Thomas Lincoln's, President Lincoln's Father, Fifteen Houses Chronology

A list of the cabins that Thomas Lincoln, President Lincoln's father, occupied or built from his birth in 1778 until he died in 1851.

LINVILLE CREEK, VIRGINIA

Thomas Lincoln's father purchased two hundred and ten acres of land on Linville Creek, in Rockingham County, Virginia, on August 7, 1773. It's where he had been living since his marriage in 1770. Thomas Lincoln was born in 1778 in a cabin on that land tract. He lived there until 1782 when his parents migrated to Kentucky. 

GREEN RIVER, KENTUCKY

The Lincolns lived on a tract of land in Lincoln County, now Casey County when they first arrived in Kentucky in 1782. It is more likely, however, that they resided in Crow's Station, near where Danville, Boyle County, now is, if they contemplated working the Green River lands. The ferocity of the Indians would not allow a scattered population at this time. Crow's Station was the headquarters of the pioneer,  Lincoln, earlier in the year when he was on his prospecting trip in Kentucky.

LONG RUN, KENTUCKY

The first residence of the Lincolns, in Kentucky, of which we have positive evidence, is on Long Run, in Jefferson County. Here the family also found it necessary to live in the fort at Hughes Station when the Indians were troublesome, but likely they occupied the cabin on their 400-acre tract during part of the time. Thomas Lincoln's father, Abraham Lincoln, was killed by Native Americans in May 1786.

BEECH FORK, KENTUCKY

The exact site to which the Widow Lincoln moved her family after the massacre of her husband had yet to be determined, although the general location is made known by a road order which speaks of her cabin on Beech Fork. She reared her family and kept her home together until all the children, except Thomas, were married. Three weddings in the Lincoln home in 1801 were indirectly responsible for the family moving to Rardin County. 

MARROWBONE CREEK, KENTUCKY

On November 28, 1801, Thomas Lincoln purchased a tract of land in Cumberland County, Kentucky. He undoubtedly put up a temporary structure to show possession and "batched" there long enough to claim the land grant. Evidence shows that his residence here was for short periods, as he was often found in Hardin County at various intervals.

MILL CREEK, KENTUCKY

The following purchase of Thomas Lincoln's was made to provide his mother with a home. In the fall of 1803, he paid £118 ($20,000US today) cash for a farm on Mill Creek, about twelve miles north· west of Elizabethtown in Hardin County. He divided his time between this and his Murrowbone Creek farm. His sister and her husband lived with his mother.

Thomas Lincoln

MIDDLE CREEK, KENTUCKY

Alter Thomas Lincoln married Nancy Hanks, in the Berry cabin, on Beech Fork. He brought his bride to Elizabethtown on Middle Creek in Hardin County, where he had purchased a lot and built a cabin. They lived for two years, and their first child was born here. The cabin's location has yet to be discovered, and the picture often exhibited as their Elizabethtown cabin home is spurious.

SOUTH FORK OF NOLIN, KENTUCKY

Thomas Lincoln moved from Elizabethtown to his new purchase on the South Fork of Nolin in late 1808. This farm was the largest tract of land he had owned, and he paid $200 cash for it. It was here on February 12, 1809, that Abraham Lincoln was born. The cabin was situated three miles south of where Hodgenville, LaRue county, now is, and in what was then Hardin county.  

KNOB CREEK, KENTUCKY

About two years after Abraham Lincoln was born, his father moved the family to a cabin on Knob Creek and secured possession of a tract of land there. Abraham lived from when he was two years old until he was seven. This cabin site was also in what was then Hardin County but which later became LaRue County. It was the last Kentucky residence of the Lincolns. 

LITTLE PIGEON CREEK, INDIANA

Between Thanksgiving and Christmas in 1816, Thomas Lincoln moved his family to what is now Spencer County, Indiana, and settled on the Southwest Quarter of Section 32, Township 4, South of Range 5 West. Tradition speaks of three different shellers which were erected on this site. Like other Lincoln cabins, the cabin which stood there at the time of the family's move mysteriously disappeared. This was the home of Abraham Lincoln from the time he was seven until he came of age.  

SANGAMON RIVER, ILLINOIS

On March 14, 1830, the Lincoln caravan went into camp at Decatur, Macon County, Illinois. Ten miles southwest of this town, near the Sangamon River, the party's men erected a cabin with John Hanks's assistance. This cabin has been given so much prominence and furnished Information and brochures about its being exhibited on Boston Common. Pieces of the cabin were sold for souvenirs. Tradition states that what was left of it was lost at sea en route to England.

BUCK GROVE, ILLINOIS

Sickness, the rigors of a cold winter, and the possibility of Abraham leaving home were responsible for Lincolns  Starting back towards Indiana after a year's residence on the Sangamon. They were persuaded to settle in Buck Grove, close to some of Mrs. Lincoln's relatives, where a cabin was erected in Section 5, Township 11, Range 8. Lincoln remained here on this first Coles County site for three years.   

WALKER'S PLACE, ILLINOIS

There is evidence that Lincoln moved from section five to section ten after his Buck Grove residence and purchased forty acres of land on which he built a cabin. This home was about three-quarters of a mile south of where the town of Lema, Coles County, now stands. 

PLUMMER'S PLACE, ILLINOIS

On November 25, 1834, Thomas Lincoln purchased 80 acres of land in the same township where he was residing, securing half of the quarter section number sixteen. A cabin was erected, and a residence was established until the sale of the property on December 27, 1897. This was probably the third cabin Thomas Lincoln had erected in Coles County.  

GROVE NEST PRAIRIE, ILLINOIS

By the spring of 1838, Thomas Lincoln had become established in the cabin on the new purchase at Goose Nest Prairie, also in Coles County. Here he lived until the day he died in 1851. The place where he died finally came into possession of the National War Museum company, but, like some of the former homes of the pioneer, its disappearance is clothed in obscurity.  

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.

Abraham Lincoln's Government Job at New Salem, Illinois.

Postmaster Lincoln

1860 Portrait of Abraham Lincoln by Leopold Grozelier.

The appointment of Abraham Lincoln as Postmaster of New Salem, Illinois, on May 7, 1833, was his first recognition by the general public. The fact that his political faith was not in harmony with the administration then in power must have assured him that he had gained the goodwill of all his neighbors. Following his election as a captain in the Black Hawk War and the very complimentary vote he received as a candidate for the legislature, this honor proved that he had the faculty of making friends. This was a fundamental qualification if one were to succeed in pioneer politics.

While the appointment as Postmaster did not come to Lincoln as a political favor for contributing to the party's success, then directing the affairs of the government, the position did afford him some exceptional opportunities for paving the way toward his own political success. He learned the entire population of that part of old Sangamon County, which later became Menard County. He was usually the first to make the acquaintance of new settlers who sought out the post office, that one point of general contact and information known in pioneer days.

The privilege of reading the newspapers and periodicals that came to the post office was of greater value than the purely local associations. It gave him a more comprehensive reading than most citizens in the county and allowed him to keep advised on all sides of any public question. I recently discovered in the Morgan County courthouse at Jacksonville, Illinois, the record book of the Postmaster at that place, which gives us a better knowledge than we had had before of the many journals in circulation in the state when Lincoln was Postmaster at New Salem. This old record book gives the titles of the papers and magazines and the names of the subscribers who received the publications between October 1831 and December 1832. Lincoln might be called a contemporary of the Jacksonville postmaster. His term of office began five months after the filing of these records. On the back cover of the old book is this citation: "Samuel Hill for two letters 37½¢." Hill was the Postmaster whom Lincoln succeeded at New Salem. As Jacksonville and New Salem were not more than thirty-five miles apart, it is reasonable to conclude that most of the publications which went through one post office were circulated through the other.

Mail arrived at the New Salem Post Office once a week, delivered on a route that ran from Springfield, IL, to Millers Ferry, IL. If addressees didn't collect their mail at the Post Office, which was customary, Lincoln delivered it personally — usually carrying the mail in his hat.

Lincoln received compensation of $55.70 ($1,931 today) in the fiscal year 1835. Besides his pay, Lincoln could send and receive personal letters free and get one daily newspaper delivered for free. Lincoln served as Postmaster until the office closed in May 1836.

About $18 ($590 today) was left in the New Salem Post Office's coffers when it closed in 1836, so Lincoln held onto the money. When a government agent later visited Lincoln to collect the funds, the future President, who was financially strapped then, retrieved the money from a trunk and presented it to the agent.

EARLY PUBLICATIONS

The following publications were delivered by the Postmaster of Jacksonville, Illinois, to subscribers residing in Morgan County, Illinois, between October 1, 1881, and December 31, 1832. The names of the subscribers and the amounts of postage they paid are listed with the title of the publication in a book in the archives of the Morgan County courthouse:

Alarm, Beardstown Chronicle, Bibical Repository, Boston Recorder, Casket, Christian Advocate, Christian Messenger, Christian Watchman, Cincinnati American, Evangelist, Farmers Chronicle, Focus, Gospel Herald, Home Messenger, Illinois Herald, Home Missionary, Journal of Commerce, Kankawn Banner, Kentucky Gazette, Kentucky Reporter, Ladies Book, Lexington Observer, Liberal Advocate, Louisville Focus, Louisville Post Advertiser, Marietta Gazette, Millenial Harbinger, Missionary Reporter, Missionary Herald, Missouri Republican, National Intelligencer, National Preacher, New York Observer, New York Optic, New York Post, New York Spectator, Niles Register, Ohio Patriot, Old Countryman, Palmyra Central, Philadelphia Evening Post, Plough Boy, Presbyterian, Revivalist, Sangamon Journal, Southern Advocate, Spirit Pilgrims, Standard, St. Louis Republican, St. Louis Times, Sunday School Banner, Sunday School Journal, Susquehana Democrat, Tennessee Herald, Theology, Vandalia Whig, Wayne Sentinel, Western Luminary, Western Pioneer, Youth's Friend. 

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.

Abraham Lincoln's Plank on Education

When Lincoln prepared his first circular to be distributed among the voters of Sangamon County, Illinois, in the summer of 1832, he worked a plank[1] on education into his political platform. The following excerpt shows his interest in the subject when he was only twenty-three. 

Upon the subject of education, not presuming to dictate any plan or system respecting it, I can only say that I view it as the most important subject which we as a people can be engaged in.

"Upon the subject of education, not presuming to dictate any plan or sys· tern respecting it, I can only say that I view it as the most important subject which we as a people can be engaged in. That every man may receive at least a moderate education, and thereby be enabled to read the histories of his own and other countries, by which he may duly appreciate the value of our free institutions, appears to be an object of vital importance, even on this account only, to say nothing of the advantages and satisfaction to be derived from all being able to read the Scriptures and other works both of a religious and moral nature, for themselves. 

For my part, I desire to see the time when education─and by this, morality, sobriety, enterprise, and industry─shall become much more general than at present, and I should be gratified to have it in my power to contribute something to the advancement of any measure which might have a tendency to accelerate that happy period." 

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.

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[1] Lincoln's plank on education was a platform for the Republican Party in the 1860 presidential election. The plank called for universal education, meaning that all children, regardless of social class or race, should be able to attend school. The plank also called for establishing public schools, which would be funded by the government. Lincoln's plank on education was a radical idea at the time, as most children in the United States did not attend school. However, Lincoln believed education was essential for a democracy to function correctly. He argued that an educated citizenry would be better equipped to make informed decisions about government and to participate in civic life. The Republican Party's victory in the 1860 election helped to pave the way for establishing universal education in the United States. In the years following the Civil War, many states passed laws that established public schools and required children to attend school. Today, education is considered a fundamental right in the United States, and all children can attend school.

How Abraham Lincoln Handled the Plethora of Gifts.

In the spring of 1982, President Ronald Reagan filed his income tax return for the previous year and, in making it public, unleashed a flurry of press coverage on a fascinating but seldom-discussed topic: the many gifts, both valuable and sentimental, that our Chief Executives seem inevitably to amass while in office. President Reagan's returns showed that he had received (and was prepared to declare as income) some $31,000 (98,000 today) in gifts, including such items as silver picture frames, a crystal wine cooler, three pairs of boots, a Chinese porcelain dinner service, and a horse blanket.

Abraham Lincoln Portrait as a Lawyer, 1832

While it lasted, the gift controversy was closely watched by the press. However, What was overlooked is that Presidential gift hoarding is not new, not even a twentieth-century phenomenon. And it would probably surprise many observers that among the Presidents who cheerfully accepted valuable presents while in office was Abraham Lincoln, who not only never disclosed them publicly (he was not required to do so) but occasionally forgot even to thank his admirers and benefactors. Had the tax and disclosure laws in the 1980s prevailed during the 1860s, the Lincolns would surely have had to contend with embarrassing revelations of their own. But such scrutiny was unheard of during Lincoln's time, as was the ethics that today seems automatically to link such presentations to ulterior motives. Coincidentally, the news of the Reagan family's gift controversies broke in the press precisely 120 years after the daughter of a Dakota judge gave Lincoln a pair of pipestone shirt studs. Lincoln, freely and without inhibition, accepted them, thanking her for her "kindness" and telling his "dear young friend" that he thought the studs "elegant."

Among the countless other items, including edibles and potables that Lincoln collected during his Presidency, were things he could not have wanted or needed, even cases of alcoholic beverages. As his friend Ward Hill Lamon remembered, Lincoln "abstained himself, not so much upon principle, as because of a total lack of appetite." once, nonetheless, a group of New York admirers "clubbed together to send him a fine assortment of wines and liquors," a White House secretary recalled. A dismayed Mary Lincoln was sure her husband would object to keeping the gift at home, so she donated the spirits to local hospitals. There, she hoped, doctors and nurses could "take the responsibility of their future."

Edible gifts─fruits and dairy products, for example─the Lincolns, seemed more than willing to keep and consume. And then there were the attractive and valuable presents: pictures, books, animals, garments, and accessories─which Lincoln almost always kept for himself. The following litany could be said, in a sense, to constitute Lincoln's own retrospective public accounting. The list serves as a reminder of how different the rules of conduct for public figures once were. 

For this reason, the study is in no way intended as an indictment. No one who observed Lincoln ever thought him obsessed with personal gain or fashion. As Lamon said, "He was not avaricious, never appropriated a cent wrongfully, and did not think money for its own sake a fit object of any man's ambition." But, as Lamon added, Lincoln also "knew its value, its power, and liked to keep it when he had it." Lincoln did, in fact, defend the aspiration to wealth, declaring once that "property is desirable . . . a positive good in the world." He had even admitted, half-jokingly, back in 1836: "No one has needed favors more than I, and generally, few have been less unwilling to accept them." 

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In fairness, Lincoln made this particular statement in the course of refusing a favor, noting, "In this case, favor to me would be an injustice to the public."

That also would characterize his policy where gifts were concerned─gifts that began arriving soon after his nomination to the presidency and continued arriving right up until the day of his assassination.

The gifts came from sincere admirers, blatant favor-seekers, princes and patriots, children and old women. Some made presentations in person: others sent their presents by express. On at least one occasion, a simply-wrapped little package looked so suspicious that Lincoln seriously entertained the notion that it had been designed to explode in his face.

But most of the gifts─from modest shawls and socks to expensive watches and canes─seemed to reflect a deep and widespread desire among Lincoln's admirers, chiefly strangers, to reach out to the troubled President and to be touched back in return by the acknowledgment that was certain to follow. It is difficult for the modern American living in the era of the so-called Imperial Presidency to comprehend the emotional and political simplicity inherent in these gestures. The inviting intimacy of the nineteenth-century Presidency─not to mention the code of conduct that encouraged such expressions of generosity seems to have vanished. In Lincoln's day, it thrived. And so the gifts began arriving after Lincoln won the Republican Presidential nomination in 1860.

Lincoln received dozens of presents during the campaign, ranging from the potentially compromising to the presumptuous. In the former category was a barrel of flour that arrived "as a small token of respect for your able support of the Tariff. "In the latter was a newfangled soap that inspired Lincoln to write self-deprecatingly to its inventor: Mrs. L. declares it is a superb article. She, at the same time, protests that I have never given sufficient attention to the 'soap question' to be a competent judge." Nonetheless, Lincoln admitted that "your Soap ... has been used at our house."

Whether or not the soap improved Lincoln's appearance can only be judged by looking at period pictures─and the candidate received a number of those as gifts also. "Artist expresses their happiness in supplying him with wretched wood-cut presentations," reported journalist Henry Villard. Lincoln admitted that his "judgment" was "worth nothing" when it came to art, but that did not stop art publishers from sending him examples of their work, possibly eager for endorsements that could be marketed to enhance sales. Engraver Thomas Doney, for example, sent a copy of his mezzotint portrait of the nominee, and Lincoln admitted that he thought it "a very good one." But he cautioned: "I am a very indifferent judge." Chicago lithographer Edward Mendel won a more enthusiastic endorsement (written by a secretary, signed by Lincoln) for his so-called "Great Picture" of the nominee. Acknowledging its receipt, Lincoln called it "a truthful Lithograph Portrait of myself." A month later, the full text of his letter was reprinted in a newspaper advertisement offering the print for sale. A possibly more careful Lincoln signed a more noncommittal acknowledgment when a Pennsylvania jurist shipped copies of an engraving whose costly production he had underwritten. Though it was a far better print than others received by the President and was the only one based on life sittings─Lincoln expressed thanks but no opinion. Perhaps he truly was a "very indifferent judge."

What Lincoln really thought about some of the odder gifts that arrived in Springfield in the summer of 1860 can only be imagined. The "Daughters of Abraham" sent what Lincoln described as "a box of fine peaches," accepted with "grateful acknowledgment." A "bag of books" arrived in the mail. From Pittsburgh came a "Lincoln nail"─which had been manufactured, according to its presenter, "in a moving procession of 50,000 Republican Freemen" on "a belt run from the wheel of a wagon connected with a nail machine." Each "Lincoln nail" had the Initial 'L' carved on the nailhead. "Show it to your little wife, I think it will please her curiosity," wrote the Pittsburgh man, adding: "I hope [to] God that the American people may hit the nail on the head this time in your election [as] a tribute of respect to yourself and the great cause of Truth and justice which you represent." With similar gifts arriving almost daily, Lincoln's temporary office in the Springfield State House began soon to look like "a museum, so many axes and wedges and log-chains were sent the candidate." According to the daughter of Lincoln's private secretary John G. Nicolay, the future President "used them in his explanations and anecdotes of pioneer days, making them serve the double purpose of amusing his visitors and keeping the conversation away from dangerous political reefs." Perhaps the best known of the office props─a familiar accessory visible in the background of period engravings─was the oversized wood-link chain, "sent to Mr. Lincoln by some man in Wisconsin," Nicolay wrote. "who . . . being a cripple and unable to leave his bed . . . had the rail brought in from the fence, and amused himself by whittling it out." The resulting "seat wooden chain," the New York Tribune cautioned, while made from a rail, was not made from "a Lincoln rail, as everybody is disposed to think." 

This woodcut was displayed in the Governor's Room of the Illinois State House (the Old State Capitol, today) in the November 24, 1860, issue of Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper.

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The chain is on display in the Illinois State Capitol (old State Capitol) in Springfield, Illinois. It is made of wooden rail links that are about 12 inches long and 3 inches wide, which were used in the construction of the Illinois Central Railroad, the first railroad in Illinois. The chain is about 10 feet long and hangs from the ceiling of the capitol rotunda. The chain was created in the 1860s and is a symbol of the state's early history with railroads. The chain was originally used to raise and lower the chandelier in the rotunda. However, the chandelier was removed in the 1960s, and the chain has been hanging unused ever since.

Another gift received around the same time, "a pair of first-class improved wedges for splitting logs." proved similarly misleading. Everybody persists in looking upon [them] as relics of Mr. Lincoln's early life," the Tribune observed, "but which really were sent to him only about a fortnight (14 days) ago, together with a fine ax."

In June came a historic relic, a "rustic chair" that had stood on a platform of Chicago's Wigwam when Lincoln was nominated at the 1860 Republican National Convention. It was made of thirty-four different kinds of wood, "symbolizing the union of the several states, including Kansas," explained the college professor assigned to forward the memento to the candidate. "Though rude in form," the chair was meant to serve as "an Emblem of the 'Chair of State,'  which . . . it is believed you are destined soon to occupy." Lincoln "gratefully accepted" both the chair and "the sentiment" but, with secession, no doubt much on his mind, wondered: "In view of what it symbolizes, might it not be called the 'Chair of State and the Union of States?' The conception of the maker is a pretty, patriotic, and national one."

Many gifts were similarly inspiring─or at the least, friendly. If ever there was a danger to Lincoln in accepting every package that came through the mail, it could never have been more apparent than on October 17, when he received this warning from a Kansas man: "As I have every reason to expect that you will be our next President─I want to warn you of one thing that you be exceedingly careful what you eat or drink as you may be poisoned by your enemies as was President Harrison and President Taylor." That same day, a Quincy, Illinois, man sent Lincoln "a Mississippi River Salmon," with the hope that "the fish . . . caught this morning will grace the table of the next President of the United States." There is no record that Lincoln responded to either letter, but it is amusing to wonder how he reacted to the receipt of the food concurrently with the receipt of the warning.

After Lincoln's election three weeks later, the steady stream of gifts grew into a flood. "A pile of letters greeted him daily," wrote Villard, and many packages bore gifts. Books, for example, arrived frequently. "Authors and speculative booksellers freely send their congratulations," Villard explained, "accompanied by complimentary volumes." Many of the other gifts were homespun─others merely "odd."

In December, one New York "stranger" sent two specially made hats. "A veritable Eagle Quill" arriving from Pennsylvania, plucked from a bird shot in 1844 in the hope that the pen fashioned from it would be used by Henry Clay to write his inaugural address. For sixteen years, its owner had waited for a candidate of equal stature to win the Presidency. And thus he wrote to Lincoln:

I . . . have the honor of resenting it to you in your character of President-elect to be used for the purpose it was originally designed. 

What a pleasing and majestic thought! The inaugural address . . . written with a pen made from the quill taken from the proud and soring emblem of our liberties.

If it is devoted in whole or in part to the purpose indicated, would not the fact and the incident be sufficiently potent to "Save the Union."

The new year of 1861 brought more valuable gifts, including several canes. One redwood, gold and quartz-handled example were judged "highly artistic and in very good taste" by visiting sculptor Thomas Dow Jones. Mrs. Lincoln received a sewing machine; some Cleveland millworkers sent Lincoln a model T-rail: and Chicago City Clerk Abraham Kohn sent a watercolor he had painted, complete with Hebrew inscriptions.

Thomas Dow Jones

Yet another Allusion to Lincoln's "beau ideal (perfect beauty: French)," Henry Clay, was offered with the arrival in February of a decades-old medal from a limited strike run of 150. One had been "reserved, at the time," explained the presenter, "with the intention . . . of presenting it to the citizen of the school of Henry Clay, who should first be elected to the Presidency. I rejoice that that event has, at last, occurred." Lincoln replied with "heartfelt thanks for your goodness in sending me this valuable present," expressing the "extreme gratification I feel in possessing so beautiful a memento of him whom, during my whole political life, I have loved and revered as a teacher and leader."

More clothing arrived as well. A Boston wholesaler sent what Lincoln acknowledged as "a very substantial and handsome overcoat," an "elegant and valuable New Year's Gift." A Westerner sent "a Union grey shawl, made of California wool . . . together with a pair of family blankets" as samples of "Pacific State weaving." Thanking the donor for the "favor," Lincoln noted the forward state of California manufacturers, which those articles exhibit." Shortly before leaving for Washington, as he stared into a mirror admiring a new topper sent by a Brooklyn hatter, Lincoln reportedly remarked to Mary Lincoln: "Well, wife, there is one thing likely to come out of this scrape, anyhow. We are going to have some new clothes!" As he had predicted, three days before his fifty-second birthday, Titsworth & Brothers, Chicago clothiers, donated an expensive suit for Lincoln to wear at his inauguration.

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The word "hatter" can refer to both men and women who make or sell hats, but it is more commonly used to refer to men. In the 18th and 19th centuries, mercury was used in the production of felt, which was commonly used in the hat-making trade at the time. Long-term exposure to mercury vapors could cause a condition known as erethism, which is characterized by tremors, slurred speech, and other neurological symptoms. This led to the widespread belief that hatters were often mad, which is why the phrase "mad as a hatter" came into use.

That same day he received a more peculiar gift, one that arrived in a package so "suspicious" looking that Thomas D. Jones, for whom Lincoln was then sitting for a sculpture, worried at first that it might contain "an infernal machine to torpedo." Jones placed it "at the back of a clay model" of Lincoln's head, "using it as an earthwork, so, in case it exploded, it would not harm either of us." It turned out to be a whistle fashioned from a pig's tail, which Tad Lincoln was soon suing "to make the house vocal if not musical . . . blowing blasts that would have astonished Roderick Dhu." Both the suit and whistle inspired Villard to file this report on February 9:

A large number of presents have been received by Mr. Lincoln within the last few days. The more noteworthy among them are a complete suit . . . to be worn by his excellency on the 4th of March. . . . The inauguration clothes, after being on exhibition for two days, will be tried on this evening─a most momentous event to be sure. . . . The oddest of all gifts to the President-elect came to hand, however, in the course of yesterday morning. It was no more or less than a whistle made out of a pig's tail. There is n "sell" in this. Your correspondent has seen the tangible refutation of the time-honored saying, "No whistle can be made out of a pig's tail," with his own eyes. The doner of the novel instrument is a prominent Ohio politician. . . . Mr. Lincoln hugely enjoyed the joke. After practicing upon this masterpiece of human ingenuity for nearly an hour, this morning, he jocosely remarked that he had never suspected, up to this time, that "there was a music in such a thing as that."

Even as Lincoln prepared to leave for Washington the following day, he was asked to accept one more gift specially designed for the inaugural journey. A Burlington, Iowa, man proposed making a [chain] mail shirt for Lincoln to wear for protection. 

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Mail shirts protected against slashing and piercing weapons but were not as effective against blunt force trauma. The rings are typically about 1 inch in diameter and linked together in a pattern that forms a tight, flexible mesh. The weight of a mail shirt can vary depending on the size and thickness of the metal rings, but they typically weigh between 10 and 30 pounds.

He even offered to plate it "with gold so that perspiration shall not affect it. The instructions continued: "It could be covered with silk and worn over an ordinary undershirt. . . . I am told that Napoleon III is constantly protected in this way" Lincoln declined the offer and left Springfield armorless. But he was not long without other sorts of gifts. En route to Washington D.C., he was given baskets of fruit and flowers. And in New York, he was given silk top hats from both Knox and Leary, rival hatters. Asked to compare them, Lincoln diplomatically told the New York World that they "mutually surpassed each other."

At last, on March 4, Lincoln moved into the White House. But the flood of gifts only increased. A carriage came from some New York friends, and a pair of carriage horses were reportedly sent to Mrs. Lincoln. Presumably, they were hitched together. A more modest donor, disclaiming personal ambition but hearing that Lincoln was "constantly besieged with applications for office," thought "that something nice and palatable in the way of good Butter might do you good and help to preserve your strength to perform your arduous duties." Along with the tun of butter came advice: "Keep a good strong pickle in this butter and in a cool place, then it will keep sweet till July." There is no record of whether the butter stayed fresh through the summer. 

During the same hot months, Secretary of State William H. Seward gave the Lincolns a quite different gift: Kittens. The pets were intended for the Lincoln children, but the President reportedly liked to have them "climb all over him" and grew "quite fond of them" himself.

1861 Picture of "Tabby."

Abraham Lincoln received Tabby and Dixie, his two cats, in 1861. It was the same year that Lincoln became President of the United States.

Case in point

John Hancock's niece sent Lincoln "an interesting relic of the past, an autograph of my uncle, having the endorsement of your ancestor, Abraham Lincoln, written a century ago: humbly trusting it may prove a happy augury of our country's future history." Lincoln returned his "cordial thanks" for both relics and "the flattering sentiment with which it was accompanied." There were spirit gifts to warm the President's heart. A "poor humble Mechanic" from Oho forwarded "one pair of slippers worked by my Little Daughter as a present for you from her." A Cincinnati man recommended the "quick and wholesome nourishment" of "Pure wine" made from grapes he planted himself. He sent a case.

Some gifts were meant to preserve honor. When a Brooklyn man read that no American flag flew over the White House, he asked for "the privilege, the honor, the glory" of presenting one. The "ladies of Washington" made a similar offer a few days later. No reply to either has been found. Nor did the President respond to an offer of toll-free carriage rides on the Seventh Street Turnpike or the gift of Dr. E. Cooper's Universal Magnetic Balm," good for Paralysis, Cramps, Colics, Burns, Bruises, Wounds, Feves, Cholera Morbus, Camp Disease, etc., etc., etc.," despite advice that Lincoln "trust it to you own family and friends (especially to General Scott). But he did respond to the gift of "a pair of socks so fine, and soft, and warm" that they "could hardly have been manufactured in any other way than the old Kentucky Fashion."

Foreign dignitaries usually sent far more exotic presents, some so valuable that Lincoln decided he could not accept them. When the King of Siam (Thailand today), for example, presented "a sward of costly materials and exquisite workmanship" along with two huge elephant tusks, Lincoln replied: "Our laws forbid the President from receiving these rich presents as personal treasures. They are therefore accepted . . . as tokens of your goodwill and friendship for the American people." Lincoln asked Congress to decide upon a suitable repository, and it chose the "Collection of Curiosities" at the Interior Department. Yet another gift offer from the King of Siam─a herd of elephants to breed in America─was refused outright, with Lincoln explaining dryly: "Our political jurisdiction . . . does not reach a latitude so low as to favor the multiplication of the elephant.

Gifts from domestic sources were not only less cumbersome, they were proper to accept. White rabbits arrived for Tad, and Clay's son presented Clay's snuffbox in the ultimate expression of faith that Lincoln had attained the stature of his political hero, Henry Clay. Earlier, when a Massachusetts delegation presented Lincoln with an "elegant whip," the ivory handle of which bore a cameo medallion of the President, he replied, according to author Nathaniel Hawthorne, who witnessed the scene, with "an address . . . shorter than the whip, but equally well made."

I might . . . follow your idea that it is . . . evidently expected that a good deal of whipping is to be done. But, as we meet here socially, let us not think only of whipping rebels, or of those who seem to think only of whipping Negroes, but of those pleasant days which it is to be hoped are in store for us when seated behind a good pair of horses, we can crack our whips and drive through a peaceful, happy and prosperous land.

"There were, of course, a great many curious books sent to him," artist Frances Bicknell Carpenter recalled, "and it seemed to be one of the special delights of his life to open these books at such an hour, that his boy [Tad] could stand beside him, and they could talk as he turned the pages." Actor James H.Hackett sent his Notes and Comments upon Certain Plays and Actors of Shakespeare. Lincoln had seen Hackett perform Falstaff in Henry IV at Ford's Theatre, but when he acknowledged the gift, he admitted, "I have seen very little of the drama." Hackett published the letter for his "personal Friends" only, but the press got hold of it and quoted it to illustrate Lincoln's ignorance. Hackett later apologized. Canes were also sent in abundance, typically hewn from some hallowed wood. Lincoln received one cane made from the hull of a destroyed Confederate ship, Merrimac, and another from a sunken Revolutionary War Ship, Alliance. Yet another, with a head carved in the shape of an eagle, was made from wood gathered in the vicinity of the 1863 Battle of Lookout Mountain. 

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Lookout Mountain is famous for the Battle of Lookout Mountain, which was fought on November 24, 1863, as part of the Chattanooga Campaign of the Civil War. The battle was fought on the slopes of Lookout Mountain, which is located in Tennessee, just across the state line from Georgia. The Union forces, led by Major General Joseph Hooker, defeated the Confederate forces, led by Major General Carter L. Stevenson. The victory gave the Union control of Lookout Mountain and helped to break the Confederate siege of Chattanooga. The battle was also known as the Battle Above the Clouds because it was fought in thick fog. The fog obscured the battlefield and made it difficult for the soldiers to see each other. This led to some confusion and casualties, but it also helped to protect the Union forces from Confederate artillery fire. The Battle of Lookout Mountain was a significant victory for the Union. It helped to break the Confederate siege of Chattanooga and opened the way for the Union to take control of the city. The victory also boosted Union morale and helped to turn the tide of the war in the Western Theater.

Journeying to Philadelphia in June 1864 to attend the Great Central Sanitary Fair (held from June 7 to June 28, 1864), Lincoln was given a staff made from the wood of the arch under which George Washington had passed at Trenton, New Jersey, en route to his inauguration.

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The Great Central Sanitary Fair was a fundraiser for the United States Sanitary Commission, a volunteer organization founded at the beginning of the Civil War to provide medical care for Union soldiers. 

Were all these gifts made with no ulterior motive in Mind? It is impossible to say─although Lincoln might have sniffed out one potentially compromising situation in 1863 when Christopher M. Spencer gave him a new Spencer Rifle, along with a demonstration of the proper way to assemble it. A large War Department order could make a munitions man wealthy overnight, and there was no shortage of new military gadgetry sent to the White House. Clerk William Stoddard reported that his own office eventually  "looked like a gunshop." Similarly, when an Indian agent fighting a theft charge petitioned Lincoln to intervene for him, enclosing quilled moccasins as a gift, Lincoln took off his boots and tried them on whit a smile. But he did not intervene in the case. later, when California railroad men presented Lincoln with an exquisite, thirteen-inch-long spun gold watch chain, it was quite possible the delegation was thinking not so much about how elegant the adornment would look on the Presidential waistcoat but how lucrative would be government support for the building of roadbeds out west. Lincoln apparently did not care much. He posed for his most famous photographs wearing the ornament. An ideal companion piece, a gold watch, arrived in late 1863, forwarded by a Chicago jeweler on behalf of the Sanitary Commission. Lincoln expressed thanks for the "humanity and generosity" of which he had "unexpectedly become the beneficiary." It seemed the jeweler had promised the watch to the largest contributor to the Ladies Northwestern Fair.

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The Ladies Northwestern Fair was a fund-raising event held in Chicago, Illinois, from May 30 to June 21, 1865. It was organized by women to benefit the United States Sanitary Commission, which provided medical care to Union soldiers during the Civil War. The fair was a huge success, raising over $1.1 million ($20.6 million today).

Lincoln had donated a copy of the Emancipation Proclamation. It sold for $3,999, winning him the prize. Lincoln seemed pleased also by a rather hideous elkhorn chair presented by a frontiersman, Seth Kinman. They admired an Afghan made by two New York girls ("I am glad you remember me for the country's sake) and the Vermont cheese forwarded by an admirer from Anby ("superior and delicious"). He liked the book of funny lectured he received from a comic "mountebank," and the "very excellent . . . very comfortable" socks knitted by an eighty-seven-year-old Massachusetts woman. Lincoln thought these "evidence, of the patriotic devotion which, at your advanced age, you bear to our great and just cause."

A "very comfortable" chair came from the Shakers; a fine "suit of garments" was made to Lincoln's order and displayed for a while at a Sanitary Fair; a "useful" Scotch plaid; a "handsome and ingenious pocket knife" (acknowledged not once but twice); a red, white, and blue silk bedspread emblazoned with stars and stripes and the American eagle; an exquisite gold box decorated with his own likeness and filled with quartz crystal─all of these were received and acknowledged in 1864.

More art came to hand as well. Sculptor John Rogers sent his statuary group, Wounded Scout─A Friend in the Swamp, which Lincoln thought "very pretty and suggestive." The President found "pretty and acceptable" a gift of photographic views of Central Park in New York City, which its senders, E, & H. T. Anthony & Co., hoped would "afford you a relaxation from the turmoil and cares of office." Photographer Alexander Gardner sent along the results of an 1863 sitting, which Lincoln thought "generally very successful," adding: "The imperial photograph, in which the head leans upon the hand, I regard as the best that I have yet seen." Lincoln seemed less taken with a photographic copy of an allegorical sketch by Charles E. H. Richardson called The Antietam Gem.

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The Battle of Antietam was fought on September 17, 1862, in Sharpsburg, Maryland. The battle was one of the bloodiest in American history and resulted in over 23,000 casualties.

As a contemporary described the scene: "Twilight is seen scattering the murky clouds which enveloped and struck terror to the people in the days of Fort Sumter."  The Union was shown "Crushing out Secession, unloosening its folds from around the Fasces of the Republic." The cart-de-visite copy had been sent in the hope that Lincoln would want the original after the conclusion of its display at a Philadelphia fair. Instead, Lincoln suggested tactfully that it be "sold for the benefit of the Fair." Despite his apparent aversion to such representational works, the President did sit still once for the presentation of an allegorical tribute to Emancipation "in a massive carved frame." Lincoln "kindly accorded the desired opportunity to make the presentation, which occupied but a few minutes." remembered artist Francis Carpenter, who witnessed the scene. After it was over, Lincoln confided to Carpenter precisely how he felt about the gift. "It is what I call ingenious nonsense," he declared.

According to Carpenter, of all the gifts Lincoln ever received, non gave him "more sincere pleasure" than the presentation by the "Negro people of Baltimore"  of an especially handsome pulpit-size Bible, bound in violet velvet with solid gold corner bands. "Upon the left-hand corner," Carpenter observed, "was a design representing the President in a cotton field knocking the shackles off the wrists of a slave, who held one hand aloft as if invoking blessings upon the head of his benefactor." The Bible was inscribed to Lincoln as "a token of respect and gratitude" to the "friend of Universal Freedom." Rev. S. W. Chase, in making the presentation, declared: "In future, when our sons shall ask what these tokens mean, they will be told of your mighty acts and rise up and call you blessed." Lincoln replied: "I return you my sincere thanks for this very elegant copy of the great book of God . . . the best gift which God has ever given man."

Another touching ceremony took place the next year when a Philadelphia delegation gave Lincoln "a truly beautiful and superb vase of skeleton leaves, gathered from the battle-fields of Gettysburg."

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Lincoln Came Near Death from Smallpox while giving the Gettysburg Address.

Lincoln told the group that "so much has been said about Gettysburg, and so well said, that for me to attempt to say more may, perhaps, only serve to weaken the force of that which has served to weaken the force of that which has already been said." Interestingly, he was referring not to his own words spoken on November 19, 1863, but to those of principal orator Edward Everett, who had died just nine days before the vase presentation.

Lincoln was deeply moved as well when Caroline Johnson, a former slave who had become a nurse in a Philadelphia hospital, arrived at the White House to express her "reverence and affection" for Lincoln by presenting him with a beautifully made collection of wax fruits and an ornamented stem table-stand. Together with her minister, she arrived in Lincoln's office, unpacked the materials, and set up the stand and fruits in the center of the room as the President and First lady looked on. Then she was invited to say a few words, and as she later recalled:

I looked down to the floor and felt that I had not a word to say, but after a moment to two, the fire began to burn, . . . and it burned and burned till it went all over me. I think it was the Spirit, and I looked up to him and said: "Mr. President, I believe God has hewn you out of a rock for this great and mighty purpose. Many have been led away by bribes of gold or silver, of presents, but you have stood firm because God was with you." With his eyes full of tears, he walked round and examined the present, pronounced it beautiful, thanked me kindly, but said: "You must not give me the praise─It belongs to God."

By the last few months of his life, the novelty of Presidential gifts seemed finally to wear off for Lincoln. When in late 1864, the organizers of a charity fair asked him to contribute the mammoth ox. "General Grant," recently sent by a Boston donor, Lincoln seemed totally unaware that he had been given the beast. "If it is really [mine] . . . I present it," he wrote incredulously. It was auctioned off for $3,200 ($77,500 today). A new pattern had been established. Gifts were still arriving, but Lincoln was no longer taking notice. There is no record of any acknowledgments, for example, for the many Thanksgiving gifts received in November 1864.

Then, only two months before the assassination, Lincoln had to be reminded by Abolitionist leader William Lloyd Garrison that he had also failed to acknowledge the gift a full year before of a "spirited" painting depicting Negores awaiting the percise moment of their emancipation. "As the money was raised," Garrison wrote testily, "by ladies who desire that the donors may be officially appraised of its legitimate application, I write on their behalf." Noting that visitors had "seen the picture again and again at the White House," Garrison pressed Lincoln to avoid further "embarrassment" by taking note that "the painting . . . was duly received." A weary Lincoln apologized for his "seeming neglect," explaining weakly that he had intended "to make my personal acknowledgment . . . and waited for some leisure hour, I have committed the discourtesy of not replying at all. I hope you will believe that my thanks though late, are most cordial." The letter was written by Secretary John Hay; Lincoln merely signed it.

The very last recorded gift presented to Lincoln came from a delegation of fifteen visitors only hours before the President left for his fateful visit to Ford's Theatre. Anticlimactically, the presentation ceremony─such as it was─took place in a hallway. A spokesman made a brief impromptu speech, and Lincoln was handed a picture of himself in a silver frame. There is no record of his reply. But by then, Lincoln had been given a far more precious gift: the surrender of Lee's army at Appomattox. Before, he had very much time to savor it; however, he was dead.  

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.

Walt Whitman and Abraham Lincoln, a Concise Overview.

In 1856, Walt Whitman wrote a lengthy description of his ideal president: a "heroic" figure who was cunning and bold in temperament and knowledgeable about the world, a "Lincolnesque figure," according to Whitman biographer Justin Kaplan. He also opined on this hypothetical president's physical attributes: bearded and dressed in "a clean suit of working attire." Whitman explicitly mentions blacksmiths and boatmen as ideal precursor occupations. Two years later, Whitman first said Lincoln by name in writing. That year, he supported Stephen Douglas over Lincoln for election to the United States Senate. Whitman first saw Lincoln as the president-elect traveling through New York City on February 19, 1861. Whitman noticed Lincoln's "striking appearance" and "unpretentious dignity" and trusted his "supernatural tact" and "idiomatic Western genius." Whitman's admiration of Lincoln steadily grew in the following years; in October 1863, Whitman wrote in his diary, "I love the President personally."

President Abraham Lincoln. 1863

Although they never met, Whitman estimated in a letter he saw Lincoln about twenty to thirty times between 1861 and 1865, sometimes at close quarters. Lincoln passed Whitman several times and nodded to him, interactions that Whitman detailed in letters to his mother. Lincoln biographer William Barton writes there was little "evidence of recognition," and Lincoln likely nodded to many passersby as he traveled. Whitman and Lincoln were in the same room twice: at a reception in the White House following Lincoln's first inauguration in 1861 and when Whitman visited John Hay, Lincoln's private secretary, at the White House.

In August 1863, Whitman wrote in The New York Times, "I see the president almost every day." Later that year, Whitman wrote a letter about Lincoln describing the president's face as a "Hoosier Michel Angelo, so awful ugly it becomes beautiful." In the letter, he described Lincoln as captaining the "ship of state."] Whitman considered himself and Lincoln "afloat in the same stream" and "rooted in the same ground." They shared similar views on slavery and the Union—both men opposed allowing slavery to expand across the U.S. but considered preserving the Union more critical. Whitman consistently supported Lincoln's politics, and similarities have been noted in their literary styles and inspirations. Whitman later said, "Lincoln gets almost nearer me than anybody else."

It remains unclear how much Lincoln knew about Whitman, though he knew of him and his admiration for him. There is an account of Lincoln reading Leaves of Grass in his office and another of the president saying, "Well, he looks like a man!" upon seeing Whitman in Washington, D.C., but these accounts may be fictitious. Whitman was present at Lincoln's second inauguration in 1865 and left D.C. shortly after to visit his family.

On April 15, 1865, shortly after the end of the American Civil War, Lincoln was assassinated. Whitman was residing in Brooklyn while on a break from his job at the Department of the Interior when he heard the news. He recalled that although breakfast was served, the family did not eat and "not a word was spoken all day."

Lectures

In 1875, Whitman published Memoranda During the War. The book, a collection of diary entries, includes a telling of Lincoln's assassination from the perspective of someone who was present. The New York Sun published that section in 1876 to a positive reception. Whitman, by then in failing health, presented himself as neglected, unfairly criticized, and deserving of pity in the form of financial aid. Richard Watson Gilder and several of Whitman's other friends soon suggested he give a "Lincoln Lectures" series aimed at raising both funds and Whitman's profile. Whitman adapted his New York Sun article for the lectures.

Whitman gave a series of lectures on Lincoln from 1879 to 1890. They centered on the assassination and covered the years leading up to and during the American Civil War. Whitman occasionally gave poetry readings, such as "O Captain! My Captain!.' The lectures were generally popular and well-received. In 1980, Whitman's biographer Justin Kaplan wrote that Whitman's 1887 lecture in New York City and its after-party marked the closest he came to "social eminence on a large scale.'

In 1885, Whitman contributed an essay about his experiences with Lincoln to a volume compiled by Allen Thorndike Rice. Novelist Bram Stoker gave at least one lecture on Lincoln and discussed the deceased president with Whitman in November 1886. The two met when Stoker wrote a lengthy letter to Whitman in 1872 and were friends afterward. Robert J. Havlik, in the Walt Whitman Quarterly, noted that their "mutual respect for Lincoln" was the foundation of their relationship.

Whitman's Poetry on Abraham Lincoln

Walt Whitman's first poem on Lincoln's assassination was "Hush'd Be the Camps To-Day," dated April 19, 1865—the day of Lincoln's funeral in Washington. Near the publication of Drum-Taps, Whitman decided the collection would be incomplete without a poem on Lincoln's death and hastily added "Hush'd Be the Camps To-Day.' He halted further distribution of the work and stopped publication on May 1, primarily to develop his Lincoln poems. He followed that poem with "O Captain! My Captain!" and "When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom'd.' "My Captain" first appeared in The Saturday Press on November 4, 1865, and was published with "Lilacs" in Sequel to Drum-Taps around the same time. Although Sequel to Drum-Taps had been published in early October, copies were not ready for distribution until December. English professor Amanda Gailey described Whitman's decision to publish "My Captain" in The Saturday Press as a teaser for Sequel.

Walt Whitman

In 1866, Whitman's friend William D. O'Connor published The Good Gray Poet: A Vindication, a short, promotional work for Whitman. O'Connor presented Whitman as Lincoln's "foremost poetic interpreter,' proclaiming "Lilacs" as "the grandest and the only grand funeral music poured around Lincoln's bier.'

Whitman did not compose "This Dust Was Once the Man,' his fourth on Lincoln, until 1871. The four poems were first grouped together in the "President Lincoln's Burial Hymn" cluster of Passage to India (1871). Ten years later, in a later edition of Leaves of Grass, the grouping was named "Memories of President Lincoln.' The poems were not revised substantially following their publication.

Whitman wrote two other poems on Lincoln's assassination that were not included in the cluster. Shortly before Whitman's death, he wrote a final poem with the president as its subject, titled "Abraham Lincoln, Born February 12, 1809," in honor of Lincoln's birthday. It appeared in the New York Herald on February 12, 1888. The poem has only two lines and is not well known.

Whitman's Interpretation of Lincoln

Shortly after Lincoln's assassination, hundreds of poems were composed about his death. Historian Stephen B. Oates wrote that the American public had never mourned the death of a head of state so profoundly. Whitman was ready and willing to write poetry on the topic, seizing the opportunity to present himself as an "interpreter of Lincoln" to increase the readership of Leaves of Grass while honoring a man he admired. In 2004, Pannapacker described poetry as a "mixture of innovation and opportunism." Scholar Daniel Aaron writes that "Whitman placed himself and his work in the reflected limelight" of Lincoln's death.

The work of poets like Whitman and Lowell helped to establish Lincoln as the "first American,' epitomizing the newly reunited America. Whitman portrayed Lincoln using metaphors such as the captain of the ship of state and made his assassination a monumental event. Aaron wrote that Whitman treated Lincoln's death as a moment that could unite the American people. The historian Merrill D. Peterson wrote similarly, noting that Whitman's poetry placed Lincoln's assassination firmly in the American consciousness. Kaplan considers responding to Lincoln's death to have been Whitman's "crowning challenge." However, he believes Whitman's poems, such as "My Captain" and "Lilacs," to be less bold and emotionally direct than his earlier work.

Pannapacker concludes that Whitman reached the "heights of fame" through his poetry on Lincoln. He fashioned Lincoln as the "redeemer of the promise of American democracy." The philosopher Martha C. Nussbaum considers Lincoln to be the only individual subject of love in Whitman's poetry. The Chilean critic Armando Donoso wrote that Lincoln's death allowed Whitman to find significance in his feelings surrounding the Civil War. Several critics consider Whitman's response to Lincoln's death to memorialize all those who had died in the Civil War. For Whitman, Lincoln's death was the culmination of all the tragedies the Civil War had brought, according to scholar Betsy Erlikka.

Critics have noted Whitman's departure from his earlier poetry in his Lincoln poems; for instance, in 1932, Floyd Stovall felt that Whitman's "barbaric yawp" had been "silenced" and replaced by a more sentimental side; he noted an undercurrent of melancholy arising from the subject of death. Ed Folsom argues that, although Whitman may have struggled with his success coming from work uncharacteristic of his other poetry, he decided that acceptance was "preferable to exclusion and rejection"

Walt Whitman's Poems in "Memories of President Lincoln"

HUSH'D BE THE CAMPS TO-DAY. MAY 1865

HUSH'D be the camps to-day,

And soldiers let us drape our war-worn weapons,

And each with musing soul retire to celebrate,

Our dear commander's death.

No more for him life's stormy conflicts,

Nor victory, nor defeat—no more time's dark events,

Charging like ceaseless clouds across the sky.

But sing poet in our name,

Sing of the love we bore him—because you, dweller in camps,

know it truly.

As they invault the coffin there,

Sing—as they close the doors of earth upon him—one verse,

For the heavy hearts of soldiers.

O CAPTAIN! MY CAPTAIN! NOVEMBER 1865

O CAPTAIN! my captain! our fearful trip is done;

The ship has weathered every rack, the prize we sought is won;

The port is near, the bells I hear, the people are exulting,

While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:

But O heart! heart! heart!

Leave you not the little spot,

Where on the deck my captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

O captain! my captain! rise up and hear the bells;

Rise up—for you the flag is flung—for you the bugle trills;

For you bouquets and ribbon'd wreaths—for you the shores a-crowding;

For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning;

O captain! dear father!

This arm I push beneath you;

It is some dream that on the deck,

You've fallen cold and dead.

.

My captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still;

My father does not feel my arm, he has no pulse nor will:

But the ship, the ship is anchor'd safe, its voyage closed and done;

From fearful trip, the victor ship, comes in with object won:

Exult, O shores, and ring, O bells!

But I, with silent tread,

Walk the spot my captain lies,

Fallen cold and dead.

THIS DUST WAS ONCE THE MAN. 1871

THIS dust was once the man,

Gentle, plain, just and resolute, under whose cautious hand,

Against the foulest crime in history known in any land or age,

Was saved the Union of these States.

WHEN LILACS LAST IN THE DOORYARD BLOOM'D. 1865

1

WHEN lilacs last in the dooryard bloom'd,

And the great star early droop'd in the western sky in the night,

I mourn'd, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.

Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,

Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,

And thought of him I love.

2

powerful western fallen star!

shades of night—O moody, tearful night!

great star disappear'd—O the black murk that hides the star!

cruel hands that hold me powerless—O helpless soul of me!

harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.

3

In the dooryard fronting an old farm-house near the white-wash'd palings,

Stands the lilac-bush tall-growing with heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

With many a pointed blossom rising delicate, with the perfume strong I love,

With every leaf a miracle—and from this bush in the dooryard,

With delicate-color'd blossoms and heart-shaped leaves of rich green,

A sprig with its flower I break.

4

In the swamp in secluded recesses,

A shy and hidden bird is warbling a song.

Solitary the thrush,

The hermit withdrawn to himself, avoiding the settlements,

Sings by himself a song.

Song of the bleeding throat,

Death's outlet song of life, (for well dear brother I know,

If thou wast not granted to sing thou would'st surely die.)

5

Over the breast of the spring, the land, amid cities,

Amid lanes and through old woods, where lately the violets peep'd 

from the ground, spotting the gray debris,

Amid the grass in the fields each side of the lanes, passing the endless grass,

Passing the yellow-spear'd wheat, every grain from its shroud in the dark-brown fields uprisen,

Passing the apple-tree blows of white and pink in the orchards,

Carrying a corpse to where it shall rest in the grave,

Night and day journeys a coffin.

6

Coffin that passes through lanes and streets,

Through day and night with the great cloud darkening the land,

With the pomp of the inloop'd flags with the cities draped in black,

With the show of the States themselves as of crape-veil'd women standing,

With processions long and winding and the flambeaus of the night,

With the countless torches lit, with the silent sea of faces and the unbared heads,

With the waiting depot, the arriving coffin, and the sombre faces,

With dirges through the night, with the thousand voices rising strong and solemn,

With all the mournful voices of the dirges pour'd around the coffin,

The dim-lit churches and the shuddering organs—where amid these you journey,

With the tolling tolling bells' perpetual clang,

Here, coffin that slowly passes,

I give you my sprig of lilac.

7

Nor for you, for one alone,

Blossoms and branches green to coffins all I bring,

For fresh as the morning, thus would I chant a song for you O

sane and sacred death.

All over bouquets of roses,

O death, I cover you over with roses and early lilies,

But mostly and now the lilac that blooms the first,

Copious I break, I break the sprigs from the bushes,

With loaded arms I come, pouring for you,

For you and the coffins all of you O death.)

8

O western orb sailing the heaven,

Now I know what you must have meant as a month since I walk'd,

As I walk'd in silence the transparent shadowy night,

As I saw you had something to tell as you bent to me night after night,

As you droop'd from the sky low down as if to my side, 

(while the other stars all look'd on,)

As we wander'd together the solemn night, 

(for something I know not what kept me from sleep,)

As the night advanced, and I saw on the rim of the west how full you were of woe,

As I stood on the rising ground in the breeze in the cool transparent night,

As I watch'd where you pass'd and was lost in the netherward black of the night,

As my soul in its trouble dissatisfied sank, as where you sad orb,

Concluded, dropt in the night, and was gone.

9

Sing on there in the swamp,

O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call,

I hear, I come presently, I understand you,

But a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain'd me,

The star my departing comrade holds and detains me.

10

O how shall I warble myself for the dead one there I loved?

And how shall I deck my song for the large sweet soul that has gone?

And what shall my perfume be for the grave of him I love?

Sea-winds blown from east and west,

Blown from the Eastern sea and blown from the Western sea, till 

there on the prairies meeting,

These and with these and the breath of my chant,

I'll perfume the grave of him I love.

11

O what shall I hang on the chamber walls?

And what shall the pictures be that I hang on the walls,

To adorn the burial-house of him I love?

Pictures of growing spring and farms and homes,

With the Fourth-month eve at sundown, and the gray smoke lucid and bright,

With floods of the yellow gold of the gorgeous, indolent, 

sinking sun, burning, expanding the air,

With the fresh sweet herbage under foot, and the pale green leaves of the trees prolific,

In the distance the flowing glaze, the breast of the river, with a wind-dapple here and there,

With ranging hills on the banks, with many a line against the sky, and shadows,

And the city at hand with dwellings so dense, and stacks of chimneys,

And all the scenes of life and the workshops, and the workmen homeward returning.

12

Lo, body and soul—this land,

My own Manhattan with spires, and the sparkling and hurrying

tides, and the ships,

The varied and ample land, the South and the North in the light,

Ohio's shores and flashing Missouri,

And ever the far-spreading prairies cover'd with grass and corn.

Lo, the most excellent sun so calm and haughty,

The violet and purple morn with just-felt breezes,

The gentle soft-born measureless light,

The miracle spreading bathing all, the fulfill'd noon,

The coming eve delicious, the welcome night and the stars,

Over my cities shining all, enveloping man and land.

13

Sing on, sing on you gray-brown bird,

Sing from the swamps, the recesses, pour your chant from the bushes,

Limitless out of the dusk, out of the cedars and pines.

Sing on dearest brother, warble your reedy song,

Loud human song, with voice of uttermost woe.

O liquid and free and tender!

O wild and loose to my soul—O wondrous singer!

You only I hear—yet the star holds me, (but will soon depart,)

Yet the lilac with mastering odor holds me.

14

Now while I sat in the day and look'd forth,

In the close of the day with its light and the fields of spring, and

the farmers preparing their crops,

In the large unconscious scenery of my land with its lakes and forests,

In the heavenly aerial beauty, (after the perturb'd winds and the storms,)

Under the arching heavens of the afternoon swift passing, and the

voices of children and women,

The many-moving sea-tides, and I saw the ships how they sail'd,

And the summer approaching with richness, and the fields all busy with labor,

And the infinite separate houses, how they all went on, each with

its meals and minutia of daily usages,

And the streets how their throbbings throbb'd, and the cities pent

—lo, then and there,

Falling upon them all and among them all, enveloping me with the rest,

Appear'd the cloud, appear'd the long black trail,

And I knew death, its thought, and the sacred knowledge of death.

Then with the knowledge of death as walking one side of me,

And the thought of death close-walking the other side of me,

And I in the middle as with companions, and as holding the hands of companions,

I fled forth to the hiding receiving night that talks not,

Down to the shores of the water, the path by the swamp in the dimness,

To the solemn shadowy cedars and ghostly pines so still.

And the singer so shy to the rest receiv'd me,

The gray-brown bird I know receiv'd us comrades three,

And he sang the carol of death, and a verse for him I love.

From deep secluded recesses,

From the fragrant cedars and the ghostly pines so still,

Came the carol of the bird.

And the charm of the carol rapt me,

As I held as if by their hands my comrades in the night,

And the voice of my spirit tallied the song of the bird.

Come lovely and soothing death,

Undulate round the world, serenely arriving, arriving,

In the day, in the night, to all, to each,

Sooner or later delicate death.

Prais'd be the fathomless universe,

For life and joy, and for objects and knowledge curious,

And for love, sweet love—but praise! praise! praise!

For the sure-enwinding arms of cool-enfolding death.

Dark mother always gliding near with soft feet,

Have none chanted for thee a chant of fullest welcome?

Then I chant it for thee, I glorify thee above all,

I bring thee a song that when thou must indeed come, come unfalteringly.

Approach strong deliveress,

When it is so, when thou hast taken them I joyously sing the dead,

Lost in the loving floating ocean of thee,

Laved in the flood of thy bliss O death.

From me to thee glad serenades,

Dances for thee I propose saluting thee, adornments and feastings for thee,

And the sights of the open landscape and the high-spread sky are fitting,

And life and the fields, and the huge and thoughtful night.

The night in silence under many a star,

The ocean shore and the husky whispering wave whose voice I

know,

And the soul turning to thee O vast and well-veil'd death,

And the body gratefully nestling close to thee.

Over the tree-tops I float thee a song,

Over the rising and sinking waves, over the myriad fields and the prairies wide,

Over the dense-pack'd cities all and the teeming wharves and ways,

I float this carol with joy, with joy to thee O death.

15

To the tally of my soul,

Loud and strong kept up the gray-brown bird,

With pure deliberate notes spreading filling the night.

Loud in the pines and cedars dim,

Clear in the freshness moist and the swamp-perfume,

And I with my comrades there in the night.

While my sight that was bound in my eyes unclosed,

As to long panoramas of visions.

And I saw askant the armies,

I saw as in noiseless dreams hundreds of battle-flags,

Borne through the smoke of the battles and pierc'd with missiles I saw them,

And carried hither and yon through the smoke, and torn and bloody,

And at last but a few shreds left on the staffs, (and all in silence,)

And the staffs all splinter'd and broken.

I saw battle-corpses, myriads of them,

And the white skeletons of young men, I saw them,

I saw the debris and debris of all the slain soldiers of the war,

But I saw they were not as was thought,

They themselves were fully at rest, they suffer'd not,

The living remain'd and suffer'd, the mother suffer'd,

And the wife and the child and the musing comrade suffer'd,

And the armies that remain'd suffer'd.

16

Passing the visions, passing the night,

Passing, unloosing the hold of my comrades' hands,

Passing the song of the hermit bird and the tallying song of my soul,

Victorious song, death's outlet song, yet varying ever-altering song,

As low and wailing, yet clear the notes, rising and falling, flooding the night,

Sadly sinking and fainting, as warning and warning, and yet again bursting with joy,

Covering the earth and filling the spread of the heaven,

As that powerful psalm in the night I heard from recesses,

Passing, I leave thee lilac with heart-shaped leaves,

I leave thee there in the door-yard, blooming, returning with spring.

I cease from my song for thee,

From my gaze on thee in the west, fronting the west, communing with thee,

O comrade lustrous with silver face in the night.

Yet each to keep and all, retrievements out of the night,

The song, the wondrous chant of the gray-brown bird,

And the tallying chant, the echo arous'd in my soul,

With the lustrous and drooping star with the countenance full of woe,

With the holders holding my hand nearing the call of the bird,

Comrades mine and I in the midst, and their memory ever to keep, 

for the dead I loved so well,

For the sweetest, wisest soul of all my days and lands—and this for his dear sake,

Lilac and star and bird twined with the chant of my soul,

There in the fragrant pines and the cedars dusk and dim.

Compiled by Dr. Neil Gale, Ph.D.