The Arkansas banner., 1843-10-28
POETRY.
BuNkER HILL.
ny JOSIAH D. BANGS

BUNKER HILL.
 BY JOSIAH D. BANGS, On Bunker's sacred height stood As onward rolled that pageant flood, From Freedoms earliest home Der pavement grey and gleaming tide, A massive column, deep and wide, With martial front they come. Hark 'tis their b,igle's notes hear, The.s measured drum-beat, full and clear, Swells OCT the echoing sound Of shouts, like those for victory won, And gun that speeds to answering gun, laundering pean round. On Freegnen, on No guilty strife, To drain the gushing founts of life. Hath bid this gathering now; But up, like Israel's hosts of old, Ye come, a solemn feast to hold, On this, our Zion's brow. A solemn feast of thanks to Him, Who, when of yore, our star grew dim, Reluned its sinking flame A feast of deep-wrougat joy, the while To consecrate yon altar-pile, To Freedoms glorious name. Ye come with firm and even tread With tossing plume, and banner spread.
 High swelling to the skies; And as the shifting squadrons wheel The instant flash of warlike steel,
 Like lightning, glealns ana ules' It glances up, that dazzling sheen, From furnished gun and broadsword keen,
 Firm grasped by fearless men And as each rank sweeps proudly by, With quickened thrill the pulses fly,
 Each breath comes deeper then On on they pass-the young, the strong, Their ringing ioot-fall rolls along
 The soil their fathers trod, This day. three score long years ago. What time oppression's head bowed low,
 As meath the stroke of God. No fortress walls of frewnag stone Were round that patriot phalanx thrown, To shield them from the shower Ofplunging shot and bursting shell, That tried their simple breastwork well, Through all that fearful hour. Their trust was in Jehovah's name Strong hearts, strong arms, and steady aim, No trembling pulses sped As each dark mazzle sure and low, Poured it's hot vengeance on the foe, Till earth blushed ruddy red Where stand they now, that Spartan band' Hath deaths dark wing and crushing hand Swept OCT them, every one. None, none, alas to point the spot Where fastest fell the foeman's shot, From many a distant gun To say how Putnam braved the fight, How Prescott's eagle eye grew bright, And where our Warren fell' Gaze now, amid this passing throng! Their lips seem all too fresh and young, Such by-gone tale to tell. Yet loob what vision greets the sight, See, slowly toiling up the height, An hundred hoary forms With weary tread and temples bare, Their thin locks floating in the air, Bleached in thousand storms. Onward they move, these men of years. Mid piaudlts warm, and deafening cheers, They gain the summit meund Shades of the past! they've come they've come Room for these ancient warriors room! Room on the holiest ground Ye come. grey, stern-browed men of yore To view that haowed spot once more, Your young liie-blood hath wet; And though deep furrows seam each brow, And heath the weight of years ye bow, Each heart beats firmly yet. Proud relics of those iron men. On your Thermopyle again,
 Your feeble footsteps chime; And say do not now darkly swim. In your old eye-sight, weak and dim. The scenes of olden time. Ha. see you not that blinding flash! And list! each bullets sullen crash Each cannon's furious roar Hark. to yon voiiey rolling on Aye! and the deathrain there begun, Shall swell to seas of gore. Again it comes, that murderous roll Back backi be firm, each patriot soul Wait for the signal gven Stand calm, although that Vandal fire Hath wrapped yon city roof and spirc, In flames that leap to heayenl Yet upward sweeps that havoc cloud, Till, as trumpet, clear and loud, The welcome watch-word came. God of the just then then how true, Down your long line, like lightning, flew That sheet of lurid flame As one, a thousand muslets rang, A thousand death -fraught bullets sang, A thousand Britoas reeled. Mid shout, and shriek, and curse, and groan, Fierce retrbution claimed her own, Der all that reeking field. We'll may that glorious conflict rise, Thus to our thoughts and darkened eyes, In strong and vivid play, As on the threshold of the grave, Ne see ten thousand banners wave, In honor to that day. Fathers of Freedom, OCT my head Times wing hath been too freshly spread, To bleach one raven hair; Yet the bright bloom of hope-lit years I'd give, with all their joys and tears,
 Your triumph now to share. Till earth dissolve, till time shall cease. With the undying names of Greece,
 Will yours be cherished still. Each hath deathless glory won They on their fearful Marathon.
 And ye at Bunker Hill
 AGRICULTURAL.
 
 From the .4lbang Cultipator.
 THE WHEAT WORM.
 Having seen call in one of the numbe of thy useful paper, the Cultivator, for i