HILL, on whose green, eternal crest, The lifted granite stands sublime, Memorial of their honored rest, The heroes of an elder time; Our rustic sires,—who from the plough Came thronging to thy mossy brow, And met the foeman's sheeted flame, In arms for Freedom's holy name! What though no more the breeze of June Bears freighted, on its summer breath, The whistling bullet's fiery tune,— The war-voice, with its note of death,— Yet be, to-day, thy myriad cheers Like echoes of thy prouder years, And through a nation stirring roll The spirit of thine ancient soul! And oh, 'mid thoughts of selfish fame, If freemen's hearts no more are bold, And, sinking to his country's shame, The patriot's fire burns low and cold,— What thought like thine,—a world's renown,— To bid him snatch a generous crown, And wake to life the freeman's will 'Mid the old fires of Bunker-hill! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...UPON JULIA'S BREASTS by ROBERT HERRICK JOURNEY by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY I SHALL NOT CARE by SARA TEASDALE PRAYER OF THE LOST by ALETHEA TODD ALDERSON NIGHTFALL (1) by WYSTAN HUGH AUDEN THE BRAWL by WILLIAM ROSE BENET NOONDAY REST by MATHILDE BLIND VOICE FROM THE CHORUS by ALEXANDER (ALEKSANDR) ALEXANDROVICH BLOK |