TEN CENT POCKET SERIES NO. 351 Edited by E. Haldeman-Julius MEMORIES OF LINCOLN WALT WHITMAN HALDEMAN-JULIUS COMPANY GIRARD, KANSAS CONTENTS FORWARD I. WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D II. O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! III. HUSH'D BE THE CAMPS TODAY IV. THIS DUST WAS ONCE THE MAN LYRICS OF THE WAR BEAT! BEAT! DRUMS! COME UP FROM THE FIELDS FATHER THE WOUND-DRESSER SPIRIT WHOSE WORK IS DONE ASHES OF SOLDIERS PENSIVE ON HER DEAD GAZING CAMPS OF GREEN He knew to bide his time, And can his fame abide, Still patient in his simple faith sublime, Till the wise years decide. Great captains, with their guns and drums. Disturb our judgment for the hour, But at last silence comes; These all are gone, and, standing like a tower, Our children shall behold his fame. The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, New birth of our new soil, the first American. JAMES RUSSELL LOWELL FOREWORD Whitman did not subject Lincoln to the literary but to the human motive. Lincoln does not become a literary figure by his touch. Does not become a man in a book. After Whitman is done with him Lincoln still remains Lincoln. No way reduced. No way aggrandized. Only better understood. His background does not become a book. His background remains what it was. Remains life. Generic life. As life is where life finds life at the root. I may let Whitman put in a word for himself. Whitman said to me of Lincoln: "Lincoln is particularly my man--particularly belongs to me; yes, and by the same taken I am Lincoln's man: I guess I particularly belong to him: we are afloat in the same stream--we are rooted in the same ground."