Puslapio vaizdai

ception of meaning, and the deliberate and distinct expression of it, while nothing is so indicative of a want of attention and selfcommand, and nothing so unhappy in its effect, as haste and confusion."


Very Short Pauses.

"One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,

When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croupe the fair lady he swung,—

So light to the saddle before her he sprung!

'She is won! — we are gone, over bank, bush and scaur; They'll have fleet steeds that follow,' quoth young Lochinvar."


"I sprang to the stirrup, and Joris, and he:

I galloped, Dirck galloped, we galloped all three ;

'Good speed!' cried the watch, as the gate-bolts undrew;
'Speed!' echoed the wall to us galloping through;
Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest,

And into the midnight we galloped abreast."


"Away!-away!-and on we dash!
Torrents less rapid and less rash.
Away, away, my steed and I

Upon the pinions of the wind,
All human dwellings left behind :
We sped like meteors through the sky,
When with its crackling sound the night
Is checkered with the northern light:

From out the forest prance

A trampling troop,-I see them come!
A thousand horse-and none to ride!
With flowing tail, and flying mane,
Wide nostrils, never stretched by pain,
Moutas bloodless to the bit or rein,
And feet that iron never shod,

And flanks unscarred by spur or rod,-
A thousand horse, the wild, the free,-
Like waves that follow o'er the sea,

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They stop, they start-they snuff the air,
Gallop a moment here and there,

Approach, retire, wheel round and round,
Then plunging back with sudden bound,-
They snort,


they foam-neigh - swerve aside,

And backward to the forest fly

By instinct, from a human eye."- MAZEPPA.- Byron.

Short Pauses.

"Genius rushes like a whirlwind - talent marches like a cavalcade of heavy men and heavy horses- cleverness skims like a swallow in the summer evening, with a sharp shrill note, and a sudden turning. The man of genius dwells with men and with nature; the man of talent in his study; but the clever man dances here, there, and everywhere, like a butterfly in a hurricane, striking everything and enjoying nothing, but too light to be dashed to pieces."— Hazlitt.

"They come from beds of lichen green,

They creep from the mullen's velvet screen;
Some on the backs of beetles fly

From the silver tops of the moon-touched trees,
Where they swung in their cobweb hammocks high,
And rock'd about in the evening breeze;

Some from the hum-bird's downy nest

They had driven him out by elfin power,

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And, pillow'd on plumes of his rainbow breast,

Had slumber'd there till the charmed hour;

Some had lain in the scoop of the rock,

With glittering ising-stars inlaid;

And some had open'd the four-o'clock,

And stole within its purple shade.

And now they throng the moonlight glade,

on every side,

Their little minim forms array'd

In the tricksy pomp of fairy pride!"


"Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,

Whilst the landscape round it measures;

Russet lawns, and fallows gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do stray;
Mountains on whose barren breast
The laboring clouds do often rest;
Meadows trim with daisies pied:
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide:
Towers and battlements it sees
Bosom'd high in tufted trees,

Where perhaps some beauty lies,

The Cynosure of neighboring eyes."

L'ALLEGRO.- Milton.

Moderate Pauses. ·

"A woman's voice can tell a long history of sorrow in a single word. This wonderful instrument, our voice, alters its timbre with every note it yields, as the face changes with every look, until at last the dominant emotion is master, and gives quality to tone and character to expression.

"Every look, tone, gesture of a man is a symbol of his complete nature. If we apply the microscope severely enough, we can discern the fine organism by which the soul sends itself out in every act of the being. And the more perfectly developed the creature, the more significant, and yet the more mysterious, is every habit, and every motion mightier than habit, of body and soul."-Theodore Winthrop.

"An outward blow,-the sudden ruin of a friendship which he [Robertson] had wrought, as he imagined, forever, into his being, —a blow from which he never afterwards wholly recovered,—accelerated the inward crisis, and the result was a period of spiritual agony so awful that it not only shook his health to its centre, but smote his spirit down into so profound a darkness, that of all his early faiths but one remained: 'It must be right to do right.' He had passed up the hill Difficulty with youthful ardor; he had been glad in the beautiful house, and seen the Delectable Mountains from far; he had gone down the hill with enthusiasm and pleasant thoughts; but Apollyon met him in the valley, and broken by the battle, but unsubdued, he walked in tenfold gloom through the Valley of the Shadow of Death, with the fiends whispering dark doubts in his ears, till he half believed them to be his own,stumbling and fainting, but ever going onwards, till at last, emerging victorious, he went up upon the hills to see with clearer vision than before, through the glass of faith, the shining of the Celestial City.”—Stopford A. Brooke.

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"It is the sixteenth century. Beyond the ashes on the hill a red light is. gathering; above the falling of the dews a great sun is rising there is a rushing of light and song upward - let it still be UPWARD! Shakespeare is in the world! And the Genius of English Poetry, she who only of all the earth is worthy (Goethe's spirit may hear us say so, and smile), stooping, with a royal gesture, to kiss the dead lips of the Genius of Greece, stands up her successor in the universe, by virtue of that chrism, and in right of her own crown."- Mrs. Browning

"Forever unto thee we run,

And give ourselves away;

Like melting mists that seek the sun,
Like night that seeks the day.

To Nature do we turn, and minister,
Because we were of old, a part of her.
It is a recognition,

A memory, an appealing;

An interchange of vision,

An interchange of feeling;

A twofold love, within the linked scope

Of backward-looking Memory, and forward-looking Hope!
The soul of man detects, and sympathizes

With its old shapes of matter, long outworn;

And matter, too, to new sensations born,

Detects the soul of man, with spiritual surprises."

R. H. Stoddard.

"I have learned

To look on Nature, not as in the hour

Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes
The still, sad music of humanity,

Nor harsh, nor grating, though of ample power

To chasten and subdue. And I have felt

A presence that disturbs me with the joy
Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime
Of something far more deeply interfused,
Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,
And the round ocean, and the living air,
And the blue sky, and in the mind of man:
A motion and a spirit, that impels
All thinking things, all objects of all thought,
And rolls through all things."- Wordsworth.

"Our life is noble, Thou hast breathed its air;

Death sweet, for Thou hast died. On Thy way home
One night Thou sleep'st within the dreadful grave,

And took away its fear."- Alexander Smith.

"To toil, in tasks however mean,

For all we know of right and true,

In this alone our worth is seen,

'Tis this we were ordained to do.

"So shalt thou find in work and thought
The peace that sorrow cannot give,
Though grief's worst pangs to thee be taught,
By thee let others noblier live."-John Sterling.

"Then let the steeples rock,

And the belfries shake and quiver,
And the great bells clang and shock,
And the small bells trill and shiver!

Let the smoking cannon boom,

And the bending nation pray,
And the mourners' dreadful doom
Lift its shadow for a day!
Let us turn a face joy-clear-

Unto heaven, with one accord,

And waft our victors' cheer

Through our heroes to the Lord!

Bless His name, rejoicing men,

For the bloody conflict's close,

For good will restored again,

For the balm that heals our woes;

For the ocean white with sails,

And the rivers dim with steam,
For the humble world that quails
At our flag's triumphant gleam;
For the bounty of His hand

In the teeming fields' increase,
For the quiet in the land

For Union and Peace!"- Geo. H Boker.

"Greek-the shrine of the genius of the old world; as universal as our race, as individual as ourselves: of infinite flexibility, of indefatigable strength, with the complication and the distinctness of

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