To the drum-taps prompt,
The young men falling in and arming,
The mechanics arming, (the trowel, the jack-plane, the blacksmith’s
    hammer, tost aside with precipitation,)
The lawyer leaving his office and arming, the judge leaving the court,
The driver deserting his wagon in the street, jumping down, throwing
    the reins abruptly down on the horses’ backs,
The salesman leaving the store, the boss, book-keeper, porter, all leaving;
Squads gather everywhere by common consent and arm,
The new recruits, even boys, the old men show them how to wear their
    accoutrements, they buckle the straps carefully,
Outdoors arming, indoors arming, the flash of the musket-barrels,
The white tents cluster in camps, the arm’d sentries around, the
    sunrise cannon and again at sunset,
Arm’d regiments arrive every day, pass through the city, and embark
    from the wharves,
(How good they look as they tramp down to the river, sweaty, with
    their guns on their shoulders! 
How I love them! how I could hug them, with their brown faces and
    their clothes and knapsacks cover’d with dust!)
The blood of the city up-arm’d! arm’d! the cry everywhere,
The flags flung out from the steeples of churches and from all the
    public buildings and stores,
The tearful parting, the mother kisses her son, the son kisses his mother,
(Loth is the mother to part, yet not a word does she speak to detain him,)
The tumultuous escort, the ranks of policemen preceding, clearing the way,
The unpent enthusiasm, the wild cheers of the crowd for their favorites,
The artillery, the silent cannons bright as gold, drawn along,
    rumble lightly over the stones,
(Silent cannons, soon to cease your silence,
Soon unlimber’d to begin the red business;)
All the mutter of preparation, all the determin’d arming,
The hospital service, the lint, bandages and medicines,
The women volunteering for nurses, the work begun for in earnest, no
    mere parade now;
War! an arm’d race is advancing! the welcome for battle, no turning away! 
War! be it weeks, months, or years, an arm’d race is advancing to
    welcome it.

Mannahatta a-march—­and it’s O to sing it well! 
It’s O for a manly life in the camp.

And the sturdy artillery,
The guns bright as gold, the work for giants, to serve well the guns,
Unlimber them! (no more as the past forty years for salutes for
    courtesies merely,
Put in something now besides powder and wadding.)

And you lady of ships, you Mannahatta,
Old matron of this proud, friendly, turbulent city,
Often in peace and wealth you were pensive or covertly frown’d amid
    all your children,
But now you smile with joy exulting old Mannahatta.

} Eighteen Sixty-One