5. WARREN'S SUPPOSED ADDRESS AT BUNKER HILL. STAND! the ground's your own, my braves! Will ye give it up to slaves? Will ye look for greener graves? Hope ye mercy still? What's the mercy despots feel? 6. PATRIOTISM. BEREFT of patriotism, the heart of a nation will be cold, and cramped, and sordid; the arts will have no enduring impulse, and commerce no invigorating soul; society will degenerate, and the mean and vicious will triumph. Patriotism is not a wild and glittering passion, but a glorious reality. The virtue that gave to Paganism its dazzling lustre, to Barbarism its redeeming trait, to Christianity its heroic form, is not dead. It still lives to console, to sanctify humanity. It has its altar in every clime, its worship and its festivities. On the heathered hills of Scotland the sword of Wallace is yet a bright tradition. The genius of France in the brilliant literature of the day pays its high homage to the piety and heroism of the young Maid of Orleans. In her new Senate-Hall, England bids her sculptor place among the effigies of her greatest sons, the images of Hampden and of Russell. In the gay and graceful capital of Belgium, the daring hand of Geefs has reared a monument full of glorious meaning to the three hundred martyrs of the Revolution. By the soft blue waters of Lake Lucerne stands the chapel of William Tell. On the anniversary of his revolt and victory, across those waters, as they glitter in the July sun, skim the light boats of the allied Cantons. From the prows hang the banners of the Republic, and as they near the sacred spot, the daughters of Lucerne chant the hymns of their old poetic land. Then bursts forth the glad Te Deum, and Heaven again hears the voice of that wild chivalry of the mountains which, five centuries. ago, pierced the white eagle of Vienna, and flung it bleeding on the rocks of Uri. At Innspruck, in the black aisle of the old cathedral, the peasant of the Tyrol kneels before the statue of Andreas Hofer. In the defiles and valleys of the Tyrol, who forgets the day on which he fell within the walls of Mantua? It is a festive day throughout his quiet, noble land. In that old cathedral his inspiring memory is recalled amid the pageantries of the altar; his image appears in every house; his victories and virtues are proclaimed in the songs of the people; and when the sun goes down, a chain of fires, in the deep red light of which the eagle spreads his wings and holds his giddy revelry, proclaims the glory of the chief whose blood has made his native land a sainted spot in Europe. Shall not all join in this glorious worship? Shall not all have the faith, the duties, the festivities of patriotism? THOMAS FRANCIS MEAGHER. 7. THE MARCH OF FREEDOM. Ir is not for men long to hinder the march of human freedom. I believe in the Infinite God. You may make your statutes. An appeal always lies to a Higher Law, and decisions averse to that get set aside in the flight of the ages. Your statutes cannot hold Him. You may gather all the dried grass and all the straw in both continents; you may bind it into ropes to bind down the sea while it is calm, you may laugh, and say, “Lo! I have chained the ocean, and hold down the law of Him who holds the universe as a rosebud in His hand, its very ocean as but a drop of dew." "How the waters suppress their agitation," you may say. But when the winds blow their trumpets, the sea rises in His strength, snaps asunder the bands that have confined its mighty limbs, and the world is littered with the idle hay. Stop the human race in its development and march to freedom? As well might the boys of Boston, some lustrous night, mounting to the steeples of the town, call on the stars to stop their course. Gently but irresistibly the Greater and the Lesser Bear move around the Pole; Orion in his mighty mail comes up the sky; the Bull, the heavenly Twins, the Crab, the Maid, the Scales, and all that shining company pursue their march all night; and the new day discovers the idle urchins in their lofty places, all tired, sleepy, and ashamed. THEODORE PARKER. 8. ADDRESS OF GENERAL WOLFE (A. D. 1759.) I CONGRATULATE you, my countrymen and fellowsoldiers, on the spirit and success with which you have executed this important part of our enterprise. The formidable Heights of Abraham are now surmounted; and the city of Quebec, the object of all our toils, now stands in full view before us. A perfidious enemy, who dared to exasperate you by their cruelties, but not to oppose you on equal ground, are now constrained to face you on the open plain, without ramparts or intrenchments to shelter them. You know too well the forces which compose their army to dread their superior numbers. A few regular troops from old France, weakened by hunger and sickness, who, when fresh, were unable to withstand the British soldiers, are their general's chief dependence. Those numerous companies of Canadians, insolent, mutinous, unsteady, and undisciplined, have exercised his utmost skill to keep them together to this time; and as soon as their irregular ardor is dampened by one firm fire, they will instantly turn their backs, and give you no further trouble but in the pursuit. As for those savage tribes of Indians, whose horrid yells in the forest have struck many a bold heart with affright, terrible as they are with a tomahawk and a scalping-knife to a flying and prostrate foe, you have experienced how little their ferocity is to be dreaded by resolute men upon fair and open ground. You can now only consider them as the just objects of a severe revenge for the unhappy fate of many slaughtered country men. This day puts it in your power to terminate the fatigue of a siege which has so long employed your courage and patience. Possessed with a full confidence of the certain success which British valor must gain over such enemies, I have led you up these steep and dangerous rocks, only solicitous to show you the foe within your reach. The impossibility of a retreat makes no difference in the situation of men resolved to conquer or die; and believe me, my friends, if your conquest could be bought with the blood of your general, he would most cheerfully resign a life which he has so long devoted to his country. 9. ADDRESS OF CARADOC THE BARD. NOTHING in history can surpass the bravery of the ancient Briton, or the devotion of their professional singers, who introduced battles and followed up victories by songs of appeal or triumph. HARK to the measured march! The Saxons come! And climbed her warships, when the Cæsars fled. |