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, 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?

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, 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. Sir, the Declaration will inspire the people with increased courage. Instead of a long and bloody war for 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. 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 around 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.

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 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. But, whatever may be our fate, be assured that this Declaration will stand.

It may cost treasure, 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 this measure, and my whole heart is in it. All that I have, all that I am, and all that I hope for in this life, I am now ready here to stake upon it and I leave off, as I began-sink or swim, 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 FOREVER!

DANIEL WEBSTER.

CXXIII. RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.

I. THE ALBATROSS.

It is an Ancient Mariner,

And he stoppeth one of three:

"By thy long gray beard and glittering eye,

Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?

The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,

And I am next of kin;

The guests are met, the feast is set

May'st hear the merry din."

He holds him with his skinny hand: "There was a ship," quoth he.

"Hold off! unhand me, graybeard loon !”— Eftsoons his hand dropt he.

He holds him with his glittering eye-
The Wedding Guest stood still;
He listens like a three-years' child:
The Mariner hath his will.

The Wedding Guest sat on a stone-
He cannot choose but hear;

And thus spake on that ancient man,

The bright-eyed Mariner:

"The ship was cheered, the harbor cleared;

Merrily did we drop

Below the kirk, below the hill,

Below the lighthouse top.

The sun came up upon the left,

Out of the sea came he;

And he shone bright, and on the right

Went down into the sea;

Higher and higher every day,

Till over the mast at noon-"

The Wedding Guest here beat his breast,
For he heard the loud bassoon.

The Bride hath paced into the hall—
Red as a rose is she;

Nodding their heads before her goes

The merry minstrelsy.

The Wedding Guest he beat his breast,
Yet he cannot choose but hear;
And thus spake on that ancient man,
The bright-eyed Mariner:

"And now the storm-blast came, and he

Was tyrannous and strong :

He struck us with o'ertaking wings,

And chased us south along.

"And now there came both mist and snow.

And it grew wondrous cold;

And ice, mast-high, came floating by,
As green as emerald.

And through the drifts the snowy clifts

Did send a dismal sheen:

Nor shapes of men nor beasts we ken—
The ice was all between.

"The ice was here, the ice was there,

The ice was all around:

It cracked and growled, and roared and howled,
Like noises in a swound!
At length did cross an Albatross—

Thorough the fog it came:
As if it had been a Christian soul,
We hailed it in God's name.
It ate the food it ne'er had eat,
And round and round it flew.
The ice did split with a thunder-fit;
The helmsman steered us through.

"And a good south wind sprung up behind;

The Albatross did follow,

And every day, for food or play,

Came to the mariner's hollo!

In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud,
It perched for vespers nine;

Whiles all the night, through fog-smoke white,
Glimmered the white moonshine."

"God save thee, Ancient Mariner !

From the fiends that plague thee thus !— Why look'st thou so?"-" With my cross-bow I shot the Albatross."

II. THE CALM AT SEA.

"The sun now rose upon the right; Out of the sea came he,

Still hid in mist, and on the left

Went down into the sea.

And the good south wind still blew behind,
But no sweet bird did follow,

Nor any day, for food or play,

Came to the mariner's hollo!

"The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew,

The furrow followed free:

We were the first that ever burst

Into that silent sea.

Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt down-
'Twas sad as sad could be;
And we did speak only to break
The silence of the sea.
All in a hot and copper sky,

The bloody sun, at noon,
Right up above the mast did stand,
No bigger than the moon.

"Day after day, day after day,

We stuck-nor breath nor motion—

As idle as a painted ship

Upon a painted ocean.

Water, water everywhere,

And all the boards did shrink;

Water, water, everywhere,

Nor any drop to drink.

About, about, in reel and rout,

The death-fires danced at night;

The water, like a witch's oils,

Burnt green, and blue, and white.

"And some in dreams assured were
Of the Spirit that plagued us so;
Nine fathom deep he had followed us
From the land of mist and snow.