by these terrors, the hope which has beckoned me to the perilous sea upon
which I have been wrecked still consoles, animates, enraptures me.

No; I do not despair of my poor old country--her peace, her liberty, her
glory. For that country I can do no more than bid her hope. To lift this
island up,--to make her a benefactor to humanity, instead of being the
meanest beggar in the world; to restore her to her native powers and her
ancient constitution,--this has been my ambition, and this ambition has
been my crime. Judged by the law of England, I know this crime entails the
penalty of death; but the history of Ireland explains this crime, and
justifies it. Judged by that history, I am no criminal, I deserve no
punishment. Judged by that history the treason of which I stand convicted
loses all its guilt, is sanctioned as a duty, will be ennobled as a
sacrifice. With these sentiments, my Lord, I await the sentence of the
court.

Having done what I felt to be my duty,--having spoken what I felt to be the
truth, as I have done on every other occasion of my short career,--I now
bid farewell to the country of my birth, my passion, and my death; the
country whose misfortunes have invoked my sympathies; whose factions I have
sought to still; whose intellect I have prompted to a lofty aim; whose
freedom has been my fatal dream. I offer to that country, as a proof of the
love I bear her, and the sincerity with which I thought and spoke and
struggled for her freedom, the life of a young heart, and with that life
all the hopes, the honors the endearments, of a happy and an honored home.
Pronounce, then, my Lords, the sentence which the laws direct, and I will
be prepared to hear it. I trust I shall be prepared to meet its execution.
I hope to be able, with a pure heart and perfect composure, to appear
before a higher tribunal--a tribunal where a judge of infinite goodness as
well as of justice will preside, and where, my Lords, many, many of the