June 17, 1775,

WARREN'S ADDRESS.

Joseph Warren was commissioned by Massachusetts as a Major-General three days before the battle of Bunker Hill, at which he fought as a volunteer. He was one of the last to leave the field, and as a British officer in the redoubt called to him to surrender, a ball struck him in the forehead, killing him instantly.

TAND! the ground 's your own, my braves!

STAND!

Will ye give it up to slaves?

Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?

What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle-peal!

Read it on yon bristling steel!
Ask it,-ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you! they 're a-fire!
And, before you, see

41

MARLEM BRANCHI

Young Men's Christian Association

5 WEST 120TH STREET

NEW YORK CITY:

Who have done it!- From the vale

On they come !-And will ye quail ?
Leaden rain and iron hail

Let their welcome be!

In the God of battles trust!
Die we may, and die we must;-
But, O, where can dust to dust

Be consigned so well,

As where Heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyred patriot's bed,

And the rocks shall raise their head,

Of his deeds to tell!

JOHN PIERPONT.

17751783.

THE OLD CONTINENTALS.

The nucleus of the Continental Army was the New
England force gathered before Boston, to the com-
mand of which Washington was appointed two days
before the battle of Bunker Hill, although he ar-
rived too late to take part in that fight.

When the grenadiers were lunging,
And like hail fell the plunging

Cannon-shot;

When the files

Of the isles

From the smoky night encampment, bore the banner

of the rampant

Unicorn,

And grummer, grummer, grummer rolled the roll of

the drummer,

Through the morn!

43.

HARLEM PRANCHI

#eurg Han's Christku Associate? E WEST 120TH STREATE NEW YORK CITY:

Then with eyes to the front all,
And with guns horizontal,

Stood our sires ;

And the balls whistled deadly,

And in streams flashing redly

Blazed the fires;

As the roar

On the shore,

Swept the strong battle-breakers o'er the green-sodded

acres

Of the plain;

And louder, louder, louder cracked the black gun

powder,

Cracking amain!

Now like smiths at their forges
Worked the red St. George's

Cannoneers;

And the "villainous saltpetre"

Rung a fierce, discordant metre

Round their ears;

As the swift

Storm-drift,

With hot sweeping anger, came the horse-guards'

clangor

On our flanks.

Then higher, higher, higher burned the old-fashioned fire Through the ranks!

Then the old-fashioned colonel

Galloped through the white infernal

Powder-cloud;

And his broad-sword was swinging,

And his brazen throat was ringing

Trumpet loud.

Then the blue

Bullets flew,

And the trooper-jackets redden at the touch of the

leaden

Rifle-breath;

And rounder, rounder, rounder roared the iron six

pounder,

Hurling death!

GUY HUMPHREY MCMASTER.