THE BATTLE. HEAVY and solemn, A cloudy column, Through the green plain they marching came! And fettered they stand at the stark command, And the warriors, silent, halt! See the smoke, how the lightning is cleaving asunder! Hark! the guns, peal on peal, how they boom in their thun der! From host to host, with kindling sound, Nearer they close-foes upon foes; 66 Ready!"-from square to square it goes. The dead men lie bathed in the weltering blood; "What! Francis !"—" Give Charlotte my last farewell." As the dying man murmurs, the thunders swell, "I'll give-O God! are their guns so near? Ho! comrades!-yon volley !-Look sharp to the rear! I'll give thy Charlotte thy last farewell; Sleep soft! where death thickest descendeth in rain, Hark to the hoofs that galloping go! The horsemen press hard on the panting foe, Victory! Terror has seized on the dastards all, Victory! Closed is the brunt of the glorious fight! And the day, like a conqueror, bursts on the night. The triumph already sweeps marching in song, THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. Ir was a starry night in June, the air was soft and still, When the minute men from Cambridge came, and gathered on the hill; Beneath us lay the sleeping town, around us frowned the fleet; But the pulse of freemen, not of slaves, within our bosoms beat; And every heart rose high with hope, as fearlessly we said, "We will be numbered with the free, or numbered with the dead!" "Bring out the line to mark the trench, and stretch it on the sward!" The trench is marked, the tools are brought, we utter not a word, But stack our guns, then fall to work with mattock and with spade, A thousand men with sinewy arms, and not a sound was made. So still were we, the stars beneath, that scarce a whisper fell; We heard the red-coat's musket click, and heard him cry, "All's well!" And here and there a twinkling port, reflected on the deep, In many a wavy shadow showed their sullen guns asleep. Sleep on, ye bloody, hireling crew! In careless slumber lie! The trench is growing broad and deep, the breast work broad and high. No striplings we, but bear the arms that held the French in check, The drum that beat at Louisburg, and thundered in Quebec! See how the morn is breaking! the red is in the sky; have spied, For the ruddy flash and round shot part in thunder from her side; And the Falcon and the Cerberus make every bosom thrill, With gun and shell, and drum and bell, and boatswain's whistle shrill; But deep and wider grows the trench as spade and mattock ply, For we have to cope with fearful odds, and the time is drawing nigh. Up with the pine-tree banner! Our gallant Prescott stands Amid the plunging shell and shot, and plants it with his hands; Up with the shout! for Putnam comes, upon his reeking bay, With bloody spur and foaming bit, in haste to join the fray; And Pomeroy, with his snow-white hairs, and face all flush and sweat, Unscathed by French and Indian, wears a youthful glory yet. Hark! from the town a trumpet! the barges at the wharf Are crowded with the living freight, and now they're pushing off; With clash and glitter, trump and drum, in all its bright array, Behold the splendid sacrifice move slowly o'er the bay! And still and still the barges fill, and still across the deep, Like thunder-clouds along the sky, the hostile transports sweep; And now they're forming at the Point, and now the lines ad vance; We see beneath the sultry sun their polished bayonets glance; We hear a-near the throbbing drum, the bugle challenge ring: Quick bursts, and loud, the flashing cloud, and rolls from wing to wing. But on the height our bulwark stands, tremendous in its gloom, As sullen as a tropic sky, and silent as a tomb! And so we waited till we saw, at scarce ten rifles' length, The old vindictive Saxon spite in all its stubborn strength;When sudden, flash on flash, around the jagged ramparts burst From every gun the livid light, upon the foe accursed! Then quailed a monarch's might before a free-born people's ire; Then drank the sword the veteran's life, where swept the yeoman's fire; Then, staggered by the shot, we saw their serried columns reel, And fall, as falls the bearded grain beneath the reaper's steel! And then arose a mighty shout, that might have waked the dead, "Hurrah! they run-the field is won! Hurrah! the foe is fled!" And every man has dropped his gun to clutch a neighbor's hand, As his heart kept praying all the time for home and native land. Thrice on that day we stood the shock of thrice ten thousand foes, And thrice that day within our lines the shout of victory rose; And though our swift fire slackened then, and, reddening in the skies, We saw from Charlestown's roofs and walls the flaming col umns rise, Yet while we had a cartridge left, we still maintained the fight, Nor gained the foe one foot of ground upon that blood-stained height. What though for us no laurels bloom, nor o'er the nameless brave No sculptured trophy, scroll, nor hatch, records a warrior's grave? What though the day to us was lost? Upon the deathless page The everlasting charter stands, for every land and age! He saw above the ruined world the bow of promise rise! THE KNIGHT'S TOAST. THE feast is o'er! Now brimming wine And silence fills the crowded hall, Then up arose the noble host, Of Staunton's proud and beauteous dame,- Then to his feet each gallant sprung Enough, enough," he smiling said, Then one by one, each guest sprang up, "Tis now St. Leon's turn to rise; |