 | Our Heroes |  |
13
PETER SALEM.
It is a clear and cloudless day,
The summer sun is high,
The midday-zephyrs gently play
Beneath the azure sky;
The air is ladened with perfume,
Of summer flowers in radiant bloom.
The summer sun is high,
The midday-zephyrs gently play
Beneath the azure sky;
The air is ladened with perfume,
Of summer flowers in radiant bloom.
The birds are singing joyfully
Within the woodland vales;
The kine are browsing peacefully
Over the hills and dales;
It is an hour serene and blest,
It seems an hour of perfect rest.
Within the woodland vales;
The kine are browsing peacefully
Over the hills and dales;
It is an hour serene and blest,
It seems an hour of perfect rest.
While beauty lingers everywhere,
The heart of man is sad;
All nature has, in beauty rare,
No power to make him glad:
The foe is standing at the gate!
It the nation's day of fate!
The heart of man is sad;
All nature has, in beauty rare,
No power to make him glad:
The foe is standing at the gate!
It the nation's day of fate!
Behind the trench, on Bunker Hill,
New England patriots stand,
While in the distant city towers
The fairest of the land,
Who watch the scene with anxious heart—
To-day must many love ones part.
New England patriots stand,
While in the distant city towers
The fairest of the land,
Who watch the scene with anxious heart—
To-day must many love ones part.
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Now listen to the sullen roar
Of the artillery!
And strains of martial music soar
To thrill and nerve to die—
To smite the foe with valiant hand,
To die for home, and native land!
Of the artillery!
And strains of martial music soar
To thrill and nerve to die—
To smite the foe with valiant hand,
To die for home, and native land!
The plumes of warriors gaily dance;
The banners gleam and wave!
The sod o'er which they now advance
Will prove ere long the grave
Of nigh two thousand stalwart men
Who hoped to reach their homes again.
The banners gleam and wave!
The sod o'er which they now advance
Will prove ere long the grave
Of nigh two thousand stalwart men
Who hoped to reach their homes again.
The sword is flashing from its sheath,
The bristling bayonets gleam;
The solid earth the sward beneath,
Trembles to tread of men—
Of soldiers true, in war array,
Marching to doom and death that day!
The bristling bayonets gleam;
The solid earth the sward beneath,
Trembles to tread of men—
Of soldiers true, in war array,
Marching to doom and death that day!
Swiftly upon a gallant steed,
A single horseman rides,
To ask—“Where is the greatest need.”
And where the strongest tides
Of war and battle will roll in:
“At the redoubts it will begin!”
A single horseman rides,
To ask—“Where is the greatest need.”
And where the strongest tides
Of war and battle will roll in:
“At the redoubts it will begin!”
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Away he gallops to the post
Where special danger lay,
To the intrenchments, where a host
Impatient of delay,
Sternly resolve to do and die,
To seal their country's destiny!
Where special danger lay,
To the intrenchments, where a host
Impatient of delay,
Sternly resolve to do and die,
To seal their country's destiny!
With fearless step the foe advance—
How anxious is that hour!—
With musket, bayonet and lance,
And mien of conscious power.
The order passes down the line:—
“Reserve your fire till proper time!”
How anxious is that hour!—
With musket, bayonet and lance,
And mien of conscious power.
The order passes down the line:—
“Reserve your fire till proper time!”
A silence grim o'erhangs the scene,
A silence, deep and chill;
But a few paces intervene
The breastworks on the hill:
The order “Fire!” rang clear and loud,
And on the instant burst a cloud.
A silence, deep and chill;
But a few paces intervene
The breastworks on the hill:
The order “Fire!” rang clear and loud,
And on the instant burst a cloud.
Out of that cloud a rain of lead,
Which swept the foemen down—
There lie five hundred soldiers dead,
All heaped upon the ground.
They charge the battlements again,
They rush to death, and charge in vain!
Which swept the foemen down—
There lie five hundred soldiers dead,
All heaped upon the ground.
They charge the battlements again,
They rush to death, and charge in vain!
16
The battle raged on Bunker Hill,
With fury, long and wild;
And trickling downward like a rill
The blood the land defiled;
And on the air we catch the breath
Of war and carnage and of death!
With fury, long and wild;
And trickling downward like a rill
The blood the land defiled;
And on the air we catch the breath
Of war and carnage and of death!
But reinforcements now appear,
And quick for battle form,
Then proudly, grandly they draw near
Amid a leaden storm.
It is of moments the supreme—
A hero enters on the scene.
And quick for battle form,
Then proudly, grandly they draw near
Amid a leaden storm.
It is of moments the supreme—
A hero enters on the scene.
Towering above the parapets
Pitcairn, the major stands:
“Come on! the day is ours!” he shouts,
And proudly waves his hands.
While patriots stood in awe and dread—
Brave Salem shot the leader dead!
Pitcairn, the major stands:
“Come on! the day is ours!” he shouts,
And proudly waves his hands.
While patriots stood in awe and dread—
Brave Salem shot the leader dead!
The day has passed full many a year
Since Bunker Hill was fought;
And 'tis with pride that now we hear
No braver deed was wrought
By men who in the redoubt lay,
Than Peter Salem wrought that day!
Since Bunker Hill was fought;
And 'tis with pride that now we hear
No braver deed was wrought
By men who in the redoubt lay,
Than Peter Salem wrought that day!
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Warren, we write with special pride,
Putnam and Prescott brave.
But proudly with them we inscribe
Salem, the negro slave!
For whom arose bright Freedom's star
When he enlisted for the war.
Putnam and Prescott brave.
But proudly with them we inscribe
Salem, the negro slave!
For whom arose bright Freedom's star
When he enlisted for the war.
A stately shaft on Bunker Hill
Withstands the test of time,
Proudly it tells, and ever will,
To men of every clime,
That all who shared an honored part,
Are cherished in the nation's heart.
Withstands the test of time,
Proudly it tells, and ever will,
To men of every clime,
That all who shared an honored part,
Are cherished in the nation's heart.
Postscript:
In eighteen-sixteen he laid down
To sleep in mother earth,
Within the limits of the town
Where he was given birth.
At Saratoga, Bunker Hill,
Concord,—his spirit liveth still!
To sleep in mother earth,
Within the limits of the town
Where he was given birth.
At Saratoga, Bunker Hill,
Concord,—his spirit liveth still!
In eighteen hundred eighty-two
The town of Framingham,
To keep his memory fresh and new—
This patriotic man—
Placed a memorial o'er the grave
Of Salem true, the negro brave.
The town of Framingham,
To keep his memory fresh and new—
This patriotic man—
Placed a memorial o'er the grave
Of Salem true, the negro brave.
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