Such men heed no trophies; they ask no splendid mausolea. We are their
monuments; their mausolea is their country, and her growing prosperity
the amaranthine wreath that Time shall place over their dust. Well may
the Genius of the Republic mourn. If she turns her eyes in one
direction, she beholds the hall where Jefferson wrote the charter of her
rights; if in another, she sees the city where Adams kindled the fires
of the Revolution. To no period of our history, to no department of our
affairs, can she direct her views and not meet the multiplied memorials
of her loss and of their glory.
At the grave of such men envy dies, and party animosity blushes while
she quenches her fires. If Science and Philosophy lament their
enthusiastic votary in the halls of Monticello, Philanthropy and
Eloquence weep with no less reason in the retirement of Quincy. And when
hereafter the stranger performing his pilgrimage to the land of freedom
shall ask for the monument of Jefferson, his inquiring eye may be
directed to the dome of that temple of learning, the university of his
native State--- the last labor of his untiring mind, the latest and the
favorite gift of a patriot to his country.
Pages:
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152