“The Lonely Bugle Grieves”
(From an “Ode on the Celebration of the Battle of Bunker Hill, June 17, 1825.”)
BY GRENVILLE MELLEN
The trump hath blown,
And now upon that reeking hill
Slaughter rides screaming on the vengeful ball;
While with terrific signal shrill,
The vultures, from their bloody eyries flown,
Hang o’er them like a pall.
Now deeper roll the maddening drums,
And the mingling host like ocean heaves:
While from the midst a horrid wailing comes,
And high above the fight the lonely bugle grieves!