Some reported that when the troops had gone from King street and the people were thronging tumultuously in their rear , Bradstreet , the aged governor , was seen to embrace a form more aged than his own . Others soberly affirmed that while they marvelled at the venerable grandeur of his aspect the old man had faded from their eyes , melting slowly into the hues of twilight , till where he stood there was an empty space . But all agreed that the hoary shape was gone . The men of that generation watched for his reappearance in sunshine and in twilight , but never saw him more , nor knew when his funeral passed nor where his gravestone was . And who was the Gray Champion ? Perhaps his name might be found in the records of that stern court of justice which passed a sentence too mighty for the age , but glorious in all after-times for its humbling lesson to the monarch and its high example to the subject . I have heard that whenever the descendants of the Puritans are to show the spirit of their sires the old man appears again . When eighty years had passed , he walked once more in King street . Five years later , in the twilight of an April morning , he stood on the green beside the meeting-house at Lexington where now the obelisk of granite with a slab of slate inlaid commemorates the first-fallen of the Revolution . And when our fathers were toiling at the breastwork on Bunker 's Hill , all through that night the old warrior walked his rounds . Long , long may it be ere he comes again ! His hour is one of darkness and adversity and peril . But should domestic tyranny oppress us or the invader 's step pollute our soil , still may the Gray Champion come ! for he is the type of New England 's hereditary spirit , and his shadowy march on the eve of danger must ever be the pledge that New England 's sons will vindicate their ancestry . SUNDAY AT HOME . Every Sabbath morning in the summer-time I thrust back the curtain to watch the sunrise stealing down a steeple which stands opposite my chamber window . First the weathercock begins to flash ; then a fainter lustre gives the spire an airy aspect ; next it encroaches on the tower and causes the index of the dial to glisten like gold as it points to the gilded figure of the hour . Now the loftiest window gleams , and now the lower . The carved framework of the portal is marked strongly out . At length the morning glory in its descent from heaven comes down the stone steps one by one , and there stands the steeple glowing with fresh radiance , while the shades of twilight still hide themselves among the nooks of the adjacent buildings .
Methinks though the same sun brightens it every fair XXXXX , yet the steeple has a peculiar robe of brightness for the Sabbath .
Champion First Hill after-times breastwork gleams morning night stealing toiling