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which unites national sovereignty with state rights, individual security, and public prosperity ?
No, gentlemen, if these colunins fall, they will be raised not again. Like the Coliseum, and the Parthenon, they 5 will be destined to a mournful, a melancholy immortality.
Bitterer tears, however, will flow over them than were ever shed over the monuments of Roman or Grecian art; for they will be the remnants of a more glorious edifice than
Greece or Rome ever saw — the edifice of constitutional 10 American liberty.
But, gentlemen, let us hope for better things. Let us trust in that gracious Being who has hitherto held our country as in the hollow of His hand. Let us trust to the
virtue and the intelligence of the people, and to the efficacy 15 of religious obligation. Let us trust to the influence of
Washington's example. Let us hope that that fear of Heaven which expels all other fear, and that regard to duty which transcends all other regard, may influence
public men and private citizens, and lead our country still 20 onward in her happy career.
Full of these gratifying anticipations and hopes, let us look forward to the end of that century which is now commenced. A hundred years hence, other disciples of
Washington will celebrate his birth, with no less of sin95 cere admiration than we now commemorate it. When
they shall meet, as we now meet, to do themselves and him that honor, so surely as they shall see the blue summits of his native mountains rise in the horizon, so surely
as they shall behold the river on whose banks he lived, 30 and on whose banks he rests, still flowing on toward the
sea, so surely may they see, as we now see, the flag of the Union floating on the top of the Capitol; and then, as now, may the sun in his course visit no land more free, more happy, more lovely, than this our own country!
CI. — THE ANTIQUITY OF FREEDOM.
BRYANT. HERE are old trees — tall oaks and gnarled pines — That stream with gray-green mosses ; here the ground Was never trenched by spade, and flowers spring up Unsown, and die ungathered. It is sweet To linger here, among the flitting birds And leaping squirrels, wandering brooks, and winds That shake the leaves, and scatter, as they pass, A fragrance from the cedars, thickly set With pale blue berries. In these peaceful shades — Peaceful, unpruned, immeasurably old My thoughts go up the long, dim path of years, Back to the earliest days of liberty.
0 Freedom, thou art not, as poets dream,
Thy birthright was not given by human hands;
Thou shalt wax stronger with the lapse of years,
O, not yet
Thy visit. They, while yet the forest trees
CII. — THE ANGELS OF BUENA VISTA,
WHITTIEP. (Buena Vista is a hamlet in Mexico where the Mexican army, under General Santa Anna, was defeated by the Americans, under General Taylor, February 22 and 23, 1847. La Angostura is about a mile and a half distant. La Puebla, (pwā'blä, or poo-ā'blä,) is the second city of Mexico.]
SPEAK and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward fas away,
" Down the hills of Angostura still the storm of battle rolls;
Holy Mother! keep our brothers ! Look Ximena, look once more:
Look forth once more Ximena! “Ah! the smoke has rolled away; And I see the Northern rifles gleaming down the ranks of gray. Hark! that sudden blast of bugles ! there the troop of Minon * wheels; There the Northern horses thunder, with the cannon at their heels.
« Jesu, pity! how it thickens ! now retreat and now advance!
* Minon, (pronounced min-yon,) was a Mexican general.
Nearer came the storm and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on.
" Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting; Blessed Mother, save my brain !
“Oh my heart's love! oh my dear one! lay thy poor head on my
knee; Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me? Canst
thou see? Oh my husband, brave and gentle! oh my Bernard, look once more On the blessed cross before thee! mercy! mercy! all is o'er."
Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest;
Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay,
With a stifled cry of horror, straight she turned away her head;
Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand, and faintly smiled. Was that pitying face his mother's ? did she watch beside her child? All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart supplied; With her kiss upon his forehead, “Mother,” murmured he, and died.
"A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth,