University of Virginia Library

When evening's purple radiance shone
O'er flowering vale and wildwood hill,
The song-bird trilled her lay alone
On Bunker's height, sublime and still;
The vesper breeze blew softly there
As it had fanned Love's rosy bower,
And spirits on the dewy air
Seemed smiling o'er the hallowed hour;
All nature slept in soft repose
Mid fresh-leaved groves and fragrant flowers,
And many a mirthful laugh arose
From the white tents of Britain's powers.—
In silence passed the starry night,
Earth, air and ocean—all were still,
And, breathing o'er each neighbouring height,
Lone midnight slept on Bunker Hill.
But when the first faint hues of morning dyed
Heaven's orient verge and tinged the pale-blue sky,
A sight of terror and a voice of pride
Appeared and thundered;—on the wondering eye
Of foemen, proud in battle's dread array,
Burst the wild vision of an armed band,
Who stood, expectant of the dawning day,
The fearless guardians of their native land,
A living rampart on the frowning height,
Their banners floating on the morning air,
Clad in their cause—a mail of matchless might—
Stern as relentless Fate and dauntless as Despair.

But pride quelled fear—the death-word passed,
And Britain's banded host moved on,
While trumpets blew the battle-blast
Of many a field of glory won.
Wide rolled the billowy sea of flame
Round Bunker's awful height,
But Freedom's sons unmoving stood
The stunning shock of Albion's monarch might
Amid their brothers' blood,
And echoed back the loud acclaim,
The deadly fire, the slaughtering stroke,
That through the darkly-wreathing smoke,
Like hurtling thunder broke;
And, proudly towering, o'er the trembling height
Careered the Patriot-Chief mid clouds of flame,
The predoomed victim of the earliest fight,
That gave his country an immortal name;
And with him bore the death he met
Far o'er the ensanguined field,
Till failed the shafts of Fate—but yet
The wronged, the oppressed disdained to yield
Till gallant Warren fell
On Bunker's awful side,
And few remained to tell
How Putnam dared the foe in conquering pride,
Or Prescott slowly trod through havoc's tide,
Save victors vanquished in the awful fray,
That gave a nation birth on Bunker's bloody day.

But ere the chilling hand of fate
Fast closed the dying hero's eyes,
A vision passed in pomp of solemn state—
He saw the Future rise!
Before him rolled events to come,
Scenes of suffering, wo and gloom—
The camp of Valley Forge, the fight of Brandy wine,
And Monmouth's bloody plain;
And scenes of triumph, pride and power,
The daring deeds men cannot act again
In Fortune's dark and desperate hour—
Dread Saratoga's strife and Yorktown's closing line.
The expiring warrior's eye
Gleamed through the filmy glaze of death
As thus he read the councils of the sky;—
But gasping came his breath
And pangs shot through his heart
To warn his spirit that he must depart.
Again the vision came
And thronging multitudes around him stood—
He heard them shout his name
While weltering in his blood;—
He saw the Templars in their bright array,
And plumed troops in gallant pomp move on,
And life's last pulses throbbed in maddening play
As the loud clarion breathed its battle tone!
Poised on his sable wings, Death paused awhile,
Until the vision passed,
To catch the soul-revealing smile,
The brightest and the last,
That played round the pale lips and in the eye
Of Warren flashed so vividly;
And nature waked her utmost powers
To stop the sands of life's departing hours,
While on the warrior burst
Accents that breathed the glories of the sky—
“To them who died for Liberty,
“The bravest and the first
“For ever sacred be this Monumental Fane!”
The dying hero looked on high
And on his spirit's eye
Shone the bright temple of the Brave and Free,
Who poured their spirits forth for Liberty,
On glory's field.—Again
Sky-rending shouts arose,
And trump and bugle blew the battle-strain
O'er Bunker's warriors' last repose
And with the shouts the soul of Warren fled;
And spirits wailed the dirge of Freedom's martyred dead

The sword, first drawn on Bunker Hill,
Was sheathed in blood for darkened years,
And many a blithesome hearth was still,
And many a pillow drenched in tears,
While Liberty, with sleepless eye,
Beheld the unequal war
From her dread throne, the battle-shroud on high,
And from each rolling star
Angels looked down, and pitied and implored
The outstretched arm of their avenging Lord!
The admiring world looked on
The long fierce strife, and heroes came
From climes where manhood sinks to shame,
And Slavery holds the footstool of the throne,
And millions bleed to crown a tyrant's name,
To gather glory in the cause of Heaven.
And long, Columbia! be their memory bright
In every heart—the temple thou hast given
To thy great Heros' name—enshrined in light!
Hail, Lafayette and Rochambeau!
De Kalb! Pulaski! injured Lee!
While Liberty is shrined below,
Your blended names shall live in fame's eternity.
But Victory came on wings of flame,
And Joy and Love flew o'er the Land,
And Peace lay down and wreathed her crown
On the green hillside mid a merry band;
While veteran warriors round the storied hearth
Drank rapture from the laughing eye of mirth,
Whene'er the shades of memory passed and threw
Shadows that showed the brightness of their sun;
And, as their spirits flashed o'er life's review,
Ten thousand Heroes blessed the sainted Washington!