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VOLUNTEER OF 1861,
(At Washington Park, Brooklyn, assisting the
Centenarian.)
1 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 yon, and presently I must have them serve me.
2 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 the orders?
Do you hear the clank of the muskets?
3 Why, what comes over you now, old man?
Why do you tremble, and clutch my hand so convul- sively?
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
dal- lying
breeze,
O'er proud and peaceful cities, and arm of the sea be- tween.
4 But drill and parade are over — they march back to quarters;
Only hear that approval of hands! hear what a clap- ping!
5 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 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 yon, and presently I must have them serve me.
2 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 the orders?
Do you hear the clank of the muskets?
3 Why, what comes over you now, old man?
Why do you tremble, and clutch my hand so convul- sively?
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;
20a
O'er proud and peaceful cities, and arm of the sea be- tween.
4 But drill and parade are over — they march back to quarters;
Only hear that approval of hands! hear what a clap- ping!
5 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.
| Leaves of grass. | |