1776

Walt Whitman wrote several poems in memory of Abraham Lincoln. “When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d”, is a great poem loved by critics. However, “O Captain! My Captain!” has seen more public approval.

The poem itself doesn’t specifically name Lincoln, but it is well known that he the Captain. The ship is the United States and the voyage was the Civil War.

Walt Whitman’s “Hush’d Be the Camps To-day” and “This Dust Was Once the Man” were also written in memory of Lincoln.

Walt Whitman
O Captain! My Captain!

O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring;
But O heart! heart! heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
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;
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
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,
The ship is anchor’d safe and sound, 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 mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.

On April 24th, 1865, Lincoln’s funeral train made it to New York City. Thousands of people gathered in Union Square for a ceremony where William Cullen Bryant’s poem, “The Death Of Lincoln”, was read by Samuel Osgood. Lincoln’s coffin was taken to city hall for a public viewing.

Less than a year later, Bryant wrote another poem entitled “The Death of Slavery”.

William Cullen Bryant
The Death Of Lincoln

OH, slow to smite and swift to spare,
Gentle and merciful and just!
Who, in the fear of God, didst bear
The sword of power, a nation’s trust!

In sorrow by thy bier we stand,
Amid the awe that hushes all,
And speak the anguish of a land
That shook with horror at thy fall.

Thy task is done; the bond are free:
We bear thee to an honored grave,
Whose proudest monument shall be
The broken fetters of the slave.

Pure was thy life; its bloody close
Hath placed thee with the sons of light,
Among the noble host of those
Who perished in the cause of Right.

Herman Melville’s “The Martyr” was an expression of grief for an almost Christ-like figure.

In those early days after his death, the newspapers and the public called for revenge. Many people feared the violence that might erupt in the aftermath of the assassination. Melville’s poem was also a warning of the vengeance coming to those involved in Lincoln’s killing.

Herman Melville
The Martyr

Good Friday was the day
Of the prodigy and 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 a pall upon the land;
But the People in their weeping
Bare the iron hand:
Beware the People weeping
When they bare 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 parricides remand;
For they killed him in his kindness,
In their madness and their blindness,
And his blood is on their hand.

There is sobbing of the strong,
And a pall upon the land;
But the People in their weeping
Bare the iron hand:
Beware the People weeping
When they bare the iron hand.

Further Reading:
The Library of Congress has an image of a proof sheet of “O Captain! My Captain!” with handwritten corrections by Whitman.

“When Lilacs Last in the Dooryard Bloom’d“, by Walt Whitman.
“Hush’d Be the Camps To-day“, by Walt Whitman.
“This Dust Was Once the Man“, by Walt Whitman.

“The Death of Slavery“, by William Cullen Bryant.

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