The Bolivar bulletin. [volume] (Bolivar, Hardeman County, Tenn.) 1865-1888, 1875-06-25
The robbing, numbering red-coats, that would
burn a peaceful town!

The rObbing, numbering red-cOats, that would
burn peaceful town.
They are marching, stern and solemn; we
can see each massive column
As they near the naked earth-mOund with the
the sIantIng walls so steep.
Have our soldiers got faint-hearted, and Ill
nOiseless haste departed? d?
Are they panic-struck and helpless? Are
they palsied or asleep?
Now the walls they're almost under! scarce
rod the foes asunder
Not a fireIOck flashed against them I'D the
earthwOTk they Will swarm
But the words have scarce been spoken, when
the Ominous calm is broken,
And a believing crash has emptied all the
vengeance Of the storm.
So again, with murderous slaughter, pelted
backwards to the water.
Fly PigOt's running heroes, and the frightened
braves Of Howe
And we shout, '.At last they're done for, it's
their barges they have run for;
They are beaten, beaten, beaten; and the
battles 0vsr nOW."
And we looked. poor timid creatures. on the
rough old soldiers features.
Our lips afraid to question. but he knew what
we would ask:
"Not sure" he said: 'keep quiet-once
more, I guess, they'll try it
Here's damnatiOn to the cut-thrOats then
he handed me his flask.
Saying Gal! you're looking shaky; have
a drop of old Jamaikv:
I'm afeared therelI be more trouble afOre the
job is DONE
So took one scorching swallow; dreadful
faint 1 felt and hollow,
Standing there from early morning when the
firing was begun.
All through those hours of trial had watched
a calm clock dial,
As the hands kept creeping, creeping they
were creeping round to four
When the old man said They're forming
with their bagonets fixed for stOrming
It's the death-grip that's a-cOming-they viii
try the works once more -
With brazen trumpet blaring, the flames be-
hind them glaring,
The deadly wall before them, in close array
they cone;
foid uncolhng-
Like the rattlesnsk g shrill warning the re
verberating drum.
Over heaps all torn and gory-shau tell the
fearful story,
How they surged above the breastwork, as a
sea breaks DER a deck;
How driven, yet scarce defeated, our wOrnOut
men retreated,
With their powder horns all emptied, like the
swimmers from a wreck?
It has all been told and painted; as for me,
they say I tainted,
And the wooden-legged old corporal stumped
with me down the stair.
And when I woke from dreams affrighted the
evening lamps were lighted
On the floor youth was lying; his bleeding
breast was bare.
And I heard through all the furry, "Send for
Warren! hurry hurry
Tell him here's soldier bleeding, and he'll
come and dress his wound !"
All, we knew not till the morrow told its tale
of death and sorrow,
How the starlight found him stiffened on the
dark and bloody ground.
Who the youth was, what his name was,
where the place from which he came
was,
Who had brought him from the battle, and
had left him at our door,
He could not speak to tell us; but twas one
Of our brave fellows,
As the hOmespUn plainly showed us which the
dying soldier wore.
For they all thought he was dying, as they
gathered round him crying
And they said, - Oh how they'll miss him "
and, ''What will his mother dO?'
Then, his eyelids Just unclOsing, like a childs
that has been doing.
He family muTmuTed, Mother" and saw
his eyes we're blue.
-" Why, grandma how you're winking -
All, my child, it sets me thinking
or a story not like this one. We'll. he some
how lived along;
So we came to know each Othe eT, and I nursed
him like a-mother
Till at last he stood before me, tall and rosy
checked, and strong,
And we sometimes walked together in the
pleasant summer weather:
- Please to tell US what his name was ~
Just your own my little dear
There's his picture COpley painted; we be-
came so well acquainted,
That-in short, that's why I'm grandma, and
you children all are herel
Bunker HILL Memorial.