Daniel Webster Speaks at Bunker Hill
by Samuel Griswold Goodrich
The first time I ever saw Mr. Webster was on
the 17th of June, 1825, at the laying of the
corner-stone of the Bunker Hill Monument. I
shall never forget his appearance as he strode
across the open area, encircled by some fifty
thousand persons men and women
waiting for the "Orator of the Day," nor the
shout that simultaneously burst forth, as he
was recognized, carrying up to the skies the
name of "Webster!" "Webster!" "Webster!"
It was one of those lovely days in June,
when the sun is bright, the air clear, and the
breath of nature so sweet and pure as to fill
every bosom with a grateful joy in the mere
consciousness of existence. There were
present long files of soldiers in their holiday
attire; there were many associations, with
their mottoed banners; there were lodges and
grand lodges, in white aprons and blue
scarfs; there were miles of citizens from the
towns and the country round about; there
were two hundred gray-haired men, remnants of the days of the Revolution.
Mr. Webster was in the very zenith of his
fame and of his powers.
There was a grandeur in his form, an intelligence in his deep dark eye, a loftiness in his
expansive brow, a significance in his arched
lip, altogether beyond those of any other
human being I ever saw. And these, on the
occasion to which I allude, had their full expression and interpretation.
When he came to address the few scarred
and time-worn veterans some forty in
number who had shared in the bloody
scene which all had now gathered to commemorate, he paused a moment, and, as he
uttered the words "Venerable men," his voice
trembled, and I could see a cloud pass over
the sea of faces that turned upon the speaker.
He said: "Our poor work may perish, but
thine shall endure: this monument may
moulder away, the solid ground it rests upon
may sink down to the level of the sea; but thy
memory shall not fail. Wherever among men
a heart shall be found that beats to the transports of patriotism and liberty, its aspirations
shall claim kindred with thy spirit!"
I have never seen such an effect, from a
single passage. Lifted as by inspiration, every
breast seemed now to expand, every gaze to
turn above, every face to beam with a holy yet
exulting enthusiasm. It was the omnipotence
of eloquence, which, like the agitated sea,
carries a host upon its waves, sinking and
swelling with its irresistible undulations.
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