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of Bunker Hill, we are but fifty years removed from it; and we now stand here, to enjoy all the blessings of our own condition, and to look abroad on the brightened prospects of the world, while we hold still among us some of those, who were active agents in the scenes of 1775, and who are now here, from every quarter of New England, to visit, once more, and under circumstances so affecting,—I had almost said so overwhelming,—this renowned theatre of their cou rage and patriotism.

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 neighbours, 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 Charlestown. The ground strowed 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. 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 and to 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 the scene amidst which we stand does not permit us to confine our thoughts or our sympathies to those fearless

spirits who hazarded or lost their lives on this consecrated spot. We have the happiness to rejoice here in the presence of a most worthy representation of the survivors of the whole revolutionary army.

Veterans! you are the remnant of many a well-fought field. You bring with you marks of honour from Trenton and Monmouth, from Yorktown, Camden, Bennington, and Saratoga. VETERANS OF HALF A CENTURY! when in your youthful days, you put every thing at hazard in your country's cause, good as that cause was, and sanguine as youth is, still your fondest hopes did not stretch onward to an hour like this! At a period to which you could not reasonably have expected to arrive; at a moment of national prosperity, such as you could never have foreseen; you are now met, here, to enjoy the fellowship of old soldiers, and to receive the overflowings of a universal gratitude.

But your agitated countenances and your heaving breasts inform me, that even this is not an unmixed joy. I perceive that a tumult of contending feelings rushes upon you. The images of the dead, as well as the persons of the living, throng to your embraces. The scene overwhelms you, and I turn from it. May the Father of all mercies smile upon your declining years, and bless them! And, when you shall here have exchanged your embraces; when you shall once more have pressed the hands which have been so often extended to give succour in adversity, or grasped in the exultation of victory; then look abroad into this lovely land, which your young valour defended, and mark the happiness with which it is filled; yea, look abroad into the whole earth, and see what a name you have contributed to give to your country, and what a praise you have added to freedom, and then rejoice in the sympathy and gratitude, which heam upon your last days from the improved condition of mankind.

LESSON CXXXII.

Hymn for the same Occasion.-ORIGINAL.

O, is not this a holy spot!

'Tis the high place of Freedom's birth!

God of our fathers! is it not

The holiest spot of all the earth?

Quenched is thy flame on Horeb's side;
The robber roams o'er Sinai now;
And those old men, thy seers, abide
No more on Zion's mournful brow.

But on this hill thou, Lord, hast dwelt,
Since round its head the war-cloud curled,
And wrapped our fathers, where they knelt
In prayer and battle for a world.

Here sleeps their dust: 'tis holy ground:
And we, the children of the brave,
From the four winds are gathered round,
To lay our offering on their grave.

Free as the winds around us blow,

Free as the waves below us spread,
We rear a pile, that long shall throw
Its shadow on their sacred bed.

But on their deeds no shade shall fall,
While o'er their couch thy sun shall flame:

Thine ear was bowed to hear their call,
And thy right hand shall guard their fame.

LESSON CXXXIII.

What's Hallowed Ground?-CAMPBELL.*

WHAT'S hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod

By man, the image of his God,

Erect and free,

Unscourged by Superstition's rod
To bow the knee?

That's hallowed ground, where, mourned and missed, The lips repose our love has kissed:

But where's their memory's mansion? Is't

Yon churchyard's bowers?

No! in ourselves their souls exist,

A part of ours.

From the New Monthly Magazine for Oct. 1825

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What hallows ground where heroes sleep
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap!-
In dews that heavens far distant weep
Their turf may bloom;

Or genii twine, beneath the deep,
Their coral tomb.

But, strow his ashes to the wind,
Whose sword or voice has served mankind,
And is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high ?--

To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die.

Is't death to fall for Freedom's right?
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight
The sword he draws:-

What can alone ennoble fight?
A noble cause!

Give that, and welcome War to brace
Her drums, and rend heaven's reeking space!—
The colours, planted face to face,

The charging cheer,

Though Death's pale horse lead on the chase, Shall still be dear:

And place our trophies where men kneel
To Heaven!-but Heaven rebukes my zeal!
The cause of truth and human weal,

O God above!

Transfer it from the sword's appeal

To Peace and Love.

Peace, Love the cherubim, that join
Their spread wings o'er Devotion's shrine---
Prayers sound in vain, and temples shine,
Where they are not.

The heart alone can make divine

Religion's spot.

What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!-
Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth
Earth's compass round;

And your high priesthood shall make earth.
All hallowed ground.

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, sır, 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

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