Chargement...

The March to the Sea

Not Kenesaw high-arching,
 Nor Allatoona’s 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.
The brushed the foe before them
 (Shall gnats impede the bull?);
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 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 feints on every hand;
Vague menace awed the hiders
 In 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,
 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 the marching to the sea:
           It was glorious glad marching,
           For every man was free.
 
The foragers through calm lands
 Swept in tempest gay,
And they breathed the air of balm-lands
 Where rolled savannas lay,
And they helped themselves from farm-lands—
 As who should say them nay?
       The regiments uproarious
         Laughed in Plenty’s glee;
       And they marched till their broad laughter
         Met 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;
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,
         Rued 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 cinders sailing,
 And houseless households wan,
Wide zones of counties paling,
 And towns where maniacs ran.
       Was it Treason’s retribution—
         Necessity the plea?
       They will long remember Sherman
         And his streaming columns free—
           They will long remember Sherman
           Marching to the sea.
 
(December, 1864.)
Autres oeuvres par Herman Melville...



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