|
Leaves of Grass (1871-72)
contents
| previous
| next
LEAVES OF GRASS.
A BOSTON BALLAD. (1854.)
1 To get betimes in Boston town, I rose this morning
early;
|
Here's a good place at the corner—I must stand and
see the show.
|
2 Clear the way there, Jonathan! |
Way for the President's marshal! Way for the govern-
ment cannon!
|
Way for the Federal foot and dragoons—and the appa-
ritions copiously tumbling.
|
3 I love to look on the stars and stripes—I hope the
fifes will play Yankee Doodle.
|
4 How bright shine the cutlasses of the foremost troops! |
Every man holds his revolver, marching stiff through
Boston town.
|
5 A fog follows—antiques of the same come limping, |
Some appear wooden-legged, and some appear ban-
daged and bloodless.
|
6 Why this is indeed a show! It has called the dead out
of the earth!
|
The old grave-yards of the hills have hurried to see! |
Phantoms! phantoms countless by flank and rear! |
Cock'd hats of mothy mould! crutches made of mist! |
Arms in slings! old men leaning on young men's shoul-
ders!
|
View Page 240
|
7 What troubles you, Yankee phantoms? What is all
this clattering of bare gums?
|
Does the ague convulse your limbs? Do you mistake
your crutches for firelocks, and level them?
|
8 If you blind your eyes with tears, you will not see the
President's marshal;
|
If you groan such groans, you might balk the govern-
ment cannon.
|
9 For shame old maniacs! Bring down those toss'd
arms, and let your white hair be;
|
Here gape your great grand-sons—their wives gaze at
them from the windows,
|
See how well dress'd—see how orderly they conduct
themselves.
|
10 Worse and worse! Can't you stand it? Are you
retreating?
|
Is this hour with the living too dead for you? |
11 Retreat then! Pell-mell! |
To your graves! Back! back to the hills, old limpers! |
I do not think you belong here, anyhow. |
12 But there is one thing that belongs here—shall I tell
you what it is, gentlemen of Boston?
|
13 I will whisper it to the Mayor—he shall send a com-
mittee to England;
|
They shall get a grant from the Parliament, go with a
cart to the royal vault—haste!
|
Dig out King George's coffin, unwrap him quick from
the grave-clothes, box up his bones for a journey;
|
Find a swift Yankee clipper—here is freight for you,
black-bellied clipper,
|
Up with your anchor! shake out your sails! steer
straight toward Boston bay.
|
14 Now call for the President's marshal again, bring out
the government cannon,
|
View Page 241
|
Fetch home the roarers from Congress, make another
procession, guard it with foot and dragoons.
|
15 This centre-piece for them: |
Look! all orderly citizens—look from the windows,
women!
|
16 The committee open the box, set up the regal ribs,
glue those that will not stay,
|
Clap the skull on top of the ribs, and clap a crown on
top of the skull.
|
17 You have got your revenge, old buster! The crown
has come to its own, and more than its own.
|
18 Stick your hands in your pockets, Jonathan—you are
a made man from this day;
|
You are mighty cute—and here is one of your bargains. |
YEAR OF METEORS.
(1859–60.)
YEAR of meteors! brooding year! |
I would bind in words retrospective some of your deeds
and signs;
|
I would sing your contest for the 19th Presidentiad;. |
I would sing how an old man, tall, with white hair,
mounted the scaffold in Virginia;
|
(I was at hand—silent I stood, with teeth shut close—I
watch'd;
|
I stood very near you, old man, when cool and indiffer-
ent, but trembling with age and your unheal'd
wounds, you mounted the scaffold;)
|
—I would sing in my copious song your census returns
of The States,
|
The tables of population and products—I would sing of
your ships and their cargoes,
|
View Page 242
|
The proud black ships of Manhattan, arriving, some
fill'd with immigrants, some from the isthmus
with cargoes of gold;
|
Songs thereof would I sing—to all that hitherward
comes would I welcome give;
|
And you would I sing, fair stripling! welcome to you
from me, sweet boy of England!
|
Remember you surging Manhattan's crowds, as you
pass'd with your cortege of nobles?
|
There in the crowds stood I, and singled you out with
attachment;
|
I know not why, but I loved you…(and so go forth
little song,
|
Far over sea speed like an arrow, carrying my love all
folded,
|
And find in his palace the youth I love, and drop these
lines at his feet;)
|
—Nor forget I to sing of the wonder, the ship as she
swam up my bay,
|
Well-shaped and stately the Great Eastern swam up my
bay, she was 600 feet long,
|
Her, moving swiftly, surrounded by myriads of small
craft, I forget not to sing;
|
—Nor the comet that came unannounced, out of the
north, flaring in heaven;
|
Nor the strange huge meteor procession, dazzling and
clear, shooting over our heads,
|
(A moment, a moment long, it sail'd its balls of un-
earthly light over our heads,
|
Then departed, dropt in the night, and was gone;) |
—Of such, and fitful as they, I sing—with gleams from
them would I gleam and patch these chants;
|
Your chants, O year, all mottled with evil and good!
year of forebodings! year of the youth I love!
|
Year of comets and meteors transient and strange!—lo!
even here, one equally transient and strange!
|
As I flit through you hastily, soon to fall and be gone,
what is this book,
|
What am I myself but one of your meteors? |
contents
| previous
| next
|
| |