University of Virginia Library

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

• Warren, American Officer.
• Putnam, American Officer.
• Gardiner. American Officer.
• Gage, British Officer.
• Howe, British Officer.
• Burgoyne, British Officer.
• Clinton, British Officer.
• Lord Pigot, British Officer.
• Sherwin . Aid-de-Camp to General Howe.
• Soldiers, &c.

ACT I.

SCENE I.

Camp at Cambridge.
Enter Warren, Putnam, and Gardiner.
Warren.
Why this inglorious inactivity,
And leave the famish'd city to the foe;
Nor turn our vengeance on relentless Gage?
Perfidious man! Who pledg'd his oath so late,
And word of honour to those patriots
Yet in his power, that yielding him their arms,
They should receive permission to depart,
And join once more their valiant countrymen;
But now detains as hostages these men,
In low damp dungeons, and in gaols chain'd down,
While grief and famine on their vitals prey.
Say noble Putnam, shall we hear of this.
And let our idle swords rust in the sheath,
While slaves of Royal Power impeach our worth
As vain, and call our patience cowardice?

Putnam.
Not less bold Warren have I felt the pangs
Of woe severe in this calamity:
And could I with my life redeem the times,
The richest blood that circles round my heart,
Should hastily be shed. But what avails
The genuine flame and vigour of the soul,
When nature's self, and all the strength of art,
Opposes every effort in our power?
These sons of slavery dare not advance,
And meet in equal fight our hostile arms.
For yet they well remember Lexington,
And what they suffer'd on that rueful day,
When wantoning in savage rage, they march'd
Onward to Concord, in a firm array,
Mock music playing, and the ample flag
Of tyranny display'd; but with dire loss
And infamy driven back, they gain'd the town,
And under cover of their ships of war,
Retir'd, confounded and dismay'd. No more
In mirthful mood to combat us, or mix
Their jocund music with the sounds of war.
To tempt no more unequal fight with men,
Who to oppose an arbitrary sway,
Have grasp'd the sword; and resolute to brave
Death in his dreary shapes, can know,
In the warm breast, no sentiment of fear.

Gardiner.
The free born spirit of immortal fire
Is stranger to ignoble deeds, and shuns
The name of cowardice. But well thy mind,
Sage, and matur'd by long experience, weighs
The perilous attempt, to storm the town,
And rescue thence, the suff'ring citizens.
For but one pass to that peninsula,
On which the city stands, on all sides barr'd.
And here what numbers can supply the rage,
Of the all devouring, deep mouth'd cannon, plac'd,
On many a strong redoubt; While on arch side,
The ships of war, moor'd, in the winding bay,
Can weep ten thousand from the level beach,
“And render all access impregnable.”

Warren.
True valiant Gard'ner, the attempt is vain,
To force that entrance to the sea-girt town;
Which while we hop'd for peace, and in that view,
Kept back our swords, we saw them fortify.
But what if happily, with a chosen few,
Led through the midnight shades, yon heights were gain'd,
And that contiguous hill, whose grassy foot,
By Mystick's gentle tide is wash'd. Here rais'd,
Strong batt'ries jutting o'er the level sea,
With everlasting thunder, shall annoy
Their navy far beneath; and in some lucky hour,
When dubious darkness on the land is spread,
A chosen band may pierce their sep'rate fleet,
And in swift boats, across the narrow tide,
Pour like a flame, on their unguarded ranks,
And wither them: As when an Angel smote,
The Assyrian camp. The proud Sennacherib;
With impious rage, against the hill of God,
Blasphem'd. Low humbl'd, when the dawning light,
Saw all his host dead men: So yet I trust,
The God of battles, will avouch our cause,
And those proud champions of despotic power,
Who turn our fasting to their mirth, and mock
Our prayers, naming us the Saints, shall yet,
Repay with blood, the scorn they cast upon us.

Putnam.
Heaven favour this attempt. Now from our troops,
Seven hundred gallant men, and skill'd in arms,
With speed select, choice spirits of the war.
By you, led on, brave Gard'ner, to the heights,
E're yet the morn, with dawning light breaks forth,
Intrench on Bunkers Hill; and when the day,
First, o'er the hill top rises, we shall join
United arms, against the assailing foe,
Should they attempt to cross the narrow tide,
In deep battalion to regain the hill.

Gardiner.
The thought is perilous, and many men,
To this bold enterprize, must strew the ground.
But since we combat in the cause of God,
I draw my sword, nor shall the sheath again,
Receive the shining blade, till on the heights,
It drinks the blood of many a warrior slain.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

The environs of Boston.
Enter Scotch Officers in conversation.
Captain M'Intyre.

I dinna know that I should like to marry ane o' these American ladies; they would breed savages and spoil and bluide o' the M'Intyres.

Captain M'Alpin.

I wad nae stop to marry twa or three o' them when their husbands are kill'd, as they will a' be shortly.

Captain Bunnalin.

It is a strange thing that we should come here to quell a rebellion, when we used to hae enough o' them at hame in our sin kintra.

Captain Jameson.

I dinna like a rebel; they should be a' hang'd, or put in the Talbooths.

Lieutenant Paterson.

Dinna walk sae far that way, Captain. Some o' their rifle men may take sight at ye, and shoot ye through the lug, frae the back o' ane o' these dikes. We had a gude many kill'd that way the day o' Lexinton.

Captain Pinkerton.

Dinna ye see Colonel Ryburn farther off the town than we are, and these about him? He seems to be stepping off the ground as he wad measure land for a bigging.

Colonel Ryburn.

I will hae a house here like the Duke o' Argyle's at Inverra. That nuke o' land there will make a calf pasture. When these rebels are a' han'gd, I'll settle mysel down here and send hame for a gardner, and twa or three masons. I sal hae a kuke frae France; a waiting man frae Swisserland, and a musician frae Italy.

Captain Brolochan.

I wad nae gi a tune o' the bag pipe for a' their orchestra. I dinna like the Italian scrapes.

Colonel.

There, will be a gude place for a park like Lord Haddington's. I shall hae it weel stock'd wi deer, and a pond in the laigh ground to keep fish in.

Captain.

Ye need na make a pond; ye hae the sea just by to gi ye fish.

Colonel.

Aye; but the sea fish are no fresh fish. The gentry in Scotland a'hae a pond.

SCENE II.

Boston.
Enter Gage, Howe, and Burgoyne.
Burgoyne.
How long brave gen'rals, shall the rebel foe,
In vain arrangements, and mock siege, display,
Their haughty insolence?—Shall in this town,
So many thousands, of Britannia's troops,
With watch incessant, and with toil oppress'd,
Remain besieg'd? A vetr'an army pent,
In the inclosure, of so small a space,
By a disorder'd herd, untaught, unofficer'd.
Let not the mouth of a detracting fame,
With breath malignant, o'er the Atlantic wave,
Bear this to Europe's shores, or tell to France,
Or haughty Spain, of Lexington's retreat.
Who could have thought it, in the course of things
That British soldiers, in this latter age,
Beat back by peasants, and in flight disgrac'd,
Could tamely brook the base discomfiture;
Nor sallying out, with spirit reassum'd,
Redeem'd defeat and challenge victory?
Drive back the foe, to Alleghany hills,
In woody vallies or on mountain tops,
To mix with wolves and kindred savages.

Gage.
This paradox will soon resolve itself.
Hear first, Burgoyne, the valour of these men.
Fir'd with the zeal, of fiercest liberty,
No fear of death, so terrible to all,
Can stop their rage. Grey-headed clergymen,
With holy bible, and continual prayer,
Bear up their fortitude—and talk of heav'n,
And tell them, that the soul, who dies in battle,
Shall walk, with spirits of the just. These words,
Add valour to their rage, and hurry them
Impetuous to war. Nor yet in arms
Unpractised. The day of Lexington,
A sad conviction gave our soldiery,
That these Americans, were not that herd,
And rabble rout, we represented them.

Howe.
Not strange to your maturer thought, Burgoyne,
This matter will appear. A people brave,
Who never yet, of luxury, or soft
Delights, effeminate, and false, have tasted.
But, through hate of chains, and slav'ry imagin'd,
Forsake their mountain tops, and rush to arms.
Oft have I heard their valour, published:
Their perseverance, and untameable
Fierce mind, when late they sought with us, and drove,
The French encroaching on their settlements,
Back to their frozen lakes. Or when with us
On Cape Breton, they stormed Louisburg.
With us in Canada, they took Quebec;
And at the Havannah, these New-England men,
Led on by Putman, acted gallantly.
I had a brother once, who in that war,
With fame commanded them, and when he fell,
Not unlamented; for these warriors,
So brave themselves, and sensible of merit,
Erected him a costly monument;
And much it grieves me that I draw my sword,
For this late insurrection, and revolt,
To chastise them. Would to Almighty God,
The task unnatural, had been assign'd,
Else where. But since by Heaven, determined,
Let's on, and wipe the day of Lexington,
Thus soil'd, quite from our soldiers memories.
This reinforcement, which with us have sail'd,
In many a transport, from Britannia's shores,
Will give new vigour to the Royal Arms,
And crush rebellion, in its infancy.
Let's on,and from this siege, calamitous,
Assert our liberty; nay rather die,
Transfix'd in battle, by their bayonets,
Than thus remain, the scoff, and ridicule
Of gibing wits, and paultry gazetteers,
On this, their madding continent, who cry,
Where is the British valour: that renown
Which spoke in thunder, to the Gallic shores?
That spirit is evaporate, that fire;
Which erst distinguish'd them, that flame;
And gen'rous energy of soul, which fill'd,
Their Henry's, Edwards, thunder-bolts of war;
Their Hampdens, Marlboroughs, & immortal Wolf
On the Abraham heights, victorious.
Britannia's genius, is unfortunate,
And flags say they, when Royal tyranny
Directs her arms. This let us then disprove,
In combat speedily, and take from them,
The wantonness of this fell pride, and boasting,

Gage.
Tho' much I dread the issue of the attempt,
So full of hazard, and advent'rous spirit;
Yet since your judgment, and high skill in arms,
From full experience, prompts,
I give my voice, and when one day hath pass'd,
In whose swift hours, may be wrought, up,
The resolution, of the soldiery,
With soothing words, and ample promises,
Of rich rewards, in lands and settlements,
From the confiscate property throughout,
These rebel colonies, at length subdu'd;
Then march we forth, beat up their drowsy camp.
And with the sun, to this safe capitol,
Return, rich, with the triumphs of the war.
And be our plan, that which brave Haldiman,
E're yet recall'd, advis'd to us. Let first,
Brave Howe, and Clinton, on that western point,
Land with the transports, and mean time Burgoyne,
With the artillery, pour sharp cannonade,
Along the neck, and sweep that beachy plain,
Which lies to Roxborough, where yon western stream,
Flowing from Cambridge, mixes with the Bay.
Thus, these Americans, shall learn to dread,
The force o discipline, and skill in arms.

SCENE III.

American Camp.
Militia man.

It was not the sum of the tax, but the principle that induced us to resist. The tax on tea was but an entering wedge. Grant this and all follows. It is the beginning of usurpation that must be resisted.

2nd Militia man.

The right to tax the Colonies in all cases whatsoever is the claim on the part of Great Britain.

1st Militia man.

The war is at least just, let the event be what it may.

2nd Militia man.

And I think it necessary, let the event be what it may.

1st Militia man.

Being both just and necessary, it must in the end be successful.

SCENE IV.

Enter Gardiner, with Seven Hundred Men.
Gardiner.
This is the hill, brave countrymen, whose brow
We mean to fortify. A strong redoubt,
Be speedily thrown up. Let each himself,
Not underserving, of our choice approve,
For out of thousands, I have challeng'd you.
To this bold enterprize, as men of might,
And valour eminent, and such this day,
I trust, will honour you. Let each his spade,
And pick-axe, vig'rously, in this hard soil,
Where I have laid the line, exert
The orient star, bright Lucifer,
Peers on the firmament, and soon the day,
Flush'd with the golden sun, shall visit us.
Then gallant countrymen, should faithless Gage,
Pour forth his lean, and half starv'd myrmidons;
We'll make them taste our catridges, and know,
What rugged steel, our bayonets are made of;
Or if o'er charg'd, with numbers, bravely fall,
Like those three hundred at Thermopylæ,
And give our Country, credit in our deaths.

ACT III.

SCENE I.

Enter Burgoyne.
The rebel foe, grown yet, more insolent,
By that small loss, or rout, at Lexington,
Prevent our purpose and the night by-post,
Have push'd intrenchments, and some flimsy works,
With rude atchievement, on the rocky brow,
Of that tall hill. A ship-boy, with the day,
From the tall mast-head, of the Admiral,
Deserv'd their alm, and gave the swift alarm.
Our glasses mark, but the small regiment there,
Yet, ev'ry hour we languish in delay,
Inspires fresh hope, and fills their pig'my souls,
With thoughts of holding it. You hear the sound
Of spades and pick-axes, upon the hill,
Like Vulcan's forge, urg'd by the Cyclops.

Enter Howe.
To your alarm posts, officers; come gallant men,
Let's out, and drive them from that eminence,
On which the foe, doth earth himself.
I relish not, such haughty neighbourhood,
Give orders, swiftly, to the Admiral,
That some stout ship heave up the narrow bay,
And pour indignant, from the full-tide wave,
Fierce cannonade, across the lathmus point,
To cut off reinforcements.

SCENE II.

The Roll Call.

Enter Adjutant.

Recover arms—To the right about face—March— it is not a time to be calling rolls, when the enemy are on the hill head, and we have orders to form. There will be about a score of rebels a piece to us, and we shall make short work with them.

SCENE III.

Howe with the British Army.
Howe.
The day at length, propitious shews itself,
And with full beams of majesty, the sun,
Hath bless'd, its fair nativity; when Heaven,
Brave soldiers, and the cause of kings,
Calls on the spirit of your loyalty,
To chastise this rebellion, and tread down,
Such foul ingratitude—such menstrous shape,
Of horrid liberty, which spurns that love—
That fond maternal tenderness of soul,
Which on this dreary coast, first planted them:
Restrain'd the rage, of murdering savages,
Which, with fierce inroad, on their settlements,
Made frequent war—struck down the arm of France,
Just rais'd, to crush them, in their infancy:
And since that time, have bade their cities grow,
To marts of trade: call'd fair-ey'd commerce forth,
To share dominion, on the distant wave,
And visit every clime, and foreign shore.
Yet this, brave soldiers, is the proud return.
For the best blood of England, shed for them.
Behold yon hill, where fell rebellion rears,
Her snake-streatn'd ensign, and would seem to brave
With scarce seven hundred, this sea-bound Camp,
Where may be counted, full ten thousand men,
That in the war with France so late, acquir'd
Loud fame, and shook the other continent.
Come on brave soldiers, seize your gleaming arms,
And let this day, in after times be held,
As Minden famous, and each hostile field,
Where British valour, shone victorious.
The time moves slow, which enviously detains,
Our just resentment from these traitors heads.
Their richest farms, and cultur'd settlements,
By winding river, or extensive bay,
Shall be your first reward. Our noble king,
As things confiscate, holds their property,
And in rich measure, will bestow on you,
Who face the frowns, and labour of this day,
He that outlives this battle, shall ascend,
In titled honour, to the height of state,
Dukedoms, and baronies, midst these our foes,
In tributary vassalage, kept down,
Shall be your fair inheritance. Come on,
Beat up th' heroic sound of war. The word,
Is George our sov'reign, and Britannia's arms.

SCENE IV.

Bunkers-Hill.
Warren with the American Army.
Warren.
To arms, brave countrymen, for see the foe,
Comes forth to battle, and would seem to try,
Once more, their fortune in decisive war.
Three thousand, 'gainst seven hundred, rang'd this day,
Shall give the world, an ample specimen,
What strength, and daring confidence, the sound,
Of Liberty inspires. That Liberty,
Which, not the thunder of Bellona's voice,
With fleets, and armies, from the British Shore,
Sall wrest from us. Our noble ancestors,
Out-brav'd the tempests, of the hoary deep,
And on these hills, uncultivate, and wild,
Sought an asylum, from despotic sway;
A short asylum, for that envious power,
With persecution dire, still follows us.
At first, they deem'd our charters forfeited.
Next, our just rights, in government, abridg'd.
Then, thrust in viceroys, and bashaws, to rule,
With lawless sovereignty. Now added force,
Of standing armies, to secure their sway.
Much, have we suffer'd from the licens'd rage,
Of brutal soldiery, in each fair town.
The 5th of March, brave countrymen, that day
When Boston's streets ran blood, remember,
And let the memory, to revenge, stir up,
The temper of your souls. There might we still,
On terms precarious, and disdainful, liv'd,
With daughters ravished, and butcher'd sons,
But heaven, forbade the thought. These are the men,
Who in firm phalanx, threaten us with war,
And aim this day, to fix forever down,
The chains, which haughty tyranny has forg'd for us.
These count our lands and settlements their own,
And in their intercepted letters, speak,
Of forms, and tenements, secur'd for friends,
Which, if they gain, brave soldiers, let with blood,
The purchase, be seal'd down. Let every arm,
This day be active, in fair freedom's cause,
And shower down, from the hill, like Heav'n in wrath,
Full store of lightning, and force iron hail,
To blast the adversary. Let this ascent,
Like burning Ætna or Vesuvius top,
Be wrapt in flame—The word is Liberty,
And Heaven smile on us, in so just a cause.

SCENE IV.

Bunkers-Hill.
Gardiner,
leading up the American Army to the Engagement.
Fear not, brave soldiers, tho' their infantry,
In deep array, so far out-numbers us.
The justice of our cause, will brace each arm,
And steel the soul with fortitude; while they,
Whose guilt, hangs on their consciences.
Must fail in battle, and receive that death,
Which, in high vengeance, we prepare for them.
Let then each spirit, to the height, wound up,
Shew noble vigour, and full force this day.
For on the merit, of our swords, is plac'd,
The virgin honour, and true character,
Of this whole Continent: and one short hour,
May give complexion, to the whole event,
Fixing the judgment whether as base slaves,
We serve these masters, or more nobly live,
Free as the breeze, that on the hill-top, plays,
With these sweet fields, and tenements, our own.
Oh fellow soldiers, let this battle speak,
Dire disappointment, to the insulting foe,
Who claim, our fair possessions, and set down,
These cultur'd-farms, and bowry-hills, and plains;
As the rich prize, of certain victory
Shall we, the sons of Massachusetts,
New-Hampshire, and Connecticut; shall we
Fell back, dishonour'd, from our native plains,
Mix with the savages, and roam for food,
On western mountains, or the desart shores,
Of Canada's cold lakes? or state more vile,
Sit down, in humble vassalage, content
To till the ground for these proud conquerors?
No, fellow soldiers, let us rise this day,
Emancipate, from such ignoble fate.
And should the battle, rob us of our lives,
Late time, shall give, an ample monument,
And bid her worthies, emulate our fame.

ACT IV.

SCENE I.

Boston.
The British Army being Repuls'd, Sherwin is dispatch'd to General Gage for Assistance.
Sherwin, Gage, Burgoyne, and Clinton.
Sherwin.
Our men advancing, have receiv'd much loss,
In this encounter, and the case demands,
In the swift crisis, of extremity,
A thousand men to reinforce the war.

Gage.
'Tis yours, brave Clinton, to command, these men.
Embark them speedily. I see our troops,
Stand on the margin, of the ebbing flood,
(The flood affrighted, at the scene it views,)
And fear, once more, to climb the desp'rate hill,
Whence the bold rebel, showr's destruction down.

SCENE II.

Warren.
Mortally wounded, falling on his right knee, covering his breast with his right hand, and supporting himself with his firelock in his left.
A deadly ball, hath limited my life,
And now to God, I offer up my soul.
But oh my Countrymen, let not the cause,
The sacred cause of liberty, with me
Faint or expire. By the last parting breath,
And blood of this your fellow soldier slain,
Be now adjur'd, never to yield the right,
The grand deposit of all-giving heaven,
To man's free nature.
With these rude Britons, wage life-scorning was,
'Till they admit it, and like hell fall off,
With ebbing billows, from this troubl'd coast,
Where but for them firm Concord, and true love,
Should individual, hold their court and reign.
Th' infernal engin'ry of state, resist
To death, that unborn times may be secure,
And while men flourish in the peace you win,
Write each fair name with worthies of the earth.
Weep not your Gen'ral, who is snach'd this day,
From the embraces of a family,
Five virgin daughters young, and unendow'd,
Now with the foe left lone and fatherless.
Weep not for him who first espous'd the cause
And risking life have met the enemy,
In fatal opposition—But rejoice—
For now I go to mingle with the dead,
Great Brutus, Hampden, Sidney and the rest,
Of old or modern memory, who liv'd,
A mound to tyrants, and strong hedge to kings,
Bounding the inundation of their rage,
Against the happiness and peace of man,
I see these heroes where they walk serene,
By chrystal currents, on the vale of Heaven,
High in full converse of immortal acts,
Atchiev'd for truth and innocence on earth.
Mean time the harmony and thrilling sound
Of mellow lutes, sweet viols, and guittars,
Dwell on the soul and ravish ev'ry nerve.
Anon the murmur of the tight-brac'd drum,
With finely varied fifes to martial airs,
Wind up the spirit to the mighty proof
Of siege and battle, and attempt in arms
Illustrious group! They beckon me along,
To ray my visage with immortal light,
And bind the amarinth around my brow.
I come, I come, ye first-born of true same.
Fight on my countrymen, be FREE, be FREE.

SCENE III.

Charlestown.
The Reinforcement landed, and Orders given to burn Charlestown, that they might march up more securely under the smoke, General Howe, Rallies his Repuls'd and Broken Troops.
Howe.
Curse on the fortune, of Britannia's arms,
That plays the jilt with us. Shall these few men,
Beat back the flower, and best half of our troops,
While on our side, so many ships of war,
And floating batt'ries, from the mystic tide,
Shake all the hills, and sweep its ridgy top.
Oh Gods! no time, can blot its memory out,
We've men enough, upon the field to day,
To bury, this small handful, with the dust
Our march excites—back to the charge—close ranks.
And drive these wizzards from th' enchanted ground
The reinforcement which bold Clinton heads,
Gives such superiority of strength,
That let each man of us, but cast a stone,
We cover this small hill, with these few foes,
And over head, erect a pyramid.
The smoke, you see, enwraps us in its shade,
On, then, my countrymen, and try once more,
To change the fortune, of the inglorious day.

SCENE IV.

Bunkers-Hill.
Gardiner,
to the American troops on the retreat of the British.
You see, brave soldiers, how an evil cause,
A cause of slavery, and civil death,
Unmans the spirit, and strikes down the soul.
The gallant Englishman, whose fame in arms,
Through every clime, shakes terribly the globe,
Is found this day, shorn off his wonted strength,
Repuls'd, and driven from the flaming hill.
Warren is fallen, on fair honour's bed,
Pierc'd in the breast, with ev'ry wound before,
'Tis ours, now tenfold, to avenge his death,
And offer up, a reg'ment of the foe,
Achilles-like, upon the Heroe's tomb.
See, reinforc'd they face us yet again,
And onward move in Phalanx to the war
Oh noble spirits, let this bold attack,
Be bloody to their host. God is our Aid
Give then full scope, to just revenge this day.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

The Bay Shore.
The British army now repuls'd, Howe again rallies his flying troops, who had been flying in every direction.
Howe.
But that so many mouths, can witness it,
I would deny myself in Englishman,
And swear this day, that with such cowardice,
No kindred, or alliance, has my birth.
Oh base degen'rate souls, whose ancestors,
At Cressy, Poictiers, and a' Agincourt,
With tenfold numbers, combated, and pluck'd
The budding laurels, from the brows of France.
Back to the charge, once more, and rather die,
Burn'd up, and wither'd on this bloody hill,
Than live the blemish, of your Country's same,
With everlasting, infamy oppress'd.
Their ammunition, as you hear, is spent,
So that unless, their looks, and visages,
Like firce-ey'd Basiliks, can strike you dead;
Return, and rescue yet, my Countrymen,
Some share of honour, on this hapless day.
Let some brave officers, stand on the rear,
And with the small sword, and sharp bayonet,
Drive on each coward that attempts to lag,
That thus, sure death may find the villain out,
With more dread certainty, than him who moves,
Full in the van, to meet the wrathful foe.

SCENE II.

Gardner desperately wounded and borne from the field by two Soldiers.
Gardiner.
A musket-ball death wing'd, hath pierc'd my groin,
And widely op'd the swift curr'nt of my veins.
Bear me then Soldiers, to that hollow space,
A little hence, just in the hill's decline.
A surgeon there, may stop the gushing wound,
And gain a short respite to life, that yet,
I may return, and fight one half hour more.

SCENE III.

Putnam,
to the American Army.
Swift-rising fame, on early wing, mounts up,
To the convexity of bending Heaven,
And writes each name, who fought with us this day,
In fairest character, amidst the stars.
The world shall read it, and still talk of us,
Who far out-number'd twice drove back the foe,
With carnage horrid, murm'ring to their ships.
The Ghost of Warren says, enough—I see
One thousand veterans, mingled with the dust.
Now, for our sacred honour, and the wound,
Which Gard'ner feels, once more we charge once more
Dear friends, and fence the obscur'd hill,
With hecatombs of slain. Let every piece,
Flash, like the fierce-consuming fire of Heaven,
And make the smoke, in which they wrap themselves.
“A darkness visible.”—Now, once again,
Receive the battle, as a shore of rock
The ocean wave. And if at last we yield,
Leave many a death, amidst their hollow ranks,
To damp the measure, of their dear-bought joy.

SCENE IV. AND LAST.

Bunkers-Hill.
The American Army overpower'd by numbers, are obliged to retreat.
Enter Howe, Pigot, and Clinton with the British Army.
Richardson,
a young Officer, on the Parapet.
The day is ours, huzza, the day is ours,
This last attack has forc'd them to retreat.

Clinton.
'Tis true, full victory declares for us,
But we have dearly, dearly, purchas'd it.
Full fifteen hundred, of our men lie dead,
Who, with their officers, do swell the list
Of this day's carnage—On the well-fought hill,
Whole ranks cut down, lie struggling with their wounds,
Or close their bright eyes, in the shades of night.
No wonder! such incessant musketry,
And fire of cannon, from the hill-top pour'd,
Seem'd not the agency, of mortal men,
But heaven itself, with vengeance arm'd,
T' oppose our gaining it. E'en when was spent
Their ammunition, and fierce Warren slain,
Huge stones were hurled from the rocky brow,
And war renew'd, by these inveterate;
'Till Gard'ner wounded, the left wing gave way,
And with their shatter'd infantry, the whole,
Drawn off by Putnam, to the causeway fled,
When from the ships, and batt'ries on the wave,
They met deep loss, and strew'd the narrow bridge,
With lifeless carcases. O! such a day,
Since Sodom and Gomorrah sunk in flames,
Hath not been heard of by the ear of man,
Nor hath an eye beheld its parallel.

Lord Pigot.
The day is ours, but with heart-piercing loss,
Of soldiers slain, and gallant officers.
Old Abercrombie, on the field lies dead.
Pitcuirn and Sherwin, in sore battle slain.
The gallant reg'ment of Welsh fusileers,
To seventeen privates, is this day reduc'd.
The grenadiers, stand thinly on the hill,
Like the tall fir-trees on the blasted heath,
Scorch'd by the antumnal burnings, which have rush'd,
With wasting fire fierce through its leafy groves.
Should ev'ry hill by the rebellious foe,
So well defended, cost thus dear to us,
Not the united forces of the world,
Could master them, and the proud rage subdue
Of these Americans.—

Howe.
E'vn in an enemy I honour worth,
And valour eminent. The vanquish'd foe,
In feats of prowess shew their ancestry,
And speak their birth legitimate;
The sons of Britons, with the genuine flame,
Of British heat, and valour in their veins.
What pity 'tis, such excellence of mind,
Should spend itself, in the fantastic cause,
Of wild-fire liberty—Warren is dead,
And lies unburied, on the smoky hill;
But with rich honours he shall be inhum'd,
To teach our soldiery, how teach we love,
E'en in a foe, true worth and fortitude.
Come then brave soldiers, and take up the dead,
Majors, and Col'nels, which are this day slain,
And noble Captains of sweet life bereft.
Fair dowers shall grow upon their grassy tombs,
And fame in tears, shall tell their tragedy,
To many a widow and soft weeping maid,
Or parent woe-ful for an only son,
Through mourning Britain, and Hibernia's Isle.