Walt Whitman - The Complete Works of Walt Whitman

I heard the wind piping, I saw the black clouds,

Saw from below what arose and mounted, (O superb! O wild as my

heart, and powerful!)

Heard the continuous thunder as it bellow’d after the lightning,

Noted the slender and jagged threads of lightning as sudden and

fast amid the din they chased each other across the sky;

These, and such as these, I, elate, saw — saw with wonder, yet pensive

and masterful,

All the menacing might of the globe uprisen around me,

Yet there with my soul I fed, I fed content, supercilious.

2

’Twas well, O soul — ’twas a good preparation you gave me,

Now we advance our latent and ampler hunger to fill,

Now we go forth to receive what the earth and the sea never gave us,

Not through the mighty woods we go, but through the mightier cities,

Something for us is pouring now more than Niagara pouring,

Torrents of men, (sources and rills of the Northwest are you indeed

inexhaustible?)

What, to pavements and homesteads here, what were those storms of

the mountains and sea?

What, to passions I witness around me to-day? was the sea risen?

Was the wind piping the pipe of death under the black clouds?

Lo! from deeps more unfathomable, something more deadly and savage,

Manhattan rising, advancing with menacing front — Cincinnati, Chicago,

unchain’d;

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 wall 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 walk’d my cities, my country roads through farms, only

half satisfied,

One doubt nauseous undulating like a snake, crawl’d on the ground before me,

Continually preceding my steps, turning upon me oft, ironically hissing low;

The cities I loved so well I abandon’d and left, I sped to the

certainties suitable to me,

Hungering, hungering, hungering, for primal energies and Nature’s

dauntlessness,

I refresh’d myself with it only, I could relish it only,

I waited the bursting forth of the pent fire — on the water and air

waited long;

But now I no longer wait, I am fully satisfied, I am glutted,

I have witness’d the true lightning, I have witness’d 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 the mountains roam or sail the stormy sea.

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The noble sire fallen on evil days,

I saw with hand uplifted, menacing, brandishing,

(Memories of old in abeyance, love and faith in abeyance,)

The insane knife toward the Mother of All.

The noble son on sinewy feet advancing,

I saw, out of the land of prairies, land of Ohio’s waters and of Indiana,

To the rescue the stalwart giant hurry his plenteous offspring,

Drest in blue, bearing their trusty rifles on their shoulders.

Then the Mother of All with calm voice speaking,

As to you Rebellious, (I seemed to hear her say,) why strive against

me, and why seek my life?

When you yourself forever provide to defend me?

For you provided me Washington — and now these also.

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City of ships!

(O the black ships! O the fierce ships!

O the beautiful sharp-bow’d 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 passionate 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 offer’d me — whom you adopted I have adopted,

Good or bad I never question you — I love all — I do not condemn any thing,

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!

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[Volunteer of 1861-2, at Washington Park, Brooklyn, assisting

the Centenarian.]

Give me your hand old Revolutionary,

The hill-top is nigh, but a few steps, (make room gentlemen,)

Up the path you have follow’d me well, spite of your hundred and

extra years,

You can walk old man, though your eyes are almost done,

Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me.

Rest, while I tell what the crowd around us means,

On the plain below recruits are drilling and exercising,

There is the camp, one regiment departs to-morrow,

Do you hear the officers giving their orders?

Do you hear the clank of the muskets?

Why what comes over you now old man?

Why do you tremble and clutch my hand so convulsively?

The troops are but drilling, they are yet surrounded with smiles,

Around them at hand the well-drest friends and the women,

While splendid and warm the afternoon sun shines down,

Green the midsummer verdure and fresh blows the dallying breeze,

O’er proud and peaceful cities and arm of the sea between.

But drill and parade are over, they march back to quarters,

Only hear that approval of hands! hear what a clapping!

As wending the crowds now part and disperse — but we old man,

Not for nothing have I brought you hither — we must remain,

You to speak in your turn, and I to listen and tell.

[The Centenarian]

When I clutch’d your hand it was not with terror,

But suddenly pouring about me here on every side,

And below there where the boys were drilling, and up the slopes they ran,

And where tents are pitch’d, and wherever you see south and south-

east and south-west,

Over hills, across lowlands, and in the skirts of woods,

And along the shores, in mire (now fill’d over) came again and

suddenly raged,

As eighty-five years agone no mere parade receiv’d with applause of friends,

But a battle which I took part in myself — aye, long ago as it is, I

took part in it,

Walking then this hilltop, this same ground.

Aye, this is the ground,

My blind eyes even as I speak behold it re-peopled from graves,

The years recede, pavements and stately houses disappear,

Rude forts appear again, the old hoop’d guns are mounted,

I see the lines of rais’d earth stretching from river to bay,

I mark the vista of waters, I mark the uplands and slopes;

Here we lay encamp’d, it was this time in summer also.

As I talk I remember all, I remember the Declaration,

It was read here, the whole army paraded, it was read to us here,