Classic Audiobook Collection - Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War by Herman Melville ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

Starting point is 00:00:00 The portent, by Herman Melville. Hanging from the beam slowly swaying, such the law. Gaunt the shadow on your green, Shenandoah. The cut is on the crown. Lo, John Brown. And the stabs shall heal no more. Hidden in the cap is the anguish none can draw. So your future veils its face, Shenandoah.

Starting point is 00:00:24 But the streaming beard is shown. Weird, John Brown. the meteor of the war. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Misgivings by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Laura Matthew at Clark University. Recorded October of 2012,

Starting point is 00:00:50 Wordpress.clarcu.edu.edu slash M-E-N-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-Librox. When ocean clouds over inland hills, sweeps storming in late autumn brown, and horror the sodden valley fills, and the spire falls crashing in the town, I muse upon my country's ills. The tempest bursting from the waste of time on the world's fairest hope

Starting point is 00:01:17 linked with man's foulest crime. Nature's dark side is heated now, ah, optimist cheer, disheartened flown. A child may read the moody brow of yon black mountain lone, with shouts the torrents down the gorges go, and storms are formed behind the storm we feel. The hemlock shakes in the rafter,

Starting point is 00:01:41 the oak in the driving keel. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Convict of Convictions by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Jason D. Martini at Clark University. Recorded October of 2012. WordPress.clarcu.edu.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-M-A-N-Librovox. On starry heights, abugle wails the long recall.

Starting point is 00:02:24 Derision stirs the deep abyss. Heaven's ominous silence overall. Return, return, no eager hope. And face man's ladder fall. Events, they make the dreamers quail, Satan's old age is strong in hail, a disciplined captain, gray in skill, and Raphael, a white enthusiast still. Dashed aims, at which Christ's martyrs pale, shall Mammon's slaves fulfill? Dismantle the fort, cut down the fleet, battle no more shall be, while the fields for fight and eons to come congeal beneath the sea.

Starting point is 00:03:05 The terrors of truth and dart of death, to face. alike are vain, though comets gone a thousand years, return again. Patient she stands, she can no more, and waits, nor heeds she waxes whore. At a stony gate, a statue of stone, weed overgrown, long twill wait. But God, his former mind retains, confirms his old decree, the generations are inured to pains, strong necessity. Surges and heaps times strand with wrecks. The people spread like a weedy grass, the thing they will they bring to pass, and prosper to the apoplex. They routed herds around the heart, the ghost is yielded in the gloom. Kings wag their heads, now save thyself,

Starting point is 00:04:01 who woulds rebuild the world in bloom. Tidemark, and top of the ages'rish. Tidemark, and top of the ages strife, verge where they call the world to come, the last advance of life. Ha, ha, the rust on the iron dome. Nay, but revere the hit event, and the cloud a sword is girded on. I mark a twinkling in the tent, of Michael, the warrior one. Senior wisdom suits not now, the light is on the youthful brow. I, in caves the minor sea, his forehead bears a blearer. blinking light, darkness so he feebly braves, a meager white.

Starting point is 00:04:44 But he who rules is old, is old. Ah, faith is warm, but heaven with age is cold. Ho ho, ho, ho, the cloistered doubt of olden times is blurted out. The ancient of days forever is young, forever the scheme of nature thrives. I know a wind in purpose strong, it spins against the way it drives. What if the gulfs their slimed foundations bear? So deep must the stones be hurled? Whereon the throes of ages rare? The final empire and the happier world. The poor old past, the future's slave, she drudged through pain and crime, to bring about the blissful prime, then perished. There's a grave. Power unanointed may come, dominion, unsought by the free, and the iron dome, stronger for stress and strain, fling her huge shadow athwart the main, but the founder's dream shall flee.

Starting point is 00:05:54 Age after age shall be as age after age has been, from man's changeless heart, their way they win. and death be busy with all who strive, death with silent negative. Yea and nay, each hath his say, but God he keeps the middle way. None was by when he spread the sky. Wisdom is vain and prophecy. End of poem. This is recording is in the public domain. Apathy and enthusiasm by Herman Melville, read,

Starting point is 00:06:38 for Libravox.org by Sasha Cohen at Clark University, recorded October of 2012, wordpress.clarcuk-e-d-U-D-U-M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-Librox. Oh, the clammy cold November, and the winter white and dead, and the terror, dumb with stupor, and the sky, a sheet of lead, and events that came resounding with the cry that all was lost, like the thunder cracks of massy ice in intensity of frost, bursting one upon another through the horror of the calm, the paralysis of arm in the anguish of the heart and the hollowness and dearth.

Starting point is 00:07:30 The appealings of the mother to brother and to brother, not in hatred so to part, and the fissure in the hearth growing momently more wide, then the glances between the fates and the doubt on every side, and the patience under gloom in the stoniness that waits the finality of doom. So the winter died despairing, and the weary weeks of Lent, and the ice-bound rivers melted, and the tomb of faith, rent. Oh, the rising of the people came with springing of the grass. They rebounded from dejection

Starting point is 00:08:11 after Easter came to pass. And the young were all elation, hearing Sumter's cannon roar, and they thought how tame the nation in the age that went before. And Michael seemed gigantical, the archfiend but a dwarf. And at the towers of Erebus, our striplings flung the scoff. But the elders with foreboding mourned the days forever o'er, and recalled the forest proverb the Iroquois old saw. Grief to every graybeard when young Indians lead the war. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The March into Virginia, ending in the 1st Manassas July 1861 by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Sam Horuska at Clark University.

Starting point is 00:09:12 Recorded October of 2012, wordpress.clarcu.edu.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-N-Librovox. Did all the lets and bars appear to every just or larger end? When should come the trust and cheer? Youth must its ignorant impulse lend. Age finds place in the rear. All wars are boyish and are fought by boys, the champions and enthusiasts of the state.

Starting point is 00:09:41 Turbid ardors and vain joys not barrenly abate, stimulants to the paramature, preparatives of fate. Who here forecast of the event? What heartbears burns at precedent and warnings of the wise? Contempt the foreclosures of surprise? The banners play, the bugles call, the air is blue and prodigal, no bearing party, pleasure wooed, no picnic party in the May, ever went less sloth than they, into that leafy neighborhood.

Starting point is 00:10:11 Embockedly they file toward fate, mollocks uninitiate. Expectancy and glad surmise of battle's unknown mysteries, all they feel is this, tis glory, a rapture sharp, though transitory, yet lasting in belarled story. So they gaily go to fight. chatting left and laughing right. But some, who this blithe mood present, as on enlightsome files they fare, shall die experience or three days are spent,

Starting point is 00:10:42 perish, enlightened by the volley glare, or shame survive, and, like to adamant, the throw of second Manassus share. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lion by Herman Melville. Read for Librebox.org by Danes.

Starting point is 00:11:04 El Padilla at Clark University. Recorded on October 2012. Wordpress.clarcu.edu.edu slash M.E.N.E.M.A.N.S. LibriVox. Some hearts there are of deeper sort, prophetic, sad. Which yet for cause are trebly clad. Known death they fly on. This wizard heart and heart of oak had lion. They are more than 20,000 strong, we less than five.

Starting point is 00:11:31 Too few with such a host to strive. Such counsel, fion, Tis battle or this shame affirmed stood Lyon. For help at need in vain we wait, retreat or fight, retreat the foe would take for flight, and each proud Sion feel more late, the end must come, said Lion. By candlelight he wrote the will, and left his off to her for whom t'n't was not enough to fall. Loud ne'er Ryan, without the tent drums beat, we march with lion.

Starting point is 00:12:02 The night tramp done we spied the veil with guard-fires lit. They broke, but trooping clouds made gloom of it. A field to die on, presages unfulturing heart, brave lion. We fought on the grass, we blood in the corn. Fate seemed malign. His horse, the leader led along the line, star-browed Orion. Bitterly fearless, he rallied us there, brave lion. There came a sound like the slitting of air by a swift, sharp sword, a rush at the sound,

Starting point is 00:12:30 and the sleek chest broad of black Orion heaved and was fixed. The dead man waved towards lion. General, you're hurt, this lead of balls. He seemed half spent. With moody and bloody brow he lowly bent. The field to die on, but not, not yet, the day is long, weed lion. For a time be charmed their fell alol in the heart of the fight. The treetops nod, the slain's sleep light.

Starting point is 00:12:56 Worm noon winds sigh on, and thoughts which he never spake had lion. And the accents and Indians trim for a charge. Stand, ready men, let them come close right up, and then, after the lead the iron, fire and charge back, so strength returned to lion. The Iowa men who held the van have grilled were new to battle. Someone lead us then will do, said Corporal Tryon. Men, I will lead, and a light glared in lion. On they came, they yelled and fired, his spirit sped. We leveled right in, and the half-breeds fled.

Starting point is 00:13:30 nor stayed the iron nor captured the crimson cores of lion. The seer foresaw his soldier doom, yet willed the fight. He never turned. His only flight was up to Zion, where prophets now in armies greet brave lion. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Balls Bluff by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Claire Tierney at Clark University. Recorded October of 2012, wordpress.cpress.clarcu.

Starting point is 00:14:06 slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-S-Librevox. One noon day, at my window in the town, I saw a sight, saddest that eyes can see, young soldiers marching lustily into the wars, with fiefs and flags in mottoed pageantry, while all the porches, walks and doors were rich with ladies cheering royally. They moved like Juney morning on the wave, their hearts were fresh as clover in its prime. It was the breezy summertime. Life throbbed so strong. How should they dream that death in a rosy climb would come to thin their shining throng?

Starting point is 00:14:45 Youth feels immortal like the god sublime. Weeks passed, and at my window, leaving bed, by night I mused, a visible sleep breathed. On those brave boys, ah, war they theft. Some marching feet found pause at last by cliffs Potomac cleft. Wakeful, I mused, while in the street, far footfalls died away. till none were left. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:15:17 DuPont's Round Fight by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Eli Goldman at Clark University. Recorded October of 2012, WordPress.clarcu.edu. slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-LibreVox. In time and measure, perfect moves all art whose aim is sure. Evolving rhyme and stars divine have rules, and they endure. nor less the fleet that warred for right and warring so prevailed in geometric beauty curved and in an orbit sailed.

Starting point is 00:15:51 The rebel at Port Royal felt the unity over awe and rude the spell. A type was here and victory of law. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Stone Fleet by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Andrew Doig at Clark University. recorded October of 2012. Wordpress.clarku.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-Labrelax. I have a feeling for those ships, each worn and ancient one, with great bluff bows and broad in the beam.

Starting point is 00:16:40 I, it was an unkindly done, but so they serve the obsolete, even so, Stone Fleet. You'll say I'm doting. Do but think, I scudded round the horn in one. The tenedos, a glorious, good old craft as ever run. Sunk how all unmeat with the old stone fleet. An India's ship of fame was she, spices and shawls and fans she bore, a whaler when her wrinkles came, turned off till spent and poor, her bones were sold. a sheet, ah, Stone Fleet. Four were erst Patricia Keels, names attest what families be, the Kensington and Richmond, too, Leonidas and Lee. But now they have their seat with the old

Starting point is 00:17:38 stone fleet. To scuttle them a pirate deed, sack them and dismast. They sunk so slow, they died so hard, but gurgling dropped at last. Their ghosts and gales repeat, woes us, stone fleet. And all for not, the waters pass. Currents will have their way. Nature is nobody's ally. Tis well. The harbor is bettered, will stay.

Starting point is 00:18:10 A failure and complete was your old stone fleet. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Katie Bogan, Nick Rovnack, Daniel Padilla, Claire Tierney, and Jeff Medoff at Clark University. Recorded October of 2012, wordpress.clercuk-E-D-U-D-U-M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-Librox. The bitter cup of that hard countermand which gave the envoys up still was wormwood in the mouth, and clouds involved the land. when pelted by sleet in the icy street about the bulletin board a band of eager anxious people met and every wakeful heart was set on latest news from west or south no seeing here cries one don't crowd you tall man pray you read aloud

Starting point is 00:19:15 important we learned that general grant marching from henry overland and joined by a force up the cumberland sent some thirty thousand the command on wednesday a good position won began the siege of Donaldson. The stronghold crowns a river bluff, a good broad mile of leveled top. Inland the ground rolls off deep gorged, and rocky, and broken up. A wilderness of trees and brush. The spated summit shows the rudes

Starting point is 00:19:46 of fixed entrenchments in their hush. Breastworks and rifle pits in woods perplex the base. The welcome weather is clear and mild, tis much like May. The ancient boughs that lace together along the stream And hang far forth, Strange with green mistletoe, Betray a dreamy contrast to the north.

Starting point is 00:20:08 Our troops are full of spirits, Say the siege won't prove a creeping one. They purpose not the lingering stay of old beleaguas, Not that way, But full of them from western prairies won, They'll make earlong a dash at Donald Sun. Washed by the storm till the paper grew Every shade of a streaky blue,

Starting point is 00:20:27 that bulletin stood. The next day brought a second. Later from the fort. Grant's investment is complete, a semicircular one. Both wings the Cumberland's margin meet. Then, backward curving, clasped the rebel seat. On Wednesday, this good work was done, but of the doers some lie prone. Each wood, each hill, each glen was fought for. The bold enclosing line we wrought for, Flamed with sharpshooters. Each cliff cost a limb or life. But back we forced reserves and all, Made good our hold, and so we rest.

Starting point is 00:21:07 Events unfold. On Thursday, added ground was one. A long, bold steep, we near the den. Later the foe came shouting down and sortie, which was quelled, and then we stormed them on their left, a chilly change in the afternoon. The sky late clear is now bereft of sea.

Starting point is 00:21:25 son. Last night the ground froze hard, rings to the enemy as they run within their works. A ramrod bites the lip it meets. The cold incites their swinging of arms with brisk rebound. Smart blows against lusty chests resound. Along the outer line we ward, a crackle of skirmishing goes on. Our lads creep round on hand and knee. They fight from behind each trunk and stone. And sometimes, flying from refuge, one finds tis an enemy shares the tree. Some scores are maimed by bow shot off in the glades by the fort's big gun. We mourn the loss of Colonel Morrison, killed while cheering his regiment on. There are far-shirb shooters try our stuff, and ours return them puff for puff. Tis diamond-work. Woe on the rebel cannoneer who shows his head. Our fellows lurk like Indians that way lay the deer by the

Starting point is 00:22:21 wild salt spring. The sky is done, for dooming the fall of Donaldson. Stern weather is all unwont in here. The people of the country own we brought it. Yea, the earnest north has elementally issued forth to storm this Donaldson. Further, a yelling rout of ragamuffins broke profuse today from out the fort, sole uniform they wore, a sort of patch or white badge, as you choose, upon the honor. arm, but leading these, or mingling, were men of face and bearing of patrician race, splendid in courage and gold lace. The officers, before the breeze made by their charge, down went our line, but, rallying,

Starting point is 00:23:06 charge back in force, and broke the sally, yet with loss. This on the left, upon the right, meanwhile, there was an answering fight. Assailant and assailed reversed, the charge too upward, and not down, up a a steep ridge side, towards its crown, a strong redoubt. But they who first gained the fort's base and marked the trees felled, heaped in horn perplexities, and shagged with brush, and swarming their fierce wasps, whose sting was present death. They faltered, drawing baited breath, and felt it was in vain to dare. Yet still, Perforus returned the ball, firing into the tangled wall till orders to come down.

Starting point is 00:23:50 They came, but left some comrades in their frame, read on the ridge in icy wreath and hanging gardens of cold death. But not quite unevenged these fell. Our ranks, once out of range, a blast of shrapnel and quick shell, burst on the rebel horde, still massed scattering them pell-mell.

Starting point is 00:24:10 This fight, judging what we read, both charge and counter-charge, would seem but Thursdays to hold at large, before in brief reported Ed. Night closed in and about the den murky and lowering. Ear long, chill rains, a night not soon to be forgot, reviving old rheumatic pains and longing for a cot. No blankets overcoats or tents, coats thrown aside on the warm march year.

Starting point is 00:24:38 We look not then for changeful cheer, tents, coats and blankets too much care. No fires, a fire a mark presents. Nearby, the trees show bullet dents. Rations were eaten cold and raw. The men well soaked come snow and more. A midnight sally, small sleeping done. But such is war. No matter. We'll have Fort Donaldson.

Starting point is 00:25:03 Ugg, Ugg, twill drag along, drag along. Grawled across Patriot in the throng. His battered umbrella like an ambulance cover riddled with bullet holes, spattered all over. Hurrah for Grant! cried a stripling shrill. Three urchins joined him with a will, and some of taller stature cheered. Meantime, a copperhead passed. He sneered. Win or lose? He pausing, said.

Starting point is 00:25:26 Caps fly the same. All boys, mere boys. Anything to make a noise. Like to see the list of the dead. These craven stoutherners hold out. Aye, aye, they'll give you many about. We'll be in the end, sir. Firmly said one in stayed rebuke, a solid merchant, square and stout. And do you think it? That way tense, sir. Asked the lean copperhead with a look of splenetic pity. Yes, I do. His yellow death's head, the croaker shook.

Starting point is 00:25:53 The country's ruined, that I know. A shower of broken ice and snow, in lieu of words, confuted him. They saw him hustled round the corner go, and each bystander said, well suited him. Next day, another crowd was seen in the dark weather's sleety spleen. bald headed to the storm came out a man who, mid a joyous shout, silently posted this brief sheet. Glorious victory of the fleet. Friday's great event. The enemy's water batteries beat.

Starting point is 00:26:24 We silenced every gun. The old Commodore's compliments sent Plump into Donaldson. Well, well, go on. exclaimed the crowd, to him who thus much read aloud. That's all. He said. What, nothing more? Enough for a cheer.

Starting point is 00:26:39 thou hip, hurrah. But there's old baldy come again. More news. And now a different strain. Our own reporter at Dispatch compiles, as best he may, from varied sources. Large reinforcements have arrived, munitions, men, and horses. For Grant and all debarked with stores. The enemy's fieldworks extend six miles, the gates still hid, so well contrived.

Starting point is 00:27:04 Yesterday stung us, frozen shore as snow-clad, and through their drear defiles, and over the desolate ridges blew a Lapland wind. The main affair was a good two-hour, steady fight between our guns and the fort. The Louisville's wheel was smashed out right. A hundred and twenty-eight-pound ball came planet-like through a starboard port, killing three men, and wounding all the rest of that gun's crew. The captain of the gun was cut in two. The splintering and ripping went.

Starting point is 00:27:33 Nothing could be its continent. In the narrow stream the Louisville, on helm grew lawless, swung around, and would have thumped and drifted till all the fleet was driven aground, but for the timely order to retire. Some damage from our fire, tis thought, was done the water batteries of the fort. Little else took place that day, except the field artillery and lion would, now and then, for love, they say, exchange of Valentine, the old sharp shooting going on, some plan afoothing. as yet unknown. So Friday closed Ron Donaldson. Later, great suffering through the night, a stinging one. Our heedless boys were nipped like blossoms. Some dozen hapless wounded men were frozen. During day being struck down out of sight and help cries drowned in roaring noise, they were left just where the skirmish shifted, left in dense underbrush, now drifted.

Starting point is 00:28:29 Some, seeking to crawl in crippled plight so stiffened, perished. Yet in spite of pangs for these, no heart is lost. Hungry, in clothing stiff with frost, our men declare a nearing sun shall see the fall of Donaldson. And this, they say, yet not disown the dark redoubts round Donaldson, and ice-glazed corpses, each a stone, a sacrifice to Donaldson. They swear it, and swerve not, gazing on a flag deemed black, frowning from Donaldson. Some of the wounded in the woods were cared for by the foe last night,

Starting point is 00:29:05 though he could do them little needed good, himself being all in shivering plight. The rebels wrong, but human yet. He's got a heart and thrusts a bayonet. He gives this battle with wondrous will. The bluffs are perverted, bunkered hill. The stillness stealing through the throng, the silent thought and dismal fear revealed, they turned and went, musing on right and wrong and mysteries dimly sealed. breasting the storm and daring discontent, the storm whose black flag showed in heaven, as if to say no quarter there was given to wounded men in wood, or true hearts yearning for the good, all fatherless seemed the human soul,

Starting point is 00:29:44 but next day brought a bitterer bowl. On the bulletin board, this stood. Saturday morning at 3 a.m. A stir within the fort betrayed that the rebels were getting under arms. Some plot these early birded said laid, but a Lansing sleet cut. him who stared into the storm. After some vague alarms, which left our lads unscared, out-sallied the enemy at dim of dawn, with cavalry and artillery and went in fury at our environment. Under cover of shot and shell, three columns of infantry rolled on, vomited out of Donaldson, rolled down the slopes like rivers of hell, surged at our line, and swelled and poured like breaking surf, but unsubmerged our men stood up, except where roared the enemy through one

Starting point is 00:30:29 gap, we urged our all of manhood to the stress, but still show shattered in our desperateness. Back set the tide, but soon a fresh rolled in, and so it swayed from side to side, far batteries joining in the din, though sharing in another fray till all became an Indian fight, intricate, dusky, stretching far away, yet not without spontaneous plan, however tangled, showed the plight. Dools all over between man and man, duels on cliffside, and down in ravine. Dules at long range and bone to bone. Dules everywhere, fitting, and half unseen.

Starting point is 00:31:07 Only by courage good as their own, and strength outlasting theirs, did our boys at last drive the rebels off, yet they went not back to their distant layers, in stronghold, but loud in scoff, maintained themselves on conquered ground, uplands, built works, or stalked around. Our right wing bore this onset.

Starting point is 00:31:26 Noon brought calm to Donaldson. The reader ceased. The storm beat hard. T'was day but the office gas was lit. Nature retained her sulking fit in her hand the shard. Fitting faces took the hue of that washed bulletin board in view and seemed to bear the public grief as private and uncertain of relief. Yay, many an earnest heart was one, as broodingly he plotted on to find in himself some bitter thing, some hardness in his lot as harrowing. as Donaldson. That night the board stood barren there, oft-eyed by wistful people passing, who nothing saw but the rainbeads chasing each other down the Wayford Square, as down some stormbeat graveyard stone,

Starting point is 00:32:12 but next day showed, more news last night, story of Saturday afternoon, vicissitudes of the war. The damaged gunboats can't wage fight for days, so says the Commodore. Thus no diversion can be had, under a sunless sky of lead are grim-faced boys in blackened plight gazed towards the ground they held before and then on grant he marks their mood inhales it and will turn the same to good

Starting point is 00:32:41 spite all that they have undergone their desperate hearts are set upon this winter fort this stubborn fort this castle of the last resort this donelson one p m an order given requires withdrawal from the fort of regiments that bore the bull brunt of morning's fray. Their ranks all riven are being replaced by fresh, strong men. Great vigilance in the Fulman's den. He snuffs the stormers. Need it is that for the fell assault of his that rout inflicted and self-scorn. Immoderate in noble natures, torn by sense of being through slackness overborne, the rebel be given a quick return. The kindest face looks now half stern. Bocked of their prey in airs that freeze, some fierce ones glare like savages, and yet, and yet strange moments are, well, blood and tears, and anguished war. The morning's battleground is seen in lifted glades, like meadows rare,

Starting point is 00:33:41 the blood drops on the snow crust there like clover in the white weak show, flush fields of death that call again, call to our men, and not in vain, for that way must the stormers go. 3 p.m. The work begins, light drifts of men thrown forward, fade in skirmish lines along the slope, where some dislodgments must be made ere the stormer with a stronghold cope. Lou Wallace, moving to retake the height's late lost, herewith a break. Storm at the west derange the wires.

Starting point is 00:34:17 Doubtless e'er morning we shall hear the end. We look for news to cheer. Let hope fan all her fires. Next day in large bold hand was seen the closing bulletin. Victory! Our troops have retrieved the day by one grand surge along the line. The spirit that urged them was divine. The first works flooded, not could stay the stormers. On, still on. Bayonets for Donaldson.

Starting point is 00:34:45 Over the ground that morning lost rolled the blue billows, tempest tossed, following a hat on the point of a sword. Spite shell and round shot, grape and canister, Up they climbed without rail or banister, Up the steep hill sides long and broad, Driving the rebel deep within his works, Tis nightfall, not an enemy lurks in sight, The chafing men fete more for fight. Tonight, tonight, let us take the den.

Starting point is 00:35:13 But night is treacherous, Grant is wary, Of brave blood be a little cherry, Patience, the fort is good as one, tomorrow and into Donaldson. Later and last, the fort is ours. A flag came out at early morn, bringing surrender. From their towers floats on, the banner late their scorn. In Dover, Hutton House are full of rebels dead or dying.

Starting point is 00:35:38 The national flag is flying from the crammed courthouse pinnacle. Great boatloads of our wounded go today to Nashville. The sleet winds blow, but all is right. The fight is won. the winter fight for Donaldson. Hurrah, the spell of old defeat is broke, the habit of victory begun. Grant strikes the war's first sounding stroke at Donaldson.

Starting point is 00:36:02 For lists have killed and wounded, see tomorrow's dispatch. Today, tis victory. The man who read this to the crowd shouted as the end he gained. And though the unflagging tempest reigned, they answered him aloud, and hand grasped hand, and glances met in happy triumph.

Starting point is 00:36:22 Eyes grew wet. Oh, to the punches brood that night went little water. Windows bright beamed rosy on the sleet without, and from the deep street came the frequent shout, while some in prayer, as these in glee blessed heaven for the winter victory. But others were who wakeful laid in midnight beds, and early rose, and feverish in the foggy snows snatched the damp paper, wife and maid, the deathless like a river flows down the pale sheet, and there the

Starting point is 00:36:53 whelming waters meet. Ah, God, may time with happy haste bring wail and triumph to a waste, and war be done. The battle flagstaff fall athwart the cursed ravine and wither, not be left of trench or a gun, the bastion let it ebb away, washed with the riverbed, and day in vain seek Donaldson. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. vowel syllables free, our pledge that they shall ever live renowned, such seems to be. A frigate's name, by present glory spanned, the Cumberland. Sounding name as air was sung, flowing, rolling on the tongue, Cumberland, Cumberland.

Starting point is 00:38:16 She warred and sunk. There's no denying that she was ended, quelled. And yet her flag above. Her fate is flying as when it swelled, Unswallowed by the swallowing sea, so grand, The Cumberland. Goodly name as air was sung, roundly rolling on the tongue, Cumberland, Cumberland. What need to tell how she was fought, the sinking flaming gun, the gunner leaping out the port, washed back, undefed-and, done. Her dead unconquerably manned, the Cumberland. Noble name as ere was sung,

Starting point is 00:39:04 slowly rolling on the tongue, Cumberland, Cumberland. Long as hearts shall share the flame, which burned in that brave crew, her flame shall live, outlive the victor's name, for this is due. Your flag and flagstaff shall and stories stand. Cumberland. Sounding name as air was sung. Long they'll roll it on the tongue. Cumberland. Cumberland. End of poem.

Starting point is 00:39:39 This recording is in the public domain. In the turret, March, 1862 by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Sam Horuska at Clark University. recorded October of 2012 Wordpress.clarcu.edu.edu slash M-E-N-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-M-A-N-Librovox. Your honest heart of duty, warden, so helped you that in fame you dwell. You bore the first iron battle's burden, sealed as in a diving bell. Alcities, groping into haunted hell to bring forth King and Mites's bride,

Starting point is 00:40:22 brave not more vaguely direful and untried. What poet shall uplift his charm, bold sailor, to your height of daring, and inter-blend therewith the calm, and build a goodly style upon your bearing? Escape the gale of outer ocean, crept in a craft which like a log was washed by every billow's motion. By night you heard of Og the Huge, nor felt your courage clog at tokens of his onset grim. You mark the sunship's flagstaff slim, lit by her burning sister's heart, You marked and mused. Day brings the trial, then be approved if I have part with men whose manhood never took denial.

Starting point is 00:41:03 A prayer went up, a champion's. Morning beheld you in the turret walled by adamant, where a spiritful warning and all derided called. Man, darest thou, desperate, unappalled, be first to lock thee in the armored tower? I have thee now, and what the battle hour to me shall bring. Heed well, thou't share. This plotwork planned to be the foeman's terror. To thee may prove a goblin snare. It's very strength and cunning, monstrous error.

Starting point is 00:41:37 Stand up, my heart. Be strong. What matter if here thou seest thy welded tomb? And let huge aug with thunder's batter. Duty be still my doom, though drowning come in liquid gloom. First duty, duty next, and duty last. I turret, rivet me here to duty fast, so nerved you fought, wisely and well, and live, twice live in life and story, but over your monitor dirges swell, in wind and wave that keep the rights of glory. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 00:42:21 The Temerere by Herman Melville, read for Librevox.org by Jonathan Bryan at Clark University, recorded November of 2012. Wordpress.clarku.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-A-N-Librox. The gloomy hulls in armor grim like clouds or moors have met, and prove that oak and iron and man are tough in fiber yet. But splendors wane, the sea-fight yields no front of old display, the garniture, emblazenment, and heraldry all decay. towering afar and parting light the fleets like Albion's forelands shine the full-sailed fleets the shrouded show of ships of the line the fighting temerere built of a thousand trees lunging out her lightnings and beetling over the seas oh ship how brave and fair that fought so often well on open decks you manned the gun armorial what cheering did you share impulsive in the van when down upon least leagued France and Spain, we English ran. The freshet at your bowsprit, like the foam upon the can,

Starting point is 00:43:33 bickering your colors licked up the Spanish air. You flapped with flames of battle flags, your challenge, Temerere. The rear ones of our fleet, they yearned to share your place, still vying with the victory throughout that earnest race. The victory, whose admiral with orders nobly won, shone in the globe of the battle glow, the angel in that sun. parallel in story lo the stately pair as late in grapple ranging the foe between them there when four

Starting point is 00:44:03 great hulls lay tiered and the fiery tempest cleared and your prizes twain appeared temerere but Trafalgar is over now the quarter-deck undone the carved and castled navy's fire their evening gun oh title temererer your stern lights fade away your bulwarks to the years must yield, and heart of oak decay. A pygmy steam-tug tows you, gigantic to the shore. Dismantled of your guns and spars and sweeping wings of war. The rivets clinch the ironclads. Men learn a deadlier lore.

Starting point is 00:44:45 But fame has nailed your battle flags. Your ghost it sails before. Oh, the navies old and oaken. Oh, the temerare no more. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. nimble for since grimmed war here laid aside his orient pomp twould ill befit over much to ply the rheims barbaric symbol hail to victory without the god of glory zeal that needs no fans of banners plain mechanic power piled cogently in war now placed where war belongs among the trades and artisans yet this was

Starting point is 00:46:05 battle, and intense, beyond the strife of fleet's heroic, deadlier, closer, calm, mid-storm, no passion. All went on by crank, pivot, and screw, and calculations of caloric. Needless to dwell, the stories known, the ringing of those plates on plates still ringeth round the world, the clangor of the blacksmith's fray. the Anvil Dinn resounds this message from the fates. War shall yet be, and to the end, but war paint shows the streaks of weather. War yet shall be, but warriors are now but operatives.

Starting point is 00:46:53 Wars made less grand than peace, and a syng runs through lace and feather. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Sasha Cohen at Clark University, recorded October of 2012. Wordpress.clarku.org.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-U-Labrox. Skimming lightly, wheeling still, the swallows fly low over the field in clouded days, the forest field of Shiloh.

Starting point is 00:47:44 Over the field where April rain solaced the parched ones stretched in pain through the pause of night that followed the Sunday fight. Around the church of Shiloh, the church so lone, the log-built one, that echoed to many a parting groan and natural prayer of dying foemen mingled there. Fomen at morn, but friends at Eve, Fame or country leased their care. What like a bullet can undeceive? But now they lie low,

Starting point is 00:48:24 while over them the swallow skim, and all is hushed at Shiloh. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Battle for the Mississippi by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Mybuoy at Clark University, recorded November of 2012, Wordpress.cqu.orgut.org.m. Ed.m. Slavrex. When Israel camped by Migdalhor, down at her feet her sham she threw,

Starting point is 00:49:04 but Moses sung and timbrels rung for Pharaoh's stranded crew. So God appears in apt events. The Lord is a man of war. So the strong wind to the muses given in victory's roar. Deep be the ode that hymns the fleet, the fight by night the fray, which bore our flag against the powerful stream and let it up today. Dully through din of larger strife shall bay that warring gun, but nonetheless to us who live it peals an echoing one. The shock of ships, the jar of walls, the rush through thick and thin, the flaring fire rafts, glare and gloom, eddies and shells that spin. The boom chain burst, the hulks dislodged, the jam of gunboats driven, or fired or sunk, made up a war like Michaels waged with leaven.

Starting point is 00:49:57 The manned Veruna stemmed and quelled the odds which hard beset. The oaken flagship, half a blaze, passed on and thundered yet. While foundering, gloomed in grimy flame, the ram manassus, hark the yell, plunged and was gone in joy or or fright, the river gave a startled swell. They fought through lurid dark till dawn. The war smoke rolled away, with clouds of night and showed the fleet and scarred yet firm array. Above the forts, above the drift of wrecks which strife had made, and Farragut sailed up to the town and anchored, sheathed the blade.

Starting point is 00:50:35 The moody broadsides, brooding deep, hold the lewd mob at bay, while o'er the armed decks solemn Isles, the meek church pennons play. By shotted guns the sailors stand with foreheads bound or bear. The captains and the conquering crews humble their pride and prayer. They pray, and after victory, prayer is meat for men who mourn their slain. The living shall enmore and sail, but death's dark anchor secret deeps detain, yet glory slants her shaft of rays far through the undisturbed abyss. There must be other, noble a world's for them who nobly yeas. their lives in this. End of poem.

Starting point is 00:51:15 This recording is in the public domain. Malvern Hill by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Josh Goldberg at Clark University recorded November of 2012, wordpress.clercru. . .m-E-U-M-A-N-E-U-M-A-N-LibroVox. Ye elms that wave on Malvern Hill. And prime of morn in May, recall ye how McClellan's men, here stood at bay.

Starting point is 00:51:53 While deep within yon forest dim our rigid comrades lay, Some with the cartridge in their mouth, others with fixed arms lifted south, invoking so the cypress glades, ah wilds of woe. The spires of Richmond late beheld, through riffs in musket haze, were closed from view in clouds of dust on leaf-walled ways, where streamed our wagons and caravan, and the seven nights and days, of March and fasts retreat and fight,

Starting point is 00:52:25 pinched our grime faces to ghastly plight. Does the elmwood recall the haggard beards of blood? The battle-smoke flag was stars eclipsed. We followed, it never fell, and silence husbanded our strength, receive their yell. Till on this slope we patient turned, with cannon ordered well. Reverse we prove was not defeat, but ah the sod what thousands meet.

Starting point is 00:52:52 Does Malvern wood bethink itself and muse and brood? We elms of Malvern Hill remember everything, but sap the twig will fill. Wag the world how it will. Leaves must be green in spring. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. by Herman Melville. Read for LibriVox.org by Daniel Padilla at Clark University.

Starting point is 00:53:24 November 2012. WordPress.clarcu.edu. M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-Labby-N. When tempest winnowed grain from Bran, and men were looking for a man, authority called you to the van, McClellan. Along the line the plot had ran, that's later when the Entidum's cheers began.

Starting point is 00:53:45 Through storm cloud and eclipse must move, each cause in man, dear to the stars in Jove, nor always can the wisest tell deferred fulfillment from the hopeless knell. The struggler from the floundering ne'er do well, a pall-cloth on the seven days fell, McClellan, unprosperously heroic, who could in Teum's wreaths reed, or tell? Authority called you, then, in mist and loom of jeopardy, dismissed, but staring peril soon appalled, you the discarded she recalled, recalled you nor endured the delirred lay, and forth you rode upon a blasted way.

Starting point is 00:54:21 Arried Pope's route and routed Lee's array, McClellan. Your tent was choked with captured flags that day, McClellan, Antietam was a telling fray. Recalled you, and she heard your drum advancing through the glassy gloom. You manned the wall, you propped the dome, you stormed a home, McClellan, and Teetum's cannon long-shell boom. At Alexandria, left alone, McClellan, your best of the lone, your veterans sent from you and thrown to fields and fortunes all unknown what thoughts were yours revealed to none while faithful still you labored on hearing the farm Manassus gun Maclellan only in Teetim could atone you fought in the

Starting point is 00:55:04 front an evil day McClellan the forefront of the first essay the cause when sounding groped its way the leadsmen quarrelled in the bay quills thwarted swords divided sway The rebel flushed in his lusty may. You did your best as in you lay, McClellan. Antietam's sunbursts sheds array. Your metal soldiers love you well, McLellan. Name your name, their true heart swell. With you, they shook dread stonewall spell.

Starting point is 00:55:33 With you they brave the blended yell of rebel and malignor fell. With you in shame or fame they dwell, McClellan. Antietam braves a brave can tell. And when your comrades now so few, McLellan, Such ravage and defiles they rue. Meet round the board and sadly view the empty places. Tribute do they render to the dead. And you, absent and silent nor the blue.

Starting point is 00:55:57 The one-arm lift the wine to you, McLellan, and great in tedium's tears renew. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Battle of Stone River, Tennessee, by Herman Melville. Read for Libravocs.org by Sasha Cohen at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012, WordPress.clerkU.edu.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-Labrelau-Labox.

Starting point is 00:56:35 With Tewkesbury and Barnett Heath, in days to come, the field shall blend, the story dim and date obscure. In legend, all shall end. Even now, involved in forest shade, a druid, dream the strife appears, the fray of yesterday assumes the haziness of years. In North and South still beats the vein of Yorkist and Lancasterian. Our rival roses warred for sway, for sway, but named the name of right, and passion, scorning pain and death lent sacred fervor to the fight. Each lifted up abroitered cross, while crossing blades profaned the sign. Monks blessed the fratricidal lance,

Starting point is 00:57:31 and sisters' scarfs could twine. Do north and south the sin retain of Yorkist and Lancasterian? But rosecrans in the cedarne glade, and deep and denser cypress gloom, dark Breckenridge shall fade away, or thinly loom. The pale throngs who in force cowed before the spell of battle's pause forefelt the stillness that shall dwell on them and on their wars. North and South shall join the train of Yorkist and Lancasterian. But where the sword has plunged so deep, and then been turned within the wound by deadly hate,

Starting point is 00:58:20 where climbs contend on vasty ground. No warning alps or seas between, and small the curb of creed or law, and blood is quick, and quick the brain, shall north and south their rage deplore, and reunited thrive a main, like Yorkist and Lancasterian. End of poem.

Starting point is 00:58:47 This recording is in the public domain. The Batteries by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Catherine Bogan at Clark University, recorded November of 2012. Wordpress.clarcu.edu.m-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-Labrelau-M-A-N-Labre A moon. A moonless night, a friendly one. A haze dimmed the shadowy shore as the first lampless boat slid silent on, hissed, and we spake no more. We but pointed and stillly to what we saw. We felt the dew, and seemed to feel the secret like a burden laid. The first boat melts, and a second keel is blent with the foliageed shade. Their midnight rounds have the rebel officers made? Unspied as yet, a third, a fourth gunboat, and transport an Indian file upon the

Starting point is 00:59:49 warpath, smooth from the north. But the world. watch may they hope to beguile, the manned river batteries stretch for mile on mile. A flame leaps out. They are seen. Another and another gun roars. We tell the course of the boat through the screen by each further fort that pours, and we guess how they jump from their beds on those shrouded shores. Converging fires, we speak, though low.

Starting point is 01:00:18 That blastful furnace can they thread? Why Shadrach, Meshak, and Abednego came out all right, we read. The Lord be sure, he helps his people, Ned. How we strain our gaze. On bluffs they shun a golden, growing flame appears, confirms to a silvery, steadfast one. The town is a fire, crows hue. Three cheers!

Starting point is 01:00:41 Lot stops his mouth. Nay, lad, better three tears. A purpose light. It shows our fleet. yet a little late in its searching ray so far and strong that in phantom cheat lank on the deck our shadows lay the shining flagship stings their guns to furious play how dread to mark her near the glare and glade of death the beacon throws athwart the racing waters there one by one each plainer grows then speeds a blazoned target to our gladdened foes the impartial crescent lights as well the Fort to the boats that run, and, plunged from the ports, their answers swell back to each fortress done. Ponderous words speaks every monster gun. Fearless, they flash through gates of flame, the salamanders hard to hit, the vivid shows each bulky frame, and never the batteries intermit,

Starting point is 01:01:42 nor the boat's huge guns. They fire and flit. Anon a lull, the beacon dies. Are they out of that straight accursed? But other flames now dawning rise, Not mellowly brilliant like the first, But rolled in smoke, whose whitish volumes burst. A baleful brand, a hurrying torch whereby a new the boats are seen, A burning transport all a lurch.

Starting point is 01:02:12 Breathless we gaze, Yet still we glean glimpses of beauty as we eager lean. The effulgence takes an amber glow, which baths the hillside villas far. Afrighted ladies mark the show, painting the pale magnolia, the fair, false, Circe light of cruel war.

Starting point is 01:02:33 The barge drifts doomed, a plague-struck one. Shoreward and yalls the sailors fly, but the gauntlet now is nearly run, the spleenful forts by fit's reply, and the burning boat dies down in morning sky. All out of range. Adieu, monsieur's jeers as at speeds are parting gun. So burst we through their barriers and menaces everyone. So Porter proves himself a brave man's son. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Stonewall Jackson by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Mybuoy at Clark University.

Starting point is 01:03:21 recorded November of 2012, wordpress.clarcuk.edu.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-Labox. The man who fiercest charged in fight, whose sword and prayer were long, stonewall, even him who stoutly stood for wrong. How can we praise, yet coming days shall not forget him with this song? Dead is the man whose cause is dead. Vainly he died and set his seal.

Starting point is 01:03:53 Stonewall, earnest and error as we feel, true to the thing he deemed was due, true as John Brown or steel. Relentlessly he routed us, but we relent for he is low. Stonewall, justly his fame we outlaw, so we drop a tear on the bold Virginian's beer because no wreath we owe. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Stonewall Jackson, as ascribed to a Virginian by Herman Melville, read for Librevox.org by Jonathan Bryan at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012, wordpress.clarcu.edu.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-Labrox. One man, we claim of wrought renown, which not the North shall care to slur, a modern lived who sleeps in dead, calm as the marble ancients are tis he whose life though a vapour's wreath was charged

Starting point is 01:05:04 with the lightning's burning breath stonewall stormer of the war but who shall him the Roman heart a stoic he but even more the iron will and lion few were strong to inflict as to endure who like him could stand or pursue his fate the fatalist followed through In all his great soul found to do, Stonewall followed his star. He followed his star on the Romney March through the sleet to the wintry war, and he followed it on when he bowed the grain, the wind at Shenandoah. At Gaines Mill in the giant strain on the fierce forced stride to Manassas' plain, where his sword with thunder was clothed again, Stonewall followed his star.

Starting point is 01:05:52 His star he followed athwart the flood, to Potomac's Norfolk's Norfolk. shore, when Midway waiting, his host of Braves, My Maryland! Loud did roar. To Red Antietam's field of graves, Through mountain passes, woods and waves, They followed their pagod with hymns and glaves, For Stonewall followed a star.

Starting point is 01:06:11 Back it led him to Mary's slope, Where the shock and the fame he bore, And to green moss neck it guided him, Brief respite from throes of war, To the laurel glade by the wilderness grim, through climaxed victory, naught shall dim. Even unto death it piloted him. Stonewall followed his star.

Starting point is 01:06:32 Its lead he followed in gentle ways, which never the valiant mar. A cap we sent him, bestarred, to replace the sun-scorched helm of war. A fillet he made at the shining lace, childhood's laughing brow to grace. Not his was a goldsmith's star. O much of doubt in after days shall cling as now to the war. Of the right and the wrong, they'll still debate, puzzled by Stonewall's star. Fortune went with the North elate, I, but the South had Stonewall's weight, and he fell in the South's vain war. End of poem.

Starting point is 01:07:09 This recording is in the public domain. Gettysburg by Herman Melville. Read for Libbybox.org by Daniel Padilla at Clark University. Recorded October 2012. WordPress. clark u. edu slash m e ne u m a n e u m a n slash liby vox o pride of the days in prime of the months now trebled in great renown when before the ark of our holy cause fell daggan down dagon foredoomed who armed and targed never his impious heart enlarged beyond that hour god walled his power and there the last invader charged he charged

Starting point is 01:07:54 and in that charge condensed his all of hate and all of fire. He sought to blast us in his corn, and wither us in his ire. Before him went the shriek of shells, aerial screamings, taunts, and yells. Then the three waves and flashed advance surged, but were met and back they said. Pride was repelled by sterner pride, and right as his stronghold yet. Before our lines it seemed the beach which wild September gales have strewn with havoc on wreck. and dashed therewith pale crews unknown, men, arms, and steeds. The evening sun died on the face of each lifeless one, and died along the winding march

Starting point is 01:08:35 of fight and searching parties alone. Sloped on the hill the mounds were green, our center held that place of graves, and some still hold it in their swoon, and over these its glory waves. The warrior monument crashed in fight, shall sword transfigured in loftier light, a meaning Amler Bear, soldier and priests with him in prayer have laid the stone, and every bone shall rest and honor there. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 01:09:11 The House Top by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Jason de Martini at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012, wordpress.cruc.orgue. M.A.N. slash Libravax. No sleep. The sultiness pervades the air and binds the brain. A dense oppression, such as tawny tigers feel in matted shades, vexing their blood and making apt for ravage. Beneath the stars, the roofy desert spreads, vacant as Libya. All is hushed nearby, yet fitfully from far breaks a mixed surf of muffled sound, the atheist roar of riot. Yonder, where parching serious set in drought, balefully glares red arson, there and there. The town is taken by its rats, ship rats, and rats of the wharves.

Starting point is 01:10:30 Chival charms and priestly spells which laid held hearts in awe, fear-bound, subjected to a better sway than sway of self, these like a dream dissolve, and man rebounds whole eons back in nature. Hail to the low, dull rumble, dull and dead, and ponderous drag that shakes the wall. Wise Draco comes deep in the midnight roll of black artillery. He comes, though late, in code corroborating Calvin's Creed and cynic tyrannies of honest kings. He comes, nor parley's, and the town, redeemed, gives thanks devout, nor being thankful heeds, the grimy slur on the Republic's faith implied, which holds that man is naturally good, and more is nature's Roman never to be scourged. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Lookout Mountain by Herman Melville, read for Librevox.org by Mybuoy at Clark University.

Starting point is 01:11:58 Recorded October of 2012, wordpress.cru.cuk-ed-c-E-D-U-N-E-U-S-E-U-N-U. M-A-N-Librovox. Who inhabitseth the mountain that it shines in the lurid light, and is rolled about with thunders and terrors in a blight? Like cough the peak of eblis, cough the evil height, who has gone up with a shouting and a trumpet in the night? There is battle in the mountain, might assaulteth might, this is the fastness of the anarch, torn in ancient height,

Starting point is 01:12:33 the crags resounding the clangor of the war of wrong and right. and the armies in the valley watch and pray for dawning light. Joy, joy, the day is breaking and the cloud is rolled from sight. There is triumph in the morning for the anarchs plunging flight. God has glorified the mountain where a banner burneth bright, and the armies in the valley they are fortified in right. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Chattanooga by Herman Melville.

Starting point is 01:13:10 Read for Librevox.org by Andrew Doig at Clark University. recorded November of 2012 Wordpress.clarkeu.edu.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-Labrelaux. A kindling impulse seized the host, inspired by heaven's elastic air, their hearts outran their general's plan, though Grant commanded there.

Starting point is 01:13:41 Grant, who without reserve can dare, and, well, go on and do your will, he said and measured the mountain then. So master riders fling the rain, but you must know your men. On yester morn in grayish mist, armies like ghosts on hills had fought, and rolled from the cloud their thunders loud, the Cumberlands far had caught. Today the sunlight steeps are sought. Grant stood on cliffs once all was plain And smoked as one who feels no cares

Starting point is 01:14:18 But mastered nervousness intense Alone such calmness wears The summit cannon plunge their flame Sheer down the primal wall But up and up each linking troop In stretching festoons crawl Nor fire a shot Such men appall the foe though brave

Starting point is 01:14:38 He from the brink looks far along the breadth of slope and sees two miles of dark dots creep and knows they mean the cope. He sees them creep, yet here and there, half-hid mid-leafless groves they go, as men who ply through traceries high of turded marble show,

Starting point is 01:15:01 so dwindle these to eyes below. But fronting shot and flanking shell sliver and rive the inwoven ways, High tops of oaks and high hearts fall, But never the climbing stays. From right to left, from left to right, They roll the rallying cheer, Fie with each other, brother with brother,

Starting point is 01:15:26 Who shall the first appear? What color bearer with colors clear, In sharp relief, like sky drawn Grant, Whose cigar must now be near the stump, While in solicitude his back, eap slowly to a hump. Near and more near, till now the flags run like a catching flame, and one flares highest to peril nighest,

Starting point is 01:15:53 he means to make a name, salvos that give him his fame. The staff is caught and next the rush, and then the leap where death has led. Flag answered flag along the crest, and swarms of rebels fled. But some who gained the envied alp and eager, ardent, earnest there, dropped into death's wide open arms, quelled on the wing like eagles struck in air.

Starting point is 01:16:22 Forever they slumber young and fair, the smile upon them as they died. Their end attained that end a height. Life was to these a dream fulfilled, and death a starry night. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Armies of the Wilderness, 1863 to 1864 by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Jonathan Bryan at Clark University.

Starting point is 01:17:00 Recorded November of 2012, wordpress.clarku.edu.edu slash M-E-N-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-LibroVox. Like snows, the camps on southern hills lay all the winter long, Our levees there in patience stood, they stood in patience strong. On fronting slopes gleamed other camps where faith is firmly clung. Ah, forward, kin, so brave amidst the zealots of the wrong. In this strife of brothers, God hear their country call. However it be, whatever betide, let not the just one fall. Through the pointed glass our soldiers saw, the baseball bounding scent.

Starting point is 01:17:44 They could have joined them in their sport but for the veils deep rent, and And others turned the reddish soil like diggers of graves they bent. The reddish soil entrenching toil begat presentiment. Did the fathers feel mistrust? Can no final good be wrought? Over and over, again and again, must the fight for the right be fought? They lead a gray back to the crag. Your earth works yonder, tell us, man.

Starting point is 01:18:09 A prisoner, no deserter I, nor one of the telltale clan. His rags they mark. True blue like you should wear the color, your country's man. He grinds his teeth, however that be, yon earthworks have their plan. Such brave ones, foully snared by Belial's wily plea, were faithful unto the evil end, feudal fidelity. Well then, your camps, come, tell the names. Freely he leveled his finger then. Yonder, see, are our Georgians on the crest, the Carolinians lower past the glen,

Starting point is 01:18:41 Virginians, Alabamians, Mississippians, Kentuckians, follow my finger. Tennesseans and the ten camps there. Ask your grave pits, they'll tell. Helloa! I see the picket hut, the den, where I last night lay. Where's Lee? In the hearts and bayonets of all yon men. The tribes swarm up to war, as in ages long ago, e'er the palm of promised leave and the lily of Christ did blow. Their mounted pickets for miles are spied, dotting the lowland plain. The nearer ones in their veteran rags, loutish they loll in lazy disdain, but ours as perilous places bide, with rifles ready and eyes that strain, deep through the dim suspected wood where the rapiden rolls amain. The Indian has passed away, but creeping

Starting point is 01:19:26 comes another. Deadly or far, picket, take heed, take heed of thy brother. From a woodhung height, an outposts lone, crowned with a woodman's fort, the sentina looks on a land of dole like Perrin all-a-mort. Black chimneys, gigantic and more-like waste, the scowl of the clouded sky retort, the hearth is a houseless stone again. Ah, where shall the people be sought? Since the venom's such blastment deals, the south should have paused and thrice, ear with heat of her hate she hatched, the egg with the cockatrice.

Starting point is 01:20:02 A path down the mountain winds to the glade where the dead of the moonlight fight lie low. A hand reaches out to the thin-laid mold, as begging her. help which none can bestow. But the field mouse, small and busy ant, heap their hillocks to hide if they may the woe. By the bubbling spring lies the rusted canteen and the drum which the drummer boy dying let go. Dust to dust and blood for blood. Passion and pangs. Has time gone back? Or is this the age of the world's great prime? The wagon mired and cannon-dragged have trenched their scar, The plain tramped like the cindery beach of the damned, a sight of the city of Cain, and stumps of forests for dreary leagues like a massacre show. The armies have lain by fires where gums and balms did burn in the seeds of summer's rain.

Starting point is 01:20:51 Where are the birds and boys? Who shall go chestnutting when October returns? The nuts, oh long here they grow again. They snug their huts with the chapel pews and courthouses stable their steeds, Kindle their fires with indentures and bonds And old Lord Fairfax's parchment deeds And Virginian gentlemen's libraries old Books which only the scholar heeds

Starting point is 01:21:13 Are flung to his kennel It is ravage and range And gardens are left to weeds Turned adrift into war Man runs wild on the plain Like the genets let loose on the pompous Sebrus again Like the Pleiads dim

Starting point is 01:21:28 See the tents through the storm Aloft by the hillside Hamlet's graves On a headstone used for a hearthstone there, the water is bubbling for punch for our braves. What if the night be drear and the blast ghostly shrieks? Their rollicking staves make frolic the heart, beating time with their swords. What care they if winter raves? Is life but a dream?

Starting point is 01:21:50 And so in the dream do men laugh aloud. So strange seems mirth in a camp, so like a white tent to a shroud. 2. The Mayweed springs, and comes a man and mounts up. our signal hill, a quiet man, and plain in garb, briefly he looks his fill, then drops his gray eye on the ground like a loaded mortar he is still. Meekness and grimness meet in him, the silent general. We're men but strong and wise, honest as grant, and calm war would be left to the red and black ants and the happy world disarm. That eve, a stir was in the camps, for running quiet soon to come,

Starting point is 01:22:30 among the streets of Beech and Huts, no more to know the drum. The weed shall choke the lowly door and foxes peer within the gloom, till scared perchance by Mosby's prowling men who ride in the rear of doom. Far west and farther south, wherever the sword has been, deserted camps are met, and desert graves are seen. The live-long night they ford the flood, with guns held high they silent press, till shimmers the grass and their bayonets sheen. On morning banks their ranks they dress,

Starting point is 01:23:01 Then by the forest lightly wind, Whose waving boughs the pennons seemed to bless, Born by the cavalry scouting on, Sounding the wilderness. Like shoals of fish in spring that visit Crusoe's isle, The host in the lonesome place, the hundred thousand file. The foe that held his guarded hills must speed to woods afar, For the scheme that was nursed by the culpepper hearth

Starting point is 01:23:24 With the slowly smoked cigar, The scheme that smoldered through winter long now bursts into act, into war, the resolute scheme of a heart is calm as the cyclone's core. The fight for the city is fought in nature's old domain. Man goes out to the wilds, and Orpheus's charm is vain. In glades they meet, skull after skull where pine cones lay, the rusted gun, green shoes full of bones, the moldering coat and cuddled up skeleton, and scores of such. Some start as in dreams And comrades lost bemoan By the edge of those wild Stonewall had charged

Starting point is 01:24:01 But the year and the man were gone At the height of their madness The night winds pause Recollecting themselves But no lull in these wars A gleam A volley! And who shall go Storming the swamers in jungle's dread

Starting point is 01:24:15 No cannonball answers No proxies are sent They rush in the shrapnel stead Plume and sash are vanities now Let them deck the pall of the dead. They go where the shade is, perhaps into Hades, where the brave of all times have led. There's a dust of hurrying feet, bitten lips and baited breath, and drums that challenge to the grave and faces fixed for feeling death. What husky huzzas in the hazy groves, what

Starting point is 01:24:42 flying encounters fell, pursuer and pursued like ghosts disappear in gloomed shade. Their end, who shall tell? The crippled, a ragged barked stick for a crutch, limp to some. some Elph in Del. Hobble from the sight of dead faces, white as pebbles in a well. Few burial rites shall be. No priest with book and band shall come to the secret place of the corpse in the Fomans' land. Watch and fast, march and fight. Clutch your gun. Day fights and night fights. Sore is the stress. Look! Through the pines! What line comes on? Longstreet slants through the hauntedness. Tis charge for charge and shout for yell. Such battles on battles oppress, but heaven lent strength, the rites strove well and emerged from the wilderness.

Starting point is 01:25:30 Emerged, for the way was one, but the pillar of smoke that led was brand-like with ghosts that went up, ashy, and red. None can narrate that strife in the pines. A seal is on it, Sabian lore, obscures the wood, the entangled rhyme, but hints at the maze of war, vivid glimpses or livid through people's gloom, and fires which creep and char, a riddle of death, of which the slain solve-solvers are. Long they withhold the role of the shroudless dead. It is right. Not yet can we bear the flare of the funeral light.

Starting point is 01:26:10 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On the photograph of a corps commander by Herman Melville, read for Librevox.org by John Klingelhofer at Clark University, recorded. November of 2012. WordPress.clarcue. .clairu.edu. slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-Librevox.

Starting point is 01:26:40 I, man is manly. Here you see the warrior carriage of the head and brave dilation of the frame, and lighting all the soul that led in Potsylvania's charge to victory, which justifies his fame. A cheering picture! It is good to look upon a chief like this,

Starting point is 01:26:57 in whom the spirit moulds the form, here favouring nature, oft remiss, with eagle mine expressive has endued, a man to Kindle's strains that warm. Trace back his lineage, and his sires, you men or noble, you shall find enrode with men of Agencourt, heroes who shared great Harry's mind. Down to us come the knightly Norman fires and front the Templars bore. Nothing can lift the heart of man like manhood in a fellowman, The thought of heaven's great king afar, but humbles us, too weakest can, but manly greatness men can span and feel the bonds that draw. End of poem.

Starting point is 01:27:37 This recording is in the public domain. The Swamp Angel by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Jonathan Bryan at Clark University, recorded October of 2012. WordPress.clarku.edu slash m-e-n-u-u-m-u-m-u-m. M-A-N-Librox. There is a coal-black angel with a thick, afric lip, and he dwells like the hunted and harried in a swamp where the green frogs dip. But his face is against a city which is over a bay of the sea,

Starting point is 01:28:22 and he breathes with a breath that is blasement and dooms by a far decree. By night there is fear in the city. through the darkness a star soareth on there's a scream that screams up to the zenith then the poise of a meteor alone lighting far the pale fright of the faces and downward the coming is seen then the rush and the burst and the havoc and wails and shrieks between it comes like the thief in the gloaming it comes and none may foretell the place of the coming the glaring they live in a sleepless spell that wales and shrieks between it comes and none may foretell the place of the coming the glaring they live in a sleepless spell that wizens and withers and whitens. It ages the young, and the bloom of the maiden is ashes of roses. The swamp angel broods in his gloom. Swift in his messengers going, but slowly he saps their halls as if by delay diluting. They move from their crumbling walls farther and farther away,

Starting point is 01:29:21 but the angel sends after and after, by night with the flame of his ray. By night with the voice of his screaming, sends after them stone by stone, by stone and farther walls fall, farther portals and weed follows weed through the town. Is this the proud city? The scorner which never would yield the ground, which mocked at the coal-black angel, the cup of despair goes round. Vainly she calls upon Michael. The white man's seraph was he, for Michael has fled from his tower, to the angel over the sea. Who weeps for the woeful city? Let him weep for our guilty kind. Who joys at her wild despairing?

Starting point is 01:30:06 Christ, the forgiver, convert his mind. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Battle for the Bay by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Sasha Cohen at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012. Wordpress.cru.c.org.edu.m.m.m.m.m. U-M-A-N-Librovox.

Starting point is 01:30:42 O mystery of noble hearts, to whom mysterious seas have been in midnight watches, lonely, calm and storm, a stern, sad disciple, and rooted out the false and vain, and chastened them to aptness for devotion and the deeds of war, and death, which smiles and cheers in spite of pain.

Starting point is 01:31:07 Beyond the bar the land wind dies, the prows be charmed at anchor swim. A summer night, the stars withdrawn look down, fair eve on battle grim. The sentry's pace, Bonatas glide below, the sleeping sailor swing, and it their dreams to quarter spring, or cheer their flag, or breast a stormy tide. But drums are beat, up anchor all. The triple lines steam slowly on, day breaks, And through the sweep of decks, Each man stands coldly by his gun, As cold as it. But he shall warm, warm with the solemn metal there, And all its ordered fury share in attitude, a gladiatorial form.

Starting point is 01:32:05 The Admiral, yielding the love which held his life and ship so dear, sailed second in the long fleet's midmost line, yet thwarted all their care. He lashed himself aloft and shone star of the fight, with influence sent throughout the dusk embattlement, and so they neared the strait and walls of stone. No sprightly fife as in the field, The decks were hushed like fains in prayer. Behind each man a holy angel stood.

Starting point is 01:32:43 He stood, though none was where. Outspake the forts on either hand, back speak the ships when spoken to, and set their flags in concert true, and on and in is Farragut's command. But what delays, mid-wounds above dim buoys, give hint of death below. See ambuscades, where evil art had aped Hekla that hides in snow. The center van, entangled, trips. The starboard leader holds straight on, a cheer for the

Starting point is 01:33:20 ticumsa. Nay, before their eyes, the turreted ship goes down. The fiery doubles, while the fleet hangs dubious, ere the horror ran. The admiral rushes to his rightful place, well met, apt hour and man. Closes with peril, takes the lead. His action is a stirring call. He strikes his great heart through them all and is the genius of their daring deed. The forts are daunted, slack their fire, confounded by the deadlier aim and rapid broadsides of the speeding fleet and fierce denouncing flame. Yet shots from four dark hall, embade come raking through the loyal crews whom now each dying mate induce with his last look anguished yet undismayed a flowering time to guilt is given and traders have their glorying hour oh late but sure the righteous paramount comes palsy is on their power so proved it with the rebel keels the strongholds pass

Starting point is 01:34:37 assailed they run The Selma strikes And the work is done The dropping anchor The achievement seals But no she turns The Tennessee The solid ram of iron and oak

Starting point is 01:34:53 Strong is evil And bold as wrong Through lone A pestilence in her smoke The flagship is her singled mark The wooden Hartford Let her come She challenges the planet of doom, and not shall save her, not her iron bark.

Starting point is 01:35:14 Slip anchor all, and at her, all. Bear down with rushing beaks, and now. First, the Monongahela struck and reeled. The Lackawanna's prow next crashed, crashed, but not crashing. Then the admiral rammed, and rasping nigh nigh, sloped in a broadside, which glanced by. The monitors battered at her adamant den. The Chickasaw plunged beneath the stern and pounded there.

Starting point is 01:35:49 A huge wrought orb from the Manhattan pierced one wall, but dropped. Others, the seas, absorb. Yet stormed on all sides, narrowed in, hampered and cramped, the bad one fought. spat rebald curses from the port who shudders jammed locked up this man of sin no pause or stay they made a din like hammers round a boiler forged now straining strength tangled itself with strength till hate her will disgorged the white flag showed the fight was won mad shouts went up that shook the bay but pale on the scarred fleet's decks there lay a silent man for every silenced gun and quiet far below the wave where never cheers shall move their sleep some who did boldly nobly earn them lie charmed children of the deep but decks that now are in the seed and cannon yet within the mine shall thrill the deeper gun and pine because of the tecumsa's glory deed. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 01:37:19 Sheridan at Cedar Creek by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Sasha Cohan at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012. Wordpress.clarku. dot edu slash M-E-N-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-A-N-LibreVox. Shoe the steed with Sylvie. that bore him to the fray when he heard the guns at dawning miles away when he heard them calling calling mount nor stay quick or all is lost they've surprised and stormed the post they push your rooted host gallop retrieve the day House the horse in Ermin, for the foam flake blue, white through the red October.

Starting point is 01:38:15 He thundered into view. They cheered him in the looming, horsemen and horse they knew. The turn of the tide began. The rally of bugles ran. He swung his hat in the van. The electric hoof spark flew. Reathed the steed and lead him, for the charge he led, touched and turned the cypress into amarance for the head of Philip,

Starting point is 01:38:43 king of riders, who raised them from the dead. The camp, at dawning lost, by Eve, recovered, forced, rang with laughter of the host at belated early fled. Shroud the horse in Sable, for the mounds they heap, there is firing in the valley, and yet no strife they keep. It is the parting volley. It is the pathos deep. There is glory for the brave who lead and nobly save, but no knowledge in the grave where the nameless followers sleep. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 01:39:42 Recorded October of 2012, WordPress.clarku.edu. slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-Librovox. Listless, he hides the palisades and centuries in the glare. Tis barren as a pelican beach, but his world has ended there. Nothing to do, and vacant hands bring on the idiot pain. He tries to think, to recollect,

Starting point is 01:40:11 but the blur is on his brain. Around him swarm the planing ghosts like those on Virgil shore. A wilderness of faces dim, and pale ones, gashed and hoar. A smiting sun. No shed, no tree. He totters to his lair, a den that sick hands dug in earth a famine wasted there. Or, dropping in his place, he swoons, walled in by throngs that press. till forth from the throngs they bear him dead, dead in his meagerness.

Starting point is 01:40:49 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The College Colonel by Herman Melville read for Libravox.org by Claire Tierney at Clark University, recorded November of 2012. Wordpress.clarku.edu.edu slash m-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-A-N-Librovox. He rides at their head, a crutch by his saddle, just slants in view. One slung arm is in splints, you see. Yet he guides his strong steed, how coldly too.

Starting point is 01:41:31 He brings his regiment home, not as they filed two years before, but a remnant half-tattered and battered and worn, like castaway sailors who, stunned by the serfs' loud roar, their mates dragged back and seen no more. Again and again breasts the surge, and at last crawl, spent to shore. A still rigidity and pale, an Indian aloofness loans his brow. He has lived a thousand years compressed in battles, pains and prayers, marches and watches slow. There are welcoming shouts and flags, old men off hat to the boy, wreaths from gay balconies followed his feet,

Starting point is 01:42:09 but to him there comes out of way. It is not that a leg is lost, it is not that an arm is maimed, It is not that the fever has racked, self he has long disclaimed. But all through the seven days' fight and deep in the wilderness grim, and in the field hospital tent, and Petersburg crater and dim, lean brooding in the liby, there came, ah heaven, what truth to him. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Eagle of the Blue by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by John Klingelhofer at Clark University.

Starting point is 01:42:51 of 2012. Wordpress. .clarkeu. .edu. slash M.E.N.E.U. M.A.N. slash Librevox. A loft he guards the starry folds, who is the brother of the star.

Starting point is 01:43:06 The bird whose joy is in the wind exulteth in the war. No painted plume, a sober hue. His beauty is his power. That eager, calm of gaze intent foresees the silver's hour. Osteer, he crowns the swaying perch, flapped by the angry flag. The hurricane from the battery sings, but his claw has known the crag. Amid the scream of shells, his cream runs shrilling, and the glare of eyes that brave the blinding sun the volleyed flame can bear.

Starting point is 01:43:38 The pride of quenchless strength is his, strength which, though chained, avails, the very rebel looks and thrills the anchored emblem hails. Those card in many a furious fray, no deadly hurt he knew. Well may we think his years are charmed, the eagle of the blue. End of poem. This recording's in the public domain. A dirge from McPherson, killed in front of Atlanta, July 1864, by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Sam Horuska at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012.

Starting point is 01:44:20 WordPress.c.c.c.org.org. slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-Librovox. Arms reversed and banners creaped. Muffled drums. Snowy horses stable-draped. McPherson comes. But, tell us, shall we know him more? Lost Mountain and lone Kennesaw?

Starting point is 01:44:44 Brave the sword upon the pall, a gleam in gloom. So a bright name lighteth all, McPherson's doom. Bear him through the chapel door, let priest and stole, pace before the warrior who led, Bell toll. Lay him down within the nave, the lesson read, Man is noble, man is brave, but man's a weed. Take him up again and wend, graveward, nor weep. There's a trumpet that shall rend, this soldier's sleep.

Starting point is 01:45:19 Pass the ropes the coffin round, and let disson. send. Prayer and volley, let it sound McPherson's end. True fame is his, for life is or, Sarpiedon of the Mighty War. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. At the Canons Mouth by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Sasha Cohen at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012. Wordpress.combeau.orgue.orgue. slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-L-Librovox. Paley intent, he urged his keel full on the guns and touched the spring. Himself involved in the bolt he drove, timed with the armed hulls shot that strove his shallop, die or do.

Starting point is 01:46:21 Into the flood his life he threw, yet lives, unscathed, a breathing thing to marvel at. He has his fame. But that mad dash at death, how name, had earthed no charm to stay the boy from the martyr passion, could he dare disdain the paradise of opening joy which beckons the fresh heart everywhere? Life has more lures than any girl for youth and strength,

Starting point is 01:46:54 puts forth a share of beauty, hinting of yet rarer store. And ever with unfathomable eyes, which baffingly entice, still strangely does Adonis draw. And life once over, who shall tell the rest? Life is, of all we know, God's best. What imps these eagles then,

Starting point is 01:47:21 that they fling disrespect on life by that proud way in which they soar above our lower clay. Pretense of wonderment and doubt unblessed. In Cushing's eager deed was shown a spirit which brave poets own. That scorn of life which earns life's crown earns, but not always wins, but he. The star ascended in his nativity. End of poem. This recording is in the public.

Starting point is 01:47:57 domain. The March to the Sea, December 1864 by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Jonathan Bryan at Clark University, recorded November of 2012. WordPress.clarcu.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N slash LibraVox. Not Kennesaw high-arching, nor Halitunas Glen, though there the graves lie parching stayed Sherman's miles of men. From charred Atlanta, marching, they launched the sword again. The columns streamed like rivers, which in their course agree, and they streamed until their flashing met the flashing of the sea. It was glorious, glad marching, that marching to the sea. They brushed the foe before them, shall gnats impede the bull?

Starting point is 01:48:52 Their own good bridges bore them over swamps or torrents full, and the grand pines waving o'er them bowed to axes keen and cool. The columns grooved their channels, enforced to their own decree, and their power met nothing larger until it met the sea. It was glorious, glad marching, a marching glad and free. Kilpatrick's snare of riders in zigzags mazed the land, perplexed the pale southsiders with faints on every hand, vague menace awe to the hiders and forts beyond command, to Sherman's shifting problem, no foeman knew the key. But onward went the marching, unpausing to the sea. It was glorious glad marching. The swinging step was free. The flankers ranged like pigeons in clouds through field or wood. The flocks of all those regions,

Starting point is 01:49:44 the herds and horses good, poured in and swelled the legions, for they caught the marching mood. A volley ahead. They hear it, and they hear the repartee. Fighting was but frolic in that marching to the sea. It was glorious, glad marching, a marching bold and free. All nature felt their coming. The birds like couriers flew, and the banners brightly blooming. The slaves by thousands drew, and they marched beside the drumming, and they joined the armies blue. The cocks crowed from the cannon, pets named from Grant and Lee, plumed fighters and campaigners in that marching to the sea. It was glorious, glad. Marching for every man was free.

Starting point is 01:50:28 The foragers through calm lands swept in tempest gay, and they breathed the air of balmlands where rolled savannas lay, and they helped themselves from farmlands, as who should say them nay. The regiments of Rourius laughed in plenty's glee, and they marched till their broad laughter meant the laughter of the sea. It was glorious glad marching that marching to the sea. The grain of endless acres was threshed as. in the east, by the trampling of the takers, strong march of man and beast.

Starting point is 01:50:59 The flails of those earth-shakers left a famine where they ceased. The arsenals were yielded, the sword that was to be. Arrested in the forging, rude that marching to the sea. It was glorious, glad marching, but ah, the stern decree. For behind they left a wailing, a terror and a ban, and blazing cinder sailing and houseless households won. Wide zones of counties paling and towns where maniacs ran. Was it treason's retribution?

Starting point is 01:51:31 Necessity the plea? They will long remember Sherman in his streaming columns free. They will long remember Sherman, marching to the sea. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The frenzy in the wake by Herman Melville, read for Librevox.org by Mybuoy at Clark University, recorded October of 2012.

Starting point is 01:51:59 Wordpress.clocku.edu.m. edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-Labobox. So strong to suffer shall we be weak to contend, and break the sinews of the oppressor's knee that grinds upon the neck? O, the garments rolled in blood, scorched in cities wrapped in flame, and the African, the imp, the imp, e-jibbers imputing shame, shall time avenging every woe to us that joy a lot, which Israel thrilled when Cicera's brow showed gaunt and showed the clot Curse on their foreheads, cheeks and eyes, The northern faces, true to the flag we hate, The flag whose stars, like planets, strike us through. From frozen Maine they come, far Minnesota too.

Starting point is 01:52:48 They come to his son who's raised his own, May it withered them as the dew. The ghosts of our slain appeal, vain shall our victories be, but back from its ebb the flood recoils, back in a whelming sea. With burning woods our skies are brask. The pillars of dust are seen. The live long day their calvary pass, no crossing the road between. We were sore deceived, an awful host.

Starting point is 01:53:14 They move like a roaring wind. Have we gamed and lost, but even despair shall never our hate recede? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Claire Tierney at Clark University, recorded November of 2012, wordpress.clarcuk.edu slash m-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-Labrex. What mean these peals from every tower and crowds like seas that sway? The canon reply, they speak the heart of the people impassioned, and say,

Starting point is 01:53:59 a city in flags for a city in flames, Richmond goes Babylon's way, sing and pray. O weary years in woeful wars and armies in the grave, but hearts unquelled at last deter the helm dilated Lucifer, honor to grant the brave, whose three stars now like Orion's rise when wreck is on the wave, bless his glave. While that the faith we firmly kept and never our aim foreswore, for the terrors that trooped from each recess when fainting we fought in the wilderness, and hell made loud hurrah, but God is in heaven and grand in the town, and right through might is law, God's way adore. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Surrender at Appomattox by Herman Melville.

Starting point is 01:54:55 Read for Libravox.org by Nicholas Rovnak at Clark University, recorded October of 2012. Wordpress.clarcuh.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-N-Libre-N-LibreVox. As billows upon billow's roll on victory-vickory breaks, here yet seven days from Richmond's fall, and crowning triumph wakes, the loud joy gun whose thunders run by seashore, streams, and lake, the hope and great events agree in the sword that Grant received from Lee. The warring eagles fold the wing, but not in Caesar's sway. Not Rome or come by Roman arms we sing, as on Parsilla's day, but treasoned thrown, though a giant groan, and freedom's larger play. All human tribes glad so can see, and the close of the wars of Grant and Lee.

Starting point is 01:55:53 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. Libravox.org by Andrew Doig at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012, wordpress.clarcuk.edu.m.m.m.m.m.m. Librevox. Oh, the precipice titanic of the congregated fall and the angle oceanic, where the deepening thunders call, and the gorge so grim and the firmamental rim,

Starting point is 01:56:37 multitudinously thronging, the waters all converge, then they sweep a down in sloping solidity of surge. The nation in her impulse, mysterious as the tide, in emotion like an ocean, moves in power, not in pride, and as deep in her devotion as humanity is wide. Thou lord of hosts victorious, the confluence thou hast twined, by a wondrous way and glorious a passage thou dost find a passage thou dost find Hosanna to the Lord of hosts the hosts of humankind

Starting point is 01:57:18 Stable in its baselessness when calm is in the air The iris half in tracelessness hovers faintly fair Fitfully assailing it a wind from heaven blows shivering and paling it to blankness of the snows While, incessant in renewal, the arch rekindled grows, Till again the gem and jewel whirl in blinding overthrows, Till, prevailing and transcending, lo the glory perfect there, and the contest finds an ending, for reposes in the air. But the foamy deep unsounded, and the dim and dizzy ledge, and the booming roar rebounded, and the gull that skims the edge. the giant of the pool heaves his forehead white as wool toward the iris every climbing from the cataracts that call irremovable vast heiress draping all the wall the generations pouring from times of endless state in their going in their flowing ever form the steadfast state and humanity is growing toward the fullness of her fate thou lord of hosts victorious fulfill the end designed by a wondrous way and glorious a passage thou dost find a passage

Starting point is 01:58:43 thou dost find Hosanna to the Lord of hosts the hosts of humankind end of poem this recording is in the public domain the martyr by Herman Melville read for liverybox.org by Daniel Padilla at Clark University recorded on November of 2012 WordPress. clarku. M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-Libri-Vox. Good Friday was the day of the prodigy in crime, when they killed him in his pity, when they killed him in his prime of clemency and calm, when with yearning he was filled to redeem the evil-willed, and though conqueror be kind. But they killed him in his kindness, in their madness and their blindness, and they killed him from behind. There is sobbing of the strong, and appall upon the land, but the people in their weeping bear

Starting point is 01:59:46 the iron hand. Beware the people weeping when they bear the iron hand. He lieth in his blood, the father in his face, they have killed him the forgiver. The avenger takes his place, the avenger wisely stern, who in righteousness shall do what the heavens call him to, and the parasites remand. for they kill him in his kindness, in their madness and their blindness, and his blood is on their hand. There is sobbing of the strong, and they pall upon the land, but the people in their weeping bear the iron hand. Beware the people weeping when they bear the iron hand. End of poem.

Starting point is 02:00:29 This recording is in the public domain. The Coming Storm by Herman Melville. Read for LibriVox.org by Daniel Padilla at Clark University. November of 2012. WordPress.clarcuk.edu. S. M. E.U. M. E.U. M.A.N.U. M.A. N.A. N. Lerby Vox. All feeling hearts must feel for him who felt this picture. Prestage dim. Dim. Dinklings from the shadowy sphere fixed him and fascinated here.

Starting point is 02:01:03 A demon cloud, like the mountain one, burst on a spirit as mild as this earned lake, the home of shades. But Shakespeare's pensive child, never the lions had lightly scanned. steeped in fable, steeped in fate. The hamlet in his heart was where such hearts can antidate. No other surprise can come to him who reaches Shakespeare's core. That which we seek and shun is there, man's final lore. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.

Starting point is 02:01:37 Rebel color bearers at Shiloh by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Sasha Cohen at Clark University. recorded November of 2012 Wordpress.clarcu.edu-med-lis-Li-N-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N-A-N-Librovox The color-bears facing death, white in the whirling sulfurous wreath, stand boldly out before the line, right and left their glances go, proud of each other, glorying in their show.

Starting point is 02:02:16 Their battle flags about them blow, and fold them as in flame divine. Such living robes are only seen round martyrs burning on the green, and martyrs for the wrong have been. Perish their cause, but mark the men, mark the planted statues, then draw trigger on them, if you can. The leader of a patriot band, even so could view rebels. who so could stand, and this when peril pressed him sore, left aidless in the shivered front of war. Skulkers behind,

Starting point is 02:02:58 defiant foes before, and fighting with a broken brand. The challenge in that courage rare, courage defenseless, proudly bare, never could tempt him. He could dare strike up the leveled rifle there. Sunday, Shiloh, and the day when Stonewall charged, McClellan's crimson May and Chickamauga's wave of death,

Starting point is 02:03:25 and of the wilderness the cypress wreath, all these have passed away. The life in the veins of treason lags, her daring color-bearers drop their flags and yield. Now shall we fire? Can poor spite be? shall nobleness in victory less aspire than in reverse, spare spleen her ire, and think how Grant met Lee? End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The muster by Herman Melville. Read for Librovocs.org by Jeff Medoff at Clark University, November of 2012.

Starting point is 02:04:14 WordPress.clarku.edu. slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-Librovox. The Abrahamic River, Patriarch of Floods, calls the role of all his streams and watery multitudes. Torrent cries to Torrent, the rapids hail the fall, with shouts the inland freshets gather to the call. The quotas of the nation, like the watershed of waves, muster into Union, eastern warriors, western braves. Marshall strains are mingling, though distant far the bands, and the wheeling of the squadrons is like surf upon the sands. The bladed guns are gleaming, drift and lengthen trim,

Starting point is 02:04:58 Files on files for hazy miles, nebulously dim. Oh, Milky Way of armies, star rising after star, new banners of the Commonwealths and Eagles of the war. The Abrahamic River to sea-wide fullness fed, pouring from the thaw lands by the god of floods is led his deep enforcing current the streams of ocean own and europe's marges even by rills from kansas lone end of poem this recording is in the public domain Aurora Borealis, commemorative of the dissolution of the Armies at the Peace, May 1865, by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Laura Matthew at Clark University. Recorded October of 2012.

Starting point is 02:05:54 Wordpress.clarku.edu.edu slash M-E-N-U-M-A-N-U-M-A-N. Slash LibraVox. What power disbands the northern lights after the... their steely play. The lonely watcher feels in awe of nature's sway. As when appearing, he marked their flash up, rearing in the cold gloom, retreatings and advancings like dallings of doom, transitions and enhancings in bloody ray. The phantom host has faded quite, splendor and terror gone, portent or promise, and gives way to pale meek dawn. The coming, Going, alike in wonder showing, alike the God, decreing and commanding, the million blades that glowed, the muster and disbanding, midnight, and mourn.

Starting point is 02:06:50 End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The released rebel prisoner by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Sasha Cohen at Clark University. recorded November of 2012 Wordpress.clarcu.edu.org slash m-en-u-m-a-n-n-o-l-a-n-n-labox. Armies he's seen, the herds of war, but never such swarms of men as now in the Nineveh of the North. How mad the rebellion then!

Starting point is 02:07:36 And yet but dimly he divines the depth of the depth of that deceit, and superstition of vast pride, humbled to such defeat. Seductive shone the chiefs in arms, his steel the nearest magnet drew, reethed with its kind, the gulf-weed drives, tis nature's wrong they rue. His face is hidden in his beard, but his heart peers out at eye, and such a heart, like mountain pool where no man passes by. He thinks of Hill, a brave soul gone, and Ashby, dead in pale disdain,

Starting point is 02:08:22 and Stuart with the Rupert Plume, whose blue eye never shall laugh again. He hears the drum, he sees our boys from his wasted fields return, ladies feast them on strawberries, and even to kiss them yearn. He marks them bronzed in soldier trim. They rifle proudly born.

Starting point is 02:08:49 They bear it for an heirloom home, and he, disarmed, jail-worn. Home, home, his heart is full of it, but home he never shall see. Even should he stand upon the spot, tis gone, where his brothers be. The cypress moss from tree to tree hangs in his southern land, as weird from thought to thought of his run memories hand in hand.

Starting point is 02:09:22 And so he lingers, lingers on in the city of the foe, his cousins and his countrymen who see him listless go. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. A grave near Petersburg, Virginia by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Sam Horuska at Clark University. Record in November of 2012. Wordpress.clarcu.org.org. slash M.E.N.U.A.N.U.A.N.U.A.L.V.

Starting point is 02:10:02 Headboard and footboard duly placed. Grast is the mound between. Daniel Drouth is the slumber's name. Long may his grave be green. Quick was his way, A flash and a blow, Full of his fire was he. A fire of hell, tis burnt out now. Green may his grave long be. May his grave be green, Though he was a rebel of iron mold,

Starting point is 02:10:31 Many a true heart, True to the cause, Through the blaze of his wrath lies cold. May his grave be green, Still green while happy years shall run. May none come nigh to disinterested, The Buried Gun End of poem.

Starting point is 02:10:49 This recording is in the public domain. Formerly A Slave by Herman Melville, read for Libravox.org by Jason de Martini at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012, wordpress.clarc u.d.edu slash m-en-e-u-M-A-N-M-A-N-Librovox. The sufferance of her race is shown. and retrospect of life, which now too late deliverance dawns upon, yet is she not at strife. Her children's children they shall know, the good withheld from her, and so her reverie takes prophetic cheer, in spirit she sees the stir. Far down the depth of thousand years, and marks the revel shine, her.

Starting point is 02:11:51 Our dusky face is lit with sober light. Sybiline, yet benign. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Apparition by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Andrew Doig at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012. Wordpress.clarku.edu slash m-e-un-u-m-a-n-u-m-a-n-n-librox.

Starting point is 02:12:28 Convulsions came, and where the field long slept in pastoral green, a goblin mountain was upheaved. Sure, the scared sense was all deceived. Marl Glen and Slag ravine. The unreserve of ill was there, the clinkers in her last retreat, but, ear the eye could take it in, or mind could comprehension when it sunk and at our feet. So, then, solidities accrust, the core of fire below. All may go well for many a year, but who can think without a fear of horrors that happen so? End of poem.

Starting point is 02:13:16 This recording is in the public domain. Magnanimity Baffled by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Chris Booth at Clark University, recorded November of 2012. Wordpress.org-clarcuh.edu, forward slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N forward slash liverbox. Sharp words we had before the fight, but now the fight is done. Look, here's my hand, said the Victor Bold. Take it, an honest one.

Starting point is 02:13:56 What, holding back? I mean you well. Though worsted, you strove stoutly, man. The odds were great. I honor you. Man honors man. Still silent friend, can grudges be? Yet am I held a foe?

Starting point is 02:14:10 Turn to the wall, on his cot, he lies. Never, I'll leave him so. Brave one, I hear implore your hand. Dumb still, all fellowship fled? Nay, then I'll have this stubborn hand. He snatched it. It was dead. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. On the Slain Collegions by Herman Melville,

Starting point is 02:14:37 read for Libravox.org by Mybuoy at Clark University, recorded November 2012, WordPress.clarku.edu.edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-S-Labor Vox. Youth is the time when hearts are large, and stirring wars appeal to the spirit which appeals and turn to the blade it draws. If women in sight and duty show, they'll made the mask of cane, or whether it be truth's sacred cause, who can aloof remain that shares youth's ardor, uncooled by the snow of wisdom or sordid gain? The liberal arts and nurture sweet, which give him gentleness to man, train him to honor,

Starting point is 02:15:19 lend him grace, through bright examples meet. That culture which makes never won, with undermining steep, but holds the surface still its fitting place, and so gives sunniness to the face, and bravery to the heart what troops of generous boys and happiness thus bred, Saturnians through life's temp led, went from the north and came from the south, with golden mottos in the mouth to lie down midway on a bloody bed. Woe for the homes of the north and woe for the seats of the south. All who felt life spring in prime and were swept by the wind of their place and time, all lavish hearts on whichever side of birth urbane or courage high,

Starting point is 02:15:59 armed them for the stirring wars, armed them. some to die. Apollo-like in pride, each would slay his python, caught the maxims in his temple taught. A flame with sympathies whose blaze perforce enrapped him social laws, friendship and kin and bygone days, vows, kisses every heart on moors, and launches into the seas of wars. What could they else, north or south? Each went forth with blessings given by priests and mothers in the name of heaven, an honor in both was chief. Ward one for right and one for wrong, so be it, but they both were young,

Starting point is 02:16:36 each grape to his cluster clung, all their allergies are sung. The anguish of maternal hearts must search for balm divine, but while the striplings bore their faded parts, the heavens all parts assign, never felt life's care or colloy, each bloomed and died an unabated boy,

Starting point is 02:16:54 nor dreamed what death was thought it mere sliding into some veneral sphere, They knew the joy but leaped the grief, like plants that flower air comes the leaf, which storms lay low and kindly doom and kill them in their flush of bloom. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. America by Herman Melville. Read for Libravox.org by Jonathan Bryan at Clark University. Recorded November of 2012.

Starting point is 02:17:29 WordPress.cru.orgu.edu slash m-e-un-u-m-a-n-u-m-a-n-n-u-m-lash-l. Librevox. 1. Where the wings of the sunny dome expand, I saw a banner in gladsome air, starry like Berenice's hair, afloat and broadened bravery there with undulating lawn-drawn flow. As rolled Brazilian billows go voluminously over the line, the land reposed in peace below, the children in their glee where folded to the exulting heart of young maternity. 2. Later, and it streamed in fight, when tempest mingled with the fray, and over the spearpoint of the shaft I saw the ambiguous lightning play, Valor with Valour strove and died. Fierce was despair, and cruel was pride, and the Lorne Mother speechless stood, pale at the fury of her brood. 3

Starting point is 02:18:27 Yet later, and the silk did wind, her fair cold form, Little availed the shining shroud, though ruddy in hue, to cheer or warm. A watcher looked upon her low, and said, She sleeps. But sleeps, she is not dead. But in that sleep, contortion showed the terror of the vision there, A silent vision, unavowed, revealing Earth's foundation bare, and Gorgon in her hidden place. It was a thing of fear to see, so foul a dream upon so fair a face, and the dreamer lying in that starry shroud. 4.

Starting point is 02:19:06 But from the trance she sudden broke, the trance or death into promoted life, at her feet a shivered yoke, and in her aspect turned to heaven no trace of passion or of strife. A clear, calm look. It spake of pain, but such is purifies from stain, sharp. Pangs that never come again and triumph repressed by knowledge meet, power dedicate and hope grown wise and youth matured for ages seat. Law on her brow and empire in her eyes, so she, with graver air and lifted flag, while the shadow, chased by light, fled along the far dawn height, and left her on the crag. End of poem.

Starting point is 02:19:52 This recording is in the public domain. An epitaph by Herman Melville. read by Meredith Newman for Libravox.org at Clark University, recorded in May of 2013. Wordpress.clarcu.edu.m. edu slash M-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-Librox. When Sunday tidings from the front made pale the priest and people, and heavily the blessing went, and bells were dumb in the steeple. The soldier's widow, summering sweetly here, in shade by waving beaches lent, felt deep at heart her faith content,

Starting point is 02:20:43 and priest and people borrowed of her cheer. End of poem. This recording is in the public domain. The Mound by the Lake by Herman Malville. Read by Meredith Newman for Libravox.org at Clark University. Recorded in May of 2013, WordPress.clarku.edu slash m-enewu. M-A-N-Librovox.

Starting point is 02:21:19 The grass shall never forget this grave. When homeward footing it in the sun, after the weary ride by rail, the stripling soldiers past her door, wounded perchance, or wan and pale. She left her household work undone, duly the wayside table spread, with evergreens shaded, to regale each travel spent and grateful one. So warm her heart. childless, unwed, who, like a mother, comforted. End of poem.

Starting point is 02:21:52 This recording is in the public domain. Commemorative of a naval victory by Herman Malville, read by Meredith Newman for Libravox.org at Clark University. Recorded in May of 2013, Wordpress.clarku.edu. Slash m-E-N-E-U-M-A-N-A-N-A-N-A-N-Librox. Sailors there are of gentlest breed, yet strong, like every goodly thing. The discipline of arms refines, and the wave gives tempering.

Starting point is 02:22:37 The damask blade, its beam can fling. It lends the last grave grace. The hawk, the hound, The sordid nobleman in Titian's picture for a king are of hunter or warrior race. In social halls, a favored guest in years that follow victory won, how sweetly to feel your festal fame in woman's glance, instinctive throne. Repose is yours, your deed is known, it musks the amber wine, it lives, and sheds a little from storied days, rich as October sunsets brown,

Starting point is 02:23:16 which make the barren place to shine. But seldom the laurel wreath is seen unmixed with pensive pansies dark. There's a light and a shadow on every man who at last attains his lifted mark, nursing through night the ethereal spark. Illate he can never be. He feels that spirits which glad had hailed his worth sleep in oblivion. The shark glides white through the phosphorus sea. End of poem.

Classic Audiobook Collection - Battle-Pieces and Aspects of the War by Herman Melville ~ Full Audiobook [poetry]

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