eed,
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,
Ta