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SCENE III.
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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,

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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.