Bunker-Hill Monument — Lydia Huntley Sigourney

Rise lofty Column! in thine attic grace,And to the stranger-bark that ploughs the deep,Show Freedom's land. Beckon the homeward-bound,Like some good angel, hovering o'er the roofWhere sport his little ones, and where with song,Whose oft-repeated burden is his name,The mother lulls to sleep her cradled babe.—Then the rough sailor, battling with the surge,Forgets his toil, and he who wandered longIn foreign climes, perchance, with eager eyeThe glittering pageant, or for regal pomp,Owns the electric chain that binds so strongUnto his native hills, and feels how goodTo live and die amid his fathers' graves.

But thou,—around thy base, when early SpringTints the first violet, lure those beauteous groupsWho gambol free from care. There should they meetSome ancient soldier leaning on his staff,And lost amid the memories of the past,

By their young footsteps roused, he'll haply raiseHis wasted hand, and point each fearful changeOf Bunker's battle-day,—where the assaultKindled to wildest fury,—where the voiceOf Prescott and of Putnam, nerved their troopsTo deeds of untold daring,—where the cryBurst forth when Warren fell,—where the dire flashWas hottest, and the life-blood of the braveGushed reddest, till the kingly crest was bowedTo infant Liberty. Then may they trace,Those childish listeners, on that furrowed browThe holy zeal of men of other days,Who sought no guerdon save their country's weal;And should that country need, so may they stand,When time hath knit their sinews, in the mightOf the same heaven-born trust.And if the handsThat never plucked a laurel in the fieldsOf iron warfare, nor the fitful weightOf empire poised, have lent their humble aidIn woman's weakness, to cement thy stones,Think it no scorn, oh Column! but uprearThy glorious head as proudly toward the cloud!For these, amid their sheltered, lowly sphere,Making the hearth-stone beautiful with love,And in the fountain of a nation's hopesMingling sweet drops of purity and peace,Subserve the cause which thou art bound to praise,To far posterity.

And when we passOn, with our generations to the tomb,When age on age, like tossing bubbles break,Stand thou, and mark the dim decay of time.Yea, though the Sun, like wounded Cæsar, foldHis mantle darkly round him, be thou firm,Even till the last flame wraps the wrinkled Earth.

Break forth, break forth, in raptured song,And bid it pour thy vales along,Thou pilgrim-planted land!From fields where ripening harvests bend,From marts where thronging thousands tend,Arouse thy tuneful band.

The breeze that curls thy watery deeps,The strain that o'er thy mountain sweeps,Is fresh with freedom's breath,Thine annals boast the great and braveThy star-clad banner, tells the waveOf Liberty or Death.

Rememberest thou those ancient sires,Who mid the Indian's council fires,Explored a trackless clime?The pillar of their God was bright,His cloud by day, his flame by night,Impelled their course sublime.

Rememberest thou the men who shedTheir blood upon thy bosom red,When haughty foes were nigh?The remnant of that wasted bandHere, mid their buried comrades stand,Oh! bless them ere they die.

All hail, proud column, strong and fair,Which to exulting throngs dost bearHigh record of the past,And show them on this glorious morn,The spot where Freedom first was bornAmid the thunder-blast.

Not like those gloomy mounds that riseO'er crouching Egypt's sultry skies,

Nor fretted fanes that braveOld Time, on Rome's imperial soil,By stern taxation wrung from toil,The tyrant from the slave;

But the free gift of hands unchained,And hearts uncrushed and homes unstained,Thou through the cloud dost peer,And warn, like morning's blessed starThe watchful mariner from far,That all he loves draws near.

Still onward o'er the sea of timeUnfold thy chronicle sublime,And teach a race unbornThe lesson learned on Bunker's height.To trust in Heaven, uphold the right,And base oppression scorn;

Point to the skies, and bid them readOf patriot faith, the hallowed creed,And guard its ritual bright,And choose the path their fathers trod,Those friends of liberty and God,Who rose to realms of light.