Verse > Anthologies > Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed. > The Book of New York Verse
Hamilton Fish Armstrong, ed.  The Book of New York Verse.  1917.
Golden Hill
By Hamilton Fish Armstrong
Where, in 1770, Was Shed the First Blood of the Revolution

EAST of the rumble of Broadway,
Among those streets where yesterday
Is clean forgotten in the fray
    Of money and of trade,
East from the ivy-shrouded walls        5
Of gentlemanly old St. Paul’s,
    My quiet way I made.
And here, where Nassau touches Ann,
Through all the noisy caravan
    Of this and other years,        10
It seems from far there tingling comes
The march of men—the roll of drums—
    A bugle in my ears.
A century and a half ago
(Where now the cursing draymen go),        15
    Its call thrilled out “Beware!”
Then Liberty was something new—
King George had not yet brewed his brew
    Nor redcoats drunk their share.
Again that bugle-note is thrilling,        20
Though ears be deaf and hearts unwilling—
    It sings as loudly still
As when they melted leaden kings
Into all sorts of useful things
    On top of Golden Hill.        25

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