Chapter VIII: Epilogue: Written by a Gentleman of the Army

_Supposed to be spoken, immediately after the Battle; by LIEUTENANT
COLONEL WEBB, Aide-de-camp to GENERAL PUTNAM._

The field is theirs, but dearly was it bought, Thus long defended and severely fought. Now pale-fac'd death sits brooding o'er the strand, And views the carnage of his ruthless hand. But why my heart this deep unbidden sigh, Why steals the tear, soft trickling from the eye? Is FREEDOM master'd by our late defeat, Or HONOUR wounded by a brave retreat? 'Tis nature dictates; and in pride's despite, I mourn my brethren slaughter'd in the fight. Th' insulting foe now revels o'er the ground, Yet flush'd with victory, they feel the wound. Embru'd in gore, they bleed from ev'ry part, And deep wounds rankle at _Britannia's_ heart. O fatal conquest! Speak thou crimson'd plain, Now press'd beneath the weight of hundreds slain! There heaps of _British_ youth promiscuous lie, Here, murder'd FREEMEN catch the wand'ring eye. Observe yon stripling bath'd in purple gore, He bleeds for FREEDOM on his native shore. His livid eyes in drear convulsions roll, While from his wounds escapes the flutt'ring soul, Breathless and naked on th' ensanguin'd plain, Midst friends and brothers, sons and fathers slain. No pitying hand his languid eyes to close, He breathes his last amidst insulting foes; His body plunder'd, massacred, abus'd; By Christians--Christian fun'ral rites refus'd-- Thrown as a carrion in the public way, To Dogs, to Britons, and to Birds a prey. Enwrapt in sulph'rous flame and clouds of smoke, Brave Gard'ner sinks beneath the deadly stroke, And Warren bleeds to grace the bloody strife, And for his injur'd country gives his life. Yet while his mighty soul ascends the skies, On earth his blood for ten-fold vengeance cries. Great spirit rest--by Heaven it is decreed, Thy murd'ring tyrants by the sword shall bleed. E'en racks and gibbets would but consecrate, And death repeated be too kind a fate. The sword is drawn, in peace no more to rest, Till justice bathes it in some tyrant's breast. Honour my weapon with the glorious task, And let me stab, 'tis all the boon I ask. Kind pow'rs, beneath your all-protecting shield, I now unsheathe my sword, and take the field Sure of success, with this sweet comfort giv'n, Who fights for FREEDOM,--fights the cause of HEAV'N.

AN ODE

_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,
Dusky clouds of smoke arise,
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.

Unkindest fortune, still thou changest,
As the wind upon the wave,
The good and bad alike thou rangest,
Undistinguish'd in the grave.
Shall kingly tyrants see thee smiling,
Whilst the brave and just must die,
Them of sweet hope and life beguiling
In the arms of victory?
"Behave this day, my lads, with spirit,
Wrap the hill-top as in flame;
Oh, if we fall, let each one merit,
Immortality in fame.
From this high ground like Vesuv'us
Pour the floods of fire along;
Let not, let not, numbers move us,
We are yet five hundred strong."

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,
"Come, my vet'rans, we must yield;
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."

A SPEECH

_By GENERAL WASHINGTON, on his entering the Town of Boston, at the head
of the American Army, after the British troops were by his skilful
approaches obliged to abandon it._

Auspicious day, of happiness unmix'd!
When this fair City, without blood-shed won,
Receives to her sweet bosom, once again,
Her free-born sons, of perseverance try'd,
And noble fortitude, in deeds of arms.
Now let the father meet his infant son,
His virgin daughter, and long faithful spouse,
And kiss away all tears, but those of joy.
Now, let the ardent lover clasp his fair,
New flush the red rose in her damask cheek,
Light up the glad beam in her rolling eye,
And bid all pain and sorrowing be gone.
Oh, happy day--Shine on thou blissful sun,
And not one vapour blemish thy career,
Till from thy mid-day champaign, wheeling do
Thou in the western ocean go to rest.
O happy town--Now let thy buildings smile,
Thy streets run down, with silver floods of joy,
And from thy temples, loudly, hymn and song
Sweep the high arches of resounding Heaven.
Yes, fellow soldiers, let us bend to him
Who gave us strength, and confidence of soul,
To meet the Battle and fierce iron war,
Urg'd on severe by the tyrannic foe,
With deadly thunder, and mischievous arms.
To him who with his tempest, bulg'd the deep,
And their full hundred war-ships, on the bay,
Chain'd, with his strong wind, to the North-east shore.
The hand of Heaven, is visible in this,
And we, O God, pour forth our souls in praise.
O fellow soldiers, let our off'rings rise,
Not in rich hecatombs, of bulls and goats,
But in true piety, and light of love,
And warm devotion, in the inward part.
Let your festivity be mix'd with thought,
And sober judgment, on this grand event.
March on, and take true pleasure to your arms,
You all are bridegrooms, to fair joy to-day.

A MILITARY SONG by the ARMY:

_On GENERAL WASHINGTON'S victorious entry into the Town of Boston._

I.

Sons of valour, taste the glories,
Of Celestial LIBERTY,
Sing a Triumph o'er the Tories
Let the pulse of joy beat high.

II.

Heaven this day hath foil'd the many
Fallacies of GEORGE their King,
Let the echo reach Britan'y,
Bid her mountain summits ring.

III.

See yon Navy swell the bosom,
Of the late enraged sea,
Where e'er they go we shall oppose them,
Sons of valour must be free.

IV.

Should they touch at fair RHODE-ISLAND,
There to combat with the brave,
Driven, from each hill, and high-land,
They shall plough the purple wave.

V.

Should they thence, to fair VIRGIN'Y
Bend a squadron to DUNMORE,
Still with fear and ignominy,
They shall quit the hostile shore.

VI.

To CAROLINA or to GEORG'Y,
Should they next advance their fame,
This land of heroes shall disgorge the
Sons of tyranny and shame.

VII.

Let them rove to climes far distant,
Situate under Arctic skies,
Call on Hessian troops assistant,
And the Savages to rise.

VIII.

Boast of wild brigades from Russia,
To fix down the galling chain,
Canada and Nova Scotia,
Shall discharge these hordes again.

IX.

In NEW-YORK State rejoin'd by CLINTON,
Should their standards mock the air,
Many a surgeon shall put lint on
Wounds of death received there.

X.

War, fierce war, shall break their forces,
Nerves of tory men shall fail,
Seeing HOWE with alter'd courses,
Bending to the western gale.

XI.

Thus, from every bay of ocean,
Flying back, with sails unfurl'd,
Tost with ever-troubl'd motion,
They shall quit this smiling world.

XII.

Like Satan banished from HEAVEN,
Never see the smiling shore,
From this land so happy, driven,
Never stain its bosom more.

_The End._

TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES

General: The variable hyphenation of Charles(-)town, hill(-)top, Free(-)men, ten(-)fold, thunder(-)bolts and to(-)day in the original has been preserved in this transcription.

On page 241, Ioor has been capitalised in line with other playwrights.