I

But when

1

They tell us, sir, that we are weak, unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. shall we be stronger? | Will it be the next week' or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed; and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution, and inac'tion? | Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, | and hugging the delusive phantom of hope until our enemies shall have bound us hand, and foot'? | 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, | 3armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invin'cible under any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, sir, | we shall not fight our battles 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 ac'tive, 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; and let it come! I repeat it, sir | let it come !! |

I

It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. | Gentlemen may cry peace! peace! | but there is, no peace. | The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the north, I 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 sla'very? I know not what course others may take; but, as for me, give me lib'erty, or give me death! |

11

HYMN TO THE DEITY ON A REVIEW OF THE SEASONS.

(THOMSON.)

These, as they change, | Almighty Father, | these
Are but the varied God. The rolling year
Is full of thee. | Forth in the pleasing Spring |
Thy beauty walks, thy tenderness and love. I
Wide flush the fields'; the soft'ning air is balm ; |
Echo the mountains round; | the forest smiles、 ; |
And ev'ry sense', | and ev'ry heart is joy. |

I

Then comes thy glory in the Summer months, |
With light, and heat refulgent. | Then thy sun |
Shoots full perfection through the swelling year、 ; |
And oft thy voice in dreadful thunder, speaks; |
And oft at dawn', | deep noon', ] or falling eve', |
By brooks, and groves, | in hollow-whisp'ring gales. |
Thy bounty shines in Autumn unconfin'd`, |
And spreads a common feast for all that live. |
In Winter, awful thou! | with clouds, and storms
Around thee thrown, I tempest o'er tempest roll'd', |
Majestic darkness! | on the whirlwind's wing,
Riding sublime, thou bidst the world adore';
And humblest Nature with thy northern blast. |
Mysterious round! | what skill, what force divine',
Deep felt, in these, appear! | a simple train, |
Yet so delightful mix'd, with such kind art,a |
Such beauty, and beneficence combin❜d: |
Shade, unperceiv'd, so soft'ning into shade', |
And all so forming an harmonious whole',
That, as they still succeed, they rav`ish still. [

But, wand'ring oft, with brute unconscious gaze, | Man marks not thee', marks not the mighty hand, I That, ever busy, wheels the silent spheres, |

b Silent; not silunt.

Kind art; not kine dart.

Works in the secret deep', | shoots, steaming, thence, |
The fair profusion that o'erspreads the spring, |
Flings from the sun direct the flaming day`, |
Feeds ev'ry crea'ture, hurls the tempest forth; |
And, as on earth this grateful change revolves,
With transport, touches all the springs of life. |

Nature, attend! | join ev'ry living soul, |
Beneath the spacious temple of the sky', |
In adoration, join, | and ardent raise
One general song! | To him, ye vocal gales, |
Breathe soft; whose spirit in your fresh ness breathes:[
O talk of him in solitary glooms! |

Where, o'er the rock, the scarcely waving pine |
Fills the brown shade with a religious awe.c
And ye, whose bolder note is heard afar', |
Who shake the astonish'd world, | lift high to heaven
The impetuous song, and say from whom you rage. |

His praise, ye brooks', attune,a | ye trembling rills, | And let me catch it as I muse along.

Ye headlong torrents, | rapid, and profound;
Ye softer floods that lead the humid maze
Along the vale, and thou, majestic main', |
A secret world of wonders in thyself, |
Sound his stupendous praise, whose greater voice,
Or bids you roar, | or bids your roarings fall. |

Soft roll your incense, herbs,, and fruits', and flow'rs', I In mingled clouds to him whose sun exalts'; | Whose breath perfumes you; and whose pencil

paints. |

Ye forests, bend; | ye harvests, wave to him; |
Breathe your still song into the reaper's heart', I
As home he goes beneath the joyous moon.

a Dê-rêct'. gious-saw.

с

b Ar'dênt; not ardunt. Religious awe; not relia Brooks attune; not brooks'sur-tune.

Ye that keep watch in heav'n', as earth asleep
Unconscious lies, effuse your mildest beams,
Ye constella'tions, while your angels strike, |
Amid the spangled sky, the silver lyre. I
Great source of day'!| best image here below,
Of thy Creator, ever pouring wide,

1

From world to world, the vital ocean round,
On Nature write with ev'ry beam', his praise. |

Ye thunders, roll'; I be hush'd the prostrate world,
While cloud to cloud returns the solemn hymn. Į
Bleat out afresh, ye hills'; | ye mossy rocks,
Retain the sound; the broad responsive low,
Ye valleys, raise for the Great Shepherd reigns; |
|
And his unsuffering kingdom yet will come. |
Ye woodlands,a all, awake! | a boundless song
Burst from the groves,; and, when the restless day,
Expiring, lays the warbling world asleep, |
Sweetest of birds, | sweet Philomela, | charm
The listening shades, and teach the night' his praise. |

b

Ye chief, for whom the whole crea'tion smiles, |
At once the head, the heart', the tongue of all, |
Crown' the great hymn. In swarming cities vast, |
Assembled men, to the deep organ, join
The long-resounding voice, oft breaking clear,
At solemn pauses, through the swelling bass. ; |
And, as each mingling flame increases each,
In one united ardour, rise to heaven. |
Or, if you rather choose the rural shade, |
And find a fane in ev'ry sacred grove, |
There let the shepherd's flute, the virgin's lay,
The prompting ser'aph, and the poet's lyre, |
Still sing the God of Seasons as they roll. |

For me, when I forget the darling theme, |
Whether the blossom blows, the summer ray
Russets the plain', | inspiring autumn gleams', |

Wůd'lândź; not wood'luns.

a

b Deep organ; not dee-porʼgan.

'Or winter rises in the black'ning east,, |
"Be my tongue mute, | my fancy paint no more, |
And, dead to joy, | forget my heart to beat! |

Should fate command me to the farthest verge
Of the green earth',a | to distant barb'rous climes' |
Rivers unknown to song, where first the sun
Gilds Indian moun'tains, or his setting beam
Flames on the Atlantic isles', 't is nought to me,
Since God is ever present, | ever felt, |
In the void waste as in the city full.; |
And where he vital breathes, there must be joy. ]

When e'en at last the solemn hour shall come, |
And wing my mystic flight to future worlds', |
I cheerful will obey; there, with new pow'rs |
Will rising wonders sing: I cannot go |
Where Universal Love smiles not around, I
Sustaining all yon orbs, and all their suns ; |
From seeming evil still educing good`, |
And better thence again, and better still', |
In infinite progression. But I lose
Myself in Him, | in Light ineffable! |
Come then, expressive Silence, muse His praise. |

THE MARINER'S DREAM.

(DIMOND.)

In slumbers of midnight, the sailor-boy lay; |

His hammock swung loose at the sport of the wind; [ But, watch-worn, and weary, his cares flew away'; | And visions of happiness danc'd o'er his mind. |

He dream'd of his home, of his dear native bowers, | And pleasures that waited on life's' merry morn、 ; | While Memory stood sidewise, half cover'd with flowers, And restor❜d ev'ry rose', but secreted its thorn. |

Yon orbs; not yon-norbs.

Green earth; not gree-nearth'.