Lo! from deeps more unfathomable, something more deadly and savage; Manhattan, rising, advancing with menacing front—Cin cinnati, Chicago, unchained; —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 wail and low sob I fancied I heard through the dark, In a lull of the deafening confusion. 3. 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 walked my cities, my country roads, through farms, only half satisfied; One doubt, nauseous, undulating like a snake, crawled on the ground before me, Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft, ironically hissing low; —The cities I loved so well I abandoned and left—I sped to the certainties suitable to me; Hungering, hungering, hungering, for primal energies, and Nature's dauntlessness, I refreshed myself with it only, I could relish it only; I waited the bursting forth of the pent fire—on the water and air I waited long. —But now I no longer wait—I am fully satisfied—I am glutted; I have witnessed the true lightning—I have witnessed 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 on the mountains roam, or sail the stormy sea. BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS! I. EAT! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow! BE Through the windows—through doors—burst like Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation; 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. 2. 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. 3. Beat! beat! drums!—Blow! bugles! blow! Make no parley—stop for no expostulation; Mind not the timid—mind not the weeper or prayer; 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. SONG OF THE BANNER AT DAYBREAK. POET. 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, 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, I'll weave the chord and twine in, Man's desire and babe's desire—I'll twine them in, I'll put |