Crispus Attacks Poem by George Hannibal Temple

'Twas evening, and the wintry white
Glistened beneath the star-lit sky -
Forth marched the British cohorts right
Through Boston's streets, there to defy
The gathered sons of Freedom's cause,
And taunt them with Oppression's laws.


'Forward!' - the captain waves his steel
High circling wide; him to obey,
Right onward into King street wheel,
With steady step and close array,
The alien red-coats, eager bent,
To crush the freedom sentiment.


Them Attucks views; beneath his breast
The martial music beats and burns;
His manly bosom with unrest
Now rises, and now falls by turns;
Ready he stands to strike a blow,
To rid the colony of its foe.


'Strike! Strike! this is the nest,' he cried,
And rushed impetuous to the lead
Of Liberty. On every side
The patriots join with hasty speed,
And follow him with purpose grand,
Who durst for Freedom raise his hand.


He shouts, he wields a knotted oak -
It falls and sounds the battle note
Fierce on their ranks. Redoubling stroke
On stroke, his ample weapon smote
Disorder'd ruin and dread discord,
Full on the grim, advancing horde.


Amazed they are, and rave with ire,
Nor dare to brave where danger calls -
They halt - now charge, and, charging, fire;
And Attucks' self, first martyr, falls,
At Freedom's shrine: transfixed he lies;
He bleeds for Liberty, and dies.