have prostrated ourselves at the foot of the throne, and 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 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, we must fight! An appeal to arms and the God of Hosts, is all that is left us.

-

They tell us that we are weak; unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? 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? 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. 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, 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 and 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, let

Besides, we shall not fight our battles alone.

it come!

Gentlemen may

It is in vain to extenuate the matter. 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 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.

DEFINITIONS. — Il lū'sions, unreal images presented to the bodily or mental vision. Si'ren, alluding to the fabled sea nymphs whose singing lured mariners to destruction. In sid'i ous, deceptive, sly. Rec'on cil ia'tion, renewal of friendship. Ac cu mu la'tion, gathering together. Sup pli ca'tions, prayers. In vi'o late, uninjured. Cōpe, to encounter. Sū pine'ly, indolently. Phăn'tom, an image having no real existence. Vig'i lant, watchful. Ex ten'u āte, to make excuses.

NOTE. This speech was made in 1775 in support of a resolution that the colony of Virginia "be immediately put in a state of defense." The pupil while studying it should read in some standard history a full account of the opening scenes of the Revolution.

THE RISING.

BY THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

Out of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.

And there was tumult in the air,

The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, And through the wild land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet, While the first oath of Freedom's gun Came on the blast from Lexington. And Concord, roused, no longer tame, Forgot her old baptismal name, Made bare her patriot arm of power, And swelled the discord of the hour.

The yeoman and the yeoman's son,
With knitted brows and sturdy dint,
Renewed the polish of each gun,

Re-oiled the lock, reset the flint ;
And oft the maid and matron there,
While kneeling in the firelight glare,
Long poured, with half-suspended breath,
The lead into the molds of death.

The hands by Heaven made silken soft
To soothe the brow of love or pain,
Alas! are dulled and soiled too oft

By some unhallowed earthly stain ;
But under the celestial bound

No nobler picture can be found

Than woman, brave in word and deed,
Thus serving in her nation's need:
Her love is with her country now,

Her hand is on its aching brow.

Within its shade of elm and oak

The church of Berkley Manor stood There Sunday found the rural folk,

And some esteemed of gentle blood.

In vain their feet with loitering tread

Passed 'mid the graves where rank is naught :
All could not read the lesson taught
In that republic of the dead.

The pastor rose: the prayer was strong;
The psalm was warrior David's song;
The text, a few short words of might, -
"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!

He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured;
Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compelled the heart to glow or quake,
And, rising on his theme's broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand.
The imaginary battle brand,

In face of death he dared to fling

Defiance to a tyrant king.

Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed
In eloquence of attitude,

Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside,
And, lo! he met their wondering eyes
Complete in all a warrior's guise.

A moment there was awful pause,

;

When Berkley cried, "Cease, traitor! cease!
God's temple is the house of peace!"
The other shouted, "Nay, not so,
When God is with our righteous cause:
His holiest places then are ours,
His temples are our forts and towers
That frown upon the tyrant foe:

In this the dawn of Freedom's day
There is a time to fight and pray!"

And now before the open door

The warrior priest had ordered so
The enlisting trumpet's sudden soar
Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er,
Its long reverberating blow,

So loud and clear, it seemed the ear
Of dusty death must wake and hear.

And there the startling drum and fife
Fired the living with fiercer life;
While overhead with wild increase,
Forgetting its ancient toll of peace,

The great bell swung as ne'er before:
It seemed as it would never cease;