Classic Poem

FOR THE CELEBRATION AT BUNKER HILL

When our patriot fathers met
 In the dark and trying hour,
While the hand of Britain yet
 Pressed us with its weight of power,
Still they dared to tell the foe
 They were never made for slaves,—
Still they bade the nations know
 They were free as ocean's waves.

Yonder is the glorious hill
 Where their blood was nobly shed,—
Never with a firmer will
 Hearts of freemen beat and bled:
Shall the son forget his sire?
 No,—the admiring world shall see
High a pillared tomb aspire,
 Like a tower of Liberty.

Now the arch of empire swells
 Proud and daring, fixed and strong:
While the hand of ruin fells
 Nations that have flourished long;
Loftier the temple springs,
 Telling on its front sublime,
How it scorns the rage of kings,
 And the wasting tooth of time.

From its high and lifted brow,
 See, it sends a wakening light,
Where a world is slumbering now
 In the shades of eastern night;
They shall feel the quickening fire,
 Rise and run to meet the day,
And their hearts shall never tire,
 Till their chains are rent away.

None shall ever rashly dare
 Lift his hand against this shrine,
While its pediment shall bear
 Names so honored and divine:
High above the sacred band,
 There in light unfading set,
Like twin stars of glory, stand
 W ASHINGTON and L AFAYETTE .