“Since my friends conquer, I with pleasure die!”

Yesterday I introduced the figure of William Bard, son of a wealthy New Jersey man who enlisted in the British army in 1761, reportedly because he was sad about an unrequited love affair.

By June 1775, Bard had risen from ensign to lieutenant in the 35th Regiment. Unfortunately, that was as far as he got because he was killed in the Battle of Bunker Hill.

According to Richard Trimen’s An Historical Memoir of the 35th Royal Sussex Regiment of Foot (1873):

The light company of the regiment lost all the officers and non-commissioned officers killed or wounded, on which an old soldier, whose name unfortunately has not been preserved, seeing the company without a leader, stepped out and took command of it. The grenadier company was in a worse condition, for only five of them were untouched at the close of the action.

That regimental history put Lt. Bard in the grenadier company, but the contemporaneous sources say he was with the lights.

In August 1775 The Gentleman’s Magazine published this poem.

To the Memory of Lieut. BARD, in the Light Infantry Company of the 35th Regiment, who was killed in the Attack on the American Entrenchments, near Boston.

Addressed to the Captain of that Company [Edward Drewe].

WHY unlamented should the valiant bleed,
Tho’ not with wealth or tinsel’d honours crown’d,
Who, by brave acts, seek glory’s deathless meed,
Whose life was blameless, and whose fall renown’d?

Oh Bard! deserving of a happier fate,
Upon thy birth no star auspicious shone;
Full were thy days of woe, tho’ short thy date,
And fell Misfortune claim’d thee for her son.

Britain with empty praise alone repaid
Thy well-prov’d valour; oft thy blood was shed
In her defence—yet, ever undismay’d,
You trod the rugged path where glory led.

With his bold friend, the valiant band before,
(Like two twin lions from the mountain’s height)
He rush’d undaunted to the battle’s roar,
And urg’d the num’rous foe to shameful flight.

What could he more? he fell,—with fame adorn’d,
He nobly fell, while, weeping by his side,
Bright Victory the dear-bought conquest mourn’d,
As thus, with fault’ring voice, he faintly cried—

“Praise crown the warriors by whose side I fought,
And the dear youth who o’er them holds command;
Tell him I acted as a soldier ought,
Nor sham’d the glory of his valiant band.”

Then, when inform’d the hostile troops were fled,
With strength renew’d, he made this short reply:
“Thanks to kind Heaven, I have not vainly bled;
Since my friends conquer, I with pleasure die!”

Thus, like the fearless Theban, he expir’d;
A fate bewail’d, yet envied by the brave.
The muse, with tender sympathy inspir’d,
Thus pours her sorrows o’er his silent grave.

Nor you, ye warriors, shall unprais’d remain—
Reduc’d to five, in sullen rage they stand;
Each gen’rous leader wounded sore, or slain,
The oldest soldier led the slender band.

In one close line, while every furrow’d brow
With vengeance lour’d they eagerly pursu’d,
With levell’d thunder, the affrighted foe,
And grim Destruction mark’d their course in blood.

O thou! from who, disdaining abject fear,
Each glowing bosom caught congenial flame,
Who still surviv’d, to me for ever dear,
Thy loss I dread, yet triumph in thy fame.

Perish the thought! nor let me thus profane
Thy well-earn’d praise with one ill-omen’d sigh!
All mean distrust is sacred honour’s bane,
The brave may fall—their actions never die.

R.H.

Despite his moping quoted yesterday, someone was fond of Lt. Bard.