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 DEDICATION OF THE BUNKER HILL 
 TABLETS. 
 
 i. 
 
 Under the golden dome where laws are made, 
 The stones yet stand that once around the base 
 Rose, of the ancient column in that place ; 
 
 And on those graven tablets is displayed 
 A record of the mighty train 
 
 Of great events that, following fast 
 Through seven long years of watchings and fears, 
 
 Throes, and unutterable strain, 
 In God's ripe season led at last 
 Our land to glory through that vale of tears. 
 
 n. 
 And this, moreover, the stones have said : 
 
 While from this eminence you survey 
 Scenes of luxury, gardens of wealth, 
 Homes of laborious industry and health, 
 
 Tilth and orchard, uplands, plain, 
 
 And clovered meadows reaching far away, 
 
 With halls of learning hid in elmy bowers 
 Your supereminent domain ! 
 
 Whate'er of republics may have been 
 
 Spoken aforetime, the imputed sin 
 
 Of thanklessness must not be ours. 
 
 in. 
 
 From the golden dome where laws are made 
 There went a mandate forth : 
 On yonder hallowed mount to the north 
 Let the best men in building skilled 
 A tower of rocks to the high heavens build, 
 To stand at once a monument and shrine, 
 A pillar, in everlasting sign, 
 Like that which Hercules of yore 
 Set on the Gaditanian shore, 
 ( Vying to tyrants, Come no more ! 
 And the fire in the cresset that flamed of old, 
 IVaroning the mariners up Boston bay, 
 
Shall burn forever from this new tower, 
 Like a ruling star of benignant ray 
 
 For every people to behold, 
 A watch-fire in the purple west, 
 Steadfast and strong, for all the oppressed 
 
 To fly to from tyrannic power. 
 
 IV. 
 
 New England's air was never tainted long 
 With any tyranny ; the prairie- winds 
 Breathed from the illimitable West 
 Into those English hearts and minds 
 
 A new-born sense of space that made more strong 
 A vigour chafed for centuries by the sea, 
 And for high ventures nerved each daring breast. 
 
 Our Fathers always had been free. 
 Those men who Freedom's battle fought, 
 
 Holding all kings but One in scorn, 
 Though with a mighty price they bought 
 
 Your freedom, were free born ; 
 And Carolina's and Virginia's blood 
 Tempered to like disdain of shackled thought, 
 Beat with one pulse, when Liberty's glad morn 
 Alike to North and South broke o'er the Atlantic flood 
 
 v. 
 
 Why should the Muse on dreadful details dwell, 
 
 To make a calendar of her lyre? 
 Is it a story of no renown 
 The redoubt, the frigates, the blazing town, 
 
 Fronting the Falcon's fire ; 
 How the regulars rushed and the yeomen fell, 
 Butts and bayonets plying as well ; 
 
 Rolled and trod in the crimson mire 
 Of the dust and blood beneath? 
 
 Close quarters then ! for a captain cries, 
 As the troops maiched up, "Let them come nigher ! 
 
 Hold till you mark the whites of their eyes, 
 And the gleam of their British teeth." 
 
 Ah ! many felt, as the bullets flew, 
 
 We fight for Englishmen in fighting you. 
 
 VI. 
 
 On from that dread to this triumphal June, 
 And now while natures are all in tune, 
 That children hereafter may come to spell 
 Prescott and Warren and all who fell, 
 Hard by, on that bitter afternoon, 
 
Bearing on History's page so proud a part, 
 We hang these bronzes on our country's heart. 
 
 Not for the splendour of the fight, 
 
 Not for the number of the slain, 
 
 Not for the day's defeat and flight, 
 
 But for the final crowning of the right, 
 
 And mankind's measureless gain. 
 
 This other commonwealth of kings, 
 
 Born here on Bunker's height, 
 Have fluttered their flag of stars, 
 
 Like a labarum of light, 
 
 Beyond the Tiber, by Peter's throne, 
 Beyond the hill of Mars, 
 
 As those elder freemen, through every zone 
 
 Carried their eagles on outspread wings 
 And blazoned S. P. Q. Rs. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Say then, O poet ! when sages 
 
 Shall anew the tale relate, 
 Not for a thousand ages 
 
 Wasva little battle so great; 
 Yea, write, besides, on your pages, 
 
 With an adamantine pen, 
 Not for a million ages 
 
 May such battle be fought again. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Remembering what our statesman said, 
 " That the blood of your fathers may not have been shed 
 
 For humankind in vain," * 
 Up with your tablets to grace the dead! 
 And while you hang them, let great London hear 
 Little Boston's exultations ; 
 Let all nations far and near ; 
 Let sacred Italy and Spain, 
 Norway, Denmark, and the men 
 We love in Germany, and France 
 Rejoice at this day's doings. Then 
 " Advance ye future generations" * 
 And lead the world's advance ! 
 
 T. W. PARSONS. 
 
 * "Words of Webster. 
 

M280886 
 
 ode 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY