1
AN old man bending, I come, among new faces, | |
| Years looking backward, resuming, in answer to children, | |
| Come tell us, old man, as from young men and maidens that love me; | |
| Years hence of these scenes, of these furious passions, these chances, | |
| Of unsurpass’d heroes, (was one side so brave? the other was equally brave;) | 5 |
| Now be witness again—paint the mightiest armies of earth; | |
| Of those armies so rapid, so wondrous, what saw you to tell us? | |
| What stays with you latest and deepest? of curious panics, | |
| Of hard-fought engagements, or sieges tremendous, what deepest remains? | |
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2
O maidens and young men I love, and that love me, | 10 |
| What you ask of my days, those the strangest and sudden your talking recalls; | |
| Soldier alert I arrive, after a long march, cover’d with sweat and dust; | |
| In the nick of time I come, plunge in the fight, loudly shout in the rush of successful charge; | |
| Enter the captur’d works.... yet lo! like a swift-running river, they fade; | |
| Pass and are gone, they fade—I dwell not on soldiers’ perils or soldiers’ joys; | 15 |
| (Both I remember well—many the hardships, few the joys, yet I was content.) | |
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| But in silence, in dreams’ projections, | |
| While the world of gain and appearance and mirth goes on, | |
| So soon what is over forgotten, and waves wash the imprints off the sand, | |
| In nature’s reverie sad, with hinged knees returning, I enter the doors—(while for you up there, | 20 |
| Whoever you are, follow me without noise, and be of strong heart.) | |
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3
Bearing the bandages, water and sponge, | |
| Straight and swift to my wounded I go, | |
| Where they lie on the ground, after the battle brought in; | |
| Where their priceless blood reddens the grass, the ground; | 25 |
| Or to the rows of the hospital tent, or under the roof’d hospital; | |
| To the long rows of cots, up and down, each side, I return; | |
| To each and all, one after another, I draw near—not one do I miss; | |
| An attendant follows, holding a tray—he carries a refuse pail, | |
| Soon to be fill’d with clotted rags and blood, emptied and fill’d again. | 30 |
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| I onward go, I stop, | |
| With hinged knees and steady hand, to dress wounds; | |
| I am firm with each—the pangs are sharp, yet unavoidable; | |
| One turns to me his appealing eyes—(poor boy! I never knew you, | |
| Yet I think I could not refuse this moment to die for you, if that would save you.) | 35 |
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4
On, on I go!—(open doors of time! open hospital doors!) | |
| The crush’d head I dress, (poor crazed hand, tear not the bandage away;) | |
| The neck of the cavalry-man, with the bullet through and through, I examine; | |
| Hard the breathing rattles, quite glazed already the eye, yet life struggles hard; | |
| (Come, sweet death! be persuaded, O beautiful death! | 40 |
| In mercy come quickly.) | |
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| From the stump of the arm, the amputated hand, | |
| I undo the clotted lint, remove the slough, wash off the matter and blood; | |
| Back on his pillow the soldier bends, with curv’d neck, and side-falling head; | |
| His eyes are closed, his face is pale, (he dares not look on the bloody stump, | 45 |
| And has not yet look’d on it.) | |
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| I dress a wound in the side, deep, deep; | |
| But a day or two more—for see, the frame all wasted already, and sinking, | |
| And the yellow-blue countenance see. | |
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| I dress the perforated shoulder, the foot with the bullet wound, | 50 |
| Cleanse the one with a gnawing and putrid gangrene, so sickening, so offensive, | |
| While the attendant stands behind aside me, holding the tray and pail. | |
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| I am faithful, I do not give out; | |
| The fractur’d thigh, the knee, the wound in the abdomen, | |
| These and more I dress with impassive hand—(yet deep in my breast a fire, a burning flame.) | 55 |
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5
Thus in silence, in dreams’ projections, | |
| Returning, resuming, I thread my way through the hospitals; | |
| The hurt and wounded I pacify with soothing hand, | |
| I sit by the restless all the dark night—some are so young; | |
| Some suffer so much—I recall the experience sweet and sad; | 60 |
| (Many a soldier’s loving arms about this neck have cross’d and rested, | |
| Many a soldier’s kiss dwells on these bearded lips.) | |
