Evolution of Expression Volume Ii Part 6

CAS. Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humor which my mother gave me, Makes me forgetful?

BRU. Yes, Ca.s.sius; and from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.

SHAKESPEARE.

THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR.

I.

Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged; 'tis at a white heat now; The bellows ceased, the flames decreased; though on the forge's brow The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound; And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round, All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare; Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windla.s.s there.

II.

The windla.s.s strains the tackle chains, the black mound heaves below, And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe; It rises, roars, rends all outright--O Vulcan, what a glow!

'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright; the high sun s.h.i.+nes not so: The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery, fearful show;

III.

The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy, lurid row Of smiths, that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe; As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster slow Sinks on the anvil--all about the faces fiery grow-- "Hurrah!" they shout--"leap out!--leap out!" bang, bang, the sledges go.

IV.

Leap out, leap out, my masters! leap out and lay on load!

Let's forge a goodly anchor, a bower, thick and broad For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode, And I see the good s.h.i.+p riding, all in a perilous road; The low reef roaring on her lee, the roll of ocean poured From stem to stern, sea after sea, the main-mast by the board;

V.

The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains; But courage still, brave mariners, the bower yet remains, And not an inch to flinch he deigns save when ye pitch sky-high.

Then moves his head, as though he said, "Fear nothing--here am I!"

VI.

Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time, Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime; But while ye swing your sledges, sing, and let the burden be, The anchor is the anvil king, and royal craftsmen we.

VII.

Strike in, strike in; the sparks begin to dull their rustling red; Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped; Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery, rich array, For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay; Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here, For the yeo-heave-o, and the heave away, and the sighing seaman's cheer.

VIII.

In livid and obdurate gloom, he darkens down at last, A shapely one he is and strong, as e'er from cat was cast.

A trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou had'st life like me, What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep-green sea!

IX.

O deep-sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as thou?

The h.o.a.ry monster's palaces! methinks what joy 'twere now To go plump, plunging down amid the a.s.sembly of the whales, And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails!

Then deep in tanglewoods to fight the fierce sea-unicorn, And send him foiled and bellowing back, for all his ivory horn; To leave the subtle sworder-fish, of bony blade forlorn, And for the ghastly grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn.

X.

O broad-armed fisher of the deep, whose sports can equal thine?

The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy cable line; And night by night 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day, Through sable sea and breaker white, the giant game to play; But, shamer of our little sports, forgive the name I gave; A fisher's joy is to destroy--thine office is to save.

XI.

O lodger in the sea-king's halls, couldst thou but understand Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping band, Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend, With sounds like breakers in a dream, blessing their ancient friend; O couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round thee, Thine iron side would swell with pride, thou'dst leap within the sea!

XII.

Give honor to their memories, who left the pleasant strand To shed their blood so freely for the love of Fatherland-- Who left their chance of quiet age and gra.s.sy churchyard grave So freely for a restless bed amid the tossing wave-- O, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung, Honor him for their memory, whose bones he goes among!

S. FERGUSON.

SUPPOSED SPEECH OF JOHN ADAMS.

1. 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 there's a divinity which shapes our ends. The injustice of England has driven us to arms; and, blinded to her own interest for our good, 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?

2. 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 safety 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 prescribed 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?

3. If we postpone independence, do we mean to carry on or give up the war? Do we mean to submit to the measures of Parliament, Boston Port Bill, and all? Do we mean to submit, and consent that we ourselves shall be ground to powder, and our country and its rights trodden down in the dust?

4. 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 G.o.d, of our sacred honor to Was.h.i.+ngton, when, putting him forth to incur the dangers of war, as well as the political hazards of the times, we promised to adhere to him, in every extremity, with our fortunes and our lives?

5. 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 t.i.ttle of that plighted faith fall to the ground. For myself, having, twelve months ago, in this place, moved you that George Was.h.i.+ngton be appointed commander of the forces raised, or to be raised, for the defence of American liberty, may my right hand forget her cunning, and my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth, if I hesitate or waver in the support I give him.

6. The war, then, must go on. We must fight it through. And if the war must go on, why put off longer the Declaration of Independence? That measure will strengthen us. It will give us character abroad. The 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 towards us has been a course of injustice and oppression.

7. 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, why then, sir, do we not as soon as possible 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?

8. 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. Every colony, indeed, has expressed its willingness to follow, if we but take the lead.

9. Sir, the Declaration will inspire the people with increased courage.

Instead of a long and b.l.o.o.d.y 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 breath of life.

10. Read this Declaration at the head of the army; every sword will be drawn from its scabbard, and the solemn vow uttered, to maintain it, or to perish on the bed of honor. Publish it from the pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious liberty will cling round it, resolved to stand with it, or fall with it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let them hear it who heard the first roar of the enemy's cannon; 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.

11. 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 the time when 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.

12. But whatever may be our fate, be a.s.sured, be a.s.sured 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, gus.h.i.+ng tears, not of subjection and slavery, not of agony and distress, but of exultation, of grat.i.tude, and of joy.

13. Sir, before G.o.d, I believe the hour is come. My judgment approves this 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 G.o.d it shall be my dying sentiment,--independence now, and INDEPENDENCE FOREVER!

DANIEL WEBSTER.