Verse > Anthologies > William McCarty, ed. > The American National Song Book
William McCarty, comp.  The American National Song Book.  1842.
Bunker’s Hill
By Charles L. S. Jones
O, BUNKER! on thy lofty mount high standing,
Warm’d with the prospect of my country’s greatness,
Bright on my eye descending, break, in splendour,
                    Visions of glory.
Still is the hour: behind the hills retiring,        5
Cloudless, the sun displays his ample fulness
O’er the rich vale’s variegated bosom,
                    Tinting with beauty.
Lovely he sets, majestically lovely;
Fair o’er thy mound a haloed radiance flinging,        10
Lingering he sets; reluctant leaves the scene where
                    Freedom descended.
Darkness prevails: on ebon car careering,
Dim and opake, flit on my eyes, obscurely,
Night’s moody forms, in murky veil enshrouded,        15
                    Silent and sable.
Darkness prevails: not long: from forth its shadowy
Clouds, in effulgence bursting, with enrapturing
Beams of supernal brightness, on my dazzled
                    Eye, heaven opens.        20
Visions of light, forms of celestial beauty,
Fair, to the sound of soft angelic breathings,
Glorious, descend; and, round thy sacred summit,
                    Hover, enraptured!
Heroes immortal, with unfading wreaths crown’d        25
By the assent of age on age united,
In your loved country’s ever grateful memory
                    Shrined and embalmed;
Hither, from off your golden seats celestial,
Hither, each eve, in found remembrance bending,        30
Hither ye come, and round, in hallow’d triumph,
                    Bow in devotion!
Lo! on fair Freedom’s laurel-cover’d altars
Emulous ye pile your gifts of odorous fragrance,
Whilst your high-priest the rising flame enkindles,        35
                    Immortal Warren!
See, on that pyre what hopes and ardent throbbings
Wreathed with its lofty flashings and ascensions,
Rise; whilst their heavenly bosoms, O Columbia,
                    Yearn o’er, and for thee!        40
O, with what joyous thrillings, high, ecstatic,
From this, their haunt, by high emprise ennobled,
View they thy happy, wide domain extended,
                    Flourishing fearless!
Ever, O ever be thy precincts hallow’d,        45
Immortal mount, where first the brave, opposing,
Breasted the shock of battle’s pealing thunders,
                    Proud and undaunted!
Hither, ye free-born sons of free-born fathers,
Hither resort, with vows and festal offerings!        50
Here her rich altar Freedom first erected,
                    Here shall it still stand!
Hither, ye bards, as to perennial fountain,
Here raise the song! and from your thrilling lyres,
On the soft air that fans this sacred summit,        55
                    Breathe heaven-taught numbers!
Sound! sound the lyre, the noblest theme inspiring!
Loud strike the string! our fathers beatific,
Pleased, shall accept the tribute, whilst we loud sing
                    Warren and glory!        60

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