It is in vain，Sir，to extenuate the matter.Gentlemen may cry，peace，peace！but there is no peace.The war is actually begun！The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms！Our brethren are already in the field！Why stand we here idle？What is it that Gentlemen wish？What would they have？Is life so dear，or peace so sweet，as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery？Forbid it，Almighty God！I know not what course others may take；but as for me，give me liberty，or give me death！
24.A Cluster of Poems About the Revolution.The stirring events of the revolutionary war have inspired many poems，many vivid works of fiction，and many of the finest orations in our language.A Couple of the orations have been given.There now follow a few of the poems.
Bunker Hill
①B.F.TAYLOR
TO the wail of the fife and the snarl of the drum Those Hedgers and Ditchers of Bunker Hill come，Down out of the battle with rumble and roll，Straight across the two ages，right into the soul，And bringing for captive the Day that they won With a deed that like Joshua halted the sun.
Like bells in their towers tolled the guns from the town，Beat that low earthen bulwark so sullen and brown，As if Titans last night had plowed the one bout And abandoned the field for a Yankee redoubt；But for token of life that the parapet gaveThey might as well play on Miles Standish’s grave！Then up the green hill rolled the red of the Georges And down the green vale rolled the grime of the forges；Ten rods from the ridges hung the live surge，Not a murmur to meet it broke over the verge，But the click of flintlocks in the furrows along，And the chirp of a sparrow just singing her song.In the flash of an eye，as the dead shall be raised，The dull bastion kindled，the parapet blazed，And the musketry cracked，glowing hotter and higher，Like a forest of hemlock，its lashes of fire，And redder the scarlet and riven the ranks，And Putnam‘s guns hung，with a roar on the flanks.
Now the battle grows dumb and the grenadiers wheel，’Tis the crash of clubbed musket，the thrust of cold steel，At bay all the way，while the guns held their breath，①Benjamin Franklin Taylor was the son of a professor in the college now called Colgate University，in the state of New York.There he was educated，and thence he went to devote himself to journalism and literary work.He died in 1887.
Foot to foot，eye to eye，with each other and Death.Call the roll，Sergeant Time！Match the day if you can；Waterloo was for BritonsBunker Hill is for man！
Warren‘s①Address to the American Soldiers at Bunker Hill②JOHN PIERPONT
STAND！the ground’s your own，my braves！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 afire！
And before you，see
Who have done it ！From the vale On they come！And will ye quail？Leaden rain and iron hailLet 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，①General Joseph Warren fought at the battle of Bunker Hill as a volunteer，declining to take command.He was killed just as the Americans were retreating.
②The Rev.John Pierpont was born in Connecticut in 1785，was graduated at Yale College；was alawyer，merchant，clergyman，and poet.He died in 1866.
And the rocks shall raise their head，Of his deeds to tell！
Song of Marion’s Men
①WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
OUR band is few，but true and tried，Our leader frank and bold；The British soldier trembles When Marion‘s name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood，Our tent the cypresstree；
We know the forest round us As seamen know the sea.
We know its walls of thorny vines，Its glades of reedy grass，Its safe and silent islands Within the dark morass.
Woe to the English soldiery That little dread us near！
On them shall light at midnight
A strange and sudden fear：When waking to their tents on fireThey grasp their arms in vain，And they who stand to face usAre beat to earth again；And they who fly in terror deem
A mighty host behind，
And hear the tramp of thousands Upon the hollow wind.
①William Cullen Bryant，born in Massachusetts in 1797，was an American poet and journalist.He was a student at Williams College，but did not remain to graduate.His most famous poem was “Thanatopsis.”He died in 1878.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
Then sweet the hour that brings releaseFrom danger and from toil：
We talk the battle over，And share the battle’s spoil.
The woodland rings with laugh and shout，As if a hunt were up，And woodland flowers are gatheredTo crown the soldier‘s cup.
With merry songs we mock the windThat in the pinetop grieves，
And slumber long and sweetly On beds of oaken leaves.
Well knows the fair and friendly moon
The band that Marion leadsThe glitter of their rifles，The scampering of their steeds.
’Tis life to guide the fiery barb Across the moonlight plain；‘Tis life to feel the nightwind That lifts the tossing mane.
A moment in the British campA momentand awayBack to the pathless forest Before the peep of day.
Grave men there are by broad Santee，Grave men with hoary hairs；Their hearts are all with Marion，For Marion are their prayers.And lovely ladies greet our bandWith kindliest welcoming，With smiles like those of summer，And tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms，And lay them down no moreTill we have driven the Briton Forever from our shore.