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II.-Emotional Expression.

At this stage of the pupil's progress, it must be the principal aim of the teacher to make his pupils understand and feel, to some extent, the emotions which the following Exercises are intended to illustrate.

The reader must not, however, assume the speaker in his attempts to give effect to his subject.

The Exercises which will now be introduced must be regarded as illustrations of the natural harmony which there is between voice and sentiment; and as showing that the variations of voice for emotional expression are as great and flexible as the emotions themselves.

III.-Passions; in which Pleasing Emotions

Predominate.

The gentler passions require that chastened pitch and modulation of voice, which the pleasing emotions naturally dictate; and although they are consistent with a certain degree of force, and the highest figures of speech, they are always expressed in tones which harmonize with softness and gentleness.

They may be illustrated by Love, Sympathy, Hope, and Joy:

(1.) LOVE.

1. A Son's Love

(On receiving a Mother's Pieture).

O that those lips had language! Life has passed
With me but roughly, since I heard thee last.
Those lips are thine;-thy own sweet smile I see,
The same that oft in childhood solaced me;
Voice only fails, else how distinct they say-
"Grieve not, my child, chase all thy fears away!"
The sweet intelligence of those dear eyes
(Blest be the art that can immortalize,—

The art that baffles Time's tyrannic claim
To quench it) here shines on me still the same.
Faithful remembrancer of one so dear,

O welcome guest, though unexpected here!

2. A Wife's Love.

(Eve's Love to Adam.)

Cowper.

With thee conversing, I forget all time;
All seasons and their change, all please alike.
Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet,
With charm of earliest birds: pleasant the Sun,
When first on this delightful land he spreads
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower,
Glist'ring with dew ;-fragrant the fertile Earth
After soft showers ;-and sweet the coming on
Of grateful Evening mild, and this fair Moon,
And these the gems of heav'n, her starry train :-
But neither breath of morn, when she ascends
With charm of earliest birds;-nor rising sun
On this delightful land ;-nor herb, fruit, flower,
Glist'ring with dew:-nor fragrance after showers;-
Nor grateful evening mild;-nor walk by noon,
Or glittering star-light,-without thee is sweet.

Love?

3. Description of Love.

I will tell thee what it is to love!

Milton.

It is to build with human thoughts a shrine,
Where Hope sits brooding, like a beauteous dove;
Where Time seems young, and Life a thing divine.
All tastes-all pleasures-all desires combine
To consecrate this sanctuary of bliss.

Above-the stars in cloudless beauty shine,— Around-the streams their flowery margins kiss,And, if there's heaven on earth, that heaven is surely this.

Yes, this is Love,-the steadfast and the true,—
The immortal glory, which hath never set;
The best, the brightest boon that heart ere knew;
Of all life's sweets, the very sweetest yet!

Oh! who but can recall the eve they met

To breathe in some green walk their first young vow, Whilst summer flowers with moonlight dews were wet,

And winds sighed soft around the mountain's brow, And all was rapture then, which still is memory now! C. Swain.

4. Youthful Love.

When first my eyes beheld thee smile,
My heart fled to thee in that gaze;
But when I heard thee speak awhile,
I ceased thy lovely form to praise !
For higher gifts thy being bore

Than those a beauteous cheek endow;
And if I lost my heart before,

Oh, love, my soul flew with it now!
And heart and soul shall still be thine,
Come what may come of ills the worst;
As faithful to thy life's decline,

As when they wooed and loved thee first!
As birds oft sing their sweetest song
When every leaf hath left the tree,
So, when thy bloom hath vanished long,
My heart shall fonder cleave to thee!

5. A Husband's Love in Sickness.

C. Swain.

I said I would love thee in want or in wealth,

Thro' cloud and thro' sunshine, in sickness, in health;
And fear not, my love, when thy spirits are weak ;-
The troth I have plighted I never will break.
Aye sickness;-but sickness! it touches the heart
With a feeling, where how many feelings have part!

There's a magic in soothing the wearisome hour,
Pity rears up the stem, and Hope looks for the flower.
The rose smells as sweetly in sunshine and air,
But the greenhouse has all our affection and care;
The lark sings as nobly, while soaring above,
But the bird that we nurse is the bird that we love.

I have lov'd thee in sickness; I'll love thee in health;
And if want be our portion, why-love be our wealth:
Thy comfort in sorrow, thy stay when most weak ;-
The troth I have plighted I never will break!

C. Neale.

6. Love of Birth-place (Clifton Grove).

Fair Nature! thee, in all thy varied charms,
Fain would I clasp for ever in my arms:
Thine are the sweets which never, never sate ;-
Thine still remain through all the storms of fate ;-
Dear native love! where'er my devious track,—
To thee will memory lead the wanderer back.
Still, still to thee, where'er my footsteps roam,
My heart shall point, and lead the wanderer home.
When splendour offers, and when Fame incites,
I'll pause, and think of all thy dear delights;
Reject the boon, and, wearied with the change,
Renounce the wish which first induced to range;
Turn to these scenes, these well-known scenes once more,
Trace once again old Trent's romantic shore,
And, tired with worlds, and all their busy ways,

Here pass in peace the remnant of my days.

7. Love of Country.

H. Kirke White.

After due pause, they bade him tell
Why he, who touch'd the harp so well,
Should thus, with ill-requited toil,
Wander a poor and thankless soil,
When the more generous Southern Land
Would well requite his skilful hand.

The aged Harper, howsoe'er
His only friend, his harp, was dear,
Liked not to hear it ranked so high
Above his flowing poesy :

Less liked he still the scornful jeer
Misprised the land he loved so dear;
High was the sound, as thus again
The Bard resumed his minstrel strain :—
"Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself has said-

This is my own, my native land!'

Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd

"From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.

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"O Caledonia! stern and wild,

Meet nurse for a poetic child,

Land of brown heath, and shaggy wood,
Land of the mountain and the flood,
Land of my sires !-what mortal hand
Can e'er untie the filial band

That knits me to thy rugged strand!
Still, as I view each well-known scene,

Think what is now, and what hath been,

Seems as, to me, of all bereft,

Sole friends thy woods and streams were left; And thus I love thee better still,

Even in extremity of ill."

W. Scott.

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