Leaves of grass. | ||
TERMINUS.
26 Enough — the
Centenarian's story ends;
The two, the past and present, have interchanged;
I myself, as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now speaking.
27 And is this the ground
Washington trod?
And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters he cross'd,
As resolute in defeat, as other generals in their proudest triumphs?
28 It is well — a lesson like that, always comes good;
I must copy the story, and send it eastward and west- ward;
I must preserve that look, as it beam'd on you, rivers of Brooklyn.
29 See! as the annual round returns, the phantoms return;
It is the 27th of August, and the British have landed;
The battle begins, and goes against us — behold! through the smoke Washington's face;
The brigade of Virginia and Maryland have march'd forth to intercept the enemy;
They are cut off — murderous artillery from the hills plays upon them;
Rank after rank falls, while over them silently droops the flag,
Baptized that day in many a young man's bloody wounds,
In death, defeat, and sisters', mothers' tears.
30 Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn! I perceive you are more valuable than your owners supposed;
Ah, river! henceforth you will be illumin'd to me at sunrise with something besides the sun.
31 Encampments new! in the midst of you stands an encampment very old;
Stands forever the camp of the dead brigade.
The two, the past and present, have interchanged;
I myself, as connecter, as chansonnier of a great future, am now speaking.
24a
And these waters I listlessly daily cross, are these the waters he cross'd,
As resolute in defeat, as other generals in their proudest triumphs?
28 It is well — a lesson like that, always comes good;
I must copy the story, and send it eastward and west- ward;
I must preserve that look, as it beam'd on you, rivers of Brooklyn.
29 See! as the annual round returns, the phantoms return;
It is the 27th of August, and the British have landed;
The battle begins, and goes against us — behold! through the smoke Washington's face;
The brigade of Virginia and Maryland have march'd forth to intercept the enemy;
They are cut off — murderous artillery from the hills plays upon them;
Rank after rank falls, while over them silently droops the flag,
Baptized that day in many a young man's bloody wounds,
In death, defeat, and sisters', mothers' tears.
30 Ah, hills and slopes of Brooklyn! I perceive you are more valuable than your owners supposed;
Ah, river! henceforth you will be illumin'd to me at sunrise with something besides the sun.
31 Encampments new! in the midst of you stands an encampment very old;
Stands forever the camp of the dead brigade.
25a
Leaves of grass. | ||