowded street,-- Comes before me the unknown soldier's grave, comes the inscription rude in Virginia's woods, _Bold, cautious, true, and my loving comrade_.

_THE DRESSER._

1.

An old man bending, I come among new faces, Years, looking backward, resuming, in answer to children, "Come tell us, old man," (as from young men and maidens that love me, Years hence) "of these scenes, of these furious pa.s.sions, these chances, Of unsurpa.s.sed heroes--(was one side so brave? the other was equally brave) Now be witness again--paint the mightiest armies of earth; Of those armies, so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to tell us?