"Bring out the line to mark the trench, and stretch it on the sward!" The trench is marked, the tools are brought, we utter not a word, But stack our guns, then fall to work with mattock and with spade, A thousand men with sinewy arms, and not a sound is made; So still were we, the stars beneath, that scarce a whisper fell; We heard the red-coat's musket click, and heard him cry, "All's well!"
See how the morn, is breaking; the red is in the sky! The mist is creeping from the stream that floats in silence by; The "Lively's" hall looms through the fog, and they our works have spied, For the ruddy flash and round-shot part in thunder from her side; And the "Falcon" and the "Cerberus" make every bosom thrill, With gun and shell, and drum and bell, and boatswain's whistle shrill; But deep and wider grows the trench, as spade and mattock ply, For we have to cope with fearful odds, and the time is drawing nigh!
Up with the pine-tree banner! Our gallant Prescott stands Amid the plunging shells and shot, and plants it with his hands; Up with the shout! for Putnam comes upon his reeking bay, With bloody spur and foaming bit, in haste to join the fray. But thou whose soul is glowing in the summer of thy years, Unvanquishable Warren, thou, the youngest of thy peers, Wert born and bred, and shaped and made, to act a patriot's part, And dear to us thy presence is as heart's blood to the heart!
Hark! from the town a trumpet! The barges at the wharf Are crowded with the living freight; and now they're pushing off; With clash and glitter, trump and drum, in all its bright array, Behold the splendid sacrifice move slowly o'er the bay! And still and still the barges fill, and still across the deep, Like thunder clouds along the sky, the hostile transports sweep.
And now they're forming at the Point; and now the lines advance: We see beneath the sultry sun their polished bayonets glance; We hear anear the throbbing drum, the bugle-challenge ring; Quick bursts and loud the flashing cloud, and rolls from wing to wing; But on the height our bulwark stands, tremendous in its gloom,-- As sullen as a tropic sky, and silent as a tomb.
And so we waited till we saw, at scarce ten rifles' length, The old vindictive Saxon spite, in all its stubborn strength; When sudden, flash on flash, around the jagged rampart burst From every gun the livid light upon the foe accursed. Then quailed a monarch's might before a free-born people's ire; Then drank the sward the veteran's life, where swept the yeoman's fire.