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　　抒情式 英語(yǔ)結(jié)尾演講稿

　　Once sacred, ─now trampled on! Is it come to this? Shall an inferior magistrate, a governor, who holds his whole power of the Roman People, in Roman province within sight of Italy, bind, scourge, torture, and put to an infamous death, a Roman citizen? Shall neither the cries of innocence expiring in agony, the tears of pitying spectators, the majesty of the Roman Commonwealth nor the fear of justice of his country restrain the merciless monster, who, in the confidence of his riches, strikes at the very root of liberty, and sets mankind at defiance? And shall this man escape? Fathers, it must not be! It must not be, unless you would undermine the very foundations of social safety, strangle justice, and call down anarchy, massacre, and ruin, on the Commonwealth!

　　But, whatever may be our fate, be assured, be assured, 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 and 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 anguish or sorrow, but of exultation, of gratitude, and of joy. Sir, before God, I believe the hour has 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 God, it shall be my dying sentiment; independence now, and independence forever.

　　The memory of Burns─I am afraid heaven and earth have taken too good care of it to leave us anything to say. The west winds are murmuring it. Open the windows behind you, and hearken for the incoming tide, what the waves say of it. The doves, perching always on the eaves of the Stone Chapel opposite, may know something about it. Every home in broad Scotland keeps his fame bright. The memory of Burns─every man's and boy's, and girl's head carried snatches of his songs, and can say them by heart, and, what is strangest of all, never learned them from a book, but from mouth to mouth. The wind whispers them the birds whistle them, the corn, barley, and bulrushes brassily rustle them; nay, the music boxes at Geneva are framed and toothed to play them; the hand organs of the Sao yards in all cities repeat them, and the chimes of bells ring them in the spires. They are they property and the solace of mankind.