ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE COMPLETION OF THE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT, JUNE 17, 1843. BY DANIEL WEBSTER. BOSTON: PUBLISHED BY TAPPAN AND DENNET, 114 Washington Street. 1843. ADDRESS DELIVERED AT THE COMPLETION OF THE BUNKER HILL MONUMENT, JUNE 17, 1843. A DUTY has been performed. A work of gratitude and patriotism is completed. This structure, having its foundations in soil, which drank deep of early revolutionary blood, has at length reached its destined height, and now lifts its summit to the skies. We have assembled to celebrate the accomplishment of this undertaking, and to indulge, afresh, in the recollection of the great event, which it is designed to commemorate. Eighteen years, more than half the ordinary duration of a generation of mankind, have elapsed, since the corner stone of this monument was laid. The hopes of its projectors rested on voluntary contributions, private munificence, and the general favor of the public. These hopes have not been disappointed. Donations have been made by individuals, in some cases of large amount, and smaller sums contributed by thousands. All who regard the object itself as important, and its accomplishment, therefore, as a good attained, will entertain sincere respect and gratitude for the unwearied efforts of the successive Presidents, Boards of Directors, and Committees of the Association, which has had the general control of the work. The Architect, equally entitled to our thanks and commendation, will find other reward, also, for his labor and skill, in the beauty and elegance of the obelisk itself, and the distinction which, as a work of art, it confers on him. At a period when the prospects of further progress in the undertaking were gloomy and discouraging, the Mechanic Association, by a most praise worthy and vigorous effort, raised new funds for carrying it forward, and saw them applied with fidelity, economy and skill. It is a grateful duty to make public acknowledgments of such timely and efficient aid. The last effort, and the last contribution, were from a different source. Garlands of grace and elegance were destined to crown a work, which had its commencement in manly patriotism. The winning power of the sex addressed itself to the public, and all that was needed to carry the monument to its proposed height, and give to it its finish, was promptly supplied. The mothers and the daughters of the land contributed thus, most successfully to whatever of beauty is in the obelisk itself, or whatever of utility and public benefit and gratification in its completion. Of those, with whom the plan of erecting on this spot a monument, worthy of the event to be commemorated, originated, many are now present; but others, alas! have themselves become subjects of monumental inscription. William Tudor, an accomplished scholar, a distinguished writer, a most amiable man, allied, both by birth and sentiment, to the patriots of the Revolution, died, while on public service abroad, and now lies buried in a foreign land. William Sullivan, a name fragrant of Revolutionary merit, and of public service and public virtue, who himself partook, in a high degree, of the respect and confidence of the community, and yet was always most loved where best known, has also been gathered to his fathers. And last, George Blake, a lawyer of learning and eloquence, a man of wit and of talent, of social qualities the most agreeable and fascinating, and of gifts which enabled him to exercise large sway over public assemblies, has closed his human career. I know that in the crowds before me, there are those, from whose eyes copious tears will flow, at the mention of these names. But such mention is due to their general character, their public and private virtues, and especially on this occasion, to the spirit and zeal, with which they entered into the undertaking,, which is now completed. I have spoken only of those who are not now numbered with the living. But a long life, now drawing towards its close, always distinguished by acts of public spirit, humanity, and charity, forming a character, which has already become historical, and sanctified by public regard, and by the affection of friends, may confer, even on the living, the proper immunity of the dead, and be the fit subject of honorable mention, and warm commendation. Of the early projectors of the design of this monument, one of the most prominent, the most zealous, and the most efficient, is Thomas H. Perkins. It was beneath his ever hospitable roof that those whom I have mentioned, and others yet living and now present, having assembled for the purpose, adopted the first step towards erecting a monument on Bunker Hill. Long may he remain, with unimpaired faculties, in the wide field of his usefulness. His charities have distilled, like the dews of heaven; he has fed the hungry, and clothed the naked; he has given sight to the blind; and for such virtues there is a reward on high, of which all human memorials, all language of brass and stone, are but humble types and attempted imitations. Time and nature have had their course, in diminishing the number of those whom we met here on the 17th of June, 1825. Most of the revolutionary characters then present have since deceased, and Lafayette sleeps in his native land. Yet the name and blood of Warren are with us; the kindred of Putnam are also here; and near me, universally beloved for his character and his virtues, and now venerable for his years, sits the son of the noble-hearted and daring Prescott. Gideon Foster of Danvers, Enos Reynolds of Boxford, Phineas Johnson, Robert Andrews, Elijah Dresser, Josiah Cleaveland, Jesse Smith, Philip Bagley, Needham Maynard, Roger Plaisted, Joseph Stephens, Nehemiah Porter, and James Harvey, who bore arms for their country, either at Concord and Lexington, on the 19th of April, or on Bunker Hill, all now far advanced in age, have come here to-day, to look once more on the field of the exercise of their valor, and to receive a hearty outpouring of our respect. They have long outlived the troubles and dangers of the Revolu tion; they have outlived the evils arising from the want of a united and efficient Government; they have outlived the pendency of imminent dangers to the public liberty; they have outlived nearly all their contemporaries; but they have not outlived-they cannot outlive-the affectionate gratitude of their country. Heaven has not allotted to this generation an opportunity of rendering high services, and manifesting strong personal devotion, such as they rendered and manifested, and in such a cause as roused the patriotic fires of their youthful breasts, and nerved the strength of their arms. But we may praise what we cannot equal, and celebrate actions which we were not born to perform. Pulchrum est benefacere reipublicæ, etiam bene dicere haud absurdum est. The Bunker Hill Monument is finished. Here it stands. Fortunate in the natural eminence on which it is placed — higher, infinitely higher in its objects and purpose, it rises over the land, and over the sea, and visible, at their homes, to three hundred thou sand citizens of Massachusetts, - it stands, a memorial of the last, and a monitor to the present, and all succeeding generations. I have spoken of the loftiness of its purpose. If it had been without any other design than the creation of a work of art, the granite, of which it is composed, would have slept in its native bed. It has a purpose; and that purpose gives it character. That purpose enrobes it with dignity and moral grandeur. That well known purpose it is, which causes us to look up to it with a feeling of awe. It is itself the orator of this occasion, it is not from my lips, it is not from any human lips, that that strain of eloquence is this day to flow, most competent to move and excite the vast multitudes around. The potent speaker stands motionless before them. It is a plain shaft. It bears no inscriptions, fronting to the rising sun, from which the future antiquarian shall wipe the dust. Nor does the rising sun cause tones of music to issue from its summit. But at the rising of the sun, and at the setting of the sun, in the blaze of noon-day, and beneath the milder effuigence of lunar light, it looks, it speaks, it acts, to the full comprehension of every American mind, and the awakening of glowing enthusiasm in every American heart. Its silent, but awful utterance; its deep pathos, as it brings to our contemplation the 17th of June, 1775, and the conse |