Hear.

Pyle, Battle of Bunker Hill, 1897

An ELEGIAC POEM, COMPOSED on the NEVER-TO-BE-FORGOTTEN TERRIBLE and BLOODY BATTLE FOUGHT at an ENTRENCHMENT on BUNKER HILL

Adieu to wanton songs and foolish joys,

    To idle tales that fill the ear,

A mournful theme my heart employs,

    And hope the living will it hear.

A horrid fight there hap'd of late,

    'Twas on June seventeen,

When a great number met their fate

    In fighting on the green.

Yes, hundreds of poor souls are dead,

    In battle they were slain,

Both sides met with a heavy stroke,

    T' rehearse it gives me pain.

What shall we say when 'tis decreed,

    By fate it must be so?

To cause our dearest brethren's blood

    From ev'ry vein to flow,

Unless kind mercy interfere,

    Its gracious aid to lend;

O! may each Christian earnest pray

    There soon may be an end.

A fort was late erected at

    A place call'd BUNKER-HILL,

Where thousands of fierce Regulars

    Our people fought to kill.

But Scripture surely teaches us,

    As we at large may read,

That whoso takes the sword to kill

    By the same sword shall bleed.

Large cannon balls by hundreds flew,

    From ships and batt'ries plac'd

But our intrenchments and our lines

    These brave Calumbans grac'd.

The fight was fierce, the carnage great,

    When friends and foes by hundreds fell,

Alass! O dreadful to relate

    What on that day befell.

Whole ranks of Regulars were slain,

    Fresh troops their place supply'd,

In trying our strong lines to gain,

    But soon! ah! soon they dy'd.

A hostile bloody 'trench it was,

    The Regulars all say,

Tho' they exultingly rejoice

    That they have won the day.

A dear-bought victory they gain'd,

    If it is called so,

When most the flower of British troops

    Met with their overthrow.

Small was our loss compar'd with those

    Who now the lines possess;

Great was the slaughter of our foes,

    And poor was their success.

[Some?] say their loss of maim'd and slain

    Is fifteen hundred men;

Tis thought they never'll more attempt

    Our lines to force again.

We sore lament both one and all,

    In sackcloth let us mourn,

Brave General WARREN's hapless fate

    And weep upon his urn.

My trembling hand, my aking heart,

    O! how it throbs this day!

His loss is felt in ev'ry part

    Of vast America.

Ah! twice he wept the cruel fate

    Of murder'd brethren's blood!

Was spilt, as story doth relate,

    By a fierce, tyrant brood.

Twice did our HERO have applause

    From multitudes, who shouted loud,

When he maintain'd fair Freedon's cause,

    What plaudits had he from the crowd.

The list'ning world attention gave

    To ev'ry sound and word;

What spake this CÆSAR of the age,

    Much pleasure did afford.

His pensive brow, his honest heart,

    Such truths it did unfold,

When taking fair Calumba's part

    He sought not filthy gold.

His only study was the good

    Of country and of court;

He made his practice and delight,

    To Heaven for aid [resort?] .

The names of Gardner, Parker, Moors and West

    Let's mourn now o'er their grave,

Who late with courage did their best,

    And twice repuls'd the brave.

We feel and sympathize for them

    Who late in battle fell,

We mean those NINETY hardy men,

    Their names to ages tell

But O! poor Charlestown's dismal fate,

    Let floods of tears now [flow?] ,

A shocking scene thus to relate,

    Its fatal overthrow.

If that the LORD is on our side

    We need not fear our foe,

And if that gracious Isr'el's GOD

    Now with our armies go;

Our heads he'll cover when in sight,

    From harm he will us keep,

If that we seek his face aright,

    Nor let our feet to slip.

With conq'ring might he will us shield,

    And foes will all destroy,

He'll help us thus to win the field,

    And slay those that annoy

Let's seek the LORD by ways aright,

    Now while he may be found;

And not forsake the path that's right,

    Nor yet the gospel sound ;

Then smiling trade with her fair train

    Of blessings will cause;

And Old-England glad to live

    In concord with the New.

Thus may the Patriot and the Sage

    Live in much unity,

O! What a joyful sight it is

    For brethren to agree.

If we believe that sacred writ,

    'Tis like to precious oyl;

For why should we thus disagree,

    And live in endless broil.

For reformation let us strive,

    Let's one and all now join,

To serve the LORD with one accord,

    With good Joshua combine:

Who thus determin'd with his house

    The LORD's favor to seek,

And doubtless did a blessing find,

    As he will bless the meek.

He'll be with them that call on Him

    By ways and means aright,

And he'll not leave nor yet forsake

    The heart that is contrite.

New-England sees a dismal day

    Of darkness and distress!

May we not fear, alas! I say,

    It's for our wickedness?

Our sins more aggravated are

    Than Sodom or of Lot,

Then may we not expect to find

    That death is in the pot?

For sins reward it surely is,

    Think of it as we may,

If we forget to call on GOD,

    And seek him in his way.

His way is perfect and it leads

    To purest rest and peace,

His righteous paths will guide us straight

    To realms of endless bliss.

This day in sackcloth let us mourn,

    Each one in ashes lay,

And from our sins by fasting turn,

    And seek CHRIST while we may.

A blessing we may then expect

    On trade and politics,

If that we harden not our hearts,

    Nor crooked bend our necks.

John Dickinson