Quenched is thy flame on Horeb's side⚫ No more on Zion's mournful brow. But on this hill thou, Lord, hast dwelt, Here sleeps their dust: 'tis holy ground: Free as the winds around us blow, Free as the waves below us spread, But on their deeds no shade shall fall, Thine ear was bowed to hear their call, LESSON CXXXIII. What's Hallowed Ground?-CAMPBELL.* WHAT'S hallowed ground? Has earth a clod By man, the image of his God, Erect and free, Unscourged by Superstition's rod That's hallowed ground, where, mourned and missed, Yon churchyard's bowers? No! in ourselves their souls exist, A part of ours. * From the New Monthly Magazine for Oct. 1825 * What hallows ground where heroes sleep Or genii twine, beneath the deep, But, strow his ashes to the wind, To live in hearts we leave behind, Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? What can alone ennoble fight? Give that, and welcome War to brace The charging cheer, Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear: And place our trophies where men kneel Peace, Love the cherubim, that join The heart alone can make divine Religion's spot. What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth And your high priesthood shall make earth LESSON CXXXIV. Extract from a Speech of Counsellor PHILLIPS, at a public Dinner in Ireland, on his Health being given, together with that of Mr. Payne, a young American, 1817. THE mention of America, sir, has never failed to fill me with the most lively emotions. In my earliest infancy,-that tender season when impressions, at once the most permanent and the most powerful, are likely to be excited, the story of her then recent struggle raised a throb in every heart that loved liberty, and wrung a reluctant tribute even from discomfited oppression. I saw her spurning alike the luxuries that would ener'vate, and the legions that would intimidate; dashing from her lips the poisoned cup of European servitude; and, through all the vicissitudes of her protracted conflict, displaying a magnanimity that defied misfortune, and a moderation that gave new grace to victory. It was the first vision of my childhood; it will descend with me to the grave. But if, as a man, I venerate the mention of America, what must be my feelings towards her as an Irishman! Never, O! never, while memory remains, can Ireland forget the home of her emigrant, and the asylum of her exile. No matter whether their sorrows sprung from the errors of enthusiasm, or the realities of suffering; from fancy or infliction that must be reserved for the scrutiny of those whom the lapse of time shall acquit of partiality. It is for the men of other ages to investigate and record it, but, surely, it is for the men of every age to hail the hospitality that received the shelterless, and love the feeling that befriended the unfortunate. Search creation round, where can you find a country that presents so sublime a view, so interesting an anticipation? What noble institutions! What a comprehensive policy! What a wise equalization of every political advantage! The oppressed of all countries, the martyr of every creed, the innocent victim of despotic ar rogance or superstitious frenzy, may there find refuge; his industry encouraged, his piety respected, his ambition animated; with no restraint but those laws which are the same to all, and no distinction but that which his merit may originate. Who can deny, that the existence of such a country presents a subject for human congratulation! Who can deny, that its gigantic advancement offers a field for the most rational conjecture! At the end of the very next century, if she proceeds as she seems to promise, what a won drous spectacle may she not exhibit! Who shall say for what purpose a mysterious Providence may not have designed her! Who shall say, that, when, in its follies or its crimes, the old world may have interred all the pride of its power, and all the pomp of its civilization, human nature may not find its destined renovation in the new! For myself, I have no doubt of it. I have not the least doubt, that, when our temples and our trophies shall have mouldered into dust; when the glories of our name shall be but the legend of tradition, and the light of our achievements live only in song; philosophy will rise again in the sky of her Franklin, and glory rekindle at the urn of her Washington. Is this the vision of a romantic fancy? Is it even improbable? Is it half so improbable as the events which, for the last twenty years, have rolled like successive tides over the surface of the European world, each erasing the impression that preceded it? Thousands upon thousands, sir, I know there are, who will consider this supposition as wild and whimsical: but they have dwelt, with little reflection, upon the records of the past. They have but ill observed the never-ceasing progress of national rise* and national ruin. They form their judgement on the deceitful stability of the present hour, never considering the innumerable monarchies and republics, in former days, apparently as permanent, whose very existence has now become the subject of speculation, I had almost said of skepticism. I appeal to History! Tell me, thou reverend chronicler of the grave, can all the illusions of ambition realize, can all the wealth of a universal commerce, can all the achievements of successful heroism, or all the esta blishments of this world's wisdom, secure to empire the permanency of its possessions? Alas! Troy thought so once; yet the land of Priam lives only in song! Thebes thought so once; yet her hundred gates have crumbled, and her vory tombs are but as the dust they were vainly intend * Not rize. ed to commemorate! So thought Palmyra-where is she? So thought the countries of Demosthenes and the Spartan; yet Leonidas is trampled by the timid slave, and Athens insulted by the servile, mindless, and ener'vate Ottoman! In his hurried march, Time has but looked at their imagined immortality; and all its vanities, from the palace to the tomb, have, with their ruins, erased the very impression of his footsteps! The days of their glory are as if they had never been; and the island, that was then a speck, rude and neglected in the barren ocean, now rivals the ubiquity* of their commerce, the glory of their arms, the fame of their philosophy, the eloquence of their senate, and the inspiration of their bards! Who shall say, then, contemplating the past, that England, proud and potent as she appears, may not, one day, be what Athens is, and the young America yet soar to be what Athens was! Who shall say, that, when the European column shall have mouldered, and the night of barbarism obscured its very ruins, that mighty continent may not emerge from the horizon, to rule, for its time, sovereign of the ascendant! * * * * Sir, it matters very little what immediate spot may have been the birth-placet of such a man as WASHINGTON No people can claim, no country can appropriate him. The boon of Providence to the human race, his fame is eternity, and his residence creation. Though it was the defeat of our arms, and the disgrace of our policy, I almost bless the convulsion in which he had his origin. If the heavens thundered, and the earth rocked, yet, when the storm had passed, how pure was the climate that it cleared! how bright, in the brow of the firmament, was the planet which it revealed to us! In the production of Washington, it does really appear as if Nature was endeavouring to improve upon herself, and that all the virtues of the ancient world were but so many studies preparatory to the patriot of the new. Individual instances, no doubt, there were, splendid exemplifications, of some single qualification: Cæsar was merciful, Scipio was continent, Hannibal was patient; but it was reserved for Washington to blend them all in one, and, like the lovely masterpiece of the Grecian artist, to exhibit, in one glow of associated beauty, the pride of every model, and the perfection of every master. As a general, he marshalled the peasant into a veteran, and supplied by discipline the absence of experience; as a statesman, he + Not moddle. *Pron, ū-bĭc'-wě-ty. † bĕrth-place. |