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It's the death-grip that's a coming,

try the works once more."

they will

With brazen trumpets blaring, the flames behind them glaring,

The deadly wall before them, in close array they

come;

Still onward, upward toiling, like a dragon's fold

uncoiling,

120 Like the rattlesnake's shrill warning the reverberating drum!

Over heaps all torn and gory-shall I tell the fearful story,

How they surged above the breastwork, as a sea breaks over a deck;

How, driven, yet scarce defeated, our worn-out

men retreated,

With their powder-horns all emptied, like the swimmers from a wreck?

125 It has all been told and painted; as for me, they say I fainted,

And the wooden-legged old Corporal stumped with me down the stair:

When I woke from dreams affrighted the evening

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On the floor a youth was lying; his bleeding breast was bare.

And I heard through all the flurry, "Send for
WARREN! hurry! hurry!

129. Dr. Joseph Warren, of equal note at the time as a medica. man and a patriot. He was a volunteer in the battle, and fell there, the most serious loss on the American side.

130 Tell him here's a soldier bleeding, and he 'll come and dress his wound!"

Al, 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,

135 He could not speak to tell us; but 't was 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 child's that has been dozing,

140 He faintly murmured, "Mother!"

saw his eyes were blue.

and I

Why, grandma, how you're winking!"— Ah, my child, it sets me thinking

Of a story not like this one. Well, he somehow

lived along;

So we came to know each other, and I nursed him

like a-mother,

Till at last he stood before me, tall, and rosy cheeked, and strong.

145 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 became so well acquainted,

That-in short, that's why I'm grandma, and you children all are here!"

II.

THE SCHOOL-BOY.

[PHILLIPS ACADEMY at Andover, Massachusetts, was founded in 1778, by Judge Samuel Phillips, assisted by two uncles, who also established nearly at the time Phillips Exeter Academy, at Exeter, New Hampshire. The centennial anniversary of the founding of Phillips Academy was celebrated at Andover, in June, 1878, and Dr. Holmes, who had been a boy in the school more than fifty years before, read the following poem.]

THESE hallowed precincts, long to memory dear, Smile with fresh welcome as our feet draw near; With softer gales the opening leaves are fanned, With fairer hues the kindling flowers expand,

147. John Singleton Copley was a portrait painter of celebrity who was born in America in 1737 and painted many famous portraits, which hang in private and public galleries in Boston and vicinity chiefly. He lived in England the latter half of his life, dying there in 1815.

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