Worked the red St. George's
Cannoneers,
And the villainous saltpetre
Rung a fierce, discordant meter
Round their ears;
As the swift
Storm drift,
With hot sweeping anger, came the horseguards' clangor
On our flanks;
Then higher, higher, higher, burned the old-fashioned fire
Through the ranks!

Then the bareheaded colonel
Galloped through the white infernal
Powder cloud;
And his broadsword was swinging,
And his brazen throat was ringing
Trumpet-loud;
Then the blue
Bullets flew,
And the trooper jackets redden at the touch of the leaden
Rifle breath;
And rounder, rounder, rounder, roared the iron six-pounder,
Hurling death!

Guy Humphreys McMaster

THE SWORD OF BUNKER HILL

He lay upon his dying bed;
His eye was growing dim,
When with a feeble voice he called
His weeping son to him:
"Weep not, my boy!" the vet'ran said,
"I bow to Heaven's high will--
But quickly from yon antlers bring
The sword of Bunker Hill."

The sword was brought, the soldier's eye
Lit with a sudden flame;
And as he grasped the ancient blade,
He murmured Warren's name;
Then said, "My boy, I leave you gold--
But what is richer still,
I leave you, mark me, mark me now--
The sword of Bunker Hill.

"'Twas on that dread, immortal day,
I dared the Briton's band,
A captain raised this blade on me--
I tore it from his hand:
And while the glorious battle raged,
It lightened freedom's will--
For, boy, the God of freedom blessed
The sword of Bunker Hill.

"Oh, keep the sword!"--his accents broke--
A smile--and he was dead--
But his wrinkled hand still grasped the blade
Upon that dying bed.
The son remains; the sword remains--
Its glory growing still--
And twenty millions bless the sire,
And sword of Bunker Hill.

William Ross Wallace

LIBERTY TREE[2]

In a chariot of light from the regions of day,
The Goddess of Liberty came;
Ten thousand celestials directed the way,
And hither conducted the dame.
A fair budding branch from the gardens