O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN!1 BY WALT WHITMAN Q 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, 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 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 father! This arm beneath your head! It is some dream that on the deck, My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still, My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will, 1 By permission of David McKay. 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, ABRAHAM LINCOLN'S DEATH-A DE- WALT WHITMAN The day (April 14, 1865) seems to have been a pleasant one throughout the whole land the moral atmosphere pleasant, too-the long storm, so dark, so fratricidal, full of blood and doubt and gloom, over and ended at last by the sunrise of such an absolute National victory, and utter breaking down of secessionism - we almost doubted our senses! Lee had capitulated beneath the apple tree at Appomattox. The other armies, the flanges of the revolt, swiftly followed. And could it really be, then? Out of all the affairs of this world of woe and passion, of failure and disorder and dismay, was there really come 1 By permission of David McKay. ་ the confirmed, unerring sign of peace, like a shaft of pure light of rightful rule of God? But I must not dwell on accessories. The deed hastens. The popular afternoon paper, the little Evening Star, had scattered all over its third page, divided among the advertisements in a sensational manner in a hundred different places: "The President and his lady will be at the theatre this evening." Lincoln was fond of the theatre. I have myself seen him there several times. I remember thinking how funny it was that he, in some respects the leading actor in the greatest and stormiest drama known to real history's stage through centuries, should sit there and be so completely interested in those human jack-straws, moving about with their silly little gestures, foreign spirit, and flatulent text. So the day, as I say, was propitious. Early herbage, early flowers, were out. I remembered where I was stopping at the time, the season being advanced, there were many lilacs in full bloom. By one of those caprices that enter and give tinge to events without being at all a part of them, I find myself always reminded of the great tragedy of that day by the sight and odor of these blossoms. It never fails. On this occasion the theatre was crowded, many ladies in rich and gay costumes, officers in their uniforms, many well-known citizens, young folks, the usual clusters of gas-lights, the usual magnetism of so many people, cheerful, with perfumes, music of violins and flutes and over all, and |