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8. Therefore, Indian people, flee
To the farthest western sea;
EXTRACT FROM THE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT ORATION.
BY DANIEL WEBSTER.
1. THE great event in the history of this continent, which we are now met here to commemorate, that prodigy of modern times, at once the wonder and the blessing of the world, is the American Revolution. In a day of extraordinary prosperity and happiness', of high national honor, distinction', and power', we are brought together, in this place, by our love of country', by our admiration of exalted character', by our gratitude for signal services and patriotic devotion.
2. The society whose organ I am, was formed for the purpose of rearing some honorable and durable monument to the memory of the early friends of American independence. They have thought, that for this object, no time could be more propitious than the present prosperous and peaceful period'; that no place could claim preference over this memorable spot'; and that no day could be more auspicious to the undertaking, than the anniversary of the battle which was here fought. The foundation of that monument we have now laid. With solemnities suited to the occasion, with prayers to almighty God for his blessing, and in the midst of this cloud of witnesses, we have begun the work. 1
3. We trust it will be prosecuted; and that, springing from a broad foundation, rising high in massive solidity and unadorned grandeur, it may remain, as long as Heaven permits the works of man to last, a fit emblem, both of the events in memory of which it is raised, and of the gratitude of those who have raised it. We know indeed, that the record of illustrious actions is most safely deposited in the universal remembrance of mankind. We know, that if we could cause this structure to ascend, not only till it reached the skies, but till it pierced them, its broad surfaces could still contain but part of that which, in an age of knowledge, hath already been spread over the earth, and which history charges itself with making known to all future times.
4. We know that no inscription on entablatures less broad than the earth itself', can carry information of the events we commemorate where it has not already gone'; and that no structure, which shall not outlive the duration of letters and knowledge among men', can prolong the memorial'. But our object is, by
this edifice, to show our own deep sense of the value and importance of the achievements of our ancestors; and, by presenting this work of gratitude to the eye, to keep alive similar sentiments, and to foster a constant regard for the principles of the Revolution. Human beings are composed', not of reason only', but of imagination also', and sentiment'; and that is neither wasted nor misapplied which is appropriated to the purpose of giving right direction to sentiments, and opening proper springs of feeling in the heart.
5. Let it not be supposed that our object is to perpetuate national hostility, or even to cherish a mere military spirit. It is higher, purer', nobler'. We consecrate our work to the spirit of national independence, and we wish that the light of peace may rest upon it forever. We rear a memorial of our conviction of that unmeasured benefit which has been conferred on our own land, and of the happy influences which have been produced by the same events, on the general interests of mankind. We come, as Americans, to mark a spot which must forever be dear to us and our posterity.
6. We wish that whosoever, in coming time, shall turn his eye hither, may behold that the place is not undistinguished where the first great battle of the Revolution was fought. We wish that infancy may learn the purpose of its erection from maternal lips, and that weary and withered age may behold it', and be solaced by the recollections which it suggests'. We wish that labor may look up here', and be proud in the midst of its toil'. We wish that in those days of disaster', which, as they come on all nations', must be expected to come on us also', desponding patriotism may turn its eyes hitherward, and be assured that the foundations of our national power still stand strong.
7. We wish that this column, rising toward heaven among the pointed spires of so many temples dedicated to God', may contribute also to produce, in all minds, a pious feeling of dependence and gratitude. We wish, finally, that the last object on the sight of him who leaves his native shore', and the first to gladden his who revisits it', may be something which shall remind him of the liberty and the glory of his country'. Let it rise, till it meet the sun in his coming'; let the earliest light of the morning gild it', and parting day linger and play on its summit'.
THE LANDING OF THE PILGRIMS.
1. THE breaking waves dash'd high
2. And the heavy night hung dark
When a band of exiles moor'd their bark
3. Not as the conqueror comes,
They, the true-hearted, came';
4. Not as the flying come',
In silence and in fear':
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom
5. Amid the storm they sang',
And the stars heard, and the sea';
6. The ocean-eagle soar'd
From his nest by the white wave's foam' And the rocking pines of the forest roar'd': This was their welcome home'.
7. There were men with hoary hair'
8. There was woman's fearless eye',
9. What sought they thus afar'?
10. Ay', call it holy ground',
The soil where first they trod'!
They have left unstain'd what there they found',-
TO THE SURVIVORS OF THE AMERICAN REVOLUTION.
BY DANIEL WEBSTER.
1. VENERABLE men! you have come down to us from a former generation. Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you might behold this joyous day. You are now where you stood fifty years ago, this very hour, with your brothers and your neighbors, shoulder to shoulder, in the strife for your country. Behold, how altered'! The same heavens are, indeed, over your heads'; the same ocean rolls at your feet'; but all else how changed! You hear now no roar of hostile cannon; you see no mixed volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charles
2. The ground strewed with the dead and the dying'; the impetuous charge'; the steady and successful repulse'; the loud call to repeated assault'; the summoning of all that is manly to repeated resistance'; a thousand bosoms freely and fearlessly bared in an instant to whatever of terror there may be in war and death'; all these you have witnessed', but you witness them no more. All is peace. The heights of yonder metropolis, its towers and roofs which you then saw filled with wives and children and countrymen in distress and terror, and looking with unutterable emotions for the issue of the combat, have presented you to-day with the sight of its whole happy population come out to welcome and greet you with a universal jubilee.
3. Yonder proud ships, by a felicity of position appropriately lying at the foot of this mount, and seeming fondly to cling around it, are not means of annoyance to you', but your country's own means of distinction and defence'. All is peace'; and God has granted you this sight of your country's happiness', ere you slumber in the grave forever. He has allowed you to behold