Tumultuous Loyalty – The Greatest American Elegy
Walt Whitman lived from 1819 to 1892. He took up many occupations through his life, as few to none can maintain a livelihood from their poetry. He was first a partner in a printing press. Other work followed and included teaching, carpentry, and journalism. Later, he attempted to join the army at the time of the Civil War, but had exceeded the age limit. Therefore, he followed many camps and treated the injured and sick. He wrote many famous poems addressed to his time serving in the army, including O Captain! My Captain!, I Hear America Singing, and When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloomed.
When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d is believed to be Whitman relating his thoughts and tumultuous emotions after the assassination of President Abraham Lincoln. He had been a strong follower and supporter of Lincoln from the beginning of the President’s terms. This poem is considered the greatest American elegy ever written. While his poetry is sometimes difficult to follow (as Whitman was well known for leading the Open Verse genre of poetry, which was accomplished by his habit of rambling), it is a moving collection of words that can be called no less than art. It is very well worth the title of the greatest American elegy.
An Excerpt from “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”
18
I saw askant the armies;
And I saw, as in noiseless dreams, hundreds of battle flags;
Borne through the smoke of the battles, and pierc’d with missiles, I saw them,
And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody;
And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)
And the staffs all splinter’d and broken.
I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,
And the white skeletons of young men – I saw them;
I saw the debris and debris of all the dead soldiers of the war;
But I saw they were not as was thought;
They themselves were fully at rest – they suffer’d not,
And the wife and the child, and the musing comrade suffer’d,
And the armies that remain’d suffer’d.
19
Passing the visions, passing the night;
Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades’ hands;
Passing the song of the hermit bird, and the tallying song of my soul,
(Victorious song, death’s outlet song, yet varying, ever-altering song,
As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,
Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,
Covering the earth, and filling the spread of the heaven,
As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,)
Passing, I leave thee, lilac with heart-shaped leaves;
I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring,
I cease from my song for thee;
From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee,
O comrade lustrous, with silver face in the night.
