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obligation of America to her benefactor. It is here, (laying his hand upon his heart.) It belongs to the soul, and no guage can graduate it.
Are gentlemen alarmed at what is called the example, the precedent, we are about to offer to our successors 1 I have laboured with all the powers of memory, to recal to my mind an example of disinterested and heroic benevolence, which can form a conduct parallel to the conduct of Lafayette; and if the history of the past affords none, why need we not trust the future 1 The only spirit of prophecy which is not of Divine Inspiration, exists in the analogy which infers the future from the past.
But what is the character of the example from which this unfounded apprehension arises 1 Was it not to our fathers—is it not to us—and will it not be to our posterity invaluable 1 Need we go back to the crusades to demonstrate the influence, the contagion of chivalrous enthusiasm? No sooner was the consecrated banner of Peter the hermit, unfurled for the recovery of the Redeemer's sepulchre from the infidel Saracen, than one spark of inspiration electrified all Europe; one common soul pervaded all Christendom, and poured her armed nations on the plains of Asia.
Contrast the heroism of that age with the solitary selfdevotion of Lafayette. When I look back to the early period of our independence, and behold our own unrecognized ministers in France, with a tenderness which does them immortal honour, remonstrating with the young enthusiast on the hazard and hopelessness of his projected enterprise in our behalf: when I hear them, in a tone of generous remonstrance, tell him that our cause was sinking, and they had not even a vessel to offer him for his perilous voyage, and hear him reply, ' I have, then, no time to lose,'—I cannot, turning from this scene to that before me, bring myself to believe that gentlemen, who differ from the obvious majority of this house, need to rest three nights upon their pillow, before they can arrive at unanimity upon this bill. I cannot but believe, Sir, that when we come to the vote, we shall do it with one heart, and that we are now as well prepared, as we shall be on Monday next. We have now met our opponents in the spirit of friendly explanation : we have complied with their wishes— stated—recapitulated; and I fervently trust they are ready to act with us for the honour of our common country.
THE DELUGE. Bowles.
All Was One Waste Op Waves, that buried deep Earth and its multitudes; the Ark alone, High on the cloudy van of Ararat Rested; for now the death-commissioned storm Sinks silent, and the eye of day looks out Dim through the haze, while short successive gleams Flit o'er the face of deluge as it shrinks, Or the transparent rain-drops, falling few, Distinct and larger glisten. So the Ark Rests upon Ararat; but nought around Its inmates can behold, save o'er the expanse Of boundless waters, the sun's orient orb Stretching the hull's long shadow, or the moon In silence, through the silver-cinctured clouds, Sailing, as she herself were lost, and left In Nature s loneliness.
But oh, sweet Hope, Thou bidst a tear of holy extasy Start to their eye-lids, when at night the Dove, Weary, returns, and lo! an olive leaf Wet in her bill: again she is put forth, When the seventh morn shines on the hoar abyss: Due evening comes; her wings are heard no more! The dawn awakes, not cold and dripping sad. But cheered with lovelier sunshine; far away The dark-red mountains slow their naked peaks Upheave above the waste : Inaus gleams; Fume the huge torrents on his desert sides; Till at the voice of HIM who rules The storm, the ancient Father and his train On the dry land descend.
Here let us pause— No noise in the vast circuit of the globe Is heard: no sound of human stirring: none Of pasturing herds, or wandering flocks; nor song Of birds that solace the forsaken woods From morn till eve, save in that spot that holds The sacred Ark; there the glad sounds ascend, And nature listens to the breath of life. The fleet horse bounds, high-neighing to the wind, That lifts his streaming mane; the heifer lows; Loud sings the lark amid the rainbow hues;
The lion lifts him muttering; Man comes forth—
TO THE CREATOR OP THE WORLD.
Hear, O heaven, and earth, and seas profound!
Hear, ye fathomed deeps below,
Let nature, trembling all around,
Attend her Master's awful name, From whom heaven, earth and seas, and all the wide creation came.
He spoke the great command; and light,
Heaven's eldest born and fairest child, Flashed in the lowering fall of ancient night, And, pleased with his own, serenely smiled.
The sons of morning, on the wing,
Hovering in choirs, his praises sung,
When, from the unbounded vacuous space,
A beauteous rising world they saw;
And motion took the established law
To roll the various globes on high;
Supreme, Almighty, still the same!
'T is He, the great inspiring Mind,
Not heaven itself can bound his sway:
Beyond the untravelled limits of the sky,
Invisible to mortal eye,
He dwells in uncreated day.
Without beginning, without end; 't is He, That fills the unmeasured growing orb of vast immensity.
What power but his can rule the changeful main, And wake the sleeping storm, or its loud rage restrain?
When winds their gathered forces try,
And the chafed ocean proudly swells in vain,
His voice reclaims the impetuous roar;
In murmuring tides the abated billows fly,
And the spent tempest dies upon the shore.
The meteor world is his, heaven's wintry store,
The moulded hail, the feathered snow;
The summer breeze, the soft refreshing shower, The loose divided cloud, the many-coloured bow j
The crooked lightning darts around,
His sovereign orders to fulfil;
The shooting flame obeys the eternal will,
Launched from his hand, instructed when to kill,
Yet pleased to bless, indulgent to supply,
That peoples earth, and sea, and air,
Down to the insect worm and creeping ant;
From the eagle, sovereign of the sky,
To each inferior feathered brood;
From crowns and purple majesty,
To humble shepherds on the plains,
His hand unseen divides to all their food,
And the whole world of life sustains.
THE SOLDIER'S DREAM.
Our bugles sang truce—for the night-cloud had lowered, And the sentinel stars set their watch in the sky;
And thousands had sunk on the ground overpowered—
When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
Methought from the battle-field's dreadful array,
'T was autumn—and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.
1 flew to the pleasant fields traversed so oft
In life's morning march, when my bosom was young;
I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,
And knew the sweet strain that the corn-reapers sung.
Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
My little ones kissed me a thousand times o'er,
Stay, stay with us—rest, thou art weary and worn,
But sorrow returned with the dawning of morn,
CHARACTER OF OLIVER CROMWELL.
What can be more extraordinary than that a person of private birth and education, no fortune, no eminent qualities of body, which have sometimes—nor of mind, which have often, raised men to the highest dignities, should have the courage to attempt, and the abilities to execute, so great a design as the subverting one of the most ancient and best established monarchies in the world? That he should have the power and boldness to put his prince and master to an open and infamous death 1 Should banish that numerous and strongly allied family 1 Cover all these temerities under a seeming obedience to a parliament, in whose service he pretended to be retained? Trample, too, upon that parliament, in their turn, and scornfully expel them, as soon as they gave him ground of dissatisfaction 1 Erect in their place the dominion of saints, and give reality to the most visionary idea which the heated imagination of any fanatic was ever able to entertain 1 Suppress, again, that monster, in its infancy, and openly set up himself, above all things, that ever were called sovereign in