Imagens das páginas

The storm-was raging still. The shutterswung
Creaking as harshlyin the fitful wind,
And all without-went on, -as aye it will,
Sunshine—or tempest, reckless—that a heart
Is breaking,-or has broken, in its change.
The fire-beneath the crucible—was out :
The vessels of his mystic art-lay around,
Useless and cold as the ambitious hand
That fashioned them, and the small rod,
(Familiar to his touchfor three-score years,)
Lay on th' alembic's rim, as if it still
Might vex the elements at its master's will.
And thus—had passed-from its unequal frame-
A soul of fire,-a sun-bent eagle-stricken
From his high soaring down,-an instrument-
Broken—with its own compass. Oh, how poor-
Seems the rich gift of genius when it lies,
(Like the adventurous bird—that hath outflown
His strength-upon the sea, )—ambition-wrecked, -
A thing—the thrush might pity-as she sits-
Brooding in quiet-on her lowly nest!




Critical attention must be observed in articulating the words. After we have thoroughly conquered our indistinctness of articulation, we must acquire the facility of rapid and clearly enunciated utterances. There are many passages that require a spirited, brilliant, and rapid rendering, else their intention is not expressed.

“Let Stanley charge-(with spur of firem
With Chester charge, and Lancashire),-
Full upon Scotland's central host,-
Or victory and England's lost !"

“Burned Marmion's swarthy cheek-like fire,-
And shook his very frame for ire;

And—This to me!'-he said ;-
An' 't were not-for thy hoary beard, -
Such hand-as Marmion's—had not spared

To cleave the Douglas' head!



And, first, I tell thee,-haughty peer,
He who does England's—message here,
(Although the meanest in her state,)
May well,-proud Angus,—be thy mate;

And, Douglas,-more-I tell thee here,
High, rapia. (Even in thy pitch of pride,-

Here, in thy hold, -thy vassa's near,) –
Parenthesis within paren. (Nay, never look upon your lord,
thesis ; more rapid.

And lay your hand upon your sword,) Returning to pitch of Arat

I tell thee,-thou 'rt defied !

And if thou said'st I am not peer And now to continuation of pitch before the first paren. To any lord in Scotland here,

Lowland-or highland,-far-or near,

Lord Angus,—thou hast lied !' -
Slow and descriptive. On the Earl's cheek—the flush of rage-

O'ercame the ashen hue of age.

Fierce-he broke forth: 'And dar'st thou then
Rapid angor. T' beard the lion in his den,

The Douglas in his hall ?
And hop'st thou hence unscathed to go?-

No, by Saint Bryde of Bothwell, no!
Load calling. Up drawbridge, grooms!—what, warder, ho!

Let the portcullis fall.'
Lord Marmion turned, -well was his need, -
And dashedthe rowels—in his steed, -
Like arrow-through the archway-sprung,
The ponderous grate behind him rung:
To pass—there was such scanty room,
The bars,—descending, -razed his plume.”—[SCOTT.

“By torch and trumpet fast array'd,
Each horseman drew his battle-blade;
And furious every charger neigh'd

To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills with thunder riven;
Then rush'd the steed to battle driven;
And louder than the bolts of heaven,

Far flashed the red artillery.”
“Ah! what is that flame which now bursts on his eye?

Ah! what is that sound which now 'larums his ear?
'T is the lightning's red glare, painting hell on the sky!

'T is the crushing of thunders, the groan of the sphere
He springs from his hammock;—he flies to the deck;-

Amazement confronts him with images dire;
Wild winds and mad waves drive the vessel a wreck;

The masts fly in splinters, the shrouds are on fire!

Like mountains the billows tremendously swell;

In vain the lost wretch calls on mercy to save.
Unseen hands of ---spirits are ringing his knell,

And the death-angel-flaps his broad wing o'er the wave!" In the last stanza the voice falls from the loud and rapid move ments of excitement to the slow and conversational pitch. In the two last lines it descends to the very slow and grave tones, while on the word "spirits" it falls to a whisper, and the word flaps” is rendered in a tremulous half-whisper. A full rhetorical pause is necessary before both of these words to give them proper effect.

“ NO." BY ELIZA Cook.
Would you learn—the bravest thing-

That man-can ever do?
Would you be an uncrown'd king,

Absolute-and true ?
Would you seek to emulate

All we learn in story
Of the moral,-just, and great,

Rich-in real glory?
Would you lose much bitter care

In your lot below ?
Bravely speak out—when—and where

'T is right to utter-"No."
Learn to speak this little word-

In its proper place ;-
Let no timid doubt be heard,

Clothed with skeptic grace;
Let thy lips—without disguise-

Boldly pour it out,
Though a thousand-dulcet lies

Keep hovering about.
For be sure-our hearts-would lose

Future years—of woe
If our courage—could refuse-

The present hour-with-"No."
When temptation's form-would lead

To some pleasant wrong ;-
When she tunes her hollow reed -

To the syren's song ;-
When she offers bribeand smile,

And our conscience feels
There is naught—but shining guile

In the gifts she deals;
Then, oh! then let courage rise

To its strongest flow;
Show—that ye are brave—as wise,

And firmly answer—"No."

Hearts—that are too often given

Like street merchandise ;-
Hearts-that-like bought slaves—are driven-

In fair freedom's guise ;-
Yet—that poison soul—and mind

With perjury's foul stains;
Yet-who let the cold world bind-

In joyless marriage chains;
Be true-unto yourselves—and God,

Let rank—and fortune go;
If love-light not the altar spot, -

Let feeling answer—"No."
Men—with goodly spirits blest,

Willing-to do right,
Yet who stand—with wavering breast

Beneath Persuasion's might,
When companions seek-to taunt

Judgment–into sin;
When the loud laugh-fain would daunt

Your better voice-within ;
Oh! be sure-ye'll never meet

More insidious foe;
But strike the cowardto your feet

By Reason's watchword—"No."
Ah, how many thorns-we wreathe

To twine our brows around,
By not knowing when—to breathe

This important sound !
Many a breast-has rued the day

When it reckoned less-
Of fruits—upon the moral—"Nay"

Than flowers-upon the—“Yes."
Many a sadrepentant thought-

Turns—to "long ago,"
When a luckless fate was wrought

By want of saying—"No."
Few-have learned to speak this word

When it should be spoken;
Resolution—is deferred,

Vows to virtue-broken:
More of courage is required

This one word—to say
Than to stand-where shots are fired

In the battle fray.
Use it fitlyand ye

Many a lot below-
May be schooled—and nobly ruled-

By power-to utter—"No."

'll see


Out of the woods—at midnight

The swift-red hunters--came;
The prairie-was their hunting-ground,

The bison—was their game:
Their spearswere of glist'ning silver,

Their crestswere of blue and gold;
Driven—by the panting winds of heav'n,-

Their shining chariots-rolled.
Over that level hunting-ground,

Oh, what a strifewas there!
What a shouting !—what a threatning cry!

What a murmur-on the air!
Their garments-over the glowing wheels

Streamed-backward, -red and fair ;
They flauntedtheir purple banners

In the face-of each pale star.
Under their tread the autumn flowers.

By myriads-withering lay:
(Poor things !—th’t from those golden wheels

Could nowhere—shrink away!)
Close, -and crashing together,

The envious chariots--rolled ;-
While anon, before his fellows,-

Leaped out—some hunter bold.
Their-hot breath,-thick and lowering,

Above—their wild eyes-hung,
And around-their frowning foreheads,

Like wreaths of night-shade, hung.
“The bisons! ho, the bisons !”

They cried-and answered back-
(Poor herds of frightened creatures

With such hunters—on their track !)
With a weary,-lumbering swiftness

They sought-the river's side,
Driven-by those hunters—from their sleep

Into its chilling tide.
Some face—their foe-with anguish,

Dilating—their brute eyes ;-
The spears of silver strike them low,-

And dead-each suppliant lies.
Now by the brightening river-

The red hunters-stand-at bay;
Vain-their appalling splendor-

The river shields their prey!
Into the waves with baffled rage

They leapin death's despite;-
Their golden wheels roll-roaring in,

And leave the withered night.

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