of conquest and
renown; victor and vanquished presently pass away to oblivion, and the
world goes on in its course, with the loss only of so many lives and so
much treasure.

But if this be frequently, or generally, the fortune of military
achievements, it is not always so. There are enterprises, military as
well as civil, which sometimes check the current of events, give a new
turn to human affairs, and transmit their consequences through ages. We
see their importance in their results, and call them great, because
great things follow. There have been battles which have fixed the fate
of nations. These come down to us in history with a solid and permanent
interest, not created by a display of glittering armor, the rush of
adverse battalions, the sinking and rising of pennons, the flight, the
pursuit, and the victory; but by their effect in advancing or retarding
human knowledge, in overthrowing or establishing despotism, in extending
or destroying human happiness. When the traveller pauses on the plain of
Marathon, what are the emotions which most strongly agitate his breast?
What is that glorious recollection, which thrills through his frame, and
suffuses his eyes? Not, I imagine, that Grecian skill and Grecian valor
were here most signally displayed; but that Greece herself was saved. It
is because to this spot, and to the event which has rendered it
immortal, he refers all the succeeding glories of the republic. It is
because, if that day had gone otherwise, Greece had perished. It is
because he perceives that her philosophers and orators, her poets and
painters, her sculptors and architects, her governments and free
institutions, point backward to Marathon, and that their future
existence seems to have been suspended on the contingency, whether the
Persian or the Grecian banner should wave victorious in the beams of
that day's setting sun. And, as his imagination kindles at the
retrospect, he is transported back to the interesting moment; he counts
the fearful odds of the contending hosts; his interest for the result
overwhelms him; he trembles, as if it were still uncertain, and seems to
doubt whether he may consider Socrates and Plato, Demosthenes,
Sophocles, and Phidias, as secure, yet, to himself and to the world.

"If we conquer," said the Athenian commander on the approach of that
decisive day, "if we conquer, we shall make Athens the greatest city of
Greece."[6] A prophecy how well fulfilled! "If God prosper