The following is an extract from one of the most celebrated speeches, On Conciliation with America, of Edmund Burke (1730-1797), the most eloquent of British orators.  This speech was delivered in the House of Commons, 1775, at the time when Lord North was urging his insidious measures for the division of the American colonies.

   These, sir, are my reasons for not entertaining that high opinion of untried force, by which many gentlemen, for whose sentiments in other particulars I have great respect, seem to be so greatly captivated.  But there is still behind a third consideration concerning this object, which serves to determine my opinion on the sort of policy which ought to be pursued in the management of America, even more than its population and its commerce:  I mean its temper and character.
     In this character of the Americans, a love of free is the predominating feature which marks and distinguishes the whole; and, as an ardent is always a jealous affection, your colonies become suspicious, restive, and untractable, whenever they see the least attempt to wrest from them by force, or shuffle from them by chicane, what they think the only advantage worth living for.  This fierce spirit of liberty is stronger in the English colonies, probably, than in any other people of the earth; which, to understand the true temper of their minds, and the direction which this spirit takes, it will not be amiss to lay open somewhat more largely.
     The people of the colonies are descendants of Englishmen.  England, sir, is a nation, which still, I hope, respects, and formerly adored, her freedom.  The colonists emigrated from you when this part of your character was most predominant; and they took this bias and direction the moment they parted from your hands. They are therefore not only devoted to liberty, but to liberty according to English ideas, and on English principles.  Their governments are popular in a high degree; some are merely popular; in all, the popular representative is the most weighty; and this share of the people in their ordinary government never fails to inspire them with lofty sentiments, and with a strong aversion from whatever tends to deprive them of their chief importance.
     Permit me, sir, to add another circumstance in our colonies, which contributes no mean part towards the growth and effect of this untractable spirit.  I mean their education.
     In no country, perhaps, in the world, is the law so general a study.  the profession itself is numerous and powerful, and in most provinces it takes the lead.  The great number of the deputies sent to the Congress were lawyers.  This study renders men acute, inquisitive, dexterous, prompt in attack, ready in defense, full of resources.  In other countries, the people, more simple, and of a less mercurial cast, judge of an ill principle in government only by an actual grievance:  here they anticipate the evil, and judge of the pressure of the grievance by the badness of the principle.  They augur misgovernment at a distance, and snuff the approach of tyranny in every tainted breeze.
     The last cause of this disobedient spirit in the colonies is hardly less powerful than the rest, as it is not merely moral, but laid deep in the natural constitution of things.  Three thousand miles of ocean lie between you and them.  No contrivance can prevent the effect of this distance in weakening government.  Seas roll, and months pass, between the order and the execution; and the want of a speedy explanation of a single point is enough to defeat a whole system.  You have, indeed, wingéd ministers of vengeance, who carry your bolts in their pounces to the remotest verge of the sea.  But there is a power steps in, that limits the arrogance of raging passions and furious elements, and says, "So far shalt thou go, and no farther."
     Who are you, that you should fret and rage, and bite the chains of nature?  Nothing worse happens to you than does to all nations who have extensive empire; and it happens in all the forms into which empire can be thrown.  In large bodies, the circulation of power must be less vigorous at the extremities.  This is the immutable condition, the eternal law, of extensive and detached empire.
     From all these sources, a fiercer spirit of liberty has grown up.  It has grown with the growth of the people in your colonies, and increased with the increase of their wealth, — a spirit, that unhappily meeting with an exercise of power in England, which, however lawful, is not reconcilable to any ideas of liberty, much less with theirs, has kindled this flame that is ready to consume us.

Notes:
These ... reasons = In a previous part of his speech, Burke had shown, from minute consideration of the state and circumstances of America that force was an inadequate instrument for holding such a people in subjection to the mother country.
untractable - intractable
chicane = fraudulent craft
part ... predominant = This reference is to the fact that the early emigrations to New England took place at a time when the Puritan revolt against the tyranny of the Stuarts was preparing the civil war which resulted in the dethronement and beheading of Charles I.
popular = springing from the people
merely popular = In some of the colonies, all the officers of government were chosen directly by the people:  in others, the governor and some of the magistrates were appointed by the Crown, but were unable to act without the co-operation of the local assemblies.
contributes no mean part = contributes a great part
the Congress ... the first Continental Congress which meet in 1774
mercurial = lively, quick-witted
snuff ... breeze = a strong metaphor
wingéd ministers = British ships of war
bolts ... pounces = an allusion to the thunderbolts placed by the Greek artists in the talons of the eagle, the bird of Jove.

     Right and wrong, justice and crime, exist independently of our country.  A public wrong is not a private right for any citizen.  The citizen is a man bound to know and do the right, and the nation is but an aggregation of citizens.  If a man should shout, "My country, by whatever means extended and unbounded; my country, right or wrong!" he merely repeats the words of the thief who steals in the street, or the trader who swears falsely at the customhouse, both of them chuckling, "My fortune, however acquired."
     Thus, gentlemen, we see that a man's country is not a certain area of land, — of mountains, rivers, and woods, — but it is principle; and patriotism is loyalty to that principle.
     In poetic minds and in popular enthusiasm, this feeling becomes closely associated with the soil and symbols of the country.  But the secret sanctification of the soil and the symbol is the idea which they represent; and this idea the patriot admires through the name and the symbol.
     So, with passionate heroism, of which tradition is never weary of tenderly telling, Arnold von Winkelried gathers into his bosom the sheaf of foreign spears, that his death may give life to his country.  So Nathan Hale, disdaining no serve that his country demands, perishes untimely, with no other friend than God and the satisfied sense of duty.  So George Washington, at once comprehending the scope of the destiny to which his country was devoted, with one hand puts aside the crown, and with the other sets his slaves free.  So, through all history from the beginning, a noble army of martyrs has fought fiercely and fallen bravely for that unseen mistress, their country.  So, through all history to the end, as long as men believe in God, that army must still march and fight and fall, — recruited only from the flower of mankind, cheered only by their hope of humanity, strong only in their confidence in their cause.

Note:
secret = real, inner
Nathan Hale = American patriot
crown = In 1782, certain Continental army officers wrote to Washington urging him to assume the place and title of king.  Washington replied, "You should not have found a person to whom your schemes are more disagreeable."
the flower of mankind = the best and most heroic of men

Joseph Warren was born at Roxbury, Massachusetts, 11 June 1741 and adopted the medical profession.  He was one of the patriots who stood out against the first British aggressions.  In 1774 he was President of the Massachusetts Provincial Congress, and the following year was made a major-general.  At the battle of Bunker Hill, thought offered the chief command, he refused, and served as a volunteer, musket in hand.  He was killed in this action.  Before the battle he said to a friend, "I know that I may fall, but where's the man who does not think it glorious and delightful to die for his country?"

Stand ! the ground's your own, my braves !
Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
    Hope ye mercy still?
What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle peal !
Read it on yon bristling steel !
    Ask it — ye who will.

Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you !  They're afire !
    And, before you, see
Who have done it !  From the vale
On they come ! and will ye quail !
Leaden rain and iron hail
    Let their welcome be !

In the God of battles trust !
Die we may — and die we must;
But, O where can dust to dust
    Be consigned so well,
As where heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyred patriot's bed,
And the rocks shall raise their head,
    Of his deeds to tell !

Note:
They're afire = At the beginning of the battle of Bunker Hill (or Breed's Hill), the village of Charlestown, situated near that height, was set on fire by order of the British commander

This burst of eloquence is from Daniel Webster's celebrated oration, delivered on the occasion of the laying of the cornerstone of Bunkerhill Monument on 17 June 1825 on the fiftieth anniversary of the battle in the presence of a vast multitude of people among whom were Lafayette and the survivors of the battle.

     Venerable men ! you have come down to us from a former generation.  Heaven has bounteously lengthened out your lives, that you may behold this 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 canon, you see no mixed volumes of smoke and flame rising from burning Charlestown.  The ground strewed with the dead and 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 today with the sight of its whole happy population, come out to welcome and greet you with a universal jubilee.  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 defense.  All is peace; and God has granted you this sight of your country's happiness, ere you slumber in the grave.  He has allowed you to behold and partake the reward of your patriotic toils; and He has allowed us, your sons and countrymen, to meet you here, and in the name of the present generation, in the name of your country, in the name of liberty, to thank you.
     But, alas ! you are not all here !  Time and the sword have thinned your ranks.  Prescott, Putnam, Stark, Brooks, Read, Pomeroy, Bridge ! our eyes seek for you in vain amid this broken band.  You are gathered to your fathers, and live only to your country in her grateful remembrance and your own bright example.  But let us not too much grieve, that you have met the common fate of men.  You lived at least long enough to know that your work had been nobly and successfully accomplished.  You lived to see your country's independence established, and to sheathe your swords from war.  On the light of liberty you saw arise the light of peace, like

and the sky on which you closed your eyes was cloudless.
     But ah !  Him ! the first great martyr in this great cause !  Him ! the premature victim of his own self-devoting heart !  Him ! the head of our civil councils, and the , and the destined leader of our military bands, whom nothing brought hither but the unquenchable fire of his own spirit!  Him ! cut off by Providence in the hour of overwhelming anxiety and thick gloom; falling ere he saw the star of his country rise; pouring out his generous blood like water, before he knew whether it would fertilize a land of freedom or of bondage ! — how shall I struggle with the emotions that stifle the utterance of thy name !  Our poor work may perish, but thine shall endure.  This monument may molder away; the solid ground it rests upon may sink down to a level with the sea:  but thy memory shall not fail.  Wheresoever among men a heart shall be found that beats to the transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspirations shall be to claim kindred with thy spirit.

Note:
metropolis = Boston
Prescott ... Bridge = These were all distinguished officers in the battle of Bunker Hill.  This whole passage is an example of the figure of speech called vision.  
Him = The word "Him" refers to the patriot Warren.

Biographical Note:
Daniel Webster's (1782-1852) ancestors were Puritans and came from England.  His family settled in New Hampshire in 1636.  The Websters were numerous in this colony, and Daniel's father, Ebenezer Webster, did noteworthy serve in the French and Indian War.  He also captured two hundred fellow settlers in the battles of the War of Independence.  His father became a judge in his own town, Salisbury, New Hampshire, though he never had a day of "formal" schooling in his life.  Daniel was born in this town 18 January 1782.  When young he was frail, and because of this was kept out of private/community school for a time, yet he learned much from nature, from everything he could find to read, and from committing good literature to memory.  He was sent to Phillips Exeter Academy when fourteen years old, but in February 1797 he was put under a private teacher, and was overjoyed when he learned that his father, poor as he was, intended to send him to college.  According to accepted standards, Daniel was poorly prepared to enter Dartmouth College in August 1797.  However, once in, he became the foremost student there.  He was proficient in Latin, and in knowledge of history and literature was superior to any other student in Dartmouth.  He graduated in 1801, and entered the law office of a neighboring lawyer.  In order to keep his older brother in college at Dartmouth, Daniel gave up his law studies and began to teach school in Maine.  He was a successful teacher.  Later, after his brother graduated, he went to Boston and was admitted to the practice of law in 1805.  He was opposed to the War of 1812.  This opposition led him to make public addresses, and as a result he was sent to Congress twice.  He was Secretary of State under Harrison and Tyler (1841), and when Fillmore became President in 1850, became the second time Secretary of State.  He was twice an unsuccessful candidate for the presidency, 1844 and 1848.  Webster died 23 October 1852.  He is considered one of the most remarkable men in American history.

Bunker Hill Monument Note:
The monument on Bunker Hill was erected to Dr. Joseph Warren, who was shot down by the British forces in the battle of Bunker Hill, 16 June 1775.  Warren was a major-general in the Continental Army.  This monument was dedicated to the cause of the republic and liberty on 17 June 1825, half a century after the battle.  Daniel Webster was the president of the Bunker Hill Monument Association at the time of the laying of the corner stone.  General Lafayette assisted Webster in the ceremony.  It is said that fully 20,000 people were present, among them 200 veterans of the War of Independence.  The celebration of the completion of the monument was held 17 June 1843, at which time Webster, then Secretary of State, was again the orator.  The monument itself is a noteworthy achievement, being built of granite and rising to the height of 128 feet.  This oration is unquestionably a work of art and a masterpiece of literature (the above is an excerpt).  It offers the student an excellent opportunity to study good style in oratory.  The unity of the oration is pronouncedly noticeable.  Among other things, the reader should note Webster's deep feeling of the great changes during fifty years of our history, and the great influence of our country on human freedom and human happiness.

Slowly the mist o'er the meadow was creeping,
Bright on the dewy buds glistened the sun,
When from his couch, while his children were sleeping,
Rose the bold rebel, and shouldered his gun,
    Waving her golden veil
    Over the silent dale,
Blithe looked the morning on cottage and spire;
    Hushed was his parting sigh,
    While from his noble eye
Flashed the last sparkle of liberty's fire.

On the smooth green, where the fresh leaf is springing,
Calmly the first-born of glory have met.
Hark ! the death volley around them is ringing !
Look ! with their life blood the young grass is wet !
    Faint is the feeble breath,
   Murmuring low in death, —
"Tell to our sons how their fathers have died;"
    Nerveless the iron hand,
    Raised for its native land,
Lies by the weapon that gleams at its side.

Over the hillsides the knell is tolling,
From their far hamlets the yeomanry come;
As through the storm clouds the thunder burst rolling,
Circles the beat of the mustering drum.
    Fast on the soldier's path
    Darken the waves of wrath:
Long have they gathered, and loud shall they fall;
    Red glares the musket's flash,
    Sharp rings the rifle's crash,
Blazing and clanging from thicket and wall.

Gaily the plume of the horseman was dancing,
Never to shadow his cold brow again;
Proudly at morning the war steed was prancing;
Reeking and panting he droops on the rein;
    Pale is the lip of scorn,
    Voiceless the trumpet horn,
Torn is the silken-fringed red cross on high;
    Many a belted breast
    Low on the turf shall rest,
Ere the dark hunters the herd have passed by.

Snow-girdled crags where the hoarse wind is raving,
Rocks where the weary floods murmur and wail,
Wilds where the fern by the furrow is waving,
Reeled with the echoes that rode on the gale;
    Far as the tempest thrills
    Over the darkened hills,
Far as the sunshine streams over the plain,
    Roused by the tyrant band,
    Woke all the mighty land,
Girded for battle, from mountain to main.

Green be the graves where her martyrs are lying !
Shroud less and tombless they sank to their rest, —
While o'er their ashes the starry fold flying
Wraps the proud eagle they roused from his nest !
    Borne on her Northern pine,
    Long o'er the foaming brine,
Spread her broad banner to storm and to sun:
    Heaven keep her ever free,
    Wide as o'er land and sea
Floats the fair emblem her heroes have won !

Note:
first born of glory = those who were the first to fight for American Independence
nerveless = without strength, weak
iron = firm,steady
yeomanry = farmers
lip of scorn = British officers who scornfully said the colonial militia could not fight
red cross = banner of England has a red cross on it
Ere ... by = Before the British fugitives have made their escape from the ambushed colonists
Northern pine = the American navy, the vessels of were built from Maine pine forests
foaming brine = brine means salt; the ocean
emblem = flag

In the three days' debate (2-4 July 1776) in the Continental Congress, on the adoption of the Declaration of Independence, the most ardent and eloquent champion of the measure was John Adams of Massachusetts.  There is no report of his speeches; but from traditional hints as to their tenor and language, Daniel Webster composed the following masterly speech, which represents the sentiments, if not the language, of Adams.

     Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote.  It is true, indeed that in the beginning we aimed not at independence.  But

The injustice of England has driven me to arms; and, blinded to her own interest, she has obstinately persisted, till independence is now within our grasp.  We have but to reach forth to it, and it is ours.  Why, then, should we defer the Declaration?
     Is any man so weak, as now to hope for a reconciliation with England, which shall leave either safety to the country and its liberties, or security to his own life and his own honor?  Are not you, sir, who sit in that chair, is not he, our venerable colleague, near you, — are you not both already the proscribed and predestined objects of punishment and of vengeance?  Cut off from all hope of royal clemency, what are you, what can you be, while the power of England remains, but outlaws?
     If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on, or to give up, the war?  Do we mean to submit, and consent that we shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust?  I know we do not mean to submit.  We NEVER shall submit!
     Do we intend to violate that most solemn obligation ever entered into by men, that plighting, before God, of our sacred honor to Washington, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of war as well s the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him in every extremity with our fortunes and our lives?  I know there is not a man here who would not rather see a general conflagration sweep over the land, or an earthquake sink it, than one jot or tittle of that plighted faith fall to the ground.  For myself, having twelve months ago, in this place, moved you, that George Washington be appointed commander of the forces raised, or to be raised, for the defense of American liberty, may my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or wave in the support I give to him.
     The war, then, must go on.  We must fight it through.  And, if the war must go on, why put off the Declaration of Independence?  That measure will strengthen us.  It will give us character abroad.  Nations will then treat with us, which they never can do while we acknowledge ourselves subjects in arms against our sovereign.  Nay, I maintain that England herself will sooner treat for peace with us on the footing of independence, than consent, by repealing her acts, to acknowledge that her whole conduct toward us has been a course of injustice and oppression.  Her pride will be less wounded by submitting to that course of things, which now predestinates our independence, than by yielding the points in controversy to her rebellious subjects.  The former, she would regard as the result of fortune:  the latter, she would feel as her own deep disgrace.  Why, then, do we not change this from a civil to a national war?  And, since we must fight it through, why not put ourselves in a state to enjoy all the benefits of victory, if we gain the victory?  If we fail, it can be no worse for us.
     But we shall not fail.  The cause will raise up armies; the cause will create navies.  The people — the people, if we are true to them, will carry us, and will carry themselves, gloriously through this struggle.  I care not how fickle other people have been found.  I know the people of these colonies; and I know that resistance to British aggression is deep and settled in their hearts, and cannot be eradicated.
     Sir, the Declaration of Independence will inspire the people with increased courage.  Instead of a long and bloody war for the restoration of privileges, for redress of grievances, for chartered immunities, held under a British king, set before them the glorious object of entire independence, and it will breathe into them anew the spirit of life.
     Read this Declaration at the head of the army:  every sword will be drawn, and the solemn vow uttered to maintain it, or perish on the bed of honor.  Publish it from the pulpit:  religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling around it, resolved to stand with it or fall with it.  Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there.  Let them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and Concord, and the very walls will cry out in its support.
     Sir, I know the uncertainty of human affairs; but I see — I see clearly through this day's business.  You and I, indeed, may rue it.  We may not live to see the time this Declaration shall be made good.  We may die; die colonists; die slaves; die, it may be, ignominiously, and on the scaffold.  Be it so:  be it so.  If it be the pleasure of Heaven that my country shall require the poor offering of my life, the victim shall be ready at the appointed hour of sacrifice, come when that hour may.  But while I do live, let me have a country, or at least the hope of a country, and that a FREE country.
     But whatever may be our fate, be assured — be assured that this Declaration will stand.  It may cost treasure, and it may cost blood; but it will stand, and it will richly compensate for both.  Through the thick gloom of the present I see the brightness of the future as the sun in heaven.  We shall make this a glorious, an immortal day.  When we are in our graves, our children will honor it.  They will celebrate it with thanksgiving, with festivity, with bonfires, and illuminations.  On its annual return they will shed tears, — copious, gushing tears; not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy.
     Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come.  My judgment approves the measure, and my whole heart is in it.  All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off as I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the Declaration.  It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it shall be my dying sentiment:  independence now, and INDEPENDENCE FOR EVER.

Note:
There's ... ends = this is a quotation from Shakespeare's play Hamlet
you sir = John Hancock of Massachusetts was the President of the second Continental Congress
venerable colleague = refers to Benjamin Franklin, who, next to Adams, did most for the adoption of the Declaration.
predestinates = governs / makes sure in advance

Where may the wearied eye repose,
   When gazing on the great,
Where neither guilty glory glows,
   Nor despicable state?
Yes, one, — the first, the last, the best, —
The Cincinnatus of the West,
   Whom envy dared not hate,
Bequeathed the name of WASHINGTON,
To make man blush there was but one.

Note:
repose = rest
the great = those high in station, e.g., rulers
state = pomp, appearance of greatness
guilty glory = Napoleon whose character is in stark contrast to Washington
despicable state = Napoleon whose character is in stark contrast to Washington
Cincinnatus = Old Roman farmer/patriot called from his plow (B.C. 458) to save the Roman army, being made dictator.  He defeated the enemy and, after holding supreme power for sixteen days, returned to his farm
the West = New World
The Cincinnatus of the West = American patriot

There was tumult in the city,
     In the quaint old Quaker town,
And the streets were rife with people
     Pacing restless up and down;
People gathering at corners,
     Where they whispered each to each,
And the sweat stood on their temples,
     With the earnestness of speech.

As the bleak Atlantic currents
     Lash the wild Newfoundland shore,
So they beat against the State House,
     So they surged against the door;
And the mingling of their voices
     Made a harmony profound,
Till the quiet street of chestnuts
     Was all turbulent with sound.

"Will they do it?"   "Dare they do it?"
     "Who is speaking?"    "What's the news?"
"What of Adams?"     "What of Sherman?"
     "O, God grant they won't refuse !"
"Make some way, there!"    "Let me nearer!"
     "I am stifling !" — "Stifle, then:
When a nation's life's at hazard,
     We've no time to think of men !"

So they beat against the portal —
     Man and woman, maid and child;
And the July sun in heaven
     On the scene looked down and smiled;
The same sun that saw the Spartan
     Shed his patriot blood in vain,
Now beheld the soul of freedom
     All unconquered rise again.

Aloft in that high steeple
     Sat the bellman, old and gray;
He was weary of the tyrant
     And his iron-sceptered sway;
So he sat with one hand ready
     On the clapper of the bell,
When his eye should catch the signal,
     Very happy news to tell.

See ! see ! the dense crowd quivers
     Through all its lengthy line,
As the boy beside the portal
     Looks forth to give the sign!
With his small hands upward lifted,
     Breezes dallying with his hair,
Hark ! with deep, clear intonation,
     Breaks his young voice on the air.

Hushed the people's swelling murmur,
     List the boy's strong joyous cry!
"Ring!" he shouts aloud; "ring ! Grandpa !
     Ring !  O, ring for Liberty !"
And straight way, at the signal,
     The old bellman lifts his hand,
And sends the good news, making
     Iron music through the land.

How they shouted !  What rejoicing!
     How the old bell shook the air,
Till the clang of freedom ruffled
     The calm gliding Delaware !
How the bonfires and the torches
     Illumed the night's repose,
And from the flames, like Phoenix,
     Fair Liberty arose !

That old bell now is silent,
     And hushed its iron tongue,
But the spirit it awakened
     Still lives — forever young.
And while we greet the sunlight
     On the Fourth of each July,
We'll ne'er forget the bellman,
     Who, 'twist the earth and sky,
Rung out our Independence,
     Which, please God, shall never die !

Note:
Quaker town = Philadelphia
street of chestnuts = Chestnut Street
Adams = John Adams, a delegate from Massachusetts to the Continental Congress.  He was the principal champion of the Declaration of Independence
Sherman = Roger Sherman, a delegate from Connecticut
the Spartan = In 480 B.C., three hundred Greeks belonging to the state of Sparta and under the leadership of Leonidas, all perished in defending the Pass of Thermopylae against the Persian invaders who came to destroy the liberties of Greece
illumed = illuminated, lighted up
Phoenix = fabled bird, according to the Greeks, rose from its own ashes

General Francis Marion (born in South Carolina in 1732) won great fame in the War for Independence.  With a small force of irregular or partisan troops he greatly harassed the British in South Carolina.  He had his camp in a swampy and wooded island, and from there he would secretly sally forth and strike swift and telling blows at the enemy.  Others know General Francis Marion by his well-earned nickname of "The Swamp Fox".

Our band is few, but true and tried, our leader frank and bold:
The British soldier trembles when Marion's name is told.
Our fortress is the good greenwood, our tent the cypress tree:
We know the forest round us, as seamen know the sea;
We know its walls of thorny vines, its glades of reedy grass,
It's safe and silent islands within the dark morass.

Woe to the English soldiery that little dread us near !
On them shall light at midnight a strange and sudden fear;
When, waking to their tents on fire, they grasp their arms in vain,
And they who stand to face us are beat to earth again;
And they who fly in terror deem a mighty host behind,
And hear the tramp of thousands upon the hollow wind.

Then sweet the hour that brings release from danger and from toil !
We talk the battle over, and share the battle's spoil;
The woodland rings with laugh and shout, as if a hunt were up,
And woodland flowers are gathered to crown the soldier's cup.
With merry songs we mock the wind that in the pine top grieves,
And slumber long and sweetly on beds of oaken leaves.

Well knows the fair and friendly moon the band that Marion leads, —
The glitter of their rifles, the scampering of their steeds.
'Tis life to guide the fiery barb across the moonlit plain;
'Tis life to feel the night wind that lifts his tossing main:
A moment in the British camp, — a moment, and away
Back to the pathless forest before the peep of day.

Grave men there are by broad Santee, grave men with hoary hairs, —
Their hearts are all with Marion, for Marion are their prayers.
And lovely ladies greet our band with kindliest welcoming,
With smiles like those of summer and tears like those of spring.
For them we wear these trusty arms, and lay them down no more,
Till we have driven the Briton for ever from our shore.

After Washington's retreat from Long Island in September, 1776, he needed information as to the British strength and fortifications.  Captain Nathan Hale, a fine young American officer of twenty-one, volunteered to get the information.  While inside the enemy's lines he was taken prisoner, and hanged as a spy.  His last words were, "I only regret that I have but one life to lose for my country."

To drum beat and heartbeat,
    A soldier marches by:
There is color in his cheek,
    There is courage in his eye, —
Yet to drum beat and heartbeat
    In a moment he must die.

By starlight and moonlight,
    He seeks the Briton's camp:
He hears the rustling flag,
    And the arméd sentry's tramp;
And the starlight and moonlight
    His silent wanderings lamp.

With slow tread and still tread
    He scans the tented line,
And he counts the battery guns
    By the gaunt and shadowy pine;
And his slow tread and still tread
   Gives no warning sign.

The dark wave, the plumed wave,
    It meets his eager glance;
And it sparkles 'neath the stars
    Like the glimmer of a lance, —
A dark wave, a plumed wave,
    On an emerald expanse.

A sharp clang, a steel clang,
    And terror in the sound !
For the sentry, falcon-eyed,
    In the camp a spy hath found:
With a sharp clang, a steel clang,
    The patriot is bound.

With calm brow, steady brow,
    He listens to his doom:
In his look there is no fear,
    Nor a shadow trace of gloom;
But with calm brow and steady brow
    He robes him for the tomb.

In the long night, the still night,
    He kneels upon the sod;
And the brutal guards withhold
    E'en the solemn Word of God !
In the long night, the still night,
    He walks where Christ hath trod.

'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn,
    He dies upon the tree;
And he mourns that he can lose
    But one life for liberty:
And in the blue morn, the sunny morn,
    His spirit wings are free.

From the Fame-leaf and Angel-leaf,
    From monument and urn,
The sad of earth, the glad of heaven,
    His tragic fate shall learn;
And on Fame-leaf and on Angel-leaf
    The name of HALE shall burn

Note:
lamp = light
scans = carefully examines

In September 1781, Washington appeared before Yorktown, Virginia, held by the British army under Lord Cornwallis.  With the French and American forces Washington began a regular siege, which lasted for three weeks, when the British commander surrendered his army of over seven thousand men.  Count Rochambeau was in command of the French allies at the siege.

From Yorktown's ruins, ranked and still,
Two lines stretch far o'er vale and hill:
Who curbs his steed at head of one?
Hark ! the low murmur:  Washington !
Who bends his keen, approving glance
Where down the gorgeous line of France
Shine knightly star and plume of snow?
Thou too art victor, Rochambeau !

The earth which bears this calm array
Shook with the war charge yesterday;
Plowed deep with hurrying hoof and wheel,
Shot down and bladed thick with steel;
October's clear and noonday sun
Paled in the breath-smoke of the gun;
And down night's double blackness fell,
Like a dropped star, the blazing shell.

Now all is hushed:  the gleaming lines
Stand moveless as the neighboring pines;
While through them, sullen, grim, and slow,
The conquered hosts of England go:
O'Hara's brow belies his dress,
Gay Tarleton's troop ride bannerless:
Shout, from thy fired and wasted homes,
Thy scourge, Virginia, captive comes !

Nor thou alone:  with one glad voice
Let all thy sister States rejoice;
Let Freedom, in whatever clime
She waits with sleepless eye her time,
Shouting from cave and mountain wood,
Make glad her desert solitude,
While they who hunt her quail with fear:
The New World's chain lies broken here.

Written for, and sung at the fourth Anniversary of the Massachusetts Charitable Fire Society, 1798.

YE sons of Columbia, who bravely have fought,
For those rights, which unstained from your Sires had descended,
May you long taste the blessings your valour has brought,
And your sons reap the soil which their fathers defended.
'Mid the region of mild Peace,
May your nation increase,
With the glory of Rome, and the wisdom of Greece;
And ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.

In a clime, whose rich vales feed the marts of the world,
Whose shores are unshaken by Europe's commotion,
The trident of Commerce should never be hurled,
To incense the legitimate powers of the ocean.
But should pirates invade,
Though in thunder arrayed,
Let your cannon declare the free charter of trade.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

The fame of our arms, of our laws the mild sway,
Had justly ennobled our nation in story,
'Till the dark clouds of faction obscured our young day,
And enveloped the sun of American glory.
But let traitors be told,
Who their country have sold,
And bartered their God for his image in gold,
That ne'er will the sons, &c.

While France her huge limbs bathes recumbent in blood,
And Society's base threats with wide dissolution;
May Peace like the dove, who returned from the flood,
Find an ark of abode in our mild constitution
But though Peace is our aim,
Yet the boon we disclaim,
If bought by our Sov'reignty, Justice or Fame.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

'Tis the fire of the flint, each American warms;
Let Rome's haughty victors beware of collision,
Let them bring all the vassals of Europe in arms,
We're a world by ourselves, and disdain a division.
While with patriot pride,
To our laws we're allied,
No foe can subdue us, no faction divide.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Our mountains are crowned with imperial oak;
Whose roots, like our liberties, ages have nourished;
But lone e'er our nation submits to the yoke,
Not a tree shall be left on the field where it flourished.
Should invasion impend,
Every grove would descend,
From the hill-tops, they shaded, our shores to defend.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Let our patriots destroy Anarch's pestilent worm;
Lest our Liberty's growth should be checked by corrosion;
Then let clouds thicken round us; we heed not the storm;
Our realm fears no shock, but the earth's own explosion.
Foes assail us in vain,
Though their fleets bridge the main,
For our altars and laws with our lives we'll maintain.
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Should the Tempest of War overshadow our land,
Its bolts could ne'er rend Freedom's temple asunder;
For, unmoved, at its portal, would Washington stand,
And repulse, with his Breast, the assaults of the thunder!
His sword, from the sleep
Of its scabbard would leap,
And conduct, with its point, ev'ry flash to the deep!
For ne'er shall the sons, &c.

Let Fame to the world sound America's voice;
No intrigues can her sons from their government sever;
Her pride is her Adams; Her laws are his choice,
And shall flourish, till Liberty slumbers for ever.
Then unite heart and hand,
Like Leonidas' band,
And swear to the God of the ocean and land;
That ne'er shall the sons of Columbia be slaves,
While the earth bears a plant, or the sea rolls its waves.

Special Note:  this was to be sung to the tune of the English drinking song To Anacreon in Heaven

FROM a junto that labor for absolute power,
Whose schemes disappointed have made them look sour;
From the lords of the council, who fight against freedom
Who still follow on where delusion shall lead 'em.

From groups at St. James's who slight our Petitions,
And fools that are waiting for further submissions;
From a nation whose manners are rough and abrupt,
From scoundrels and rascals whom gold can corrupt.

From pirates sent out by command of the king
To murder and plunder, but never to swing;
From Wallace, and Graves, and Vipers and Roses,
Whom, if Heaven pleases, we'll give bloody noses.

From the valiant Dunmore, with his crew of banditti
Who plunder Virginians at Williamsburg city,
From hot-headed Montague, mighty to swear,
The little fat man with his pretty white hair.

From bishops in Britain, who butchers are grown,
From slaves that would die for a smile from the throne,
From assemblies that vote against Congress' proceedings,
(Who now see the fruit of their stupid misleadings).

From Tryon, the mighty, who flies from our city,
And swelled with importance, disdains the committee;
(But since he is pleased to proclaim us his foes,
What the devil care we where the devil he goes.)

From the caitiff, Lord North, who would bind us in chains,
From our noble King Log, with his toothful of brains,
Who dreams, and is certain (when taking a nap)
He has conquered our lands as they lay on his map.

From a kingdom that bullies, and hectors, and swears,
I send up to Heaven my wishes and prayers
That we, disunited, may freemen be still,
And Britain go on — to be damn'd if she will.

There is a tide in the affairs of men, a nick of time.  We perceive it now before us. To hesitate is to consent to our own slavery.

That noble instrument upon your table, that insures immortality to its author, should be subscribed this very morning by every pen in this house.  He that will not respond to its accents, and strain every nerve to carry into effect its provisions, is unworthy of the name of free man.

For my own part, of property, I have some; of reputation, more. That reputation is staked, that property is pledged on the issue of this contest; and although these grey hairs must soon descend into the sepulcher, I would infinitely rather that they descend thither by the hand of the executioner than desert at this crisis the sacred cause of my country.