FEINBERG/WHITMAN LITERARY FILE SPEECH FILE "Abraham Lincoln," Apr. 15, 1886. A.MS. note attached (DC,J 85) to printed page. Includes admission ticket, advertisement, and program. Box 37 Folder 9 783 1886 Apr. DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN; a discourse. A.MS. attached to part of printed page. (1p. 21 x 14 cm.) The manuscript reads in part: "How often since the dark and dripping Saturday, April 15, 1865, of which to-day is the twenty-first anniversary-- how often." This MS note precedes the printed page of a lecture given on the occasion of the 15th anniversary of Lincoln's death beginning: "My heart has entertain'd a wish to give Lincoln's death its own special thought and memorial." With this: A program for a Lecture by Walt Whitman, On Abraham Lincoln, Apr. 15, '86 to be held in the chestnut Street Opera House, Philadelphia. Also: A ticket to Walt Whitman's lecture Death of Abraham Lincoln (15th Anniversary of the Assassination 1880) and an admittance ticket for another lecture to be given April 14th, 1887 at Madison Square Theatre, New York. {85} WALT WHITMAN'S LECTURE. DEATH OF ABRAHAM LINCOLN ASSOCIATION HALL, Cor. Chestnut and Fifteenth, Philadelphia, Evening of April 15th, 1880. (The 15th Anniversary of the Assassination.) 50 Cent Ticket. ADMIT ONE. LECHEVALIER & MORGAN, PRS. CAMDEN, N. J. Nothing to transcribe. The subject or text of my discourse is The Death of Abraham Lincoln. How often since the dark and dripping Saturday, April 15, 1865, of which was to say is the twenty-first anniversary - how often my heart has entertain'd the dream, a wish, to give of Abraham Lincoln's death its won special thought and memorial. Yet now the sought-for opportunity offers, I find my notes incompetent, (why, for truly profound themes, is statement so idle? why does the right phrase never offer?) and the fiit tribute I dreamed of waits unprepared as every. My talk here indeed is less because of itself or anything in it, and nearly altogether because I feel a desire, apart from any talk, to specify the day, the martyrdom. It is for this, my friends, I have called you together. Oft as the rolling years bring back this hour, let it again, however briefly be dwelt upon. For my own part, I hope and would wish, till my own dying day, whenever the 14th or 15th of April comes, to annually gather a few friends, and hold it's tragic reminiscence. No narrow or sectional reminiscence. It belongs to These States in their entirety--not the North only, but the South--perhaps belongs most tenderly and devoutly to the South, of all; for there, really, this man's birth-stock. There and thence his antecedent stamp. Why should I not say that thence his manliest traits--his concrete simplicity--his canny, easy ways and words upon the surface--his inflexible determination and courage at heart? Have you never realized it, my friends that grafted on the West, is essentially, in personnel a Southern contribution? [?] England /3/86 good [?] liberty [?] one [?] your [?]you will [?] [?] [?] Walt Whitman [engraving] ON ABRAHAM LINCOLN CHESTNUT STREET OPERA HOUSE, Chestnut St., above 10th, Phila. The Opera House, through the courtesy of Mssrs. ZIMMERMAN and NIXON, Proprietors and Managers, and DION BOUCICAULT, ESQ. The Orchestra tendered by SIMON HASSLER, ESQ. Lecture, By Walt Whitman, On Abraham Lincoln, THURSDAY AFTERNOON, APRIL 15, '86. 3 o'clock, P.M. Simon Hassler, Esq, and Hassler's Chestnut Street Opera House Orchestra in the following Musical Prelude: 1. Fantasia,—"The Poet's Dream," - - - Suppe 2. Serenade, - - - - - - Schubert Cornet Solo, - - - - - Mr. Wm. Ewers. 3. Spanish Fantasia, - - - - - Missúd 3.20 o'clock, P.M., Mr. Whitman's Lecture on Abraham Lincoln. 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; Hear 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. [engraving] Transcribed and reviewed by contributors participating in the By The People project at crowd.loc.gov.