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.
Remember March, brave countrymen, that day
When BOSTON's streets ran blood! think on that day,
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 galling chains which tyranny has forg'd for us.
These count our lands and settlements their own,
And in their intercepted letters speak
Of farms 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 light'ning and fierce iron hail
To blast the adversary. Let this ground,
Like burning Ætna or Vesuvius top,
Be wrapt in flame. The word is LIBERTY;
And Heaven smile on us in so just a cause!
Bunkers-Hill. Gardiner, Leading up his Men to the Engagement.
Fear not, brave soldiers, tho' their infantry
In deep array so far out-numbers us:
The justness of our cause will brace each arm
And steel the soul with fortitude, while they,
Whose guilt hangs trembling 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-BAY,
NEW HAMPSHIRE, and CONNECTICUT, shall we
Fall 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
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 received dire loss
In this encounter, and the case demands,
In the swift crisis of extremity,
A thousand men to reinforce the war.
Gage. Do as you please, BURGOYNE, in this affair.
I'll hide myself in some deep vault beneath.
Burgoyne. 'Tis yours, brave CLINTON, to command these
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.
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 deposite of all-giving heaven
To man's free nature, that he rule himself.
With these rude Britons wage life-scorning war,
'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 snatch'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 rejoyce;
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 vissage with immortal light
And bind the amarinth around my brow.
I come, I come, ye first-born of true fame!
Fight on, my countrymen! be FREE, be FREE!
Charlestown. The Reinforcement landed, and Orders given to burn Charlestown, that they may 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 hill 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!
Bunkers-Hill. Gardiner, to the American Army.
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.
"T is 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!
The Bay-Shore. The British Army once more repuls'd, Howe again rallies
Howe. But that so many mouths can witness it,
I would deny myself an 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 at 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 fame.
With everlasting infamy oppress'd!
Their ammunition, as you hear, is spent,
So that unless their looks and visages,
Like fierce-ey'd Basilisks, can strike you dead,
Return and rescue yet, sweet Countrymen,
Some share of honour on this hapless day!
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