Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means, which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that, which we possess, are invincible by any force, which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, we shall not fight alone. There is a just God, who presides over the destinies of nations; and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The battle, sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. - Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat, but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inevitable repeat it, sir, let it come! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. peace, peace, but there is no peace. and let it come! I Gentlemen may cry, The war is actually be gun! The next gale, that sweeps from the north, will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that gentlemen wish? What would they have? — Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! - I know not what course others may take; but as for me give me liberty, or give me death! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Stops with the shore ; — upon the watery plain When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, The armaments, which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals — Their clay Creator the vain title take These are thy toys; and, as the snowy flake, Thy shores are empires, chang'd in all save thee Unchangeable save to thy wild waves' play - Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark heaving boundless, endless, and sublime! Of the Invisible. Even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made! Each zone Obeys thee! Thou go'st forth; dread! fathomless! alone! There was a sound of revelry by night; Byron. The lamps shone o'er fair women and brave men; Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell ! Did ye not hear it? - No; 't was but the wind, On with the dance! let joy be unconfined; No sleep till morn, when Youth and Pleasure meet To chase the glowing Hours with flying feet As if the clouds its echo would repeat; And nearer, clearer, deadlier than before! Arm! Arm! it is! - it is! -the cannon's opening roar ! Ah! then and there was hurrying to and fro, And there was mounting in hot haste: the steed, Roused up the soldier ere the morning star; Or whispering, with white lips-"The foe! they come! they come ! " And wild and high the "Cameron's gathering rose ! and heard, too, have her Saxon foes: Savage and shrill! But with the breath which fills Their mountain-pipe, so fill the mountaineers With the fierce native daring, which instils The stirring memory of a thousand years; And Evan's, Donald's fame rings in each clansman's ears! And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave, — alas! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure; when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low! Last noon beheld them full of lusty life, Last eve in Beauty's circle proudly gay, The midnight brought the signal-sound of strife, Battle's magnificently-stern array! - the day The thunder-clouds close o'er it, which when rent Which her own clay shall cover, Rider and horse, friend, foe, - heaped and pent, in one red burial blent ! Ex. VIII. SATAN RALLYING THE FALLEN ANGELS. Milton. He scarce had ceased when the superior fiend Was moving toward the shore; his ponderous shield Behind him cast, the broad circumference Hung on his shoulders, like the moon, whose orb, High over-arched embower; or scattered sedge Hath vexed the Red Sea coast, whose waves o'erthrew While with perfidious hatred they pursued "Princes! Potentates! Warriors! the flower of heaven, once yours now lost, Eternal spirits or have ye chosen this place, Ex. IX. HYMN TO MONT BLANC. Coleridge. Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course? so long he seems to pause On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc ! The Arvé and Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly, while thou, dread mountain form, How silently! Around thee and above |