I see a sad procession, 3. And I hear the sound of coming full-keyed bugles; All the channels of the city streets they're flooding, As with voices and with tears. 4. I hear the great drums pounding, And the small drums steady whirring; And every blow of the great convulsive drums 5. For the son is brought with the father ; In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell; Two veterans, son and father, dropped together, And the double grave awaits them. 6. Now nearer blow the bugles, And the drums strike more convulsive; And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded, And the strong dead-march enwraps me. 7. In the eastern sky up-buoying, The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumined; 'Tis some mother's large, transparent face, In heaven brighter growing. 8. O strong dead-march, you please me! O moon immense, with your silvery face you soothe me! O my soldiers twain! O my veterans, passing to burial! What I have I also give you. 9. The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music; And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love. SURVIVORS. HOW solemn, as one by one, How As the ranks returning, all worn and sweaty—as the men file by where I stand; As the faces, the masks appear—as I glance at the faces, studying the masks; As I glance upward out of this page, studying you, dear friend, whoever you are ;— How solemn the thought of my whispering soul, to each in the ranks, and to you! I see, behind each mask, that wonder, a kindred soul. O the bullet could never kill what you really are, dear friend, Nor the bayonet stab what you really are. —The soul, yourself, I see, great as any, good as the best, Waiting secure and content,—which the bullet could never kill, Nor the bayonet stab, O friend! HYMN OF DEAD SOLDIERS. I. O NE breath, O my silent soul, A perfumed thought—no more I ask, for the sake of all dead soldiers. Buglers off in my armies! 2. At present I ask not you to sound; Not at the head of my cavalry, all on their spirited horses, With their sabres drawn and glistening, and carbines clanking by their thighs—(ah, my brave horse men! My handsome, tan-faced horsemen! what life, what joy and pride, With all the perils, were yours!) Nor you drummers—neither at reveillé, at dawn, Nor the long roll alarming the camp—nor even the muffled beat for a burial; Nothing from you, this time, O drummers, bearing my warlike drums. 3. But aside from these, and the crowd's hurrahs, and the land's congratulations, Admitting around me comrades close, unseen by the rest, and voiceless, I chant this chant of my silent soul, in the name of all dead soldiers. 4. Faces so pale, with wondrous eyes, very dear, gather closer yet; Draw close, but speak not. Phantoms, welcome, divine and tender! invisible to the rest, henceforth become my companions; Follow me ever! desert me not, while I live! Sweet are the blooming cheeks of the living, sweet are the musical voices sounding; But sweet, ah sweet, are the dead, with their silent eyes. Dearest comrades! all now is over; But love is not over—and what love, O comrades! Perfume from battle-fields rising—up from fœter arising. Perfume therefore my chant, O love! immortal love! Perfume all! make all wholesome! O love! O chant! solve all with the last chemistry. Give me exhaustless—make me a fountain, for the sake of all dead soldiers. |