for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable, but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not been already exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, sir, deceive ourselves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm that is now coming on. We have petitioned; we have remonstrated; we have supplicated; we have prostrated ourselves before the throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted; our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult; our supplications have been disregarded; and we have been spurned with contempt from the foot of the throne! In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free; if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending; if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, we must fight! I repeat it, sir: we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts is all that is left! They tell us, sir, that we are weak unable to cope with so formidable an adversary; but when shall we be strong? 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 inaction? 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, 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 our battle 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 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 or 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! It is 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 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 the 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! ANNIE LAURIE WILLIAM DOUGLAS MAXWELTON'S braes are bonnie Where early fa's the dew, And it's there that Annie Laurie Gie'd me her promise true, Which ne'er forgot will be: And for bonnie Annie Laurie, Her brow is like the snawdrift, That e'er the sun shone on, That e'er the sun shone on, And dark blue is her e'e, And for bonnie Annie Laurie, I'd lay me doune and dee. Like dew on the gowan lying Is th' fa' o' her fairy feet, And like winds in summer sighing, Her voice is low and sweet, Her voice is low and sweet, And for bonnie Annie Laurie, HIGHLAND MARY ROBERT BURNS Robert Burns, the greatest Scotch poet, was born at Alloway, in 1759, and died at Dumfries in 1796. No other Scotch poet is so popular. You will do well to read "The Cotter's Saturday Night," "Tam o' Shanter," "To a Mountain Daisy," "To a Mouse," and "Twa Dogs." These will enable you to determine whether or not you wish to read Burns largely. E banks, and braes, and YE streams around The castle o' Montgomery, Green be your woods, and fair your flowers, Your waters never drumlie! 1 There simmer first unfauld her BURNS How sweetly bloomed the gay green birk,2 How rich the hawthorn's blossom, 1 Drumlie: Muddy. 2 Birk: Birch. As underneath their fragrant shade Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace, But, oh, fell death's untimely frost, Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay, Oh, pale, pale now, those rosy lips And closed for aye the sparkling glance And moldering now in silent dust THE BANKS O' DOON ROBERT BURNS E banks and braes o' bonnie Doon, YE How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair; How can ye chant, ye little birds, And I sae weary, fu' o' care! |