The Civil War Era
O Captain! My Captain!
BY WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892)
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
BY WALT WHITMAN (1819-1892)
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
The Blue And The Gray
By: Francis Miles Finch (1827-1907) By the flow of the inland river, Whence the fleets of iron have fled, Where the blades of the grave-grass quiver,Asleep are the ranks of the dead: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment-day; Under the one, the Blue, Under the other, the GrayThese in the robings of glory,Those in the gloom of defeat, All with the battle-blood gory, In the dusk of eternity meet: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgement-day Under the laurel, the Blue, Under the willow, the Gray. From the silence of sorrowful hours The desolate mourners go, Lovingly laden with flowers Alike for the friend and the foe; Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgement-day; Under the roses, the Blue, Under the lilies, the Gray. So with an equal splendor, The morning sun-rays fall, With a touch impartially tender, On the blossoms blooming for all: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment-day; Broidered with gold, the Blue, Mellowed with gold, the Gray. So, when the summer calleth, On forest and field of grain, With an equal murmur falleth The cooling drip of the rain: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment -day, Wet with the rain, the Blue Wet with the rain, the Gray. Sadly, but not with upbraiding, The generous deed was done, In the storm of the years that are fading No braver battle was won: Under the sod and the dew, Waiting the judgment-day; Under the blossoms, the Blue, Under the garlands, the Gray No more shall the war cry sever, Or the winding rivers be red; They banish our anger forever When they laurel the graves of our dead! Under the sod and the dew,Waiting the judgment-day. Love and tears for the Blue, Tears and love for the Gray. |
Civil War
Charles Dawson Shanly (1811–1875)
“RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet!” “Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, There ’s music around when my barrel ’s in tune!”Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. “Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!” “O captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track, When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet. “But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket of gold; An inch from the center my lead broke its way,Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, Of a beautiful lady in bridal array.” “Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—’t is she, My brother’s young bride, and the fallen dragoon Was her husband—Hush! soldier, ’t was Heaven’s decree, We must bury him there, by the light of the moon! “But hark! the far bugles their warnings unite; War is a virtue,—weakness a sin;There ’s a lurking and loping around us to-night, Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!”
Charles Dawson Shanly (1811–1875)
“RIFLEMAN, shoot me a fancy shot Straight at the heart of yon prowling vidette;Ring me a ball in the glittering spot That shines on his breast like an amulet!” “Ah, captain! here goes for a fine-drawn bead, There ’s music around when my barrel ’s in tune!”Crack! went the rifle, the messenger sped, And dead from his horse fell the ringing dragoon. “Now, rifleman, steal through the bushes, and snatch From your victim some trinket to handsel first blood; A button, a loop, or that luminous patch That gleams in the moon like a diamond stud!” “O captain! I staggered, and sunk on my track, When I gazed on the face of that fallen vidette,For he looked so like you, as he lay on his back, That my heart rose upon me, and masters me yet. “But I snatched off the trinket,—this locket of gold; An inch from the center my lead broke its way,Scarce grazing the picture, so fair to behold, Of a beautiful lady in bridal array.” “Ha! rifleman, fling me the locket!—’t is she, My brother’s young bride, and the fallen dragoon Was her husband—Hush! soldier, ’t was Heaven’s decree, We must bury him there, by the light of the moon! “But hark! the far bugles their warnings unite; War is a virtue,—weakness a sin;There ’s a lurking and loping around us to-night, Load again, rifleman, keep your hand in!”
Brother Jonathan's Lament
by Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894)
SHE has gone,— she has left us in passion and pride,--
Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side!
She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow,
And turned on her brother the face of a foe!
Oh, Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun,
We can never forget that our hearts have been one,--
Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name,
From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame! You were always too ready to fire at a touch; But we said, "She is hasty,— she does not mean much." We have scowled, when you uttered some turbulent threat; But Friendship still whispered, "Forgive and forget!" Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown cold? Has the curse come at last which the fathers foretold? Then Nature must teach us the strength of the chain That her petulant children would sever in vain. They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their spoil,Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil,Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their caves, And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the waves: In vain is the strife! When its fury is past, Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last, As the torrents that rush from the mountains of snow Roll mingled in peace through the valleys below. Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky: Man breaks not the medal, when God cuts the die! Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven with steel, The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal! Oh, Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, There are battles with Fate that can never be won! The star-flowering banner must never be furled, For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world! Go, then, our rash sister! afar and aloof, Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof; But when your heart aches and your feet have grown sore, Remember the pathway that leads to our door!
by Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894)
SHE has gone,— she has left us in passion and pride,--
Our stormy-browed sister, so long at our side!
She has torn her own star from our firmament's glow,
And turned on her brother the face of a foe!
Oh, Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun,
We can never forget that our hearts have been one,--
Our foreheads both sprinkled in Liberty's name,
From the fountain of blood with the finger of flame! You were always too ready to fire at a touch; But we said, "She is hasty,— she does not mean much." We have scowled, when you uttered some turbulent threat; But Friendship still whispered, "Forgive and forget!" Has our love all died out? Have its altars grown cold? Has the curse come at last which the fathers foretold? Then Nature must teach us the strength of the chain That her petulant children would sever in vain. They may fight till the buzzards are gorged with their spoil,Till the harvest grows black as it rots in the soil,Till the wolves and the catamounts troop from their caves, And the shark tracks the pirate, the lord of the waves: In vain is the strife! When its fury is past, Their fortunes must flow in one channel at last, As the torrents that rush from the mountains of snow Roll mingled in peace through the valleys below. Our Union is river, lake, ocean, and sky: Man breaks not the medal, when God cuts the die! Though darkened with sulphur, though cloven with steel, The blue arch will brighten, the waters will heal! Oh, Caroline, Caroline, child of the sun, There are battles with Fate that can never be won! The star-flowering banner must never be furled, For its blossoms of light are the hope of the world! Go, then, our rash sister! afar and aloof, Run wild in the sunshine away from our roof; But when your heart aches and your feet have grown sore, Remember the pathway that leads to our door!