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 favourites,

The artillery, the silent cannons bright as gold, drawn along, rumble lightly over the stones

(Silent cannons, soon to cease your silence,

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