by Whitman · Cluster: War and its Cost · American Civil War · Battlefield
Abstract
A Revolutionary War veteran on his deathbed cries to return to his old battle-life, rejecting the present age of peace.
Connections
Topoi: War as Glory Motifs: Swords and Weapons, Fire Themes & Concepts: War and its Cost, Mortality, Nostalgia Forms & Genres: Dramatic Monologue Settings: Battlefield
Testo integrale / Full text
Cluster: SANDS AT SEVENTY
Amid these days of order, ease, prosperity,
Amid the current songs of beauty, peace, decorum,
I cast a reminiscence—(likely ’twill offend you,
I heard it in my boyhood;)—More than a generation since,
A queer old savage man, a fighter under Washington himself,
(Large, brave, cleanly, hot-blooded, no talker, rather spiritualistic,
Had fought in the ranks—fought well—had been all through the
Revolutionary war,)
Lay dying—sons, daughters, church-deacons, lovingly tending him,
Sharping their sense, their ears, towards his murmuring, half-caught words:
“Let me return again to my war-days,
To the sights and scenes—to forming the line of battle,
To the scouts ahead reconnoitering,
To the cannons, the grim artillery,
To the galloping aides, carrying orders,
To the wounded, the fallen, the heat, the suspense,
The perfume strong, the smoke, the deafening noise;
Away with your life of peace!—your joys of peace!
Give me my old wild battle-life again!”