  on the Battle of Bunkers-Hill. Sung and Acted by a Soldier in a Military Habit, with his Firelock, &c. In the Same Measure with a Sea Piece, Entitled the "Tempest." —Cease, rude Boreas, blust'ring railer— I. You bold warriors, who resemble Flames, upon the distant hill, At whose view, the heroes tremble, Fighting with unequal skill. Loud-sounding drums now with hoarse murmurs, Rouse the spirit up to war, Fear not, fear not, tho' their numbers, Much to ours, superior are. Hear brave Warren bold commanding, "Gallant souls and vet'rans brave, See the enemy just landing, From the navy-cover'd wave. Close the wings—advance the center— Engineers point well your guns— Clap the matches, let the rent air, Bellow to Britannia's sons." II. Now think you see, three thousand moving, Up the brow of Bunkers-Hill, Many a gallant vet'ran shoving, Cowards on against their will. The curling volumes all behind them, Our cannon-balls, brave boys shall find them, At each shot a hero dies. Once more Warren midst this terror, "Charge, brave soldiers, charge again, Many an expert vet'ran warrior Of the enemy is slain. Level well your charged pieces, In direction to the town; They shake, they shake, their lightning ceases, That shot brought six standards down." III. Maids in virgin beauty blooming, On Britannia's sea-girt isle, Say no more your swains are coming, Or with songs the day beguile. For sleeping sound in death's embraces, On their clay-cold beds they lie, Death, grim death, alas defaces, Youth and pleasure which must die. "March the right wing, Gard'ner, yonder, Take th' assailing foe in flank, The hero's spirit lives in thunder, Close there, sergeants, close that rank. The conflict now doth loudly call on Highest proof of martial skill, Heroes shall sing of them, who fall on, The slipp'ry brow of Bunkers-Hill." IV. V. Many a widow sore bewailing Tender husbands, shall remain, With tears and sorrows, unavailing, From this hour to mourn them slain. The rude scene striking all by-standers, Bids the little band retire, Who can live like salamanders, In such floods of liquid fire? "Ah! Our troops are sorely pressed, Howe ascends the smoky hill, Wheel inward, let these ranks be faced, We have yet some blood to spill. Our right wing push'd, our left surrounded, Weight of numbers five to one, Warren dead, and Gard'ner wounded, Ammunition is quite gone." VI. See the steely points, bright gleaming, In the sun's fierce dazzling ray, Groans arising, life-blood streaming, Purple o'er the face of day. The field is cover'd with the dying, Free-men mixt with tyrants lie, The living with each other vying, Raise the shout of battle high. Now brave Putnam, aged soldier, More equal match'd, we'll yet charge bolder, For the present quit the field. The God of battles shall revisit, On their heads each soul that dies, Take courage, boys, we yet sha'n't miss it, From a thousand victories." |
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