By the rude bridge that arched the flood，

    Their flag to April's breeze unfurled，

    Here once the embattled farmers stood，

    And fired the shot heard round the world.

    The foe¹ long since in silence slept；

    Alike the conqueror² silent sleeps；

    And Time the ruined bridge has swept

    Down the dark stream which seaward creeps.

    On this green bank， by this soft stream，

    We set to-day a votive stone；

    That memory may their deed redeem³，

    When， like our sires， our sons are gone.

    Spirit， that made those heroes dare

    To die， and leave their children free，

    Bid Time and Nature gently spare

    The shaft⁴ we raise to them and thee.