English Poetry III: From Tennyson to Whitman.
The Harvard Classics. 1909–14. |
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| 812. The Reveille |
| | | Bret Harte (1839–1902) |
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| HARK! I hear the tramp of thousands, | |
| And of armèd men the hum; | |
| Lo! a nation’s hosts have gathered | |
| Round the quick alarming drum,— | |
| Saying, ‘Come, | 5 |
| Freemen, come! | |
| Ere your heritage be wasted,’ said the quick alarming drum. | |
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| Let me of my heart take counsel: | |
| War is not of life the sum; | |
| Who shall stay and reap the harvest | 10 |
| When the autumn days shall come? | |
| But the drum | |
| Echoed, ‘Come! | |
| Death shall reap the braver harvest,’ said the solemn-sounding drum. | |
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| ‘But when won the coming battle, | 15 |
| What of profit springs therefrom? | |
| What if conquest, subjugation, | |
| Even greater ills become?’ | |
| But the drum | |
| Answered, ‘Come! | 20 |
| You must do the sum to prove it,’ said the Yankee-answering drum. | |
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| ‘What if, ’mid cannons’ thunder, | |
| Whistling shot and bursting bomb, | |
| When my brothers fall around me, | |
| Should my heart grow cold and numb?’ | 25 |
| But the drum | |
| Answered, ‘Come! | |
| Better there in death united, than in life a recreant,—Come!’ | |
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| Thus they answered,—hoping, fearing, | |
| Some in faith, and doubting some, | 30 |
| Till a trumpet-voice proclaiming, | |
| Said, ‘My chosen people, come!’ | |
| Then the drum, | |
| Lo! was dumb. | |
| For the great heart of the nation, throbbing, answered, ‘Lord, we come!’ | 35 |
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