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MODULATION IN SPEAKING.
But thou art perhaps like me—for a season: thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in the clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult, then, O sun, in the strength of thy youth ! Age is dark, and unlovely: it is like the glimmering light of the moon, when it shines through broken clouds; and the mist is on the hills, the blast of the north is on the plain, the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey.
MODULATION IN SPEAKING.–LLOYD.
STIS not enough the voice be sound and clear;.
1 'Tis modulation that must charm the ear.
Some o'er the tongue the labored measures roll,
In vain for them the pleasing measure flows,
Some placid natures fill the allotted scene
More nature oft and finer strokes are shown
SALATHIEL TO TITUS.
And Hamlet's hollow voice and fixed amaze
He who in earnest studies o'er his part,
SALATHIEL TO TITUS.-CROLY.
CON of Vespasian, I am at this hour a poor man, as I may in w the next be an exile or a slave: I have ties to life as strong as ever were bound round the heart of man: I stand here a suppliant for the life of one whose loss would embitter mine! Yet, not for wealth unlimited, for the safety of my family, for the life of the noble victim that is now standing at the place of torture, dare I abandon, dare I think the impious thought of abandoning the cause of the City of Holiness.
Titus! in the name of that Being to whom the wisdom of the earth is folly, I adjure you to beware. Jerusalem is sacred. Her crimes have often wrought her misery-often has she been trampled by the armies of the stranger. But she is still the City of the Omnipotent; and never was blow inflicted on her by man that was not terribly repaid.
The Assyrian came, the mightiest power of the world : he plundered her temple, and led her people into captivity. How long was it before his empire was a dream, his dynasty extinguished in blood, and an enemy on his throne ?-The Persian came: from her protector, he turned into her oppressor; and his empire was swept away like the dust of the desert !—The Syrian smote her:
ST. PIERRE TO FERRARDO.
the smiter died in agonies of remorse; and where is his kingdom now ?—The Egyptian smote her: and who now sits on the throne of the Ptolemies?
Pompey came: the invincible, the conqueror of a thousand cities, the light of Rome, the lord of Asia, riding on the very wings of victory. But he profaned her temple; and from that hour he went down-down, like a millstone plunged into the ocean! Blind counsel, rash ambition, womanish fears, were upon the great statesman and warrior of Rome. Where does he sleep? What sands were colored with his blood ? The universal conqueror died a slave, by the hand of a slave! Crassus came at the head of the legions: he plundered the sacred vessels of the sanctuary. Vengeance followed him, and he was cursed by the curse of God. Where are the bones of the robber and his host ? Go, tear them from the jaws of the lion and the wolf of Parthia,– their fitting tomb!
You, too, son of Vespasian, may be commissioned for the punishment of a stiff-necked and rebellious people. You may scourge our naked vice by force of arms; and then you may return to your own land exulting in the conquest of the fiercest enemy of Rome. But shall you escape the common fate of the instrument of evil? Shall you see a peaceful old age ? Shall a son of yours ever sit upon the throne ? Shall not rather some monster of your blood efface the memory of your virtues, and make Rome, in bitterness of soul, curse the Flavian name?
ST. PIERRE TO FERRARDO.-JAMES SHERIDAN KNOWLES."
TT NOW you me, Duke ? Know you the peasant boy,
ST. PIERRE TO FERRARDO.
Blessed him one night, ere he lay down to sleep,
[Ferrardo tries to rise.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
My case is desperate! Your signature
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.—LORD BYRON.
THE Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
1 And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when Summer is green,
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And there lay the steed, with his nostrils all vide,
And there lay the rider, distorted and pale,
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail,