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Walt Whitman feared that the true experience of the American Civil War would not find its way into the many books written about it.  Whether or not that is the case, the poetry Walt Whitman wrote during and concerning that painful chapter of American history is an emotionally charged expression of his experience. Hopefully the musical settings contained herein breathe additional life into the beautiful poems. Settings not included in the following recording are: Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field One Night, and This Dust Was Once the Man

 

Whitman Settings (Total Duration 11:20)

 
i. Beat! Beat! Drums! ii. Dirge for Two Veterans iii. Cavalry Crossing a Ford iv. O Captain! My Captain! v. Hush'd Be the Camps Today vi. Reconciliation
0:00 2:27 5:27 6:33 8:06 9:19

 

i. Beat! Beat! Drums!

Beat! Beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow! Through the windows - through doors- burst like a ruthless force, Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation, Into the school where the scholar is studying;  Leave not the bridegroom quiet - no happiness must he have now with his bride, Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, ploughing his field or gathering his grain, So fierce you whirr and pound you drums - so shrill you bugles blow.

Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow! Over the traffic of cities - over the rumble of wheels in the streets; Are beds prepared for sleepers at in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in those beds, No bargainers' bargain s by day - no brokers or speculators - would they continue? Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing? Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge? Then rattle quicker, heavier drums - you bugles wilder blow.
Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow! Make no parley - stop for no expostulation. Mind not the timid - mind not the weeper or prayer, Mind not the old man beseeching the young man, Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties, Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses, So strong you thump, O terrible drums - so loud you bugles blow.

 

ii. Dirge for Two Veterans

The last sunbeam Lightly falls from the finish'd Sabbath, On the pavement here, and there beyond it is looking, Down a new-made double grave. Lo, the moon ascending, Up from the east the silvery round moon, Beautiful over the house-tops, ghastly, phantom moon, Immense and silent moon.  I see a sad procession, And I hear the sound of coming full-key'd bugles, All the channels of the city streets they're flooding, As with voices and with tears. I hear the great drums pounding, And the small drums steady whirring, And every blow of the great convulsive drums, Strikes me through and through. For the sun is brought with the father, (In the foremost ranks of the fierce assault they fell, Two veterans son and father dropt together, And the double grave awaits them). Now nearer blow the bugles, And the drums strike more convulsive, And the daylight o'er the pavement quite has faded, And the strong dead-march enwraps me. In the eastern sky up buoying, The sorrowful vast phantom moves illumin'd. (Tis some mother's large transparent face, In heaven brighter glowing). O strong dead-march , you please me! O moon immense with your silvery face, you soothe me! O my soldiers twain! O my veterans passing to burial! What I have I also give you. The moon gives you light, And the bugles and the drums give you music, And my heart, O my soldiers, my veterans, My heart gives you love.

 

iii. Cavalry Crossing a Ford

A line in long array where they wind betwixt green islands, they take a serpentine couse, their arms flash in the sun - hark to the musical clank, Behold the silvery river, in it the splashing horses loitering stop to drink, Behold the brown-faced men, each group, each person a picture, the negligent rest on the saddles, Some emerge on the opposite bank, others are just entering the ford - while, Scarlet and blue and snowy white, The guidon flags flutter gaily in the wind.

 

iv. O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done. The ship has weather'd every rack, the prize we sought is won, The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting, While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring: But O heart! heart! heart! O the bleeding drops of red, Where on the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

O Captain my Captain! rise up and hear the bells; Rise up - for you the flag is flung - for you the bugle trills For you the bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding, For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning; Here Captain! dear father1 This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, You've fallen cold and dead.

My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, The ship is anchor'd safe and sound, its voyage closed and done, From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won; Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells! But I with mournful tread, Walk the deck my Captain lies, Fallen cold and dead.

 

v. Hush'd Be the Camps Today (May 4, 1865)

Hush'd be the camps today, And soldiers, let us drape our war-worn weapons, And each with musing soul retire to celebrate, Our dear commander's death. No more for him life's stormy conflicts, Nor victory, nor defeat - no more time's dark events, Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky. But sing, poet, in our name, Sing of the love we bore him - because you, dweller in camps, know it truly. As they invault the coffin there, Sing - as they close the doors of earth upon him - one verse For the heavy hearts of soldiers.

 

vi. Reconciliation

Word over all, beautiful as the sky, Beautiful that wqr and all its deeds of carnage must in time be utterly lost, That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again, and ever again, this soil'd world; For my enemy is dead, a man divine as myself is dead, I look where he lies white-faced and still in the coffin - I draw near, Bend down and touch lightly with my lips the white face in the coffin.

Recorded: Lawrence University, Conservatory of Music, Appleton, Wisconsin, 2003.  Concert Choir Members, Benjamin Horvat, conductor, Larry Darling, Recording Engineer.