THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL.

From a painting by John Trumbull.

WARREN'S ADDRESS.

Warren's Address.

STAND! the ground's your own, my

braves!

Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?

What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle peal!
Read it on yon bristling steel!
Ask it, ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you! — they're afire!
And, before you, see

Who have done it! From the vale
On they come !—and will ye quail?

Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be!

In the God of battles trust!

Die we may, and die we must;

But, oh, where can dust to dust
Be consign'd so well,

As where Heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyr'd patriot's bed,

And the rocks shall raise their head
Of his deeds to tell?

-John Pierpont.

NATHAN HALE.

Mathan Hale.

TO drum-beat and heart-beat,
A soldier marches by;

There is color in his cheek,
There is courage in his eye,
Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat
In a moment he must die.

By starlight and moonlight,
He seeks the Briton's camp;

He hears the rustling flag,

And the armed sentry's tramp; And the starlight and moonlight His silent wanderings lamp.

With slow tread and still tread,
He scans the tented line;
And he counts the battery guns,

By the gaunt and shadowy pine; And his slow tread and still tread Gives no warning sign.

The dark wave, the plumed wave,
It meets his eager glance;
And it sparkles 'neath the stars,

Like the glimmer of a lance, —