Thy voice is heard-and anguish dies,
The dead awake and greet the skies!
Peace on earth! to man good-will!
Let the skies our anthem fill!
5. Ecstasy, or Joy in Heavenly Bliss.
(The Dying Christian to his Soul.)
Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, oh! quit this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
Oh! the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark! they whisper; angels say-
"Sister spirit, come away!"
What is this absorbs be quite?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight?-
Drowns my spirit, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be Death?
The world recedes! it disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring:
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
O Grave! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?
IV.—Passions, with Mental Distress.
Passions of this class frequently involve great poignancy of feeling. In reading, they require those subdued tones which indicate strong mental emotion, and, in general, a predominance of the monotone. They may be represented by Shame, Fear, Grief, and Remorse.
1. Coriolanus, ashamed of Public Praise. No more of this! it doth offend my heart ;Pray now, no more. Your honour's pardon; I had rather have my wounds to heal again, Than hear say how I got them; for oft
When blows have made me stay, I fled from words.—
You sooth not;—therefore hurt not:—
I had rather have one scratch my head i' the sun,
When the alarum were struck, than idly sit
To hear my nothings monstered. Also
I beseech you, let me o'erleap the custom
That I do speak to the people; for I cannot
Put on the gown, stand naked, and entreat them,
For my wounds' sake, to give their suffrage. Please you
That I may pass this doing. It is a part
That I shall blush in acting.
2. The Shame of Adam and Eve, after their Fall.
Now from his presence hid themselves among
The thickest trees, both man and wife ;-till God
Approaching, thus to Adam call'd aloud :-
"Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meet
My coming seen from far? I miss thee here;
Come forth."
He came, and with him Eve, more loath, though first
T'offend,—discountenanc'd both, and discompos'd:
Love was not in their looks, either to God
Or to each other, but apparent guilt,
Whence Adam falt'ring long, then answer'd brief:-
"I heard thee in the garden, and of thy voice
Afraid, being naked, hid myself." To whom
The gracious Judge without revile reply'd:-
"My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not fear'd,
But still rejoic'd: how is it now become
So dreadful to thee? Thou art naked! who
Hath told thee? Hast thou eaten of the tree,
Whereof I gave thee charge thou should'st not eat?"
To whom thus Adam sore beset reply'd:
"O Heav'n! in evil strait this day I stand
Before my Judge, either to undergo
Myself the total crime, or to accuse
My other self, the partner of my life.-
This woman, whom thou mad'st to be my help,
And gave me as thy perfect gift, so good,
She gave me of the tree, and I did eat.'
Whereas sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelm'd,
Confessing soon-yet not before her Judge
Bold or loquacious-thus abash'd reply'd:-
"The serpent me beguil'd, and I did eat.
3. Shame at deserving Public Disgrace.
My friends are gone! Harsh on its sullen hinge
Grates the dread door; the massy bolts respond
Tremendous to the surly keeper's touch,
And fastened firm, the object of their care
Is left to solitude,-to sorrow left.
But wherefore fasten'd? Oh, still stronger bonds
Than bolts, or locks, or doors of molten brass,
To solitude and sorrow would consign
His auguish'd soul, and prison him, though free!
For, whither should he fly, or where produce
In open day, and to the golden sun,
His hapless head?-whence every laurel torn,
On his bald brow sits grinning Infamy;
And all in sportive triumph twines around
The keen, the stinging adders of disgrace?
Confined-
On this blessed day-the Sabbath of my God!-
Not from his house alone, not from the power
Of joyful worship with assembling crowds,
But from the labours once so amply mine,-
The labours of His love! Now, laid aside,
Cover'd my head with ignominious dust,
My voice is stopp'd; and had I e'en the power, Strong shame, and stronger grief, would to that voice Forbid all utterance!
Poor destitute! thus grovelling in the dust
Of self-annihilation, to assume
The censor's office, and reprove mankind.
Ah, me,-thy day of duty is declined!
Thou rather, to the quick probe thine own wounds,
And plead for mercy at the judgment-seat,
Where conscience smites thee for the offence deplored.
(2.) FEAR.
1. A Tyrant's Fear.
(Gesler's Fear of W. Tell, after conversing with his Son.)
I tell thee, Sarnem, looking on that boy,
I felt I was not master of those hills.
He has a father-neither promises
Nor threats could draw from him his name- -a father, Who talks to him of Liberty! I fear
That man. He must be found; and soon
As found, disposed of! I can see the man.
He is as palpable to my sight as if
He stood like you before me. I can see him
Scaling that rock; yea, I can feel him, Sarnem,
As I were in his grasp, and he about
To hurl me o'er yon parapet! I live
In danger till I find that man! Send parties
Into the wide mountains, to explore them far
And wide; and if they chance to light upon
A father, who expects his child, command them
To drag him straight before us. Sarnem, Sarnem,
They are not yet subdued!
2. Fear of Cruelty.
(Prince Arthur to Hubert.)
Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? And will you, Hubert-will you put out mine eyes,These eyes, that never did, nor ever shall
So much as frown on you?
Ah! none but in this iron age would do it!
Oh! save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out,
Even with the fierce looks of these horrid men.
Alas, what need you be so boist❜rous rough?
I will not struggle;-Hubert, let me not be bound!
Nay, hear me, Hubert! drive these men away,
And I will sit as quiet as a lamb,
Nor look upon the iron angrily:
Thrust but these men away, and I'll forgive you,
Whatever torment you do put me to.
3. Fear of Apparitions.
"Break off!" said Harold, in a tone
Where hurry and surprise were shown,
With some slight touch of fear,-
"Break off, we are not here alone ;-
A Palmer form comes slowly on!
By cowl, and staff, and mantle known,
My monitor is near.
Now mark him, Gunnar, heedfully;
He pauses by the blighted tree
Dost see him, youth? Thou could'st not see
When in the vale of Galilee
I first beheld his form;
Nor when we met that other while
In Cephalonia's rocky isle,
Before the fearful storm,—
Dost see him now?" The Page, distraught
With terror, answered-" I see nought
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