Should Wounds and slaughter be our hapless doom-- Unfading laurels deck the Martyr's Tomb: A sure reward awaits his soul on high, On earth his memory shall never die, For when we read the fatal story o'er, One tear shall drop for him who is--no more, Who n.o.bly struggled to support our laws, And bravely fell in freedom's sacred cause.

Let virtue fire us to the martial deed; We fight to conquer and we dare to bleed: Witness ye fathers! whose protracted time, Fruitful of story, chronicles the clime.

These howling deserts, hospitably tame, Erst s.n.a.t.c.h'd you martyrs, from the hungry flame; 'Twas Heav'n's own cause, beneath whose shelt'ring power, Ye grew the wonder of this present hour-- The task--be ours with unremitted toil, } To guard the rights of this dear-purchas'd soil,} From Royal plund'rers, greedy of our spoil, } Who come resolv'd to murder and enslave, To shackle FREEMEN and to rob the brave.

The loud mouth'd cannon threaten from afar, Be this our comfort in the storm of war-- Who fights, to take our liberty away, Dead-hearted fights, and falls an easy prey.

Then, on my brethren to the embattl'd plain, Who shrinks with fear, antic.i.p.ates a chain.

DRAMATIS PERSONae

WARREN } PUTNAM } _American Officers._ GARDINER }

GAGE } HOWE } BURGOYNE } _British Officers._ CLINTON } LORD PIGOT }

SHERWIN, _Aide-de-camp to General Howe._

Soldiers, &c.

THE

BATTLE

OF

BUNKERS-HILL

ACT I.

SCENE I. _Camp at Cambridge._

_Enter WARREN, PUTNAM, and GARDINER._

WARREN.

Why thus, brave Putnam, shall we still encamp Inactive here; and with this gentle flood, By Cambridge murmuring, mix briny tears?

Salt tears of grief by many a parent shed, For sons detain'd, and tender innocents In yon fair City, famishing for bread; For not fond mothers or their weeping babes-- Can move the hard heart of relentless Gage.

Perfidious man! Who pledg'd his oath so late, And word of honour to those patriots Yet in his power, that yielding him their arms, They should receive permission to depart, And join once more their valiant countrymen; But now detains as hostages these men, In low damp dungeons, and in gaols chain'd down While grief and famine on their vitals prey.

Say, n.o.ble Putnam, shall we hear of this, And let our idle swords rust in the sheath, While slaves of Royal Power impeach our worth As vain, and call our patience cowardice?

PUTNAM.

Not less, bold Warren, have I felt the pangs Of woe severe in this calamity: And could I with my life redeem the times, The richest blood that circles round my heart, Should hastily be shed. But what avails The genuine flame and vigour of the soul, When nature's self, and all the strength of art, Opposes every effort in our power?

These sons of slavery dare not advance, And meet in equal fight our hostile arms.

For yet they well remember LEXINGTON, And what they suffer'd on that rueful day, When wantoning in savage rage, they march'd Onward to CONCORD, in a firm array, Mock music playing, and the ample flag Of tyranny display'd; but with dire loss And infamy drove back, they gain'd the town, And under cover of their ships of war, Retir'd, confounded and dismay'd. No more In mirthful mood to combat us, or mix Their jocund music with the sounds of war.

To tempt no more unequal fight with men, Who to oppose dire arbitrary sway, Have grasp'd the sword: and resolute to brave Death in a thousand dreary shapes, can know, In the warm breast, no sentiment of fear.

GARDINER.

The free born spirit of immortal fire Is stranger to ign.o.ble deeds, and shuns The name of cowardice. But well thy mind, Sage, and matur'd by long experience, weighs The perilous attempt, to storm the town, And rescue thence, the suff'ring citizens.

For but one pa.s.s to that peninsula, On which the city stands, on all sides barr'd.

And here what numbers can supply the rage, Of the all devouring, deep mouth'd cannon, plac'd, On many a strong redoubt: while on each side, The ships of war, moor'd, in the winding bay, Can sweep ten thousand from the level beach, "And render all access impregnable."

WARREN.

True, valiant Gard'ner, the attempt is vain, To force that entrance to the sea-girt town; Which while we hop'd for peace, and in that view, Kept back our swords, we saw them fortify.

But what if haply, with a chosen few, Led through the midnight shades, yon heights were gain'd, And that contiguous hill, whose gra.s.sy foot, By Mystic's gentle tide is wash'd. Here rais'd, Strong batt'ries jutting o'er the level sea, With everlasting thunder, shall annoy Their navy far beneath; and in some lucky hour, When dubious darkness on the land is spread, A chosen band may pierce their sep'rate fleet, And in swift boats, across the narrow tide, Pour like a flame, on their unguarded ranks, And wither them: As when an angel smote The a.s.syrian camp. The proud Sennacherib, With impious rage, against the hill of G.o.d, Blasphem'd. Low humbl'd, when the dawning light, Saw all his host dead men: So yet I trust, The G.o.d of battles will avouch our cause, And those proud champions of despotic power, Who turn our fasting to their mirth, and mock Our prayers, naming us the SAINTS, shall yet, Repay with blood, the tears and agonies, Of tender mothers, and their infant babes, Shut up in BOSTON.

PUTNAM.

Heaven, smile on us then, And favour this attempt. Now from our troops, Seven hundred gallant men, and skill'd in arms, With speed select, choice spirits of the war.

By you led on, brave Gard'ner, to the heights, Ere yet the morn with dawning light breaks forth, Intrench on BUNKERS-HILL; and when the day First o'er the hill top rises, we shall join United arms, against the a.s.sailing foe, Should they attempt to cross the narrow tide, In deep battalion to regain the hill.

GARDINER.

The thought is perilous, and many men, In this bold enterprise, must strew the ground.

But since we combat in the cause of G.o.d, I draw my sword, nor shall the sheath again Receive the shining blade, till on the heights Of CHARLES-TOWN, and BUNKER'S pleasant HILL, It drinks the blood of many a warrior slain.

ACT II.

SCENE I. _Boston._

_Enter GAGE, HOWE, and BURGOYNE._

BURGOYNE.

How long, brave gen'rals, shall the rebel foe, In vain arrangements, and mock siege, display Their haughty insolence?--Shall in this town, So many thousands, of _Britannia's_ troops, With watch incessant, and sore toil oppress'd, Remain besieg'd? A vet'ran army pent, In the inclosure, of so small a s.p.a.ce, By a disorder'd herd, untaught, unofficer'd.

Let not sweet Heav'n, the envious mouth of fame, With breath malignant, o'er the Atlantic wave Bear this to Europe's sh.o.r.es, or tell to France, Or haughty Spain, of LEXINGTON'S retreat.

Who could have thought it, in the womb of time, That _British_ soldiers, in this latter age, Beat back by peasants, and in flight disgrac'd, Could tamely brook the base discomfiture; Nor sallying out, with spirit rea.s.sum'd, Exact due tribute of their victory?

Drive back the foe, to Alleghany hills, In woody valleys, or on mountain tops, To mix with wolves and kindred savages.

GAGE.

This mighty paradox, will soon dissolve.

Hear first, Burgoyne, the valour of these men, Fir'd with the zeal, of fiercest liberty, No fear of death, so terrible to all, Can stop their rage. Grey-headed clergymen, With holy bible, and continual prayer, Bear up their fort.i.tude--and talk of heav'n, And tell them, that sweet soul, who dies in battle, Shall walk, with spirits of the just. These words Add wings to native rage, and hurry them Impetuous to war. Nor yet in arms Unpractised. The day of LEXINGTON A sad conviction gave our soldiery, That these AMERICANS, were not that herd, And rout ungovern'd, which we painted them.

HOWE.