Drum-Taps: Summary
“Drum-Taps” contains forty-three poems of varying length and is one of the longer sections in the book, exceeded only by “Calamus” and “Autumn Rivulets.” The first poems are filled with jubilation and joy, as the poet celebrates how his city, New York, is leading the northern states to battle during the Civil War. Later in the section, the tone becomes more somber—and even bitter—as the human cost of the conflict becomes apparent.
First O Songs for a Prelude
Whitman begins with a jubilant celebration of New York, the city which “threw off the costumes of peace with indifferent hand” and exchanged opera music for the drum taps of war during the nation’s time of crisis. He describes seeing soldiers on parade in New York every year and expresses surprise that they are now suddenly galvanized into action. In response to their drum taps, civilians leave their various occupations and prepare for battle. The poet loves them for this and shares the “unpent enthusiasm” of the wildly cheering crowd. He looks forward to the long march and the “manly life in the camp.” Manhattan used to frown in the midst of peace and prosperity, but on the brink of war, she smiles with joy.
Eighteen Sixty-One
This is the year of the struggle, which cannot be celebrated in sentimental verse. The symbol of the year is not a pale, effete, lisping poet, but a strong man in uniform with a rifle on his shoulder. This soldier might once have been a working man in Manhattan, or in any northern state; regardless of his hometown, he is an everyman symbol of strength and perseverance. Across America, Whitman has seen such strong, robust men and heard their determined voices roar in favor of freedom. Now, in this “crashing, sad, distracted year,” they must all fight.
Beat! Beat! Drums!
The poet apostrophizes the drums of war, telling them to beat, and the bugles to blow. The force of the sound will “scatter the congregation” from the church. Scholars, bridegrooms, and farmers will hear it, and people will feel compelled to stop whatever they are doing to listen. Sleepers must not sleep, no bargains must be made in business, and lawyers must not argue their cases in the courts. If they do, the drums will beat faster, and the bugles will blow louder, regardless of their prayers and entreaties. The noise must even shake the dead “where they lie awaiting the hearses.” The nation must focus only on what is happening in the South and direct its eyes to the drumbeats and brave men fighting there.
City of Ships
The poet celebrates the beautiful, fierce ships from all over the world that surround the island city of Manhattan. This city “of marble and iron” is proud, passionate, mettlesome, and mad, taking in all the races of the earth. The poet loves the city and condemns nothing in it. He has celebrated every aspect of it in peacetime and now, in wartime, proudly proclaims: “War, red war is my song through your streets, O city!”
The Centenarian’s Story
The speaker addresses an old soldier from the Revolutionary War as he helps him up a hill. The old man is over a hundred years old and almost blind, but he can still walk. The speaker describes what is happening on the plain below, where the new recruits for the Union Army are drilling and exercising. The old man trembles and clutches his hand as he remembers when he was a young soldier and heard General Washington read out the Declaration of Independence to his troops.
In a...
(This entire section contains 973 words.)
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battle fought a few days later, twenty-thousand British troops attacked the Revolutionaries; the ensuing slaughter, he explains, was sickening. Washington was forced to retreat, and everyone was gloomy except the general himself, in whose expression the old man recalls seeing “something different from capitulation.” As the old man ends his story, the young speaker says that “the past and present…have interchanged” and the responsibility for “a great future” now falls upon him.
Dirge for Two Veterans
On a Sunday evening, the last sunbeam shines on the newly-dug grave of two men. As night falls, there is “a sad procession” of drums beating for the deaths of these two men—a father and son—who fell in the front line of battle. The moon gives light to the soldiers, the drums and bugles give them music, and the heart of the poet gives them love.
Ethiopia Saluting the Colors
The poet addresses a woman who is so old that she appears “hardly human.” She stands by the roadside and salutes the colors as the army marches by; as they pass the woman, the poet pauses to ask her who she is. In response, the old woman tells her story: a hundred years ago, a cruel slaver took her from her parents and brought her across the sea to America. Although she says nothing else, she lingers there all day, showing her respect for the Union troops. The poet asks what makes her stay there, wagging her turbaned head: “Are the things so strange and marvelous you see or have seen?”
To a Certain Civilian
Writing to an unnamed civilian, Whitman asks if they want “dulcet rhymes” of peace from him and if they find the war songs he has sung “hard to follow.” As he asks, he adds that he was not singing songs for civilians to understand. Instead, he sings them for himself, as the rattle of martial drums is sweet to him, and he loves the music of funerals. These civilians who cannot fathom war and wish for its end can lull themselves to rest with soft piano tunes, for they will never understand him, his songs, or his wartime dignity.
