LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. %p- - &W3t* ty Shelf . PJii4 i U UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION A COMPREHENSIVE SYSTEM OP ELOCUTION AND ACTING Containing explicit instructions for the cultivation of the Speaking Voice and Gesture: Directions for the production of Breath, Sound and Speech: Rules for Articulation, Modulation, Emphasis and Delivery: Postures and movements of the Feet, Body, Arms, Head, Eyes, etc, Designed for the special use of Teachers, Actors, Students, Colleges, Schools, and all those who wish to perfect themselves in the noble art of Expression To which is added a Complete Speaker, consisting of Selections in Poetry and Prose suitable for Recitations /\y cP™ *&?" v\ [m II EDWIN GORDON LAWRENCE Z 1 * TEACHER OF ELOCUTION AND DIRECTOR OF "THE LAWRENCE SCHOOL OF ACTING" OF NEW YORK 1895 PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR NEW YORK Copyrighted 1895 by Edwin Gordon Lawrknck TYPOGRAPHY BY THE COMPOSITE PRESS OF NEW YORK CITY INTRODUCTION Correct speaking is an art and can only be acquired by laborious practice. To speak naturally is to use the organs of speech as nature intended, and not in the per- verted manner which ill usage has fastened upon us. The child breathes and speaks in a natural way, most grown persons in an artificial one; for instance: watch the infant as it lies in the cradle slumbering; notice with every rise and fall of the chest the inward and outward action of the waist muscles acting on the dia- phragm and causing it to pump the air in and force the breath out of the lungs. All the organs of breath are now performing their functions fully and none is worked at the expense of the others. How different with many men and women! They instead of inflating the lungs fully by the action of the abdominal muscles and dia- phragm, rely upon the costal, muscles only, and conse- quently inflate the upper portion of the lungs alone, thus being able to produce only a very limited amount of breath and scanty volume of voice. This will be fully dwelt upon in the exercises. As speaking is an art, we must learn the principles of it and gain the faculty of practically applying them. We all possess some degree of talent, but very few are gifted with genius. Possessing this faculty (talent) we are all able to learn how to use the human voice so as to ex- press every emotion of which it is capable, and great will be the result unless there is something radically wrong with the organ. Vocal sounds are but the paths leading outward from the speaker s soul, just as the eyes are the windows of his spiritual habitation, and if the 4 INTRODUCTION powers of the voice are developed Ave are then enabled to express just what we feci — "To hold as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature, scorn her own image, and the very age and body of the time her form and pressure." In cultivating the voice we must pay particular atten- tion to detail, both as to the mechanical and intellectual part of the work, for it is only by attending to little things that we can expect to master the more difficult branches of the art. We must first furnish a good in- strument; but with most persons the voice is out of order and requires thorough overhauling. What is the cause of this noble instrument requiring readjusting? One little word will fully answer — misuse. And what will readjust this grand organ of sound ? Practice. Work, and hard work, is absolutely essential if vocal defects are to be corrected. We must remember that the voice cannot be built up in a day, but that months of care- ful training under a skillful master is the only means to adopt if good results are to be expected. We should experience no pain or trouble whatever when speaking, and every tone of the voice should be produced without apparent effort. Deep breathing requires an effort, but it must not be perceptible to the audience. A very vital point is to control the breath and not allow it to rush through the larynx without being converted into sound. This will be dwelt upon and explained among the exercises. In cultivating the voice we must first find out the medium register, and then work below and above it. How are we to do this ? By taking the ordinary speak- ing voice as a guide and gradually working the voice as far above and below this tone as possible. In a very little while the student will find that his medium regis- ter is changing. And why is this? Because in most instances the student has habitually (not naturally) INTRODUCTION 5 pitched his voice either too high or too low, and the exercises are now bringing the different registers to their proper position. If he has been accustomed to speak in too low a tone this register has grown at the expense of the upper, and consequently the medium has been drawn down a considerable number of tones, but as he strengthens the upper register the compass will be extended and the medium will be raised corre- spondingly. If the upper has been constantly used this will prove to possess the strongest tones, and the lower register must suffer from the extra practice which the upper has received. Many teachers claim that such and such a tone on the scale represents the medium regis- ter. Now, I am bold to say that such is not the case, for what would be the medium for my voice might be above the medium for yours, and possibly below for an- other person s. Therefore the teacher should find the keynote in the student's voice and commence his work from that, and not endeavor to force his own voice upon the student. A quality lacking in most speaking voices is that of color, and a very important one it is. How few explain by the tones of the voice the meaning of the words uttered! When speaking of love, put love in the voice; express hate, when speaking of it; dwell on the word slow ; use rapid time in uttering the words fast, fire, flash, etc. You have as many colors at your disposal for word painting as the artist possesses to enable him to counterfeit nature, and you should use them. A table of words to practice on will be found among the exercises. There is a great quantity of dead wood clinging to Elocution, but in this simple system I shall aim to chop it all away, and make every one of my assertions per- fectly clear to the student. In many cases the seeker after elocutionary knowledge is only mystified and led 6 INTRODUCTION astray by the amount of matter which is heaped before him in most of the so-called systems. In fact, Elocution is an art and can be imparted by the living teacher alone. It cannot be learned from books. They will serve as assistants and guides, but to rely on them alone would be madness. Elocution is both vocal and physical gymnastics, and I shall follow out that division in this work, taking up the vocal part first. The human family is expressly designed for action, both mental and physical, and is so constructed that to develope and continue the natural powers a certain amount of exercise is absolutely necessary. Every muscle in the body should be thoroughly trained and brought into subjugation to the will, so as to enable the speaker to perform any and every motion with as much ease and skill as he produces the different tones of the voice. Gesticulation is visible speech, and by proper manip- ulation may be made just as effective as voice itself. This being the case, imagine the power of an orator who thoroughly masters both branches of Elocution! He would be enabled to sway an audience at will, com- pelling his hearers to respond to his every expres- sion. It is a well known fact that impressions received through the eye are far more lasting than those made through the medium of any of the other senses, so con- sequently the speaker who can by appropriate gesticula- tion make his oration plain through the sight, will stamp his discourse upon the minds of his hearers and leave an impression not easily erased. I have read in the works of some, who are considered masters of their art, where students are advised to pay no attention whatever to the study of gesture. How then can these same teachers counsel vocal training? It seems to me that one is just as important to the orator or actor as the other. What do they advise the speaker INTRODUCTION J to do ? Rely upon the inspiration of the moment. How ridiculous such instruction must sound to one who has had practical experience as a public speaker. On the platform or stage I assert that nothing should be left to chance. Suppose you should rely upon inspiration, and it should fail to make its appearance. What would be the result ? The utter failure of your oration. Imagine yourself before a cold, unsympathetic audience. Where is the inspiration to come from ? You must call upon that other self, Art; dive into the recesses of your soul and make your audience respond to the passions you ex- press. To do this you must feel what you utter, and give utterance to that feeling. It is not sufficient that you should feel what you are saying but you must give outward expression to it. Here is where the art of Act- ing and Gesticulation comes into play. With proper gestures you can make all you say just as plain to the sight, as by the tones of the voice you can the sounds to the ear. You must individualize yourself with your subject if you wish to succeed as a speaker or actor, and explain not only by voice but also by gesture the author's meaning. Bring into use all the powers of Elocution: the voice, with its thrilling tones; the glow- ing countenance, the breathing frame, and glorious action. Therefore, I sav, assiduouslv study the phvsical branch of Elocution. The different exercises I have inserted in this work, both for the cultivation of voice and gesture, are those I have found of most benefit to students during' my life-long experience as a public speaker and teacher of elocution and dramatic action, and the assertions in reference to positions and movements on the stage or platform have been practically tested by me before au- diences in all parts of the country, and found to work admirably. Before taking up our work in the following pages, I 8 INTRODUCTION would impress upon my reader the necessity of thor- oughly understanding his subject, then identifying him- self with it, and if this is done he will succeed, for to all such we can safely say, in the language of Bulwer, "There 's no such word as 'fail.'" The selections in the back part of the book are not chosen on account of their newness, but from their in- trinsic merit and their adaptability as exercises. Edwin Gordon Lawrence. New York, March, iSpj. ORGANS OK BREATH ORGANS OF BREATH. The muscles used in producing breath are the Dia- phragm, Abdominal, Dorsal, Intercostal and Pectoral. The Diaphragm seperates the chest from the abdo- men, forming the floor of the former cavity and the roof of the latter, and extends right through the body from the ribs in front to the spinal column. It is arched, being convex toward the chest and concave to the abdomen. The height of the Diaphragm varies, being carried downward when air is drawn into the lungs, and up- ward when breath is forced out. In a forced inspiration it is lowered from one to two inches and in exhalation raised a corresponding degree. The Diaphragm gives increased power to every ex- plosive effort and is always called into action in sneez- ing, coughing, laughing, panting or sobbing, a deep inhalation being taken before any of the above acts are performed. The Abdominal muscles are several in number and sit- uated on the sides and front of the abdomen, which brings them below the Diaphragm, on which they act. These muscles move outward when inhaling and inward when exhaling. The Dorsal muscles, or muscles of the back, are in several groups and extend from the back of the neck to the base of the spine. They move inward and outward. The Intercostal muscles are located between the ribs. The Pectoral muscles are located at the fore and upper part of the chest and act upon the ribs by raising and lowering them and in this manner expanding and contracting the chest. IO THE LUNGS — ORGANS OF SOUND — ORGANS OF SPEECH THE LUNGS. The Lungs are essential organs of respiration; they are two in number and placed one in either side of the chest. The right Lung is the larger and has three lobes, while the left is composed of but two. ORGANS OF SOUND. The Larynx is the organ of sound in the human being and is placed at the upper part of the air passage. The Epiglottis is a thin plate, shaped like a leaf and placed in front of the opening of the Larynx. . During respiration it is raised, but when swallowing it is so lowered as to completely close the opening of the Larynx. In the Larynx are the Vocal Cords, four in number, only two of which, however, are directly concerned in the production of voice. The Trachea, or air tube, is a cylindrical tube flat- tened at the back, and extends from the lower part of the Larynx. It is joined to the lungs by the two bron- chial tubes. Its province is to carry the air to and from the Lungs. ORGANS OF SPEECH. The organs of speech are the Soft and Hard Palate, the Tongue, Teeth and Lips. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION The male and female organs of breath, sound and speech are precisely alike and should be used in the same manner. It is not, as some teachers assert, nat- ural for women to breathe by using- the costal and intercostal muscles, while men should use those of the waist. Were it not for the abominable manner of dress- ing adopted by the majority of women they would have no trouble whatever in breathing by using the dia- phragm and abdominal muscles; but when they so lace as to prevent the free action of these muscles they are compelled to rely on those of the chest. Breathing is both voluntary and involuntary; the former when used as the agency of voice, and the latter when promoting animal life. It should not, as a rule, be audible; but is necessarily so when yawning, sighing, panting, sniffing, hawking, aspirating, snoring, sobbing, coughing, sneezing, weeping and laughing. While the lungs cannot be entirely exhausted of breath and the animal live, still they may be very nearly emptied, and the student should take particular care to always have a supply in reserve and thus appear to have a greater amount than he is called upon to use. A good exercise for enlarging the lungs is to fully in- flate them with air drawn through the nostrils, hold the breath for a considerable space, and then as slowly exhale it. Not only is it essential to have a knowledge of the art of breathing, but assiduous practice and perseverance are absolutely required to enable us to gain control of the different muscles. 12 BREATH Great care should be taken not to waste breath. We should inhale as rapidly as possible when speaking, and use only sufficient breath to produce the required voice, being - constantly on the watch to prevent breath escaping through the larynx without being converted into sound. The absolute necessity of breathing through the nos- trils cannot be too forcibly impressed upon the student of Elocution, as habitual mouth breathing is responsi- ble for many of the throat and lung troubles affecting those who employ the voice in reading and reciting. There are times when it may be advisable, and in some instances necessary, to inhale through the mouth as well as the nostrils, especially during a very passionate dis- course, but as a rule the air must be drawn into the lungs through the nostrils and the breath expelled through the mouth. BREATH. Forms of BrcatJiing. There are three forms of breathing, viz., the Effusive, Expulsive and Explosive. The first is merely allowing the breath to escape into the air; the second, pushing it; and the third, shooting it out. Exercise for Breathing. In these exercises the student must merely produce breath and not allow a particle of sound to escape from the larynx. Fully inflate the lungs by drawing in as much air through the nostrils as possible, keeping the mouth closed; at the same time expanding the chest, throwing out the abdominal and dorsal muscles and depressing the diaphragm; now open the mouth, draw in the ab- dominal and dorsal muscles, raise the diaphragm slowly SOUND — PITCH 1 3 and effuse the breath into the air. The pressure of the waist muscles, which should be inward and upward, must be continued until the lung's are pretty well exhausted. The expulsive requires a quicker and stronger stroke of the waist muscles than the effusive, and the pressure must be continued just as though the breath were meet- ing with opposition and did not wish to leave, compel- ling you to push it out with steady force. The explosive, requiring still quicker and stronger action of the muscles than the expulsive, is shot from the lungs, and the waist muscles must be drawn inward and upward with a sudden stroke, as if a blow were aimed at the pit of the stomach. SOUND. Vocal sound proceeds from the breath acting on the vocal cords, causing them to vibrate. It is vocalized breath. Organs of Sound. There are four sets of organs concerned in th<- pro- duction of vocal sounds, viz.: ist. The muscles used in producing breath. 2d. The lungs. 3d. The larynx. 4th. The pharynx, mouth and nasal passages. PITCH. There arc three divisions of the speaking vo.*,;,, which I shall term the upper, medium and lower rasters. The upper register is used in expressing joy, terror, alarm, exultation, rage, invective, threat, eagerness, stir- ring description, excitement or lively narration. Brisk, gay, joyous emotion, and passionate feeling of the lighter order is produced on this register. 14 PITCH The medium register expresses all that is ordinary. The lower register is employed in giving expression to deep-seated feeling and intense passion. Grief, hate, horror, remorse — all that is sad and solemn; suppressed rage and brooding thought bring into play the tones of the lower register. The softest and most fervent ex- pressions of love and veneration also employ the deep tones of the voice. Exercise. Take, che sound of ah; breathe the same as when, in ■A J the pj eceding exercise, you merely produced breath, and convert the breath into sound, continuing it as long as you conveniently can, pitching the voice on the medium register, which should be the tone used in ordinary conversation. Take the same sound again, using the expulsive form of breathing, and then the ex- plosive, on the same register. After getting this to your satisfaction, or as near right as you can, pitch the voice as low as possible and repeat the exercise. When this has been accomplished raise the voice to its highest pitch and go over the exercise again, thus ex- ercising the voice from one extreme tone to the other, and in doing so gradually extending its compass. Con- tinue this, taking each register alternately, until a tired feeling asserts itself or a dizzy sensation is apparent. The student must be careful not to strain the vocal cords when exercising on the extreme tones of the voice, and only produce such tones as he conveniently can. The voice must be coaxed and not forced, and unless this instruction is strictly followed series in- jury will be the result. While all vocal sound is produced in the larynx it must not be held there, but should be allowed to come freely into the air. Avoid mouthing; speak on the lips and not in the cavity of the mouth. THE SPEAKING VOICE I 5 For all low tones the vibration of the sound should be thrown into the cavity of the chest, producing those full, round, grand tones possessing rich color and son- orous beauty, so like the sounds that come from the cathedral organ. For all high tones the vibration should be thrown into the cavity of the head. The tension of the vocal cords and position of the larynx regulate the pitch of the voice, the latter moving up or down as the tone changes. The vibrations of the vocal cords increase as the pitch of the voice rises. There are several vocal defects, such as nasal and throaty tones; the former being brought about, not as a great many suppose by speaking through the nose, but from a clogging of the head passages, which prevents the free vibration of the sound and its exit into the air. The throaty tones are caused by bringing down the epi- glottis while speaking, and confining the sound to the larynx. Only a living teacher can remedy these defects, so it would be useless to dwell upon them here or of- fer exercises to employ in their removal. THE SPEAKING VOICE. Speech is articulated sound and is produced by the action of the soft and hard palate, tongue, teeth and lips on the sound as it leaves the larynx. BREATH SOUND REGISTER Effusive j i Upper Expulsive V A E I O u -< Medium Explosive J ( Lower Exercise on the above vowels the same as on ah, sounding each one clearly, and producing them on the medium register, effusive form of breathing first, then the expulsive and explosive forms, repeating the exer- cise on the lower and upper registers. Inflate the lungs fully before each sound, 1 6 WHISPER WHISPER. The whisper is the softest form of articulated sound, and great benefit may be derived from careful practice on the whispering exercises. While it is the softest form of speech, still it is one of the most violent, as large quantities of breath are used in its production, and great pains must be taken to articulate very care- fully and not throw one wave sound after another until the first has passed the lips into the air and been safely launched on its journey. The epiglottis, or cover of the larynx, must be kept nicely raised, and the whisper thrown directly on the lips, and on no account held in the mouth or throat. The wrong production of the whisper is liable to do more injury to the organs of sound than if a full tone is wrongfully produced; there- fore special care must be taken when practicing on this exercise. The three forms of breathing are employed in whispering just the same as when the full tones of the voiee are used. Exercises in Whisper. Effusive — Now o'er the one half world Nature seems dead and wicked dreams abuse The curtained sleep: witchcraft celebrates Pale Hecate's offerings; and wither'd murder Alarmed by his sentinel, the wolf, Whose howl 's his watch, thus with his stealthy pace With Tarquin's ravishing strides, toward his design Moves like a ghost. Expulsive — Angels and ministers of grace defend us! Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned; Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, RULES OF ELOCUTION — ARTICULATION I J Be thy intents wicked or charitable; Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, That I will speak to thee. Explosive — Now, fire! comrades! fire! up and at them! Fight, men, fight for your wives and your children and your homes. RULES OF ELOCUTION. The principal rules of Elocution are Articulation, Modulation, Emphasis and Delivery, for from these four golden rules all others arise and on them depend. Articulation — Articulation is the art of pronouncing every letter, syllable and word clearly and distinctly. There are twenty-six letters in the English alphabet, and the vowels, or such letters that can be uttered alone, are as follows: A (a. as a letter, a as a word). Before words beginning with a vowel sound it takes the letter n after it. This let- ter has six sounds, as in ale, arm, all, an, glass, care, E, e long as in mete, short e as in met. I, I long as in fine, short i as in fin. O has various sounds, as 710 te, not, ?ior, move, done. U, as in tube, up, full. W, in diphthongs, is used as a vowel for uj as view, strew. Y, except at the beginning .of English words and syl- lables, is a vowel, and has the sound of i. Practice the following table of words on the three registers and in the three forms of breathing: Ale j Eve j lie Old Tube Arm 1 Mete ( Fine Lose Up All j End i In On Full An [ Met j Fin 1 8 MODULATION Exci7nples. The first vowel, a, is often indistinctly heard, and is frequently mispronounced. Sometimes it is too broad, and again too thin. For instance, in such words as mass, glass and pass, it is mispronounced mass, glass, pass; and again, muss, glass, pass. The vowel o is at times drawn out until it sounds like aw, gone being pro- nounced as though spelt gawne i dog as though written dawg. This is a grievous fault and should be at once corrected. The letter u is ofttimes mispronounced oo, especially in such words as duke, which is generally uttered as though spelt dook. The termination sume, as consume and presume, is rarely properly pronounced, being spoken as soom. Dew and due should be pro- nounced du, and not doo, as is often the case. Avoid doubling the consonants, as d in and; do not utter it as though there were two ds, thus, and-d. The letter d when coming at the end of a word is some- times never heard, as in husband, a large number of persons pronouncing the word as if written husban. G is another letter often slighted, in such words as ringing, singing, etc. The terminations ance and ence are often confounded and uttered like u?ice, and ace like iss in the word furnace. The letter h is a great sufferer, especially when the first letter of a word or when coming after w y as in when, where, etc. Some even go so far as to call for fur; and many more such glaring errors are con- stantly being made through carelessness as much as ignorance. I might keep on citing instances of mispro- nunciation and poor articulation, but I think the above will suffice. Modulation — Modulation is changing the pitch and inflection of the MODULATION 1 9 voice, so as to explain by the different tones the mean- ing of the words uttered. Examples. Take Tennyson's beautiful little poem of " The Bugle Song " and read it as follows: The splendor' {medium register, rising inflection} falls on castle walls v {lower register, falling inflection). And snowy summits' {medium register, rising inflection) old in story N {lower register , falling inflection)-, The long {hold the word "long'') light shakes {tremor stress) across the lakes, And the wild {full and round) cataract leaps {explosive) in glory. Blo\v v {falling inflection, bugle tone), bu' {rising) gle v {fall- ing), blow' {rising), set the wild echoes nVTng' {very light on word "flying" to represent the echo, and four strokes on the word, in this manner — fly^'i^ng'). O hark, O hear! how thin and clear, And thinner, clearer, farther going; ' O sweet and far, from cliff and scar, The horns of Elfland faintly blowing! Blow (<3> middle stress, upper register), let us hear the purple glens replying (<^> middle stress, upper register, echo to " blow ") : Blow (<^>)> bu (<3>) gle (O); answer, echoes, dying (<0 > ), dying (O), dying (<3>) {gradually decreas- ing volume on the repetition of the word "dying" ten til the last is very soft and appears to come from a great distance), O love, they die in yon rich sky, They faint on hill or field or river : Our echoes roll from soul to soul And grow forever and forever. 20 EMPHASIS — DELIVERY ♦ Blow N bu'gle\ blow', set the wild echoes fly v Tng / , And answer echoes, answer, dyTng", dy^Tng", dy v 'i v ng' {the word "dying" forming the echo to (i B!ow^ btfgle^ t blow' " and gradually decreasing volume of sound tin til the last dying is very light and appears to be miles away among the hills). Emphasis — Emphasis is laying greater stress on a word and making it stand out boldly. The longer we hold the word and the greater the volume of voice employed, the stronger will be the emphasis. Examples. I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me LIBERTY or give me DEATH. Be we men, And suffer such dishonor? MEN, and wash not the stain away in blood? Delivery — Delivery is the most important of the four rules, for it combines them all. To possess a good delivery we must have thorough control of the voice, eye, muscles of the face, and movements cf the body ; for delivery is. not speech alone, it is expression. Exercise. When public bodies are to be addressed on moment- ous occasions, when great interests are at stake, and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable in speech further than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It cannot be brought from far. Labor and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and STRESS 2 1 phrases may be marshaled in every way, but they can- not compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject and in the occasion. Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it : they cannot reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the out-breaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible. Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent ; then self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, out-running the de- ductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward, to his object — this, this is eloquence ; or rather it is something greater and higher than all eloquence — it is action, noble, sublime, godlike action. [SPEECH of Daniel Webster.] STRESS. Stress is used for emphasis, and there are six forms as follows: Initial Stress, [> Final Stress, <] Middle Stress, <> Compound Stress, [><] Thorough Stress, | | Tremulous Stress, ^-^v^- 22 THE PASSIONS Exercise in Stress. Attend AIL [> I said Ally not one or two. <^J Join All ye creatures in his praise. <^> What! All? did they all fail? [> FORM OP BREATHING Rock-ribbed and ancieni as the sun — the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between, The venerable woods — rivers thai move In majesty, and the complaining brooks Thai make the meadows green, and poured round all, Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste, Ai\- bu1 the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host ot^ heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes o( death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The -lobe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings Of morning; pierce the Barcan wilderness. Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound Save his own dashing — yet — the dead are there; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flighl of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. So shah thou rest; and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art ^onc, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train Of ages glide away, the sons of men, The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years — matron and maid, And the sweet babe, and the gray-haired man- Shall one by one be gathered to thy side By those who in their turn shall follow them. So live that when thy summons comes to join GESTURE — FEET POSITIONS 3 1 The innumerable' caravan that moves To the pale realms of shade where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon; but sustained and southed By an unfaltering trust, ajjproach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. [ThanaTOPSIS — William Cullcn Bryant^ * GESTURE. The stroke of the gesture, and that of the voice, should be simultaneous, otherwise the effect is marred and the force of the movement lost. Gesture should never fol- low nor precede speech, it should accompany it. The action may commence long before you utter the word requiring the stroke of the gesture, but when the word is spoken the stroke of the gesture must be delivered at the exact moment that the stroke of the voice is heard. When the mason commences work on a building, he starts with the foundation, and after completing that, sets about rearing the structure firmly upon it. Follow- ing out this plan I will commence with the positions of the feet. Feet Positions. There are six positions of the feet; three of the right foot and three of the left. Whenever the speaker extends the arms, whether downward, horizontal or elevated, he must take the second position of the foot. If the movement expresses joy, supplication, veneration, etc., he must take either the second position right or second position left foot, *This system of Gesture is founded on that of the Rev. Gilbert Aus-cm, of London, England. 32 FEET POSITIONS according to whichever hand is performing the princi- pal gesture; "but if the movement is brought about by fear, horror, surprise, terror, etc., he must take the second position retired (third position of the foot), as by this action the body is drawn away from the object which presents the motive for the movement. The first position right is vised when speaking to the right, or immediately in front, aud not gesticulating ; and the first position left when speaking to the left and not ges- ticulating. First Position, Right Foot — In this position the weight of the body should rest mainly on the left foot, right slightly in advance, and resting lightly, but in its whole length upon the floor; the space of the width of your own foot should separate the feet, the heels should be on a line, and the' feet at an angle of about seventy-five degrees. Second Position, Right Foot — Slide the right foot forward a distance of about its length; transfer the weight of the body to the right foot; raise the left heel from the ground, turning it slightly inward, allowing only the ball of the left great toe to rest upon the ground to prevent the body from tottering. First and Second Positions of the Left Foot — The positions are similar in every respect to those of the right, except that the left foot is in advance and per- forms the principal movement. Third or Retired Position of the Right Foot — The right foot being retired, bend that knee, throw the whole weight of the body upon that foot, retiring the body as much as possible; at the same time brace the left knee, which is advanced. position of the arms. 33 Third or Retired Position of the Left Foot — This position is analogous to the retired position of the right. These six positions of the teet constitute all that are necessary either on the stage or platform. Position of the Arms. There are twelve primary movements of the arms, and from a combination of these all the gestures of the arms are made. I divide them into three parts: downward, horizontal and elevated, corresponding with the three registers and to express the same feelings. These are the verti- cal gestures, and those that cross them are termed transverse movements. Of the latter there are four, making twelve primary movements of the arms in all. They are as follows: Downwards forwards. Downwards oblique. Downwards extended. Downwards backwards. Horizontal forwards. Horizontal oblique. Horizontal extended. Horizontal backwards. Elevated forwards. Elevated oblique. Elevated extended. Elevated backwards. The downward movements must be made within forty-five degrees of the nadir, or point directly beneath the feet. The horizontal forty-five degrees above the downward, or on a line with the horizon. The elevated 34 POSTURE AND MOTIONS OF THE HAND forty five degrees above the horizontal. The move- ments of the arms must not be angular, but should possess those graceful curves which the artist Hogarth so aptly styles " the curves of beauty." Care must also be taken in keeping perfect time with voice and gest- ure, the stroke of both coming on the same syllable. The arm and hand are the most important parts of the body in reference to oratory; in fact, they may be considered as jointly constituting the grand oratorical weapon. I hold that both hands should be equally used in the formation of gesture. When the person ad- dressed is on the right of the speaker, use the right hand, and when on the left, the one on that side of the body, at the same time advancing the corresponding foot. I am aware that this advice is in direct conflict with that of the ancient orators, but then, we must bear in mind that it was outside influences, bearing only on that age, that caused the old masters to say that the left hand should never perform gesture alone, and should be sparingly used even in conjunction with the other hand. Their form of dress precluded the use of the left arm, as it was generally engaged holding up the toga, consequently the principal part of gesticulation de- volved upon the right. Therefore, with the passing away of the ancient garment, I think the custom of employing the right arm alone, should also be a thing of the past. Always use the corresponding hand and foot i. e. right hand and right foot, left hand and left foot. When crossing the stage be particular to advance the right foot first when moving to the right, and the left foot when -going to the left. In this manner we will avoid the awkward crossing of the" feet. Posture and Motions of the Hand. The postures of the hand are determined by four dif- ferent circumstances. POSTURE AND MOTIONS OF THE HAND 35 i. By the disposition of the fingers. 2. By the manner of presenting the palm. 3. By the combined disposition of both hands. 4. By the part of the body on which they are occa- sionally placed. First Class of the Postures of the Hands, Depend- ing on the Disposition of the Fingers — The Natural State. The hand, when unconstrained, in its natural and relaxed state, either hanging down at rest, or raised moderately up, has all the fingers a little bent inwards towards the palm; the middle and third finger lightly touch; the fore-finger is separated from the middle finger, and less bent, and the little finger separated from the third, and more bent. The ex- tremity of the thumb bends a little outwards, and in its general length and disposition, is nearly parallel with the fore-finger. When the arm is raised horizontal, the hand is held obliquely between the postures inward and supine. Cresollius recommends the public speaker to adopt this posture of the hand, and for this preference he adduces the authority of Hipprocates and Galen. But it is not necessary that a speaker should confine himself to any one posture of the hand: variety may often demand the contrary; if, however, he should prefer using only one, this posture merits the preference. Clinched. The fingers in this disposition are firmly closed, and press their extremities upon the palm; the thumb aids the pressure, and is lapped, particularly over the middle finger. Extended. The fingers in this state, whatever may be the general position of the hand, are separated from each other with energy in proportion to the excitation of the speaker. Index. Pointing with the fore-finger, the other fingers turned inwards, and contracted with more or less force, 36 POSTURE AND MOTIONS OF THE HAND according to the energy of the speaker. This gesture is used in reproach and indication, from the last of which it has its name, index. Holding. The finger and thumb are pressed together, either the fore or middle finger, or both; the other fingers are contracted, more or less, according to the degree of energy required by the sentiment. Hollow. When the palm is held nearly supine, and the fingers turn inwards, without touching. Grasping. The fingers and thumb seizing the gar- ments or the hair. Second Class of the Postures of the Hands, Depend- ing on the Manner of Presenting the Palm — Prone. The hand is prone when the palm is turned downwards. Supine. The hand is said to be supine when the palm is turned upwards. Inwards. When the palm is turned towards the brest and the hand is held on the edge. Outwards. When the palm is turned from the body, and towards the object, the thumb downwards, the hand held on the edge. Vertical. When the palm is perpendicular to the hor- izon, the fingers pointing upwards. Forwards. When the palm is presented forwards, the arm hanging down, or placed in one of the extended, or backward positions. Backwards. When the palm is turned backwards, the arm hanging down, or placed in one of the extended, or backward positions. Third Class of the Postures of the Hands Arising from the Combined Disposition of Both Hands — Of this class a few only are noticed, and those are they POSTURE AND MOTIONS OF THE HAND 37 which are most in use among public speakers; others may be supplied as occasion may require. Applied. When the palms are pressed together, and the fingers and thumbs of each are mutually laid against each other. Clasped. When all the fingers are inserted between each other, and the hands pressed closely together. Folded. When the fingers of the right hand, at the second joint, are laid between the thumb and fore-finger of the left, the right thumb crossing the left. Crossed. When the left hand is placed on the breast, and the right on the left, or the contrary. Inclosed, When the knuckles at the middle joint of one hand, moderately bent, are received within the palm of the other, the fingers of which stretch along the back of the inclosed hand nearly to the wrist, the thumbs crossing, or rather, laid at length over each other. Touching. When the points of the fingers of each hand are brought lightly into contact. Wringing. When both hands are first clasped to- gether, and elevated, then depressed, and separated at the wrists, without disengaging the fingers. Enumerating. When the index finger of the right hand is laid successively upon the index, or the differ- ent fingers of the left. If the number of divisions be more than four, the enumeration should begin from the thumb. Sometimes the finger and thumb of the right hand hold the finger of the left, which represents the division. Fourth Class of the Posture of the Hands, Arising from the Part of the Body on which they are Occasionally Placed — The fourth class of the postures of the hands arises 38 THE MOTIONS OF THE ARMS AND HANDS from the part of the body on which they are occasion- ally placed. The parts of the body and head most re- markable in this respect are the breast, the eyes, the lips, the forehead, the chin. The Motions of the Arms and Hands. In ascertaining the import of any posture of either arm, or hand, it is important to consider the posture in connection with the action by which it is produced; for any posture of the arm, or hand, may sustain different significant characters, because different actions give the same posture an entirely different import. This must be obvious to all who reflect that the effect of the pos- ture greatly depends upon the exact character of the motion, which is produced partly by the direction which the motion takes, partly by the force with which it is commenced, and partly by the distance through which it passes. The motions of the hands and arms together are, therefore, considered ; first, as to their direction; and secondly, as to their manner of moving. The energy is not here taken into account. As to the manner of motion, gesture may be con- sidered as: Noting. When the hand is first drawn back and raised, and then advanced, and, with a gentle stroke, depressed. Projecting, or pushing. When the arm is first re- tracted, and then thrust forward in the direction in which the hand points. Waving. When the fingers are first pointed down- wards, and then by a smart motion of the elbow and wrist, the hand is flung upward in a vertical direction. The Flourish. A circular movement above the head. The Sweep. A curved movement, descending from THE MOTIONS OF THE ARMS AND HANDS 2>9 the opposite shoulder, and rising with velocity to the utmost extent of the arm, or the reverse; changing the position of the hand from supine to vertical, in the first i case, and from vertical to supine, in the latter. The sweep is sometimes doubled, by returning the arm through the same arch. Beckoning. When with the fore-finger, or the whole hand, the palm being turned inwards, a motion is made in the direction of the breast. Repressing. The reverse of the preceding gesture, when the fore-finger, or the whole hand, the palm turned outwards, makes a motion in opposition to the person addressed. The motions, in these last two gestures, are often repeated. Striking. When the whole fore-arm, and the hand along with it, descend from a higher elevation rapidly, and with a degree of force like a stroke, which is arrested when it has struck what it was aimed against. Recoiling. When after a stroke, as in the former gest- ure the arm and hand return to the position whence they proceeded. Advancing. When the hand, being first moved down- wards and backwards, in order to obtain greater space for action, is then moved regularly forwards, and raised as high as the horizontal position, a step being, at the same time, made in advance, to aid the action. Springing. When the hand, having nearly arrived at the intended limit of gesture, flies suddenly up to it by a quick motion of the wrist, like the blade of a pocket- knife, when it suddenly and decidedly snaps into its proper situation by the recoil of the spring. Throwing. When the arm, by the force of the gest- ure, is thrown, as it were, in the direction of the person addressed. Clinching. When the hand is suddenly clinched, and the arm raised in a posture of threatening. 40 THE HEAD, THE EVES, THE SHOULDERS AND THE BODY Collecting. When the arm, from an extended posture, sweeps inwards. Shaking. When a tremulous motion is made by the arm and hand. Retracting. When the arm is withdrawn, preparatory to projecting or pushing. Rejecting. Is the action of pushing the hand verti- cally towards the object, and, at the same time, averting the head. Bending. Is the gesture preparatory to striking. The gestures here given will suffice as a specimen of some of the most useful in this class. The Head, the Jives, the Shoulders and the Body. As the head gives the chief grace to the person, so does it principally contribute to the expression of grace in delivery. The head should be held in an erect and natural pos- ture; for, when hung down, it expresses humility or diffidence; when thrown back, arrogance; when inclined to one side, languor or indifference. The movements of the head should be suited to the character of the delivery. They should accord with the gesture, and fall in with the action of the hands and the motions of the body. The head is capable of many appropriate expressions. Besides those nods which signify assent or approbation and rejection, there are motions of the head known, and common to all, which express modesty, doubt, admira- tion and indignation. But to use gesture of the head alone, unaccompanied by any other gesture, is consid- ered faulty. It is also a fault to shake or nod the head frequently, to toss it violently, or to agitate the hair, by rolling it about. The most usual motions and postures of the head are as follows: SIGNIFICANT GESTURES 4 1 POSTURES AND MOTIONS OF DIRECTION OF THE EYES THE HEAD. Inclined. Erect. Assenting. Denying. Shaking. Tossing. Aside. Forwards. Averted. Downwards. Upwards. Around. Vacancy. The motions of the trunk contribute much to the effect in delivery. The gestures of the arms and hands, therefore, should always be supported by the accom- paniment of the body. Not by affected and ridiculous contortions, but by the manly and free exertions of the muscles of the body, the general consent of which is indispensable to the production of graceful motion. Sign ifica n t Ges titres. The most important of the significant gestures are the following : The Head and Face — The hanging down of the head denotes shame, or grief. The holding of it up, pride or courage. To nod forwards implies assent. To toss the head back, dissent. The inclination of the head implies diffidence or languor. The head is averted, in dislike or horror. It leans forward, in attention. The Eyes— The eyes are raised, in prayer. They weep, in sorrow. 42 SIGNIFICANT GESTURES They burn, in anger. They are downcast or averted, in shame or grief. They are cast on vacancy, in thought. They are cast in various directions, in doubt and anxiety. The Arms — The placing of the hand on the head, indicates pain or distress. On the eyes, shame or sorrow. On the lips, an injunction of silence. On the breast, an appeal to conscience. The hand is waved, or flourished, in joy or contempt. Both hands are held supine, or they are applied or clasped, in prayer. Both are held prone, in blessing. They are clasped, or wrung, in affliction. They are held forward, and received, in friendship. The Body — The body, held erect, indicates steadiness and courage. Thrown back, pride. Stooping forward, condescension or compassion. Bending, reverence or respect- Prostration, the utmost humility or abasement. The Lower Limbs — The firm position of the lower limbs signifies courage, or obstinacy. Bended knees indicate timidity; or weakness. The lower limbs advance, in desire or courage. They retire, in aversion or fear. Start, in terror. Stamp, in authority or anger. Kneel, in submission and prayer. These are a few of the simple gestures which may be termed significant. COMPLEX SIGNIFICANT GESTURES 43 Complex Significant Gestures. Complex significant gestures are employed chiefly in dramatic representation. They are combinations of simple significant gestures, variously associated accord- ing to the mingled passions which they represent. The boldest and most magnificent of them are termed atti- tudes. The following are examples of complex signifi- cant gestures: Reproach puts on a stern aspect ; the brow is con- tracted, the lip is turned up with scorn, and the whole body is expressive of aversion. Apprehension is the prospect of future evil, accom- panied with uneasiness of mind. TERROR excites the person who suffers under it, to avoid the dreaded object, or to escape from it. If it be some dangerous reptile on the ground, and very near, the expression is represented by starting back and looking downwards. If the danger threaten from a dis- tance, the terror arising is -expressed by looking for- wards, and not starting back, but merely in the retired position. But if the dread of impending death from the hand of an enemy awaken his passion, the coward flies. Horror, which is aversion or astonishment mingled with terror, is seldom capable of retreating, but remains in one attitude, with the eyes riveted on the object, the arms, with the hands vertical, held forward to guard the person, and the whole frame trembling. Listening, in order to obtain the surest and most various information, first casts the eye quickly in the apparent direction of the sounds ; if nothing is seen the ear is turned towards the point of expectation, the eye is bent on vacancy, and the arm is extended, with the hand vertical ; but all this passes in a moment. If the sounds proceed from different points at the same time, both hands are held up, and the face »and eyes altern- 44 COMPLEX SIGNIFICANT GESTURES ately change from one side to the other with a rapidity governed by the nature of the sound ; if it be alarm- ing, with trepidation; if pleasing, with gentle motion. Admiration, if of surrounding natural objects of a pleasing kind, holds both hands vertical, and across, and then moves them outwards. In admiration arising from some extraordinary or unexpected circumstances, the hands are thrown up supine elevated, together with the face and the eyes. Veneration crosses both hands on the breast, casts down the eyes slowly, and bows the head. Deprecation advances in the extended position of the feet, approaching to kneeling, clasps the hands forcibly together, throws back the head, sinking it between the shoulders, and looks earnestly up to the person im- plored. In Appealing to Heaven the right hand is laid on the breast, then the left is projected supine upwards; the eyes are first directed forwards, and then upwards. In the Appeal to Conscience the right hand is laid on the breast, the left drops unmoved, the eyes are fixed upon the person addressed; sometimes both hands press the breast. Shame in the Extreme sinks on the knee and covers the eyes with both hands. This is a feminine expression of it. Mild Resignation falls on the knee, crosses the arms on the breast, and looks forwards and upwards towards heaven. Resignation mixed with Desperation stands erect and unmoved, the head thrown back, the eyes turned upwards and fixed, the arms crossed. Grief, arising from sudden and afflicting intelligence, covers the eyes with one hand, advances forwards and throws back the other hand. Attention, Demanding Silence, holds the finger on COMPLEX SIGNIFICANT GESTURES 45 the lips and leans forwards, sometimes repressing with the left hand. Distress, when extreme, lays the palm of the hand upon the forehead, throws back the head and body, and retires with a long and sudden step. Deliberation, on ordinary subjects, holds the chin and sets the arm akimbo. Self-sufficiency folds the arms, and sets himself on his center. This was a favorite posture of Bonaparte. Pride throws back the body, and holds the head high. These few complex significant gestures are some of the most obvious, and principally such as occurred in the illustration of other parts of this system; they serve, however, in some degree, to explain the nature of these gestures. Surprise causes the body and lower limbs to retire, and affection stimulates the person to advance. When the thoughts flow without difficulty or opposi- tion, the movement of the limbs is free and direct. But when difficulties occur, or obstacles are discovered, a man either arrests his action entirely, or changes it to something altogether different. The direction of his eyes, and the action of his head, are also, under similar circumstances, quite altered. The eyes instead of mov- ing freely from object to object, become fixed, and the head is thrown back, if hanging down on the breast. Melancholy is a feeble and passive affection; it is attended by a total relaxation of the muscles, with a mute and tranquil resignation, unaccompanied by oppo- sition either to the cause or the sensibility of the evil. The character, externally, is languor, without motion, the head hanging at the "side next the heart," the eyes turned upon its objector; if that is absent, fixed upon the ground, the hands hanging down by their own weight, without effort, and joined loosely together. Anxiety is of a different character; it is restless and 46 COMPLEX SIGNIFICANT GESTURES active, and manifest by the extension of the muscles; the eye is filled with fire, the breathing is quick, the motion is hurried, the head is thrown back, the whole body is extended. The sufferer is like a sick man who tosses incessantly, and finds himself uneasy in every situation. The significant gestures, however numerous and cor- rect, which a great actor makes in the representation of an entire dramatic character, bear no proportion to the number of those gestures which do not belong to this class, which are no less necessary, though they are not so splendid and imposing. The painter is struck by the boldest and finest of the significant gestures, which are called attitudes, and he records them; they are the proper objects of his art; they are striking, and less evanescent than the other gestures which pass un- noticed by him, although they make up by far the greater and more important part of the gestures requisite for illustrating the sentiments. These less prominent gestures give to the declamation its precision and force. A slight movement of the head, a look of the eye, a turn of the hand, a judicious pause, or interrup- tion of gesture, or a change of position in the feet, often illuminates the meaning of a passage, and sends it full of life and warmth, into the understanding. And the perfection of gesture, in a tragedian, will be found to consist more in the skillful management of the less showy action, than in the exhibition of the finest atti^ tudes. Attitudes are dangerous to hazard; the whole powers of the man must be wrought up to their high- est energy, or they become forced and frigid. Excellent players have been seen, who have never ventured in attitude; but none, deserving the name of excellence, have ever appeared, whose declamation has been de- ficient in precision or propriety. Where all the solid foundation of just and appropriate action has been laid, EXERCISE FOR WORD PAINTING 47 attitude, when regulated with taste and discretion, may be added to ornament the superstructure; but, when it is introduced unseasonably, or is overcharged, it is an evidence of deficiency of understanding, as well as of depravity of taste. EXERCISE FOR WORD PAINTING. When practicing on the following exercise care should be taken to speak each word with as mueh expression as possible, thus bringing out its meaning clearly. A great many more words suitable for the purpose might readily be found, and the student may add to my list at his discretion. Sweet Lofty Gloat Remorse Sour Deep Sob Groan Bitter Silence Quiet Shook Feeble Sin Glorious Gasping Mystery Slow Hate Vacant Flash Dim Despair Severe Frenzy Gloom Anguish Fade Pain Poor Laughter Force Slave Sneak Husky Small Vague Honor Thunder Holy Hoarse Joy Stern Near Bereft Rage Despair Smooth Courage Wailing Large Betrayed Calmly Sorrow Crouch Fear Murmur Haughty Far Quive Horror Sigh Blight Faith Dreaming Long Spurned Pity Burning Hope Trembled Doubt Kind Full Turbulent Freezing Cross Shame Hushed Terrible Love Towered Scorn Surged Glittered Growled Wonder Shouted 48 EXERCISES IN INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS Exercise in Coloring Words. The lattice was open, and the wondrous melody came floating out upon the still night air. I knew it was he that was playing, and I hated him, and I tried not to stay and listen, but the magie of the music held me spell- bound and I could not stir. And the throbbing notes passed by me into the darkness like the quivering of un- seen wings, and they stretched their pinions under me and raised me up, till it seemed as though the little world had sunk away beneath my feet, and the rushing song was bearing me up to the gates of Heaven. And then the music broke with a bitter cry, as though some heart had burst, and the trembling chords were heavy with tears — now pitiful and low like the quiet sobbing of a little child, and now terrible and stern like the deep moaning of a strong man in his agony, and then it rose once more up through the star-lit temple of the night, cleaving the silence with a note so sweet, so pure, so full, so glorious with triumph over conquered pain that I felt as if my very soul were beating to escape against its prison bars, and knowing hardly what I did, I threw myself upon the ground and clung to it, and cried — I could not help it — till the playing ceased and the vibrat- ing harmony had been gathered up into the great bosom of the darkness, and had died away. EXERCISES IN INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS. Friends^, Romans', countrymen"! lend me your ears; I come to bury" Caesar', not to praise" him. The evil' that men do lives after" them; The good' is oft interred N with their bones: So let it be with Caesar. The noble Brutus v Hath told you', Caesar" was ambitious"; If it were v so', it was a grievous fault, And grievously hath Caesar answered it. i EXERCISES IN INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS 49 Here, under leave of Brutus, and the rest, — For Brutus is an * honorable man, So are they all, all honorable men, — Come I to speak in Caesar's funeral. He was my friend, faithful and just to me: But Brutus says he was ambitious, J. And Brutus is an honorable man. He hath brought many captives home to Rome, Whose ransom did the general coffers fill : Did this' in Caesar" seem ambitious'? When that the poor' have cried\ Caesar' hath wepf*; Ambition should be made of sterner stuff : Yet Brutus says he was"' ambitious, And Brutus is an honorable man'. (?) You all did see, that, on the Lupercal, I thrice presented him a kingly' crown N , Which he did thrice refuse. Was this ambition"? Yet Brutus says he was ambitious, And, sure, he is an honorable manf \ ironically. I speak not to disprove what Brutus" spoke', But here I am to speak what I do know\ You all did love him once", not' without cause": What cause " withholds you then to mourn' for him N ? O judgment, thou art fled to brutish beasts And men have lost their reason! — Bear with me; My heart N is in the coffin' there with Caesar\ And I must pause till it come back to me. *" Brutus is an honorable man." In the first instance it should be spoken as if he really meant what he said ; in the second, almost the same, but with a slight shade of doubt ; in the third it should be spoken as though he asked the people If Brutus was an honorable man? $0 EXERCISES IN INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS But yesterday' the word of Caesar ' might Have stood against the world"; now lies he there, And none ' so poor' to do him reverence\ Masters"! if I were disposed to stir Your hearts and minds to mutiny and rage, 1 should do Brutus' wrong\ and Cassius' wrong". Who', you air know', are honorable menf j ironically. I will not do them wrong; I rather choose To wrong the dead", to wrong myself N , and you', Than I will wrong such N honorable menf \ ironically. But here 's a parchment, with the seal of Caesar; I found it in his closet; t is his will. Let but the commons hear this testament, — Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read, And they would go and kiss < dead Caesar's wounds s , And dip their napkins' in his sacred blood"; Yea', beg a hair" of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich' legacy", Unto their issue. If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle; I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on; 'T was on a summer's evening, in his tent; That day he overcame the Nervii. — Look! J- In this place ran Cassius ' dagger through; See what a rent the envious Casca made; Through this, the well beloved Brutus' stabbed", And, as he plucked his cursed steel away, Mark J how the blood of Caesar followed it! As rushing out of doors, to be resolved If Brutus so unkindly knocked', or no"; EXERCISES IN INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS 5 1 For Brutus v , as yoiT know', was Caesar's' angel; Judge, O, ye gods, how dearly Caesar loved himM This was the most unkindest cut of all v ; For when the noble Caesar saw him stab, Ingratitude, more strong than traitors' arms, Quite vanquished him. Then burst his mighty heart; And, in his mantle muffling up his face, Even at the base of Pompey's statue, Which all the while ran blood, great Caesar^ fell\ O, what a fall was there, my countrymen! Then I, and you, and all of us fell down, Whilst bloody treason flourished over us. Oh! now you weep; and I perceive you feel The dint of pity; — these are gracious drops. Kind souls! What, weep you when you but behold Our Caesars vesture wounded? Look ye here! Here is himself s , marred, as you see, by traitors\ Good friends, sweet friends, let me not stir you up To such a sudden flood of mutiny. They N that have done' this deed are honorable'! -f irony. What private griefs they have, alas! I know not, That made them do it. They are wise and honorable , And will, no doubt, with reasons answer you. I come not, friends, to steal away your hearts; I am no orator, as Brutus is; But as you know me all, a plain, blunt man, Thatlove N my friend; and that they know full' welP That gave me public leave to speak of him. For I have neither wit, nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood; — I only speak right on; I tell you that' which you yourselves' do know v ; 52 EXERCISES IN INFLECTION AND EMPHASIS Show you sweet Caesar's wounds, poor, poor dumb mouths, And bid them speak for me. But were I" Brutus", And Brutus" Antony", there were an Antony Would ruffle up your spirits, and put a tongue In every wound of Caesar, that should move The stones of Rome to rise' and mutiny*! [Antony's Address to the Romans— Shakespeare.] The quality of mercy? is not strained";?. It droppeth?. as the gentle rain N from heaven'? Upon the place beneath": It is twice "?, bless'dV? It blesseth him v that gives',? and him' that takes":? T is mightiest'? in the mightiest ";? it becomes The throned monarch'? better than his crown ":? His sceptre'? shows the force of temporal * power,? The attribute to awe and majesty,? Wherein doth sit? the dread' and fear' of kings,? But mercy ' is above " this sceptred' sway:? It is enthroned' in the hearts' of kings,? It is an attribute? to God himself ";? And earthly " power? doth then show likest N God's'? When mercy'? seasons Justice^. Therefore,? Jew',* Though Justice" be thy plea',? consider this" ,? That? in the course' of Justice,? none of us Should see salvation":? we do pray" for mercy", J. And that same prayer? doth teach us all to render" The deeds of mercy. [Portia's Speech on Mercy — Shakespeare.] SELECTED RECITATIONS ADVENTURE WITH A LION. PHILIP LAWRENCE. A year ago, on board a merchant ship, I sailed to the far land of Africa. One lovely morn I landed on the shore To gather fruit from off the laden boughs. Refreshed by luscious grapes I wandered on, And soon approached a venerable wood, Whose tall majestic trees in their deep shade Would shield me from the fierce rays of the sun. As I walked, sheltered by a leafy roof, Which tho o'erhanging bows spread over me, I heard the stag call loudly to its mate, And heard the doe in gentle tones reply. Sometimes a serpent hissed within the shade, And warned me to beware of poisoned fangs; Still I pressed onward with a lightsome heart, Till, as I turned a corner of the wood, Right in my path a lordly lion stood. Each stood amazed and gazed upon the other. Then the majestic brute slowly advanced Until not more than thirty feet away. With a low growl resembling muffled thunder He fixed his glaring eyes full upon mine, As if tc fright all courage from my heart. I stood transfixed and hardly dared to breathe. What visions passed before my mental eyes! I seemed to see my native home once more, I seemed to hear my mother's voice again. 54 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION As in a dream the past deeds of my life Began to pass before my mental sight. Then the trees glided on in mystic dance, And beauteous colors floated in the air; A lovely rainbow spanned the azure sky, And angels' songs were ringing in mine ears. Sudden the vision vanished, and I knew That I was standing, face to face, with Death. All this time mine eyes had never wavered, But had returned the lion's piercing gaze, Who seemed irresolute and did not spring. It thus appears to me that the wild beast Will not attack the daring man, unless Some sign of fear should in his face be seen. There is a majesty which God hath given Unto the face of man, that, until he Degrades his noble nature by base fear, Or shameful vice, not even the fiercest beast Will dare attack him, standing face to face, But springs upon him when he s unaware. How long we stood in mutual amaze I cannot say: it seemed to me an age. Suddenly the lion lifted up his voice, And the vast forest echoed with his roar; As if the awful " Trump of Doom " had blown, All did awake as from the sleep of Death ; The jackals howled, the frightened eagle screamed, The monkeys chattered, and the herds of deer Fled swiftly far away in wild affright. I did not move, although my heart beat fast. At length the royal beast, with stately tread, Turned slowly round, and went upon its way. I feel I am no hypocrite, but yet I do not shame to say, that 1 sank down Upon my knees, in grateful thanks to God ! Who had preserved me in dark peril's hour. i SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 55 -BAY BILLY." FRANK H. CASSAWAY. You may talk of horses of renown, What Goldsmith Maid has done, How Dexter cut the seconds down, And Fellowcraft's great run. Would you hear about a horse that once A mighty battle won? 'Twas the last fight at Fredericksburg — Perhaps, the day you reck, Our boys, the Twenty-Second Maine, Kept Early's men in check. Just where Wade Hampton boomed away The fight went neck and neck. All day we held the weaker wing, And held it with a will ; Five several stubborn times we charged The battery on the hill, And five times beaten back, re-formed, And kept our columns still. At last from out the center fight Spurred up a General's Aid. " That battery must silenced be! " He cried, as past he sped. Our Colonel simply touched his cap, And then, with measured tread, To lead the crouching line once more The grand old fellow came. No wounded man but raised his head And strove to gasp his name, And those who could not speak nor stir, " God blessed him " just the same. $6 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION For he was all the world to us, That hero gray and grim; Right well he knew that fearful slope We 'd climb with none but him, Though while his white head led the way We 'd charge hell's portals in. This time we were not half way up, When, midst the storm of shell, Our leader, with his sword upraised, Beneath our bay'nets fell. And, as we bore him back, the foe Set up a joyous yell. Our hearts went with him. Back we swept, And when the bugle said "Up, charge again! " no man was there But hung his dogged head. " We Ve no one left to lead us now," The sullen soldiers said. Just then, before the laggard line The Colonel's horse we spied — Bay Billy with his trappings on, His nostrils swelling wide, As though still on his gallant back His master sat astride. Right royally he took the place That was of old his wont, And with a neigh, that seemed to say Above the battle's brunt, " How can the Twenty-Second charge If I am not in front ? " Like statues we stood rooted there, And gazed a little space; Above that floating mane we missed SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION $7 The dear familiar face; But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire And it gave us heart of grace. No bugle call could rouse us all As that brave sight had done. Down all the battered line we felt A lightning impulse run; ^j Up, up the hill we followed Bill, And captured every gun! And when upon the conquered height Died out the battle's hum, Vainly 'mid living and the dead We sought our leader dumb, It seemed as if a spectre steed To win that day had come. And then the dusk and dew of night Fell softly o'er the plain, As though o'er man's dread work of death The angels wept again, And drew night's curtain gently round A thousand beds of pain. All night the surgeon's torches went The ghastly rows between- — All night with solemn step I paced The torn and bloody green; But who that fought in that big war Such dread sights have not seen! At last the morning broke. The lark Sang in the merry skies, As if to e'en the sleepers there It bade wake, and arise! Though naught but that last trump of all Could ope their heavy eyes. 58 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION And then once more, with banners gay, Stretched out the long brigade; Trimly upon the furrowed field The troops stood on parade. And bravely 'mid the ranks were closed The gaps the fight had made. Not half the Twenty-Second's men Were in their place that morn, And Corp'ral Dick, who yester-morn Stood six brave fellows on, Now touched my elbow in the ranks, For all between had gone. Ah! who forgets that dreary hour When, as with misty eyes, To call the old familiar roll The solemn Sergeant tries — One feels that thumping of the heart As no prompt voice replies. And as in falt'ring tones and slow The last few names were said, Across the field some missing horse Toiled up with weary tread. It caught the Sergeant's eye, and quick Bay Billy's name was read. Yes! there the old bay hero stood, All safe from battle's harms, And ere an order could be heard, Or the bugle's quick alarms, Down all the front, from end to end, The troops presented arms! Not all the shoulder-straps on earth Could still our mighty cheer. And ever from that famous day, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 59 When rang the roll-call clear, Bay Billy's name was read, and then The whole line answered "Here!" CATILINE'S DEFIANCE. george croly. Conscript Fathers: I do not rise to waste the night in words; Let that Plebeian talk, 'tis not my trade; But here I stand for right — let him show proofs, — " For 'Roman right, though none, it seems, dare stand To take their share with me. Ay, cluster there! Cling to your master, judges, Romans, slaves! His charge is false; — I dare him to his proofs. You have my answer. Let my actions speak! But this I will avow, that I have scorned And still do scorn, to hide my sense of wrong. Who brands me on the forehead, breaks my sword; Or lays the bloody scourge upon my back, Wrongs me not half so much as he who shuts The gates of honor on me, — turning out The Roman from his birthright ; and for what ? To fling your offices to every slave! Vipers, that creep where man disdains to climb, And, having wound their loathsome track to the top Of this huge, mouldering monument to Rome, Hang hissing at the nobler man below. Come, consecrated Lictors, from your thrones; (To the Senate.} Fling down your sceptres; take the rod and axe, And make the murder as you make the law. Banished from Rome ! What 's banished, but set free From daily contact of the things I loathe? " Tried and convicted traitor! " Who says this? 60 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Who '11 prove it, at his peril, on my head? Banished! I thank you for 't. It breaks my chain! I held some slack allegiance till this hour; But now my sword 's my own. Smile on, my lords! I scorn to count what feelings, withered hopes, Strong provocations, bitter, burning wrongs, I have within my heart's hot cells shut up, To leave you in your lazy dignities. But here I stand and scoff you! here I fling Hatred and full defiance in your face! Your Consul 's merciful; — for this, all thanks. He dares not touch a hair of Catiline! " Traitor!" I go; but, I return! This — trial! Here I devote your Senate! I 've had wrongs To stir a fever in the blood of age, Or make the infant's sinews strong as steel. This day 's the birth of sorrow; this hour's work Will breed proscriptions! Look to your hearths,my Lords! For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods, Shapes hot from Tartarus; all shames and crimes; Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn; Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup; Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe, Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones; Till Anarchy comes down on you like night, And Massacre seals Rome's eternal grave. I go; but not to leap the gulf alone. I go; but when I come, 't will be the burst Of ocean in the earthquake, — rolling back In swift and mountainous ruin. Fare you well ! You build my funeral-pile; but your best blood Shall quench its flame! Back, slaves! (To the Lictors.) I will return. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 6 1 AFTER THE BATTLE. Hold the lantern aside, and shudder not so; There 's more blood to see than this stain on the snow; There are pools of it, lakes of it, just over there, And fixed faces all streaked, and crimson-soaked hair. Did you think, when we came, you and I, out to-night To search for our dead, yon would be a fair sight? You 're his wife; you love him — you think so; and I Am only his mother; my boy shall not lie In a ditch with the rest, while my arms can bear His form to a grave that mine own shall soon share. So, if your strength fails, best go sit by the hearth, While his mother alone seeks his bed on the earth. You will go! then no faintings! Give me the light, And follow my footsteps, — my heart will lead right. Ah, God! what is here? a great heap of slain, All mangled and gory! — what horrible pain These beings have died in! Dear mothers, ye weep, Ye weep, oh, ye weep o'er this terrible sleep! More! more! Ah! I thought I could never more know Grief, horror, or pity, for aught here below, Since I stood in the porch and heard his chief tell How brave was my son, how he gallantly fell. Did they think I cared then to see officers stand Before my great sorrow, each hat in each hand! Why, girl, do you feel neither reverence nor fright, That your red hands turn over toward this dim light These dead men that stare so? Ah, if you had kept Your senses this morning ere his comrades had left, You had hoard that his place was worst of them all, — Not 'mid the stragglers, — where he fought he would fall. 62 simplified Elocution There 's the moon through the clouds: O Christ what a scene! Dost thou from thy heavens o'er such visions lean, And still call this cursed world a footstool of thine ? Hark, a groan! there another, — here in this line Piled close on each other! Ah, here is the flag, Torn, dripping with gore; — bah! they died for this rag. Here 's the voice that we seek : poor soul, do not start; We re women, not ghosts. What a gash o'er the heart! Is there aught we can do? A message to give To any beloved one? I swear, if I live, To take it for sake of the words my boy said, " Home," " mother," " wife," ere he reeled down mong the dead. But, first, can you tell where his regiment stood? Speak, speak, man, or point; 'twas the Ninth. Oh, the blood Is choking his voice! What a look of despair! There, lean on my knee, while I put back the hair From eyes so fast glazing. Oh, my darling, my own, My hands were both idle when you died alone. He 's dying — he 's dead! Close his lids, let us go. God's peace on his soul! If we only could know Where our own dear one lies! — my soul has turned sick; Must we crawl o'er these bodies that lie here so thick! I cannot! I cannot! How eager you are! One might think you were nursed on the red lap of War. He's not here, — and not here. What wild hopes flash through My thoughts, as foot-deep I stand in this dread dew, And cast up a prayer to the blue, quiet sky! Was it you, girl, that shrieked? Ah! what face doth lie Upturned toward me there, so rigid and white? O God, my brain reels! 'T is a dream. My old sight SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 63 Is dimmed with these horrors. My son! oh, my son! Would I had died for thee, my own, only one! There, lift off your arms; let him come to the breast Where first he was lulled, with my soul's hymn, to restc Your heart never thrilled to your lover's fond kiss As mine to his baby-touch; was it for this? He was yours, too; he loved you? Yes, yes, you 're right. Forgive me, my daughter, I 'm maddened to-night. Do n't moan so, dear child; you 're young, and your years May still hold fair hopes; but the old die of tears. Yes, take him again; — ah! do n't lay your face there; See, the blood from his wound has stained your loose hair. How quiet you are! Has she fainted? — her cheek Is cold as his own. Say a word to me, — speak! Am I crazed! Is she dead! Has her heart broke first! Her trouble was bitter, but sure mine is worst. I 'm afraid, I 'm afraid, all alone with these dead; Those corpses are stiring; God help my poor head! I '11 sit by my children until the men come To bury the others, and then we 11 go home. W T hy, the slain are all dancing! Dearest, do n't move. Keep away from my boy; he 's guarded by love. Lullaby, lullaby; sleep, sweet darling, sleep! God and thy mother will watch o'er thee keep. DRIFTING. T. BUCHANAN READ. My soul to-day Is far away, Sailing the Vesuvian bay; My winged boat, A bird afloat, Swims round the purple peaks remote:— 64 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Round purple peaks It sails, and seeks Blue inlets and their crystal creeks, Where high rocks throw, Through deeps below, A duplicated golden glow. Far, vague, and dim, The mountains swim; While on Vesuvius' misty brim, With outstretched hands The gray smoke stands O'erlooking the volcanic lands. Here Ischia smiles O'er liquid miles; And yonder, bluest of the isles, Calm Capri waits, Her sapphire gates Beguiling to her bright estates. I heed not, if My rippling skiff Float swift or slow from cliff to cliff; With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise. Under the walls Where swells and falls The Bay's deep breast at intervals At peace I lie, Blown softly by, A cloud upon this liquid sky. The day so mild, Is Heaven's own child, With earth and ocean reconciled; — SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 65 The airs I feel Around me steal Are murmuring to the murmuring keel. Over the rail My hand I trail Within the shadow of the sail; A joy intense, The cooling sense Glides down my drowsy indolence. With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Where summer sings and never dies, — O'erveiled with vines, She glows and shines Among her future oil and wines. Her children, hid The cliffs amid, Are gambolling with the gambolling kid; Or down the walls, With tipsy calls, Laugh on the rocks like waterfalls. The fisher's child, With tresses wild, Unto the smooth, bright sand beguiled, With glowing lips Sings as she skips, Or gazes at the far-off ships. Yon deep bark goes Where traffic blows, From land of sun to lands of snows; — This happier one. Its course is run From lands of snow to lands of sun. 66 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION O happy ship, To rise and dip, With the blue crystal at your lip! O happy crew, My heart with you Sails, and sails, and sings anew! No more, no more The worldly shore Upbraids me with its loud uproar! With dreamful eyes My spirit lies Under the walls of Paradise! CHARGE OF PICKETT'S DIVISION AT THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG. WILLIAM MCMICHAEL. It is twelve o'clock, July 3d, and to-morrow will be the anniversary of our Independence. What tidings of joy or of sorrow shall its bells proclaim to the people. Gird your loins, ye yeomen of our legions, for it is honor, and liberty, and a nation for which you are contending. Twelve o'clock, and the heart of nature seems almost to cease its beating in the intensity of dread expectation, while the effulgent sun looking down at high meridian seems as of old to stand still in its course, as though shrinking appalled from the fearful slaughter it shall witness. The pause of carnage, the brink of fate, for as the great orb bends slowly towards the western horizon and marks the single hour upon the dial, a signal gun breaks the solemn stillness. And then from the line of the enemy all along those hills where his masses lie waiting, there bursts forth a tempest of flame and smoke, and terrific cannonading, such as this continent never before witnessed; nor seems to slacken its thundering death-hail until from SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 67 the sulphurous canopy, a part of the rebel front is seen advancing. Now for the tug of war! Now for the death -grip of the battle! For yonder come Pickett's men, who swear by the Lone Star they never have been beaten and never will be, and on their either flank war- riors of a score of fights. Eighteen thousand tested veterans, wrought into a titanic war-bolt — shaft of adamant, edges of steel — hurled forth to crush our center with ponderous on- slaught. As they start, down rides Hancock along our line, superb that day in the beauty of his valor. " Here they come!" he cries out cheerily, " Here they come, in three lines of battle! Steady, men, steady!" " All right, General, we are ready! We hold this line, or die on it! " But as they develop in the fields and move forward, our artillery rains destruction. It rakes them with shot, it rends them with shell, until on right and left they falter and stagger. Their flanks are crumbling, but their center keeps firm. Oh! stay them, Pickett. Your men of iron, they seem too brave to kill ! But on they come, and on, and on, till we see their faces and hear their yells. These are not men; they are furies, maddened with treason, frenzied with hate. Now, fire! comrades! fire! — up and at them! Fight, men, fight for your wives and your children and your homes. They sweep on us like demons — are at the guns, are on the wall! — hand to hand, steel to steel, knife to knife. Now, Cushing, give them your canister! Now, Woodruff, tear them with your grape! Hall, to the rescue! — 7 2d, down on them like tigers! Flank them, Stannard! crush them, Gibbon! mash them, Webb! They reel, they waver, their colors are going! They break, they break! — they retreat, they retreat! The charge is repulsed, the battle is won! All honor to our heroes who survive — all reverence for those who have fallen — all praise to their gallant leader, and all thanks unto God who gave us the victory. 68 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION SOFTLY MURMUR. PHILIP LAWRENCE. Softly murmur, gentle breezes, Waft my thoughts to her I love, Lightly lift her flowing ringlets, O'er her tender bosom rove; Tell her that her image ever In my breast has made its home, That my heart will never waver, But will beat for her alone. Softly murmur, gentle waters, Flowing down the mossy glade; Bringing perfume to the flowers; Giving lightness to the shade; Bringing fragrance to the forest, In the pleasant hours of e'en; To the fields a robe of beauty, To the leaves a brighter green. Softly murmur, gentle voices, Soothing care and healing woe, Bringing to the chastened spirit Hopes forgotten long ago. Bringing comfort to the dying; To the weary, giving rest; Like the whispering of angels In the mansions of the blest. DAMON AND PYTHIAS; OR, TRUE FRIENDSHIP. WM. PETER. " Here, guards! " pale with fear, Dionysius cries, " Here, guards, yon intruder arrest! "'Tis Damon — but ha! speak, what means this disguise? And the dagger which gleams in thy vest? " SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 69 "'Twas to rree," says the youth, "this dear land from its chains! " "Free the land! wretched fool, thou shalt die for thy pains." " I am ready to die — I ask not to live, — Yet three days of respite, perhaps thou may'st give, For to-morrow, my sister will wed, And 't would damp all her joy, were her brother not there; Then let me, I pray, to her nuptials repair, While a friend remains here in my stead." With a sneer on his brow, and a curse in his breast, "Thou shalt have," cries the tyrant, " shalt have thy request; To thy sister repair, and her nuptials attend, Enjoy thy three days, but — mark well what I say — Return on the third; if, beyond that fixed day, There be but one hour's, but one moment's delay, That delay shall be death to thy friend! " Then to Pythias he went; and he told him his case; That true friend answered not, but, with instant embrace, Consenting, rushed forth to be bound in his room; And now, as if winged with new life from above, To his sister he flew, did his errand of love, And, ere a third morning had brightened the grove, Was returning with joy to his doom. But the heavens interpose, Stern the tempest arose, And when the poor pilgrim arrived at the shore, Swoll'n to torrents, the rills Rushed in foam from the hills, And crash went the bridge in the whirlpool's wild roar. Wildly gazing, despairing, half frenzied he stood; Dark, dark were the skies, and dark was the flood, 70 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION And still darker his lorn heart's emotion; And he shouted for aid, but no aid was at hand, No boat ventured forth from the surf-ridden strand, And the waves sprang, like woods, o'er the lessening land, And the stream was becoming an ocean. Now with knees low to earth, and with hands to the skies, f< Still the storm, God of might, God of mercy! " he cries — " O, hush with Thy breath this loud sea; The hours hurry by, — the sun glows on high; And should he go down, and I reach not yon town, My friend — he must perish for me! " Yet the wrath of the torrent still went on increasing, And waves upon waves still dissolved without ceasing, And hour after hour hurried on; Then by anguish impelled, hope and fear alike o'er, He, reckless, rushed into the water's deep roar; Rose — sunk — struggled on — till, at length, the wished shore, — Thanks to Heaven's outstretched hand — it is won! " 'T is sunset; and Damon arrives at the gate, Sees the scaffold and multitudes gazing below; Already the victim is bared for his fate, Already the deathsrnan stands armed for the blow; When hark! a wild voice which is echoed around, " Stay! — 't is I — it is Damon, for whom he was bound!" And now they sink in each other's embrace, And are weeping for joy and despair; Not a soul among thousands, but melts at their case, Which swift to the monarch they bear; Even he, too, is moved — feels for once as he ought — And commands that they both to his throne shall be brought. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 71 Then, — alternately gazing on each gallant youth. With looks of awe, wonder and shame; — "Ye have conquered!" he cries, "yes, I see now that truth,— That friendship is not a mere name. Go; — you 're free; but, while life's dearest blessings you prove, Let one prayer of your monarch be heard, That his past sins forget — in this union of love, And of virtue — you make him the third." CLARENCE'S DREAM. SHAKESPEARE. Brakenbury. Why looks your grace so heavily to-day? Clarence. Oh! I have passsd a miserable night, So full of ugly sights, of ghastly dreams, 4 That, as I am a Christian faithful man, I would not spend another such a night, Though 't were to buy a world of happy days; So full of dismal terror was the time. Brak. What was your dream, my lord? I pray you tell me. Clar. Methought that I had broken from the tower, And was embarked to cross to Burgundy, And, in my company, my brother Gloster; Who from my cabin tempted me to walk Upon the hatches; thence we looked towards England, And cited up a thousand heavy times, During the wars of York and Lancaster That had befallen us. As we passed along Upon the giddy footing of the hatches, Methought that Gloster stumbled; and, in falling, Struck me (that sought to stay him) overboard, Into the tumbling billows of the main. 0, Heaven! methought, what pain it was to drown! SMPLIFIED BLOCt TION What dreadful noise of waters in mine ear What sights of ugly death within mine < 1 thoughl I saw a thousand fearful wrecks; A thousand men, that fishes gnawed upon; Wed : pearl, imable st< >nes, unvalued >••■ All scattered in the bottom «»t the &i Sonic- lay in dead nun's skulls; and in those holes Where eyes did once inhabit, there were crept, As 't were in scorn i ms, That wooed the slimy bottom of the deep, And mocked the dead bones that la) scattered by. Had you such leisure in the tin ath, tze njx >n th< <\ the deep? dar, Methought, I had; and often did I Btrive To yield the but -till the envious flood Kepi in my soul, and would nol lei it forth \\i\ t lu- em] ■' and wander Bui smothered it within my panting bulk, Which almosl bursl to belch it in the s< ik. Awaked you no1 with this sore agony? oh. no! my dream was lengthened afterlife, Oh! then began the tempesl to my soul! ssed, methought, the melancholy ll 1, With that grim ferryman, which poets write of, Unto the kingdom <>f perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick; Who cried aloud, — "What - tor perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence? " And so he vanished: Then came wandering by A shadow like an angel, with bright hair Dabbled in blood; and lie shrieked out aloud, — "Clarence is come, false, fleeting, perjured Clarence, That stabbed me in the field by Tewksbury; — Sieze on him, furies, take him to vour torments! " — SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 73 With that, methought, a legion of foul fiends Environed me, and howled in mine eara Such hideous cries, that, with the very noise, I trembling waked, and, for a season after, Could not believe but that I was in hell; Such terrible impression made my dream. Brak. No marvel, lord, that it affrighted you; I am afraid, methinks, to hear you tell it. Clar. I pray thee, Brakenbury, stay by me; My soul is heavy, and I fain would sleep. THE BLACKSMITH'S STORY. FRANK OLIVE. Well, No! My wife ain't dead, sir, but I 've lost her all the same; She left me voluntarily, and neither was to blame. It 's rather a queer story, and I think you will agree — When you hear the circumstances — 't was rather rough on me. She was a soldier's widow. He was killed at Malvern Hill; And when I married her she seemed to sorrow for him still; But I brought her here to Kansas, and I never want to see A better wife than Mary was for five bright years to me. The change of scene brought cheerfulness, and soon a rosy glow Of happiness warmed Mary's cheeks and melted all their snow. I think she loved me some — I 'm bound to think that of her, sir, And as for me — I can 't begin to tell how I loved her! Three years ago the baby came our humble home to bless; And then I reckon I was nigh to perfect happiness; 74 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 'T was hers — 't was mine — ; but I Ve no language to explain to you, How that little girl's weak fingers our hearts together drew: Once we watched it through a fever, and with each gasping breath, Dumb with an awful, wordless woe, we waited for its death; And, though I 'in not a pious man, our souls together there, For Heaven to spare our darling, went up in voiceless prayer. And when the doctor said 't would live, our joy what words could tell? Clasped in each other's arms, our grateful tears to- gether fell. Sometimes, you see, the shadow fell across our little nest, But it only made the sunshine seem a doubly welcome guest. Work came to me a plenty, and I kept the anvil ringing; Early and late you 'd find me there a hammering and singing; Love nerved my arm to labor, and moved my tongue to song, And though -my singing was n't sweet, it was tremendous strong! One day a one-armed stranger stopped to have me nail a shoe, And while I was at work, we passed a compliment or two; I asked him how he lost his arm. He said 't was shot away At Malvern Hill. "At Malvern Hill! Did you know Robert May?" SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 7$ "That 's me," said he. " You, you! " I gasped, choking with horrid doubt; " If you 're the man, just follow me; we '11 try this mys- tery out!" With dizzy steps, I led him to Mary. God! 'T was true! Then the bitterest pangs of misery, unspeakable, I knew. Frozen with deadly horror, she stared with eyes of stone, And from her quivering lips there broke one wild, despairing moan. 'T was he! the husband of her youth, now risen from the dead; But all too late — and with one bitter cry, her senses fled. What could be done? He was reported dead. On his return He strove in vain some tidings of his absent wife to learn ; T was well that he was innocent ! Else I 'd have killed him, too, So dead he never would have riz till Gabriel's trumpet blew! It was agreed that Mary then between us should decide, And each by her decision would sacredly abide. No sinner, at the judgment seat, waiting eternal doom, Could suffer what I did, while waiting sentence in that room. Rigid and breathless, there we stood, with nerves as tense as steel, While Mary's eye sought each white face, in piteous ap- peal. God! could not woman's duty be less hardly reconciled Between her lawful husband and the father of her child? Ah, how my heart was chilled to ice when she knelt down and said: 76 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION "Forgive me, John! He is my husband! Here! Alive! not dead! " I raised her tenderly, and tried to tell her she was right, But somehow in my aching breast the prisoned words stuck tight! "But, John, I can 't leave baby" — "What! wife and child! " cried I; "Must I yield all! Ah, cruel fate! Better that I should die. Think of the long, sad, lonely hours, waiting in gloom for me — No wife to cheer me with her love — no babe to climb my knee! " And yet — you are her mother, and the sacred mother love Is still the purest, tenderesl tie that Heaven ever wove. Take her, but promise, Mary — for that will bring no shame — My little girl shall bear, and learn to lisp her father's name! " It may be, in the life to come, I '11 meet my child and wife; But yonder, by my cottage gate, we parted for this life; One long hand-clasp from Mary, and my dream of love was done! One long embrace from baby, and my happiness was gone ! BERNARDO DEL CARPIO. MRS. HEMANS. The warrior bowed his crested head, and tamed his heart of fire, And sued the haughty king to free his long-imprisoned sire ; " I bring thee here my fortress-keys, I bring my captive train, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION J7 I pledge thee faith, my liege, my lord! — Oh! break my father's chain! " " Rise, rise! even now thy father comes, a ransomed man this day: Mount thy good horse; and thou and I will meet him on his way." — Then lightly rose that loyal sen, and bounded on his steed, And urged, as if with lance in rest, the charger's foamy speed. And lo! from far, as on they pressed, there came a glittering band, With one that 'midst thein stately rode, as a leader in the land; — " Now haste, Bernardo, haste! for there, in very truth, is he, The father whom thy faithful heart hath yearned so long to see. ' His dark eye flashed, — his proud breast heaved, — his cheeks hue came and went, — He reached that gray-haired chieftain's side, and there dismounting bent; A lowly knee to earth he bent, his father's hand he took — What was there in its touch that all his fiery spirit shook? That hand was cold, — a frozen thing, — it dropped from his like lead, — He looked up to the face above, — the face was of the dead. A plume waved o'er the noble brow, — the brow was fixed and white; — He met at last his father's eyes, — but in them was no sight ! Up from the ground he sprang and gazed; — but who could paint that gaze! 78 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION They hushed their very hearts, that saw its horror and amaze: — They might have chained him, as before that stony form he stood; For the power was stricken from his arm, and from his lip the blood. 11 "Father!" at Length he murmured low, and wept like childhood then — Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears o^ war- like men! He thought on all his glorious hopes, and all his young renown, — He flung his falchion from his side, and in the dust sat down. Then covering with his steel-gloved hands his darkly mournful brow, " No more, there is no more," he said, " to lift the sword for now, — My king is false, my hope betrayed! My father — oh! the worth, The glory, and the loveliness, are passed away from earth! " 1 thought to stand where banners waved, my sire! beside thee yet! — I would that there our kindred blood on Spain's free soil had met! — Thou wouldst have known my spirit, then; — for thee my fields were won; And thou hast perished in thy chains, as though thou hadst no son ! " Then starting from the ground once more, he seized the monarch's rein, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 79 Amidst the pale and wildered looks of all the courtier train; And with a fierce, o'ermastering grasp, the rearing war- horse led, And sternly set them face to face, — the king before the dead: — " Came I not forth upon thy pledge, my father's hand to kiss? — Be still, and gaze thou on, false king! and tell me what is this? The voice, the glance, the heart I sought, — give answer, where are they? — If thou wouldst clear thy perjured soul, send life through this cold clay! " Into these glassy eyes put light, — be still, keep down thine ire! — Bid these white lips a blessing speak, — this earth is not my sire: — Give me back him for whom I strove, for whom my blood was shed, — Thou canst not? — and a king! — his dust be mountains on thy head!" He loosed the steed, — his slack hand fell; — upon the silent face He cast one long, deep, troubled look, then turned from that sad place: His hope was crushed, his after- fate untold in martial strain : His banner led the spears no more, amidst the hills of Spain. 80 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION BRIDGE OF SIGHS. HOOD. One more Unfortunate, Weary of breath, Rashly importunate, Gone to her death! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; — Fashion'd so slenderly, Young and so fair! Look at her garments, Clinging like cerements; Whilst the wave constantly Drips from her clothing; Take her up instantly, Loving, not loathing. Touch her not scornfully, Think of her mournfully, Gently and humanly; Not of the stains of her, All that remains of her Now, is pure womanly. Make no deep scrutiny Into her mutiny Rash and undutiful; Past all dishonor, Death has left on her Only the beautiful. Still, for all slips of hers, One of Eve's family — Wipe those poor lips of hers, Oozing so clammily; SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION . 8l Loop up her tresses Escaped from the comb, Her fair auburn tresses; Whilst wonderment guesses Where was her home ? Who was her father? Who was her mother? Had she a sister? Had she a brother? Or was there a dearer One still, and a nearer Yet, than all other? Alas! for the rarity Of Christian charity Under the sun! Oh! it was pitiful! Near a whole city full, Home she had none. Sisterly, brotherly, Fatherly, motherly, Feelings were changed; Love, by harsh evidence, Thrown from its eminence, Even God's providence Seeming estranged. Where the lamps quiver So far in the river, With many a light From window and casement, From garret to basement, She stood, with amazement, Houseless by night. The bleak winds of March Made her tremble and shiver; 82 . SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION But not the dark arch, Or the black flowing- river: Mad from life's history, Glad to death's mystery Swift to be hurl'd— Anywhere, anywhere Out of the world! In she plunged boldly, No matter how coldly The rough river ran, — Over the brink of it, Picture it, — think of it, Dissolute man! Lave in it, drink of it Then, if you can! Take her up tenderly, Lift her with care; Fashion'd so slenderly, Young, and so fair! Ere her limbs frigidly Stiffen so rigidly, Decently, — kindly, — • Smooth and compose them; And her eyes, close them, Staring so blindly! Dreadfully staring Through muddy impurity, As when with the daring Last look of despairing Fixed on futurity. Perishing gloomily, Spurred by contumely, Cold inhumanity, Burning insanity, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 83 Into her rest, — Cross her hands humbly, As if praying- dumbly, ^ Over her breast! Owning her weakness, Her evil behavior, And leaving with meekness, ^ Her sins to her Saviour! ON BEING FOUND GUILTY OF HIGH TREASON. ROBERT EMMETT. What have I to say, why sentence of death should not be pronounced on me, according to law? I have noth- ing to say which can alter your predetermination, or that it would become me to say with any view to the mitigation of that sentence which you are here to pro- nounce, and which I must abide. But I have that to say which interests me more than life, and which you have labored — as was necessarily your office in the present circumstances of this oppressed country — to destroy. I have much to say, why my reputation should be rescued from the load of false accusation and calumny which has been heaped upon it. I do not imagine that, seated where you are, your minds can be so free from impurity as to receive the least impression from what I am going to utter. I have no hope that I can anchor my character in the breast of a Court constituted and trammelled as this is. I only wish, and it is the utmost I expect, that your Lordships may suffer it to float clown your memories, untainted by the foul breath of pre- judice, until it finds some more hospitable harbor, to shelter it from the rude storm by which it is at present buffeted. Were I only to suffer death, after being adjudged guilty by your tribunal, I should bow in silence, and 84 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION meet the fate that awaits me, without a murmur. But the sentence of the law which delivers my body to the executioner will, through the ministry of that law., labor, in its own vindication, to consign my character to obloquy: for there must be guilt somewhere, — whether in the sentence of the Court, or in the catastrophe, posterity must determine. A man in my situation, my Lords, has not only to encounter the difficulties of fortune, and the force of power over minds which it has corrupted or subjugated, but the difficulties of established prejudice: — the man dies, but his memory lives: that mine may not perish, that it may live in the respect of my countrymen, I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges alleged against me. My Lords, it may be a part of the system of angry justice to bow a man's mind, by humiliation, to the purposed ignominy of the scaffold; but worse to me than the scaffold's shame, or the scaffold's terrors, would be the shame of such foul and unfounded im- putations as have been laid against me in this Court. You, my Lord, are a judge. I am the supposed culprit. I am a man, — you are a man also. By a revolution of power, we might change places, though we never could change characters. If I stand at the bar of this Court, and dare not vindicate my character, what a farce is your justice! If I stand at this bar, and dare not vindi- cate my character, how dare you calumniate it? Does the sentence of death, which your unhallowed policy inflicts on my body, also condemn my tongue to silence, and my reputation to reproach? Your executioner may abridge the period of my existence; but, while I exist, I shall not forbear to vindicate my character and motives from your aspersions. As a man to whom fame is dearer than life, I will make the best use of that life in doing justice to that reputation which is to live after SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 85 me, and which is the only legacy I can leave to those I honor and love, and for whom I am proud to perish. As men, my Lord, we must appear, on the great day, at one common tribunal; and it will then remain for the Searcher of all hearts to show a collective universe who are engaged in the most virtuous actions, or actuated by the purest motives,— my country's oppressors or myself. I am charged with being an emissary of France. An emissary of France! — and for what end? It is alleged that I wished to sell the independence of my country! And for what end? Was this the object of my ambition; and is this the mode by which a tribunal of justice reconciles contradictions? No! I am no emissary. My ambition was to hold a place among the deliverers of my country, — not in power, nor in profit, but in the glory of the achievement. Sell my country s independ- ence to France! And for what? For a change of masters? — No; but for ambition! 0, my country! was it personal ambition that could influence me? Had it been the soul of my actions, could I not, by my educa- tion and fortune, by the rank and consideration of my family, have placed myself among the proudest of your oppressors? My country was my idol. To it I sacri- ficed every selfish, every endearing sentiment; and for it I now offer up my life! God! No! my Lord; I acted as an Irishman determined on delivering my country from the yoke of a foreign and unrelenting tyranny, and from the more galling yoke of a domestic faction, its joint partner and perpetrator in the patri- cide, whose reward is the ignominy of existing with an exterior of splendor, and a consciousness of depravity. It was the wish of my heart to extricate my country from this doubly riveted despotism. I wished to place her independence beyond the reach of any power on earth. I wished to exalt her to that proud station in the world which Providence had fitted her to fill. 86 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Connection with France was, indeed, intended; but only as far as mutual interest would sanction or require. Were the French to assume any authority inconsistent with the purest independence, it would be the signal for their destruction. We sought aid of them; and we sought it, as we had assurance we should obtain it, — as auxiliaries in war, and allies inj^eace. Were the PYench to come in as invaders or enemies, uninvited by the wishes of the People, I should oppose them to the ut- most of my strength. Yes, my countrymen, I would meet them on the beach, with a sword in one hand and a torch in the other. I would meet them with all the destructive fury of war; and I would animate you to im- molate them in their boats, before they had contaminated the soil. If they succeeded in landing, and if we were forced to retire before superior discipline, I would dis- pute every inch of ground, raze every house, burn every blade of grass before them, and the last entrench- ment of liberty should be my grave. I have been charged with that importance, in the ef- forts to emancipate my country, as to be considered the keystone of the combination of Irishmen, or, as your Lordship expressed it, "the life and blood of the con- spiracy." You do me honor overmuch. You have given the subaltern all the credit of a superior. There are men engaged in this conspiracy who are not only superior to me, but even to your own conceptions of yourself, my Lord; — men, before the splendor of whose genius and virtues I should bow with respectful defer- ence, and who would think themselves dishonored to be called your friends, — who would not disgrace themselves by shaking your blood-stained hand! [Here he was inter- rupted by Lord Norbury.] What, my Lord, shall you tell me, on the passage to the scaffold which that tyranny, of which you are only the intermediate minister, has erected for my murder, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION S? that I am accountable for all the blood that has been and will be shed, in this struggle of the oppressed against the oppressor? Shall you tell me this, and must I be so very a slave as not to repel it? I, who fear not to approach the Omnipotent Judge, to answer for the conduct of my short life, — am I to be appalled here, before a mere remnant of mortality? — by you, too, who, if it were possible to collect all the innocent blood that you have caused to be shed, in your unhallowed minis- try, in one great reservoir, your Lordship might swim in it! [Here the Judge interfered.] Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dishonor. Let no man attaint my memory by believing tnat I could have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty and independence, or that I could have become the pliant minion of power in the oppression and the miseries of my countrymen. The proclamation of the Provisional Government speaks for my views. No infer- ence can be tortured from it to countenance barbarity or debasement at home, or subjection, humiliation or treachery, from abroad. I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the same reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant. In the dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold of my country, and the enemy should enter only by passing over my lifeless corpse. And am I, who lived but for my country — who have subjected myself to the dangers of the jeal- ous and watchful oppressor, and now to the bondage of the grave, only to give my countrymen their rights, and my country her independence, — am I to be loaded with calumny, and not suffered to resent it? No. God forbid! If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the concerns and cares of those who were dear to them in this transitory life, O, ever dear and venerated shade of my departed father, look down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suffering son, and see if I have, even 88 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION for a moment, deviated from those principles of moral- ity and patriotism which it was your care to instil into my youthful mind, and for which I am now to offer up my life! My Lords, you seem impatient for the sacrifice. The blood for which you thirst is not congealed by the arti- ficial terrors which surround your victim; it circulates, warmly and unruffled, through the channels which God created for nobler purposes, but which you are bent to destroy, for purposes so grievous that they cry to Heaven. Be ye patient! I have but a few words more to say. I am going to my cold and silent grave. My lamp of life is nearly extinguished. My race is run. The grave opens to receive me, — and I sink into its bosom! I have but one request to ask, at my departure from this world; — it is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for, as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my tomb remain uninscribed, until other times aiid other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, — then, and not till then, — let my epitaph be written! I have done. ELEGY WRITTEN IN A COUNTRY CHURCHYARD. THOMAS GRAY. The curfew tolls the knell of parting day, The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea, The ploughman homeward plods his weary way, And leaves the world to darkness and to me. Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight, And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds; SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 89 Save that from yonder ivy-mantled tower, The moping owl does to the moon complain Of such as, wandering near her sacred bower, Molest her ancient, solitary reign. Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf in many a mouldering heap, Each in his narrow cell forever laid, The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. The breezy call of incense-breathing morn, The swallow twittering from the straw-built shed, The cock's shrill clarion, or the echoing horn, No more shall rouse them from their lowly bed. For them no more the blazing hearth shall burn, Or busy housewife ply her evening care; No children run to lisp their sire's return, Or climb his knees the envied kiss to share. Oft did the harvest to their sickle yield, Their furrow oft the stubborn glebe has broke; How jocund did they drive their team a- field! How bowed the woods beneath their sturdy stroke! Let not Ambition mock their useful toil, Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; Nor Grandeur hear, with a disdainful smile, The short and simple annals of the poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave, Await alike the inevitable hour: — The paths of glory lead but to the grave. Nor you, ye proud, impute to these the fault, If Memory o'er their tomb no trophies raise, Where, through the long-drawn aisle and fretted vault, The pealing anthem swells the note of praise. 90 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Can storied urn or animated bust Back to its mansion call the fleeting breath? Can Honor's voice provoke the silent dust, Or Flattery soothe the dull, cold ear of Death? Perhaps, in this neglected spot is laid Some heart once pregnant with celestial fire; Hands that the rod of empire might have swayed, Or waked to ecstacy the living lyre: But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page, Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll; Chill Penury repressed their noble rage, And froze the genial current of the soul. Full many a gem of purest ray serene, The dark un fathomed caves of ocean bear: Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, And waste its sweetness on the desert air. Some village-Hampden, that with dauntless breast The little tyrant of his fields withstood; Some mute, inglorious Milton here may rest, Some Cromwell guiltless of his country's blood The applause of listening senates to command, The threats of pain and ruin to despise, To scatter plenty o'er a smiling land, And read their history in a nation's eyes, Their lot forbade: nor circumscribed alone Their grown virtues, but their crimes confined; Forbade to wade through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind: The struggling pangs of conscious truth to hide, To quench the blushes of ingenuous shame, Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Pride With incense kindled at the Muse's flame. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 9 1 Far from the madding crowd's ignoble strife, Their sober wishes never learned to stray; Along the cool, sequestered vale of life They kept the noiseless tenor of their way. Yet e'en these bones from insult to protect, Some frail memorial still erected nigh, With uncouth rhymes and shapeless sculpture decked, Implores the passing tribute of a sigh. Their name, their years, spelt by the unlettered muse, The place of fame and elegy supply: And many a holy text around she strews, That teach the rustic moralist to die. For who, to dumb Forgetfulness a prey, This pleasing, anxious being e'er resigned, Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day, Nor cast one long, lingering look behind? On some fond breast the parting soul relies, Some pious drops the closing eye requires; E'en from the tomb the voice of nature cries, E'en in our ashes live their wonted fires. For thee, who mindful of the unhonored dead, Dost in these lines their artless tale relate; If chance, by lonely Contemplation led, Some kindred spirit shall inquire thy fate, Haply some hoary-headed swain may say, — " Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn Brushing with hasty steps the dews away, To meet the sun upon the upland lawn. " There at the foot of yonder nodding beech, That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, 1 His listless length at noontide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by. 9 2 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION " Hard by yon wood, now smiling as in scorn, Muttering his wayward fancies he would rove; Now drooping, woeful, wan, like one forlorn, Or crazed with care, or crossod in hopeless love. " One morn I missed him on the 'customed hill, Along the heath and near his favorite tree; Another came: nor yet beside the rill, Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he. " The next, with dirges due, in sad array, Slow through the church way path we saw him borne: Approach and read (for thou canst read) the lay Graved on the stone beneath yon aged thorn." THE EPITAPH. Here rests his head upon the lap of Earth, A Youth, to Fortune and to Fame unknown: Fair Science frowned not on his humble birth, And Melancholy marked him for her own. Large was his bounty, and his soul sincere, Heaven did a recompense as largely send: He gave to Misery all he had, — a tear, He gained from Heaven ('twas all he wished), a friend. No farther seek his merits to disclose, Or draw his frailties from their dead abode, (There they alike in trembling hope repose), The bosom of his Father and his God. CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE. ALERED TENNYSON. Half a league, half a league, Half a league onward, All in the valley of death Rode the six hundred. simplified Elocution 93 " Forward the Light Brigade! Charge for the guns! " he said. Into the valley of death, Rode the six hundred. " Forward, the Light Brigade! " Was there a man dismayed? Not though the soldiers knew Some one had blundered: Theirs not to make reply, Theirs not to reason why, Theirs but to do and die: Into the valley of death, Rode the six hundred. Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon in front of them, Volleyed and thundered: Stormed at with shot and shell, Boldly they rode and well: Into the jaws of death, Into the mouth of hell, Rode the six hundred. Flashed all their sabres bare, Flashed as they turned in air, Sab'ring the gunners there, Charging an army, while All the world wondered: Plunged in the battery smoke, Right through the line they broke: Cossack and Russian Reeled from the saber-stroke, Shattered and sundered. Then they rode back — but not, Not the six hundred. 94 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Cannon to right of them, Cannon to left of them, Cannon behind them, Volleyed and thundered: Stormed at with shot and shell, While horse and hero fell, They that had fought so well, Came through the jaws of death, Back from the mouth of hell, All that was left of them, Left of six hundred. When can their glory fade? O, the wild charge they made! All the world wondered. Honor the charge they made! Honor the Light Brigade, Noble six hundred! IRON HEARTS BETTER THAN IRON SHIPS. PHILIP LAWRENCE. One twenty-fourth of April, was a grandly glorious day, When Iron Ships and Iron Hearts met in a deadly fray. The crimson tints of morning were gleaming in the sky, As the gallant fleet moved on, the fate of war to try. In our noble oaken ships each man was at his gun, Every sailor's eye was sparkling for glory to be won; Although each heart beat faster, there was no thrill of fear, And to the foemen's shot and shell we answered with a cheer. Our dauntless vessel led the van, our captain we could see Spliced to the mast with knotted rope, a hero there sat he! SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 95 He looked as calm as if it were a joyful festal day, And bade the helmsman steer the ship into the thickest fray. The iron ships of the enemy commenced the fierce attack, Their chain balls and their iron shot made our oaken timbers crack; We answered, not until we got right close up to the foe, When our brave captain shouted out, " Now, my boys, strike the blow." Then every gun poured out its fire: down deep their gunboat went, As if the lightning from the clouds its fiery bolts had sent, And where a stout ship was floating a little while before, Not a trace of her was seen, but the waves were red with gore. Against the next our ship was steered, and struck her amidship; Just as a wrestler grasps his foe and hurls him o'er his hip, So our steel pro wed vessel overthrew the iron plated foe, And o'er another sinking ship the rolling waves did now. Then the two fleets were mingled and fought the deadly fight: The smoke from the cannons' mouths hid the heavens from our sight, The thundering roar of mortars and the shrill shriek of shell, Like Pandemonium made the earth seem to resemble Hell. While the fight was fiercely raging, ere the victory was won, A shell stretched on the bloody deck the captain's little son: 96 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION While the blood was pouring from his wounds his plaintive cry arose, "Oh heaven! I cannot fight again against my country's foes." When we saw our little hero fall each heart with grief was sore, Then every man rushed to his gun, and soon the can- non's roar Hurled death and ruin on the ioc, who scarcely could reply A feeble shout, to our loud cheers, ringing triumphantly! Before the day was over we had blotted out their fleet, For five we sunk, eleven we took, and made the rest re- treat; Of twenty ships with which the foe that day began the fight, But four eseaped, their battered hulls hid by the wings of night. Then glory to the gallant tars! the hoys who knew not fear, Hurrah for fair Columbia! who such gallant sons doth rear, Hurrah for the jolly sailors! who in spite of Death's keen darts, Proved that Iron Ships were useless when opposed by Iron Hearts. FITZ JAMES AND RODERICK DHU. SIR WALTER SCOTT. The chief in silence strode before, And reached the torrent's sounding shore And here his course the chieftain stayed, Threw down his target and his plaid, And to the lowland warrior said:— SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 97 " Bold Saxon! to his promise just, Vich- Alpine has discharged his trust; This murderous chief, this ruthless man, This head of a rebellious clan, Hath led thee safe, through watch and ward, Far past Clan-Alpine's outmost guard. Now, man to man, steel to steel, A chieftain's vengance thou shalt feel. See, here all vantageless I stand, Armed, like thyself, with single brand; For this is Coilantogle ford, And thou must keep thee with thy sword. The Saxon paused: — "I ne'er delayed, When foeman bade me draw my blade; Nay, more, brave chief, I vowed thy death; Yet sure thy fair and generous faith, And my deep debt for life preserved, A better meed have well deserved: Can naught but blood our feud atone? And are there no means? " — " No, stranger, none! And here, — to fire thy flagging zeal, — The Saxon cause rests on thy steel; For thus spoke Fate, by prophet bred Between the living and the dead: 1 Who spills the foremost foeman's life, His party conquers in the strife.' " "Then, by my word," the Saxon said, "The riddle is already read; Seek yonder brake beneath the cliff, — There lies Red Murdock,f stark and stiff. Thus Fate hath solved her prophecy, Then yield to Fate, and not to me; f Red Murdock was a faithless guide whom Fitz James had just before slain. 9 8 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION To James, at Stirling 1 , let us go, When, if thou wilt, be still his foe; Or, if the king shall not agree To grant thee grace and favor free, I plight mine honor, oath, and word, That, to thy native strength restored, With each advantage shalt thou stand That aids thee now to guard thy land." Dark lightning flashed from Roderick's eye- " Soars thy presumption, then, so high Because a wretched kern ye slew, Homage to name to Roderick Dim? He yields not, he, to man nor Fate! Thou add'st but fuel to my hate. — My clansman's blood demands revenge! — Not yet prepared? — By Heaven I change My thought, and hold thy valor light, As that of some vain carpet knight, Who ill-deserved my courteous care, And whose best boast is but to wear A braid of his fair lady's hair!" " I thank thee, Roderick, for the word! It nerves my heart, it steels my sword; For I have sworn this braid to stain In the best blood that warms thy vein, Now, truce, farewell! and ruth, begone! — Yet think not that by thee alone, Proud chief ! can courtesy be shown. Though not from copse, or heath, or cairn, Start at my whistle clansmen stern, Of this small horn one feeble blast Would fearful odds against thee cast; But fear not— doubt not — which thou wilt, We '11 try this quarrel hilt to hilt." SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 99 Then each at once, his falchion drew, Each on the ground his scabbard threw, Each looked to sun, and stream, and plain, As what they ne'er might see again; Then, foot, and point, and eye opposed, In dubious strife they darkly closed. Ill fared it then with Roderick Dhu, That on the field his targe he threw, Whose brazen studs and tough bull-hide Had death so often dashed aside; For, trained abroad his arms to wield, Fitz James's blade was sword and shield. He practised every pass and ward, To thrust, to strike, to feint, to guard; While less expert, though stronger far, The Gael maintained unequal war. Three times in closing strife they stood, And thrice the Saxon sword drank blood. Fierce Roderick felt the fatal drain, And showered his blows like wint'ry rain, And, as firm rock, or castle roof, Against the winter shower is proof, The foe, invulnerable still, Foiled his wild rage by steady skill; Till, at advantage ta'en, his brand, Forced Roderick's weapon from his hand, And, backwards borne upon the lea, Brought the proud chieftain. to his knee, "Now yield thee, or, by Him who made The world, thy heart's blood dyes my blade! " " Thy threats, thy mercy, I defy! Let recreant yield who fears to die." Like adder darting from his coil, Like wolf that dashes through the toil, Like mountain-cat who guards her young, IOO SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Full at Fitz James's throat he sprung, Received, but reeked not of a wound, And looked his arms his foeman round.' Now, gallant Saxon, hold thine own! No maiden's hand is round thee thrown! That desperate grasp thy frame might feel Through bars of brass and triple steel! They tug, they strain; down, down they go, The Gael above, Fitz James below. The chieftain's gripe his throat compressed, His knee was planted on his breast; His clotted looks he backward threw, Across his brow his hand lie drew, From blood and mist to clear his sight, Then gleamed aloft his dagger bright! But hate and fury ill supplied The stream of life's exhausted tide, And all too late the advantage came, To turn the odds of deadly game; For while the dagger gleamed on high, Reeled soul and sense, reeled brain and eye; Down came the blow! but in the heath The erring blade found bloodless sheath. Un wounded from the dreadful close, But breathless all Fitz James arose. RICHELIEU AND FRANCE. SIR E. BUXWER LYTT0N. My liege, your anger can recall your trust, Annul my office, spoil me of my lands, Rifle my coffers, but my name, — my deeds, — Are royal in a land beyond your sceptre. Pass sentence on me, if you will ! — from kings, L,o, I appeal to Time! Be just my liege. I found your kingdom rent with heresies, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION IOI And bristling with rebellion; — lawless nobles And breadless serfs; England fomenting discord, Austria, her clutch on your dominion; Spain Forging the prodigal gold of either Ind . To armed thunderbolts. The Arts lay dead; Trade rotted in your marts; your Armies mutinous, Your Treasury bankrupt. Would you now revoke Your trust, so be it! and I leave you, sole, Supremest monarch of the mightiest realm, From Ganges to the Icebergs. Look without — No foe not humbled! Look within, — the Arts Quit, for our schools, their old Hesperides, The golden Italy! while throughout the veins Of your vast empire flows in strengthening tides Trade, the calm health of nations ! Sire, I know That men have called me cruel; — I am not; — I am just! I found France rent asunder, The rich men despots, and the poor banditti; Sloth in the mart, and schism within the temple; Brawls festering to rebellion; and weak laws Rotting away with rust in antique sheaths. I have re-created France; and, from the ashes Of the old feudal and decrepit carcass, Civilization, on her luminous wings, Soars, phcenix-like, to Jove! What was my art? Genius, some say; some, Fortune; Witchcraft, some. Not so; — my art was Justice! THE ANGELS OF BEUNA VISTA. JOHN G. WHITTIER. Speak and tell us, our Ximena, looking northward far away, O'er the camp of the invaders, o'er the Mexican array, Who is losing? who is winning? are they far or come they near? 102 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Look abroad, and tell us, sister, whither rolls the storm we hear? " Jesu, pity! how it thickens! now retreats and now ad- vances! Right against the blazing cannon shivers Puebla's charg- ing lances! Down they go, the brave young riders; horse and foot together fall; Like a ploughshare in the fallow, through them ploughs the Northern ball." Nearer came the storm, and nearer, rolling fast and frightful on. Speak, Ximena, speak, and tell us who has lost and who has won; " Alas! alas! I know not; friend and foe together fall; O'er the dying rush thcliving; pray, my sisters, for them • all! " Lo! the wind the smoke is lifting; Blessed Mother, save my brain! I can see the wounded crawling slowly out from heaps of slain; Now they stagger, blind and bleeding; now they fall, and strive to rise; Hasten, sisters, haste and save them, lestthey~die before our eyes! "Oh, my heart's love! oh, my dear one! lay thy poor head on my knee; Dost thou know the lips that kiss thee? Canst thou hear me? Canst thou see? Oh, my husband, brave and gentle! oh, my Bernard, look once more On the blessed cross before thee! Mercy! mercy! all is o'er." Simplified elocution 103 Dry thy tears, my poor Ximena; lay thy dear one down to rest; Let his hands be meekly folded, lay the cross ^rpon his breast; Let his dirge be sung hereafter, and his funeral masses said; To-day, thou poor bereaved one, the living ask thy aid. Close beside her, faintly moaning, fair and young, a soldier lay, Torn with shot and pierced with lances, bleeding slow his life away; But, as tenderly before him the lorn Ximena knelt, She saw the Northern eagle shining on his pistol belt. With a stifled cry of horror straight she turned away her head; With a sad and bitter feeling looked she back upon her dead; But she heard the youth's low moaning, and his strug- gling breath of pain, And she raised the cooling water to his parched lips again. Whispered low the dying soldier, pressed her hand, and faintly smiled; Was that pitying face his mothers? did she watch beside her child? All his stranger words with meaning her woman's heart supplied; With her kiss upon his forehead, " Mother! " murmured he, and died. " A bitter curse upon them, poor boy, who led thee forth From some gentle, sad-eyed mother, weeping lonely, in the North!" 104 simplified elocution Spake the mournful Mexic woman, as she laid him with her dead, And turned to soothe the living still, and bind the wounds which bled. Look forth once more, Ximena; " Like a cloud before the wind Rolls the battle down the mountains, leaving blood and death behind; Ah! they plead in vain for mercy; in the dust the wounded strive; Hide your faces, holy angels! O, thou Christ of God, forgive." Sink, O Night, among thy, mountains! let the cool, gray shadows fall; Dying brothers, fighting demons, — drop thy curtain over all! Through the thickening winter twilight, wide apart the battle rolled, In its sheath the sabre rested, and the cannon's lips grew cold. But the noble Mexic women still their holy task pursued, Through that long, dark night of sorrow, worn, and faint, and lacking food; Over weak and suffering brothers with a tender care they hung, And the dying foemen blessed them in a strange and Northern tongue. Not wholly lost, O Father! is this evil world of ours; Upward, through its blood and ashes, spring afresh the Eden flowers; From its smoking hell of battle Love and Pity send their prayer. And still thy white- winged angels hover dimly in our air. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 105 ANALYSIS OF POE'S RAVEN. PHILIP LAWRENCE. There is no poem in the English language whose real meaning has caused more diversity of opinion in the literary world than Poe's weird, fantastic, rhyth- mical poem, " The Raven." We will endeavor, with all due humility, to produce the key to unlock the mys- tery. Let us call to mind the story of Poe's youthful passion for a noble and pure-minded maiden, who died at the age of twenty years. When all her cherished hopes and as- pirations for the beloved one, whose fame was dearer to her than fortune, or even life itself, were blasted, and she discovered that, faithless to his promise of reforma- tion from his follies, he still remained on terms of inti- macy with low companions, she gave up all hope and died of a broken heart. This so affected the poet that, although he had never been unkind to her, either by word or deed, his chief fault in this case being deficiency of moral cour- age, his conscience whispered that he was morally guilty of her death, and for many years he could not shake off the depression of heart he felt whenever his thoughts went back to her whom he had loved and lost. The real meaning of the " Raven " is Remorse; and any one who aspires to the merit of reciting the poem cor- rectly must remember that when Poe says, "Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore," he does not mean that he should drink of any beverage like the hemlock of Socrates, or a medicine to lull pain, but the nepenthe of the mind, Forgetfulness; because if he could forget Lenore he would be happy. We will now, as briefly as possible, describe the poem. Let us bear in mind that Poe was a spiritualist, and that 106 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION the " Raven " is a spiritual narration. The poet was sit- ting in his study late at night, and had been reading, not books for amusement, or even instruction, but tales of Egyptian mysteries, (old forgotten lore) that told of the invocation of spirits from the tomb. Hearing a slight noise, and his imagination being exeited by what he had been reading, he thought, " Can that be a spirit at the door, or did I only fancy I heard a noise? " En- deavoring to shake off his fears, he tried to persuade himself that it was only some friend or visitor calling at that late hour. His thoughts then recurred to that loved being whose body was in the earth, but whose spirit had ascended to its kindred in heaven, and had received a new name in the spiritual world. Her name was Alice while on earth, btit she was now re-named Lenore. His imagination being so fully excited, even the rust- ling of the curtain thrilled him and filled him with the most fantastic terror; so that to reassure his heart he tried to convince himself that it was only a friend at the door, and he addresses the supposed visitor, and begs pardon for not answering the request for admission. He then throws the door wide open, and, to his surprise, he can neither see any one, or even hear the rustling of the garment of a person retiring. Standing still, and for a long time peering into the darkness, full of wonder, fear and doubt, his thoughts recur to the loved one who every evening would come to his study, and with her gentle voice soothe his cares, and encourage him to persevere in his noble struggle for fame. Forgetting that she is dead, he, in a low tone of voice utters the name "Lenore; " no real voice replies, but his heart answers, like an echo, that Lenore is dead, and will return no more. He then, with his soul burning within him, re- turns into his chamber, and again fancies he hears the knocking; but this time it appears to proceed from the SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION [ I07 window, and he throws it wide open, when, to his intense astonishment, a ghostly bird, in the shape of a Raven, enters the room, and, without noticing the poet in any way, perches itself upon a bust of the goddess Pallas, that was placed over the door of the chamber. He ad- dresses the bird, and requests it to tell him its name. The bird answers, Nevermore. He marvels at the answer given, but thinks there can be no meaning in it, and mutters to himself that other freinds have fled be- fore, and that on the morrow this new friend will also leave him. But when the bird replies that it will never do so, he is startled at receiving such an apt re- ply to his remark. He then seats himself upon the couch where he had passed so many happy hours of intellectual enjoyment with the loving maiden who cheered his lonely lot with her smiles, and wondered what the bird meant by croaking Nevermore. Realizing all he had lost when Lenore died, and full of remorse, he imagines that the air becomes denser, and that the footsteps of the angels are audible around him. He then bids his heart take courage, because God has sent him the blessing of forgetfulness. But the Raven tells him tnat he is mistaken. He appeals to the bird, and acknowledges that it is a prophet, and asks it if he truly repents will he not be forgiven. The Raven answers, Never. He then implores the bird to inform him if he shall be reunited in the land of spirits to the maiden he adores. The Raven replies, No! Full of indignation at the reply, so contrary to the teachings of Christianity, he denounces the bird, and tells it to take its beak from out his heart, and return to the kingdom of darkness from whence it came. The bird replies that it will never leave him. Imagining that he must have committed the unpardonable sin, he gives way to the anguish of his soul; and in the deepest de- spondency he feels that the Raven, or Remorse, will be lo8 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION sitting upon his heart forever, and that his soul will never be lifted from utter despair. Some elocutionists, in their rendition of the poem, do not grasp the real meaning of the poet; they recite it as if all they describe is a literal fact, and that while Poe is in his chamber a real bird enters at the window and con- verses with him. The proof of this assertion is to be found in their manner of delivery of the last verse of the poem; for when they say, (after imploring the Raven to take its beak from out their heart) " But the Raven, never flitting, Still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, Just above my chamber door," They point to the bust of Pallas over the door of the chamber, instead cf placing their hands upon the breast, and pressing them convulsively against the region of the heart, thus explaining to the audience that Remorse is there. Their error must be manifest to every intelli- gent mind for this reason: If the Raven remained sitting upon the bust of Pallas over the door of the chamber, Poe had but to leave the •room, and, bidding the bird good-night, walk away in peace and tranquillity of mind, leaving his tormentor behind him. On the contrary, if the Spiritual Bird, or Remorse, was sitting upon the spiritual bust of Pallas, then the undying beak of the bird would, like the Vulture of Prometheus, devour all the aspirations of his soul, and make a chaos of his mind. The exquisite art of the poet is nowhere more evident than in his description of the Raven sitting upon the bust of Pallas, as he thus gradually enables the intelli- gent and inquiring mind to grasp its spiritual and real meaning. If he had described the bird as first alighting upon his breast and plunging its beak into his heart, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION IO9 then depicted it as perched upon the bust of Pallas over the door of his chamber, the description would have been incorrect, because remorse does not affect the heart until it has afflicted the mind. The first visitation of this awful guest would be to the brain; then, when convinced of the truth of its accusations, the anguish of the heart would follow Any painter illustrating this grand poem should depict the Raven sitting upon the bust of Pallas over the door of the chamber, all through the poem, with the exception of the last two verses. On the last verse but one it should be represented tearing with its beak at the poet's breast; and on the last verse as perched upon his heart and brooding over it. THE RAVEN. EDGAR ALLEN POE. Once upon a midnight dreary, as I ponder'd, weak and weary, Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore, — While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping, As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door. " 'T is some visitor," I mutter'd, "tapping at my chamber door — Only this, and nothing more. Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December, And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor. Eagerly I wished the morrow; vainly I had sought to borrow From my books surcease of sorrow — sorrow for the lost Eenore — HO SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore — Nameless here forevermore. And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain, Thrill'd me, — fill'd me with fantastic terrors never felt before; So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating, "T is some visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door, — Some late visitor entreating entrance at my chamber door; That it is, and nothing more." Presently my soul grew stronger: hesitating then no longer, "Sir," said I, "or Madam, truly your forgiveness I im- plore; But the fact is, I was napping, and so gently you came rapping, And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door, That I scarce was sure I heard you " — here I open'd wide the door, Darkness there, and nothing more. Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortals ever dared to dream before; But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token, And the only word there spoken was the whisper'd word, " Lenore!" SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION III This I whisper'd, and an echo murmur'd back the word, "LENOREl" Merely this, and nothing more. Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning, Soon again I heard a tapping, something louder than before. << Surely," said I, i ( surely that is something at my window lattice ; Let me see then what thereat is, and this mystery ex- plore, — Let my heart be still a moment, and this mystery ex- plore: 'T is the wind, and nothing more." Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter, In there stepp'd a stately raven of the saintly days of yore. Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopp'd or stay'd he; But, with mien of lord or lady, perch'd above my cham- ber door, — Perch'd upon a bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door — Perched and sat and nothing more. Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling, By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore, " Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, " art sure no craven; Ghastly, grim, and ancient raven, wandering from the nightly shore, 112 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Pluto- nian shore? " Quoth the raven, " Nevermore! " Much I marvell'd this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly, Though its answer little meaning — little relevancy bore; For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being Ever yet was bless'd with seeing bird above his chamber door — Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his cham- ber door, With such name as " Nevermore." But the raven sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only That one word, as if its soul in that one word he did out- pour. Nothing further then he utter'd — not a feather then he flutter'd— Till I scarcely more than mutter'd, " Other friends have flown before — On the morrow he will leave me, as my hopes have flown before." Then the bird said, " Nevermore!" Startled at the stillness, broken by reply so aptly spoken, "Doubtless," said I, "what it utters is its only stock and store, Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful disaster Follow'd fast and follow'd faster, till his songs one bur- den bore, Till the dirges of his hope that melancholy burden bore, Of — Never — nevermore! " But the raven still beguiling all my sad soul into smiling, Straight I wheel'd a cushion'd seat in front of bird, and bust, and door. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 113 Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to link- ing Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore — What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore Meant in croaking " Nevermore!" This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable express- ing To the fowl, whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom's core. This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease^ re- clining On the cushion's velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o'er, But whose velvet violet lining, with the lamp-light gloat- ing o'er, She shall press — ah! nevermore! Then rneth ought the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer Swung by seraphim, whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor. "Wretch," I cried, "thy God hath lent thee — by these angels he hath sent thee Respite — respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore! Quaff, oh, quaff this kind nepenthe, and forget this lost Lenore! " Quoth the raven, " Nevermore! " "Prophet! " said I, "thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest toss'd thee here ashore, 114 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Desolate, yet all undaunted, on this desert land en- chanted — On this home by Horror haunted — tell me truly, I im- plore — Is there — is there balm in Gilead? — tell me — tell me, I implore!" Quoth the raven, " Nevermore! " " Prophet! " said I, " thing of evil! — prophet still, if bird or devil! By that heaven that bends above us — by that God we both adore, Tell this soul with sorrow laden, if, within the distant Aidenn, It shall clasp a sainted maiden, whom the angels name Lenore; Clasp a rare and radiant maiden, whom the angels name Lenore! " Quoth the raven, "Nevermore!" " Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend! " I shriek'd, upstarting — "Get thee back into the tempest and the Night's Pluto- nian shore! Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken! Leave my loneliness unbroken! — quit the bust above my door! Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door! " Quoth the raven, " Nevermore! " But the raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting On the pallid bust of Pallas, just above my chamber door; And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION [ 1 1 5 And the lamp-light o'er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor; And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor Shall be lifted — nevermore! THE BELLS. EDGAR ALLEN POE. Hear the sledges with the bells — Silver bells — What a world of merriment their melody foretells! How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle, In the icy air of night! While the stars that oversprinkle All the heavens, seemed to twinkle With a crystalline delight; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells From the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells— From the jingling and the tinkling of the bells. Hear the mellow wedding-bells, Golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night How they ring out their delight! From the molten-golden notes, And all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats On the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! Il6 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION How it swells! How it dwells On the Future! how it tells Of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing Of the bells, bells, bells, Of the bells, bells, bells, bells- Bells, bells, bells— To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! Hear the loud alarum bells — Brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled car of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, Out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, In a mad expostulation with the deaf and frantic fire, Leaping higher, higher, higher, With a desperate desire, And a resolute endeavor, Now — now to sit or never, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells Of despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the ear, it fully knows, By the twanging And the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; Yet the ear distinctly tells, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 17 In the jangling And the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells — Of the bells— Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, Bells, bells, bells — In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! Hear the tolling of the bells — Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats Is a groan. And the people — ah, the people — They that dwell up in the steeple, All alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, In that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling On the human heart a stone — They are neither man nor woman — = They are neither brute nor human— They are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls, A paean from the bells! And his merry bosom swells With the paean of the bells! And he dances and he yells; • Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, Il8 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION To the paean of the bells — Of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, In a sort of Runic rhyme, To the. throbbing- of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells, To the sobbing of the bells; Keeping time, time, time, As he knells, knells, knells, In a happy Rimic rhyme, To the rolling of the bells — Of the bells, bells, bells— To'the tolling of the bells, Of 'the bells, bells, bells, bells- Bells, bells, bells, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. EXCKLSIOR. H. W. LONGFELLOW. The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, Excelsior! His brow was sad; his eye, beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath; And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue, Excelsior! In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright: Above, the spectral glaciers shone: And from his lips escaped a groan, . Excelsior! SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION II9 tl Try not the pass! " the old man said; " Dark lowers the tempest overhead; The roaring torrent is deep and wide! " — And loud that clarion voice replied, Excelsior! " Oh! stay," the maiden said, " and rest Thy weary head upon this breast! " A tear stood in his bright blue eye; But still he answered, with a sigh, Excelsior! " Beware the pine-tree's withered branch! Beware the awful avalanche!" This was the peasant's last good-night; — A voice replied, far up the hight, Excelsior! At break of day, as heavenward The pious monks of St. Bernard Uttered the oft repeated prayer, A voice cried, through the startled air, Excelsior! A traveller, — by the faithful hound, Half buried in the snow, was found, Still grasping, in his hand of ice, The banner with the strange device, Excelsior! There, in the twilight cold and gray, Lifeless, but beautiful, he lay; And from the sky, serene and far, A voice fell, like a falling star, — >j Excelsior! 120 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION THE FAMINE. H. W. LONGFELLOW. O the long and dreary Winter! O the eold and cruel Winter! Ever thicker, thicker, thicker, Froze the iee on lake and river; Ever deeper, deeper, deeper, Fell the snow o'er all the landscape, Fell the covering snow, and drifted Through the forest, round the village. Hardly from his buried wigwam Conld the hunter force a passage; With his mittens and his snow-shoes Vainly walk'd he through the forest, Sought for bird or beast and found none; Saw no track of deer or rabbit, In the snow beheld no footprints, In the ghastly, gleaming forest Fell, and could not rise from weakness, Perish'd there from cold and hunger. O the famine and the fever! O the wasting of the famine! O the blasting of the fever! O the wailing of the children! O the anguish of the women! All the earth was sick and famish'd; Hungry was the air around them, Hungry was the sky above them, And the hungry stars in heaven Like the eyes of wolves glared at them! Into Hiawatha's wigwam Came two other guests, as silent As the ghosts were, and as gloomy, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 121 Waited not to be invited, Did not parley at the doorway, Sat there without word of welcome In the seat of Laughing Water; Looked with haggard eyes and hollow At the face of Laughing Water. And the foremost said: " Behold me! I am Famine, Bukadawin! " And the other said: " Behold me! I am Fever, Ahkosewin! " And the lovely Minnehaha Shudder'd as they look'd upon her, Shudder'd at the words they utter'd, Lay down on her bed in silence, Hid her face, but made no answer; Lay there trembling, freezing, burning At the looks they cast upon her, At the fearful words they utter'd. Forth into the empty forest Rush'd the madden 'd Hiawatha; In his heart was deadly sorrow, In his face a stony firmness, On his brow the sweat of anguish Started, but it froze and fell not. Wrapp'd in furs and arm'd for hunting, With his mighty bow of ash-tree, With his quiver full of arrows, With his mittens, Minjekahwun, Into the vast and vacant forest On his snow-shoes strode he forward. "Gitche Manito, the Mighty!" Cried he with his face uplifted In that bitter hour of anguish, " Give your children food, O Father! Give us food, or we must perish! 122 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Give me food for Minnehaha, For my dying Minnehaha!" Through the far-resounding forest, Through the forest vast and vacant Rang that cry of desolation, But there came no other answer Than the echo of his crying-, Than the echo of the woodlands, "Minnehaha! Minnehaha! " All day long roved Hiawatha In that melancholy forest, Through the shadow of whose thickets, In the pleasant days of Summer, Of that ne'er forgotten Summer, He had brought his young wife homeward From the land of the Dakotahs; When the birds sang in the thickets, And the streamlets laugh'd and glisten'd, And the air was full of fragrance, And the lovely Laughing Water Said with voice that did not tremble, " I will follow you, my husband! " In the wigwam with Nokomis, With those gloomy guests that watch'd her, With the Famine and the Fever, She was lying, the Beloved, She the dying Minnehaha. " Hark! " she said, " I hear a rushing, Hear a roaring and a rushing, Hear the Falls of Minnehaha Calling to me from a distance! " 11 No, my child! " said old Nokomis, " 'Tis the night-wind in the pine-trees! " « Look! " she said; " I see my father Standing lonely at his doorway, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 23 Beckoning to me from his wigwam In the land of the Dakotahs! " " No, my child! " said old Nokomis, " 'T is the smoke. that waves and beckons!" " Ah! " she said, " the eyes of Pauguk Glare upon me in the darkness, I can feel his icy fingers Clasping mine amid the darkness! Hiawatha! Hiawatha! " And the desolate Hiawatha, Far away amid the forest, Miles away among the mountains, Heard that sudden cry of anguish, Heard the voice of Minnehaha Calling to him in the darkness, "Hiawatha! Hiawatha!" Over snow-fields waste and pathless, Under snow-encumber'd branches, Homeward hurried Hiawatha, Empty-handed, heavy-hearted, Heard Nokomis moaning, wailing: " Wahonowin! Wahonowin! Would that I had perish'd for you, Would that I were dead as you are! Wahonowin! Wahonowin!" And he rush'd into the wigwam, Saw the old Nokomis slowly Rocking to and fro and moaning, Saw his lovely Minnehaha Lying dead and cold before him, And his bursting heart within him Utter'd such a cry of anguish, That the forest moan'd and shuddered, That the very stars in heaven Shook and trembled with his anguish, 124 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Then he sat down still and speechless, On the bed of Minnehaha, At the feet of Laughing Water, At those willing feet, that never More would lightly run to meet him, Never more would lightly follow. With both hands his face he cover'd, Seven long days and nights he sat there, As if in a swoon he sat there, Speechless, motionless, unconscious Of the daylight or the darkness. Then they buried Minnehaha; In the snow a grave they made her, In the forest deep and darksome, Underneath the moaning hemlocks; Clothed her in her richest garments; Wrapp'd her in her robes of ermine, Cover'd her with snow, like ermine: Thus they buried Minnehaha. And at night a fire was lighted, On her grave four times was kindled, For her soul upon its journey To the Islands of the Blessed. From his doorway Hiawatha Saw it burning in the forest, Lighting up the gloomy hemlocks; From his sleepless bed uprising, From the bed of Minnehaha, Stood and watch'd it at the doorway, That it might not be extinguish'd, Mieht not leave her in the darkness. o "Farewell!" said he, " Minnehaha! Farewell, O my Laughing Water! All my thoughts go onward with you! Come not back again to labor, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 125 Come not back again to suffer, Where the Famine and the Fever Wear the heart and waste the body. Soon my task will be completed, Soon your footsteps I shall follow To the Islands of the Blessed, To the Kingdom of Ponemah, To the land of the Hereafter! " GAMBLER'S WIFE. COATES. Dark is the night! How dark! No light: No fire! Cold, on the hearth, the last faint sparks expire! Shivering, she watches, by the cradle side, For him, who pledged her love — last year a bride! " Hark! 'T is his footstep! No! — 't is past! — 't is gone! " Tick! — Tick! — " How wearily the time crawls on! Why should he leave me thus? — He once was kind! And I believed 'twould last! — How mad! — How blind! " Rest thee, my babe! — Rest on! — 'T is hunger's cry! Sleep! — For there 's no food! — The font is dry! Famine and cold their wearying work have done. My heart must break! And thou! " The clock strikes one. "Hush! 'tis the dice-box! Yes! he 's there! he 's there! For this — for this he leaves me to despair! Leaves love! leaves truth! his wife! his child! for what? The wanton's smile — the villain — and the sot! "Yet I '11 not curse him. No! 'tis all in vain! 'T is long to wait, but sure he '11 come again! And I could starve, and bless him, but for you, My child! — his child! Oh, fiend! " The clock strikes two. "Hark! How the sign-board creaks! The blast howls by. Moan! moan! A dirge swells through the cloudy sky! 126 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Ha! 'tis his knock! he comes! — he comes once more!'* 'T is but the lattice flaps! Thy hope is o'er! " Can he desert us thus? He knows I stay, Night after night, in loneliness, to pray For his return — and yet he sees no tear! No! no! It cannot be! He will be here! " Nestle more closely, dear one, to my heart! Thou 'rt cold! Thou 'rt freezing! But we will not part! Husband! — I die — Father! — It is not he! O, God! protect my child!" The clock strikes three! They 're gone, they 're gone! the glimmering spark hath fled!— The wife and child are number'd with the dead. On the cold earth, outstretch'd in solemn rest, The babe lay, frozen on its mother's breast: The gambler came at last — but all was o'er — Dread silence reigned around: — the clock struck four! SPEECH OF PATRICK HENRY. Mr. President, — it is natural to man to indulge in the illusions of Hope. We are apt to shut our eyes against a painful truth, and listen to the song of that siren, till she transforms us into beasts. Is this the part of wise men, engaged in a great and arduous strug- gle for liberty? Are we disposed to be of the number of those who, having eyes, see not, and having ears, hear not, the things which so nearly concern our tem- poral salvation? For my part, whatever anguish of spirit it may cost, I am willing to know the whole truth, — to know the worst, and to provide for it! I have but one lamp, by which my feet are guided; and that is the lamp of experience. I know of no way of judging of the future but by the past. And, judging by the past, I wish to know what there has been in the SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 12J conduct of the British Ministry, for the last ten years, to justify those hopes with which Gentlemen have been pleased to solace themselves and the House? Is it that insidious smile with which our petition has been lately received? Trust it not, Sir; it will prove a snare to your feet! Suffer not yourselves to be betrayed with a kiss! Ask yourselves how this gracious reception of our petition comports with those warlike preparations which cover our waters and darken our land. Are fleets and armies necessary to a work of love and recon- ciliation? Have we shown ourselves so unwilling to be reconciled, that force must be called in to win back our love? Let us not deceive ourselves, Sir. These are the im- plements of war and subjugation, — the last arguments to which Kings resort. I ask Gentlemen, Sir, what means this martial array, if its purpose be not to force us to submission? Can Gentlemen assign any other possible motive for it? Has Great Britain any enemy in this quarter of the world, to call for this accumula- tion of navies and armies? No, Sir, she has none. They are meant for us; they can be meant for no other. They are sent over to bind and rivet upon us those chains which the British Ministry have been so long forging. And what have we to oppose to them? — Shall we try argument? Sir, we have been trying that for the last ten years. Have we anything new to offer upon the subject? Nothing. We have held the subject up in every light of which it is capable; but it has been all in vain. Shall we resort to entreaty and humble supplication? What terms shall we find which have not already been exhausted? Let us not, I beseech you, Sir, deceive our- selves longer. Sir, we have done everything that could be done to avert the storm which is now coming on. We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have 128 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION supplicated, we have prostrated ourselves before the Throne, and have implored its interposition to arrest the tyrannical hands of the Ministry and Parliament. Our petitions have been slighted, our remonstrances have produced additional violence and insult, our sup- plications have been disregarded, and we have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the Throne. In vain, after these things, may we indulge the fond hope of peace and reconciliation. There is no longer any room for hope. If we wish to be free, — if we mean to preserve inviolate those inestimable privileges for which we have been so long contending, — if we mean not basely to abandon the noble struggle in which we have been so long engaged, and which we have pledged ourselves never to abandon until the glorious object of our contest shall be obtained, — we must fight; I repeat it, Sir, we must fight! An appeal to arms and to the God of Hosts, is all that is left us! They tell us, Sir, that we are weak, — unable to cope with so formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be when we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be stationed in every house? Shall we gather strength by irresolution and inaction? Shall we acquire the means of effectual resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the delusive phantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound us hand and foot? Sir, we are not weak, if we make a proper use of those means which the God of nature hath placed in our power. Three millions of People, armed in the holy cause of liberty, and in such a country as that which we possess, are invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. Besides, Sir, we shall not fight our battles alone. There is a just God who presides over the desti- nies of Nations, and who will raise up friends to fight SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 29 our battles for us. The battle, Sir, is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. Besides, Sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery! Our chains are forged! Their clinking may be heard on the plains of Boston! The war is inev- itable; and let it come! I repeat it, Sir, let it come! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace! — but there is no peace. The war is actually begun! The next gale that sweeps from the North will bring to our ears the clash of resounding arms! Our brethren are already in the field! Why stand we here idle? What is it that Gentlemen wish? What would they have? Is life so dear, or peace so sweet, as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery? Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take; but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death! THE ENGINEER'S STORY. No, children, my trips are over, The engineer needs rest; My hand is shaky; I 'm feeling A tugging pain i' my breast; But here, as the twilight gathers, 1 '11 tell you a tale of the road, That '11 ring in my head forever, Till it rests beneath the sod. We were lumbering along in the twilight, The night was dropping her shade, And the "Gladiator" labored — Climbing the top of the grade; The train was heavily laden, Sc I let my engine rest, I30 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Climbing the grading- slowly, Till we reached the upland's crest. I held my watch to the lamplight — Ten minutes behind the time! Lost in the slackened motion Of the up grade's heavy climb; But I knew the miles of the prairie That stretched a level track, So I touched the gauge of the boiler, And pulled the lever back. Over the rails a-gleaming, Thirty an hour, or so, The engine leaped like a demon, Breathing a fiery glow; But to me — a-hold of the lever — It seemed a child alway, Trustful and always ready My lightest touch to obey. I was proud, you know, of my engine, Holding it steady that night, And my eye on the track before us, Ablaze with the Drummond light. We neared a well-known cabin, Where a child of three or four; As the up train passed, oft called me, A-playing around the door. My hand was firm on the throttle As we swept around the curve, When something afar in the shadow, Struck fire through every nerve. I sounded the brakes, and crashing The reverse lever down in dismay, Groaning to Heaven — eighty paces Ahead was the child at its play! SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 131 One instant — one, awful and only, The world flew round in my brain, And I smote my hand hard on my forehead To keep back the terrible pain; The train 1 though c flying forever, With mad irresistible roll, While the cries of the dying, the night wind Swept into my shuddering soul. Then I stood on front of the engine, — How I got there I never could tell, — My feet planted down on the crossbar, Where the cowcatcher slopes to the rail, One hand firmly locked on the coupler, And one held out in the night, While my eye gauged the distance, and measured The speed of our slackening flight. My mind, thank the Lord! it was steady; I saw the curls of her hair, And the face that, turning in wonder, Was lit by the deadly glare. I know little more — but I heard it — The groan of the anguished wheels, And remember thinking — the engine In agony trembles and reels. One rod! To the day of my dying I shall think the old engine reared back, And as it recoiled with a shudder, I swept my hand over the track; Then darkness fell over my eyelids, But 1 heard the surge of the train, And the poor old engine creaking, As racked by a deadly pain. 132 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION They found us, they said, on the gravel, My fingers enmeshed in her hair, And she on my bosom a-climbing, To nestle securely there. We are not much given to crying — We men that run on the road — But that night, they said, there were faces, With tears on them, lifted to God. For years in the eve and the morning As I neared the cabin again, My hand on the lever pressed downward And slackened the speed of the train. When my engine had blown her greeting, She always would come to the door; And her look with a fullness of heaven Blesses me evermore. INDEPENDENCE BELL— JULY 4, 1776. There was tumult in the city, In the quaint old Quaker town, And the streets were rife with people Pacing restless up and down — People gathering at the corners, Where they whispered each to each, And the sweat stood on their temples' With the earnestness of speech. As the bleak Atlantic currents Lash the wild Newfoundland shore, So they beat against the State House, So they surged against the door; And the mingling of their voices Made a harmony profound, Till the quiet street of Chestnut Was all turbulent with sound. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 33 Far aloft in that high steeple . Sat the bellman, old and gray; He was weary of the tyrant And his iron-sceptred sway. So he sat, with one hand ready On the clapper of th e bell, When his eye could catch the signal, The long-expected news to tell. See! See! The dense crowd quivers Through all its lengthy line, As the boy beside the portal Hastens forth to give the sign! With his little hands uplifted, Breezes dallying with his hair, Hark! with deep, clear intonation, Breaks his young voice on the air: Hushed tke people's swelling murmur, Whilst the boy cries joyously; "Ring!" he shouts, " Ring! grandpapa, Ring! oh, ring for Liberty! " Quickly, at the given signal The old bellman lifts his hand, Forth he sends the good news, making Iron music through the land. How they shouted! What rejoicing! How the old bell shook the air, Till the clang of freedom ruffled The calmly gliding Delaware! How the bonfires and the torches Lighted up the night's repose, And from the names, like fabled Phoenix, Our glorious liberty arose! 134 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION That old State House bell is silent, Hushed is now its clamorous tongue; But the spirit it awaken'd Still is living — ever young; And when we greet the smiling sunlight On the Fourth of each July, We will ne'er forget the bellman Who betwixt the earth and sky, Rung out, loudly, " Independence;" Which, please God, shall never die! LINES ON A SKELETON. Behold this ruin! 'T was a skull Once of ethereal spirit full. This narrow cell was Life's retreat, This space was Thought's mysterious seat. What beauteous visions filled this spot! What dreams of pleasure long forgot! Nor Hope, nor Joy, nor Love, nor Fear, Have left one trace of record here. Beneath this moldering canopy, Once shone the bright and busy eye; But start not at the dismal void — If social love that eye employed, If with no lawless fire it gleamed, But through the dews of kindness beamed, That eye shall be forever bright When stars and sun are sunk in night. Within this hollow cavern hung The ready, swift, and tuneful tongue. If falsehood's honey it disdained, And when it could not praise, was chained, If bold in Virtue's cause it spoke, Yet gentle concord never broke! SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 135 This silent tongue shall plead for thee When Time unvails Eternity. Say, did these fingers delve the mine? Or with the envied rubies shine? To hew the rock or wear the gem Can little now avail to them. But if the page of truth they sought, Or comfort to the mourner brought, These hands a richer meed shall claim Than all that wait on Wealth or Fame. Avails it, whether, bare or shod, These feet the paths of duty trod? If from the bowers of Ease they fled, To seek Affliction's humble shed; If Grandeur's guilty bride they spurned, And home to Virtue's cot returned, These feet with angels' wings shall vie, And tread the palace of the sky. SPARTACUS TO THE GLADIATORS AT CAPUA. ELIJAH KELLOGG. It had been a day of triumph in Capua. Lentulus, returning with victorious eagles, had amused the popu- lace with the sports of the amphitheatre, to an extent hitherto unknown even in that luxurious city. The shouts of revelry had died away; the roar of the lion had ceased; the last loiterer had retired from the ban- quet; and the lights in the palace of the victor were extinguished, The moon, piercing the tissue of fleecy clouds, silvered the dew-drops on the corslet of the Roman sentinel, and tipped the dark waters of the Vulturnus with a wavy, tremulous light. No sound was heard save the last sob of some retiring wave, telling its story to the I36 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION smooth pebbles of the beach; and then all was still as the breast when the spirit has departed. In the deep recesses of the amphitheatre, a band of gladiators were assembled, — their muscles still knotted with the agony of conflict, the foam upon their lips, the scowl of battle vet lingering on their brows, — when Spartacus, starting forth from amid the throng, thus addressed them: 11 Ye call me chief, and ye do well to call him ehief, who, for twelve long years, has met upon the arena every shape of man or beast the broad empire of Rome could furnish, and who never vet lowered his arm. If # there be one among you who van say that ever, in public fight or private brawl, my actions did belie my tongue, let him stand forth, and say it. If there be three in all your company dare face me on the bloody sands, let them come on. 11 And yet, I was not always thus, — a hired butcher, a savage ehief of still more savage men! My ancestors came from old Sparta, and settled among the vine-clad rocks and citron groves of vSyrasella. My early life ran quiet as the brooks by which I sported: and when, at noon, I gathered the sheep beneath the shade, and played upon the shepherd's flute, there was a friend, the son of a neighbor, to join me in the pastime. We led our flocks to the same pasture, and partook together our rustic meal. " One evening, after the sheep were folded, and we were all seated beneath the myrtle which shaded our cottage, my grandsire, an old man, was telling of Mara- thon and Leuctra, and how, in ancient times, a little band of Spartans, in a defile of the mountains, had with- stood a whole army. I did not then know what war was; but my cheek burned, I knew not why, and Iclasped the knees of that venerable man, till my mother, parting the hair from off my forehead, kissed my throbbing temples, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 137 and bade me go to rest, and think no more of those old tales and savage wars. 11 That very night the Romans landed on our coast. I saw the breast that had nourished me trampled by the hoof of the war-horse; the bleeding body of my father flung amidst the blazing rafters of our dwelling! To-day I killed a man in the arena; and when I broke his helmet-clasps, behold! he was my friend. He knew me, — smiled faintly, — gasped, — and died; — the same sweet smile upon his lips that I had marked, when, in adventurous boyhood, we scaled some lofty cliff to pluck the first ripe grapes, and bear them home in childish triumph. "I told the praetor that the dead man had been my friend, generous and brave; and I begged that I might beer away the body, to burn it on a funeral pile, and maiiix over its ashes. Ay! upon my knees, amid the dust and blood of the arena, I begged that poor boon, while all the assembled maids and matrons, and the hoiy virgins they call Vestals, and the rabble, shouted in derision, deeming it rare sport, forsooth, to see Rome's fiercest gladiator turn pale and tremble at the sight of that piece of bleeding clay! And the praetor drew back as I were pollution, and sternly said, — 'Let the carrion rot; there are no noble men but Romans! ' And so, fellow-gladiators, must you, and so must I, die like dogs. "O Rome! Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to mej Ay, thou hast given to that poor, gentle, timid shepherd lad, who never knew a harsher tone than a flute-note, muscles of iron and a heart of flint: taught him to drive the sword through plaited mail and links of rugged brass, and warm it in the marrow of his foe! — to gaze into the glaring eye-balls of the fierce Numid- ian lion, even as a boy upon a laughing girl! And he shall pay thee back, till the yellow Tiber is red as froth- I38 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION ing wine, and in its deepest ooze thy life-blood lies curdled! J< Ye stand here now like giants, as ye are! The strength cf brass is in your toughened sinews; but to- morrow some Roman Adonis, breathing sweet perfume from his curly locks, shall with his lily fingers pat your red brawn, and bet his sesterces upon your blood! Hark! hear ye yon lion roaring in his den? 'T is three days since he tasted flesh; but to-morrow he shall break his fast upon yours, — and a dainty meal for him ye will be! " If ye are brutes, then stand here like fat oxen, wait- ing for the butcher's knife: if ye are men, — follow me! strike down yon guard, gain the mountain passes, and there do bloody work, as did your sires at Old Thermo- pylae! Is Sparta dead? Is the old Grecian spirit frozen in your veins, that you do crouch and cower like a be- labored hound beneath his master's lash? O comrades! warriors! Thracians! — If we must fight, let us fight for ourselves; if we must slaughter, let us slaughter our oppressors; if we must die, let us die under the open sky, by the bright waters, in noble, honorable battle! " MACLAINE'S CHILD. CHARLES MACKAY. " Maclaine! you Ve scourged me like a hound; You should have struck me to the ground; You should have played a chieftain's part; You should have stabbed me to the heart. " You should have crushed me unto death; — But here I swear with living breath, That for this wrong which you have done, — I '11 wreak my vengeance on your son, — SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 39 " On him, and you, and all your race! " He said, and bounding from l}is place, He seized the child with sudden hold — A smiling infant, three years old — And starting like a hunted stag, He scaled the rock, he clomb the crag, And reached, o'er many a wide abyss, The beetling, seaward precipice; And leaning o'er its topmost ledge, He held the infant o'er the edge: — " In vain the wrath, thy sorrow vain; No hand shall save it, proud Maclaine! " With flashing eye and burning brow, The mother followed, heedless how, O'er crags with mosses overgrown, And stair-like juts of slippery stone. But midway up the rugged steep, She found a chasm she could not leap, And kneeling on its brink, she raised Her supplicating hands, and gazed. — " O, spare my child, my joy, my pride! O, give me back my child! " she cried: " My child! my child! " with sobs and tears, She shrieked upon his callous ears. " Come, Evan," said the trembling chief,— His bosom wrung with pride and grief, — " Restore the boy, give back my son, And 1 11 forgive the wrong you 've done." " I scorn forgiveness, haughty man! You've injured me before the clan; And naught but blood shall wipe away The shame I have endured to-day." 140 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION And as he spoke, he raised the child, To dash it 'mid the breakers wild, But, at the mother's piercing cry, Drew back a step, and made reply: — " Fair lady, if your lord will strip, And let a clansman wield the whip, Till skin shall Hay, and blood shall run, I'll give you back your little son." The lady's cheek grew pale with ire, The chieftain's eyes flashed sudden fire; He drew a pistol from his breast, Took aim, — then dropped it, sore distressed. " I might have slain my babe instead. Come, Evan, come," the father said, And through his heart a tremor ran; " We '11 fight our quarrel man to man." 11 Wrong unavenged I Ve never borne," Said Evan, speaking loud in scorn; " You 've heard my answer, proud Maclaine: I will not fight you, — think again." The lady stood in mute despair, With freezing blood and stiffening hair; She moved no limb, she spoke no word; — She could but look upon her lord. He saw the quivering of her eye, Pale lips and speechless agony, — And, doing battle with his pride, " Give back the boy, — I yield," he cried. A storm of passions shook his mind — Anger and shame and love combined, But love prevailed, and bending low, He bared his shoulders to the blow. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 141 "i smite you," vSaid the clansman true; a Forgive me, chief, the deed I do! For by yon Heaven that hears me speak, My dirk in Evan's heart shall reek! " But Evan's face beamed hate and joy; Close to his breast he hugged the boy: " Revenge is just, revenge is sweet, And mine, Lochbuy, shall be complete." Ere hand could stir, with sudden shock, He threw the infant o'er the rock, Then followed with a desperate leap, Down fifty fathoms to the deep. They found their bodies in the tide; And never till the day she died Was that sad mother known to smile — The Niobe of Mullas isle. They dragged false Evan from the sea, And hanged him on a gallows tree; And ravens fattened on his brain, To sate the vengeance of Maclaine. LITTLE JIM. The cottage was a thatched one, the outside poor and mean, But all within that little cot was wondrous neat and clean; The night was dark and stormy, the wind was howling wild, As a patient mother sat beside the death-bed of her child: A little worn-cut creature, his once bright eyes grown dim: It was a collier's wife and child, they called him Little Jim. 142 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION And oh! to see the briny tears fast hurrying' down her cheek, As she offered iq> the prayer, in thought, she was afraid to speak, Lest she might waken one she loved far better than her life, P A or she had all a mother's heart, had that poor collier's wife. With hands uplifted, sec, she kneels beside the sufferer's bed, And prays that He would spare her boy, and take herself instead. She gets her answer from the child: soft fall the words from him, " Mother, the angels do so smile, and beckon Little Jim, 1 have no pain, dear mother, now, but O! I am so dry, Just moisten poor Jim's lips again, and mother, don't you cry." With gentle, trembling haste she held the liquid to his lip; He smiled to thank her, as he took each little, tiny sip. " Tell father, when he comes from work, I said good- night to him, And, mother, now I'll go to sleep." Alas! poor Little Jim! She knew that he was dying; that the child she loved so dear, Had uttered the last words she might ever hope to hear: The cottage door is opened, the collier's step is heard, The father and the mother meet, yet neither speak a ^ word. He felt that all was over, he knew his child was dead, He took the candle in his hand and walked toward the bed; SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 143 His quivering lips gave token of the grief he 'd fain conceal, And see, his wife has joined him — the stricken couple kneel; With hearts bowed down by sadness, they humbly ask of Him, In Heaven once more to meet again their own poor Little Jim. MARCO BOZZARIS. FITZ GREENE HALLECK. At midnight, in his guarded tent, The Turk was dreaming of the hour When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent, Should tremble at his power; In dreams, through camp and court, he bore The trophies of a conqueror; In dreams, his song of triumph heard; Then wore his monarch's signet ring; Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing, As Eden's garden bird. At midnight, in the forest shades, Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band, True as the steel of their tried blades, Heroes in heart and hand. There had the Persian's thousands stood, There had the glad earth drunk their blood, On old Platseas day; And now, there breathed that haunted air The sons of sires who conquered there, With arm to strike, and. soul to dare, As quick, as far as they. 144 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION An hour passed on — the Turk awoke; That bright dream was his last; He woke to hear his sentries shriek, "To arms! — they come! the Greek! the Greek!" He woke — to die midst flame, and smoke, And shout, and groan, and sabre-stroke, And death-shots falling thick and fast As lightning from the mountain-cloud; And heard, with voice as trumpet loud, Bozzaris cheer his band: " Strike — till the last armed foe expires; Strike — for your altars and your fires; Strike — for the green graves of your sires; God — and your native land! They fought — like brave men, long and well; They piled that ground with Moslem slain; They conquered — but Bozzaris fell, Bleeding at every vein. His few surviving comrades saw His smile, when rang their proud huzza, And the red field was won; Then saw in death his eyelids close, Calmly as to a night's repose, Like flowers at set of sun. Come to the bridal chamber, Death! Come to the mother, when she feels, For the first time her first-born's breath; Come when the blessed seals That close the pestilence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke; Come in consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake's shock, the ocean's storm; Come when the heart beats high and warm With banquet-song, and dance and wine, — ■ SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 145 And thou art terrible! — The tear, The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier; And all we know, or dream, or fear, Of agony, are thine. But to the hero, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word; And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be. Bozzaris! with the storied brave Greece nurtured in her glory's time, Rest thee: there is no prouder grave, Even in her own proud clime. We tell thy doom without a sigh; For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's, — One of the few, the immortal names, That were not born to die! THE PHANTOM SHIP. The breeze had sunk to rest, the noonday sun was high, The ocean's breast lay motionless beneath a cloudless sky, There was silence in the air, there was silence in the deep; And it seemed as though that burning calm were nature's final sleep. The mid-day watch was set, beneath the blaze of light, When there came a cry from the tall mast-head, " A sail! a sail, in sight! " And o'er the far horizon a snowy speck appeared, And every eye was strained to watch the vessel as she neared. 146 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION There was no breath of air, yet she bounded on her way, And the dancing waves around her prow were flashing into spray. She answered not their hail, alongside as she passed: There were none who trod her spacious deck; not a seaman on the mast: No hand to guide her helm: yet on she held her course; She swept along that waveless sea, as with a tempest's force: A silence, as of death, was o'er that vessel spread, She seemed a thing of another world, the world where dwell the dead. She passed away from sight, the deadly calm was o'er, And the spell-bound ship pursued her course before the breeze once more; And clouds across the sky obscured the noonday sun, And the winds arose at the tempest's call, before the day was done. Midnight — and still the storm raged wrathfully and loud, And deep in the trough of the heaving sea labored that vessel proud: There was darkness all aronnd, save where lightning flashes keen Played on the crests of the broken waves, and lit the depths between. Around her and below, the waste of waters roared, And answered the crash of the falling masts as they cast them overboard. At every billow's shock her shivering timbers strain; And as she rose on crested wave, that strange ship passed again. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 147 And o'er that stormy sea she flew before the gale, Yet she had not struck her lightest spar, nor furled her loftiest sail. Another blinding flash, and nearer yet she seemed, And a pale blue light along her sails and o'er her rigging gleamed. But it showed no seaman's form, no hand her course to guide; And to their signals of distress the winds alone replied. The Phantom Ship passed on, driven o'er her pathless way, But helplessly the sinking wreck amid the breakers lay. The angry tempest ceased, the winds were hushed to sleep, And calm and bright the sun again shone out upon the deep. But that gallant ship no more shall roam the ocean free; She has reached her final haven, beneath'the dark blue. sea. And many a hardy seaman, who fears nor storms nor fight, Yet trembles when the Phantom Ship drives past his watch at night; For it augurs death and danger: it bodes a watery grave, With sea-weeds for his pillow — for his shroud, the wan- dering wave. SPEECH OF CARDINAL WOLSEY. SHAKESPEARE. Farewell, — a long farewell, to all my greatness! This is the state of man: to-day he puts forth The tender leaves of hope; to-morrow blossoms, And bears his blushing honors thick upon him. 148 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION The third day, comes a frost, a killing frost; And, — when he thinks, good easy man, full surely His greatness is a-ripening, — nips his root, And then he fall, as I do. I have ventured, Like little wanton boys that swim on bladders, This many summers in a sea of glory; But far beyond my depth: my high-blown pride At length broke under mo; and now has left me, Weary, and old with service, to the mercy Of a rude stream, that must forever hide me. Vain pomp, and glory of this world, I hate ye; I feel my heart new opened: Oh! how wretched Is that poor man, that hangs on princes' favors! Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me Out of thy honest truth to play the woman. Let's dry our eyes; and thus far hear me, Cromwell; And, — when I am forgotten, as I shall be; And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, — say, I taught thee: Say, Wolsey, — that once trod the ways of glory, And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor, — Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in; A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it. Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me. Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition; By that sin fell the angels; how can man then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by 't? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee. Corruption wins not moi e than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not; Let all the ends thou aim'st at, be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then, if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr. Serve the king; SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 149 And, — Pr'ythee, lead me in; There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny; 't is the king's: my robe, And my integrity to heaven, is all I dare now call my own. O Cromwell, Cromwell, Had I but served my God with half the zeal I served my king, He would not in mine age Have left me naked to mine enemies. MORNING HYMN TO MOUNT BLANC. COLERIDGE. Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course? — so long he seems to pause On thy bald, awfnl head, O sovereign Blanc! The Arve and Aveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful form! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently! Around thee and above Deep is the air and dark, — substantial black, — An ebon mass; methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity! dread and silent mount! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought: entranced in prayer 1 worshipped the Invisible alone. Yet like some sweet, beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thoughts, Yea, with my life, and life's own secret joy, — Till the dilating soul, enwrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing — there As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaver*. 150 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Awake, my soul! not only passive praise Thou owest — not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks, and secret ecstasy. Awake, Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs all join my hymn. Thou first and chief, sole sovereign of the vale! Oh! struggling with the darkness all the night, And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky, or when they sink: Companion of the morning-star at dawn, Thyself, earth's rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald! wake, oh wake! and utter praise. Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth? Who filled thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad! Who called ye forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns called you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks. Forever shattered and the same forever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded, — and the silence came, — " Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest?" Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain's brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain, — Torrent, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge! Motionless torrents! silent cataracts! — Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who with living flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet? — " God! " let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer; and let the ice-plains echo, "God!" SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 15! " God! " sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice, Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds! And they, too, have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, " God! " Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest! Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain, storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the elements! Utter forth << God! " and fill the hills with praise. Once more, hoar mount! with thy sky-pointing peak, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast, — Thou, too, again, stupendous mountain! thou, That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow-traveling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemly seemest, like a vapory cloud, To rise before me — rise, oh, ever rise, Rise, like a cloud of incense, from the earth! Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven. Great hicrrarch! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God! THE DREAM OF EUGENE ARAM, THOMAS HOOD. 'T was in the prime of summer time, An evening calm and cool, And four-and-twenty happy boys Came bounding out oi school: There were some that ran and some that leapt, Like troutlets in a pool. 152 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Away they sped, with gamesome minds, And souls untouch'd by sin; To a level mead they came, and there They drave the wickets in: Pleasantly shone the setting sun Over the town of Lynn. Like sportive deer they coursed about, And shouted as they ran, Turning to mirth all things of earth, As only boyhood can; But the Usher sat remote from all, A melancholy man! ^ His hat was off, his vest apart, To catch heaven's blessed breeze; For a burning thought was in his brow, And his bosom ill at ease; So he lean'd his head on his hands, and read The book between his knees! Leaf after leaf he turn'd it o'er, Nor even glanced aside, For the peace of his soul he read that book In the golden eventide: Much study had made him very lean, And pale, and leaden-eyed. At last he shut the ponderous tome, With a fast and fervent grasp He strain'd the dusky covers close, And fix'd the brazen hasp: " Oh, God! could I so close my mind, And clasp it with a clasp! " Then leaping on his feet upright, Some moody turns he took, — Now up the mead, then down the mead, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION I S3 And past a shady nook, And, lo! he saw a little boy That pored upon a book! " My gentle lad, what is 't you read — Romance or fairy fable? Or is it some historic page, Of kings and crowns unstable? " The young boy gave an upward glance, — It is 'The Death of Abel.' " The Usher took six hasty strides, As smit with sudden pain, — Six hasty strides beyond the place, Then slowly back again; And down he sat beside the lad, And talked with him of Cain; And long since then, of bloody men Whose deeds tradition saves; Of lonely folk cut off unseen, And hid in sudden graves; Of horrid stabs in groves forlorn, And murders done in caves; And how the sprites of injured men Shriek upward from the sod, — Ay, how the ghostly hand will point To show the burial clod; And unknown facts of guilty acts Are seen in dreams from God; He told how murderers walked the earth Beneath the curse of Cain, — With crimson clouds before their eyes, And flames about their brain: For blood had left upon their souls Its everlasting stain! 154" SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION " And well," quoth he, " I know for truth, Their pangs must be extreme, — Woe, woe, untterable woe, — Who spill life's sacred stream! For why? Methought, last night, I wrought A murder in a dream! " One that had never done me wrong — A feeble man and old; I led him to a lonely field, — The moon shone clear and cold; 'Now here,' said I, * this man shall die, And I will have his gold! ' " Two sudden blows with ragged stick, And one with a heavy stone, One hurried gash with a hasty knife, — And then the deed was done: There was nothing lying at my foot But lifeless flesh and bone! " Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone, That could not do me ill; And yet I fear'd him all the more, For lying there so still: There was a manhood in his look, That murder could not kill! "And, lo! the universal air Seemed lit with ghastly flame: — Ten thousand thousand dreadful eyes Were looking down in blame: I tood the dead man by his hand, And call'd upon his name! " O God! it made me quake to see Such sense within the slain! But when I touch'd the lifeless clay. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION ' 1 55 The blood gush'd out amain! For every clot, a burning spot Was scorching in my brain! " My head was like an ardent coal, My heart as solid ice; My wretched, wretched soul, I knew, Was at the Devil's price: A dozen times I groan'd; the dead Had never groan'd but twice! " And now, from forth the frowning sky, From the Heaven's topmost hight, I heard a voice — the awful voice Of the blood-avenging sprite: — 1 Thou guilty man! take up thy dead And hide it from my sight! ' " I took the dreary body up, And cast it in a stream, — A sluggish water black as ink, The depth was so extreme: — ■ My gentle boy, remember this Is nothing but a dream! "Down went the corse with a hollow plunge, And vanish'd in the pool; Anon I cleansed my bloody hands, And washed my forehead cool, And sat among the urchins young, That evening in the school. "O Heaven! to think of their white souls, And mine so black and grim! I could not share in childish prayer, Nor join in evening hymn: Like a Devil of the Pit I seem'd, 'Mid holy cherubim! 156 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION " And Peace went with them, ore and all, And each calm pillow spread; But Guilt was my grim Chamberlain That lighted me to bed, And drew my midnight curtains round, With fingers bloody red! "All night I lay in agony, In anguish dark and deep, My fever'd eyes I dared not close, But stared aghast at Sleep: For Sin has render 'd unto her The keys of Hell to keep! " All night I lay in agony, From weary chime to chime, With one besetting horrid hint, That rack'd me all the time: A mighty yearning, like the first Fierce impulse unto crime! " One stern tyrannic thought, that made All other thoughts its slave; Stronger and stronger every pulse Did that temptation crave, — Still urging me to go and see The Dead Man in his grave! " Heavily I rose up, as soon As light was in the sky, And sought the black accursed pool With a wild misgiving eye; And I saw the Dead in the river bed, For the faithless stream was dry! " Merrily rose the lark, and shook The dew-drop from its wing; But I never mark'd its morning flight, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION I 57 I never heard it sing: For I was stooping once again Over the horrid thing. " With breathless speed, like a soul in chase, I took him up and ran; — There was no time to dig a grave Before the day began: In a lonesome wood, with heaps of leaves, I hid the murder'd man! " And all that day I read in school, 1 But my thought was other where; As soon as the mid-day task was done, In secret I was there: And a mighty wind had swept the leaves, And still the corse was bare! "Then down I cast me on my face' And first began to weep, For I knew my secret then was one That earth refused to keep; Or land or sea, though he should be^ Ten thousand fathoms deep. "So wills the fierce avenging Sprite, Till blood for blood atones! « Ay, though he 's buried in a cave, And trodden down with stones, And years have rotted off his flesh The world shall see his bones! "O God, that horrid, horrid dream Besets me now awake! Again — again, with dizzy brain, The human life I take; And my right red hand grows raging hot, Like Cranmer's at the stake, 1 58 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION " And still no peace for the restless clay Will wave or mould allow; The horrid thing- pursues my soul, — It stands before me now! " The fearful boy look'd up, and saw Huge drops upon his brow. That very night, while gentle sleep The urchin's eyelids kiss'd, Two stern-faced men set out from Lynn, Through the cold and heavy mist; And Eugene Aram walk'd between, With gyves upon his wrist. THE CURSE OF REGULUS. The palaces and domes of Carthage were burning with the splendors of noon, and the blue waves of her harbor were rolling and gleaming in the gorgeous sun- light. An attentive ear could catch a low murmur, sounding from the center of the city, which seemed like the moaning of the wind before a tempest. And well it might. The whole people of Carthage, startled, as- tounded by the report that Regulus had returned, were pouring, a mighty tide, into the great square before the Senate House. There were mothers in that throng, whose captive sons were groaning in Roman fetters; maidens, whose lovers were dying in the distant dun- geons of Rome; gray-haired men and matrons, whom Roman steel had made childless; men who were seeing their country's life crushed out by Roman power; and with wild voices, cursing and groaning, the vast throng gave vent to the rage, the hate, the anguish of long years. Calm and unmoved as the marble walls around him, stood Regulus, the Roman! He stretched his arm over SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 159 the surging crowd with a gesture as proudly imperious, as though he stood at the head of his own gleaming co- horts. Before that silent command the tumult ceased — the half uttered execration died upon the lip — so intense was the silence that the clank of the captive's brazen manacles smote sharp on every ear, as he thus ad- dressed them: " Ye doubtless thought, judging of Roman virtue by your own, that I would break my plighted faith, rather than by returning, and leaving your sons and brothers to rot in Roman dungeons, to meet your vengeance. Well, I could give reasons for this return, foolish and inexplicable as it seems to you; I could speak of yearn- ings after immortality — of those eternal principles in whose pure light a patriot's death is glorious, a thing to be desired; but by great Jove! I should debase myself to dwell on such high themes to you. If the bright blood which feeds my heart were like the slimy ooze that stagnates in your veins, I should have remained at Rome, saved my life, and broken my oath. If, then, you ask why I have come back, to let you work your will on this poor body which I esteem but as the rags that cover it, — enough reply for you, it is because I am a Roman! As such, here in your very capital I defy you! What I have done ye never can undo; what ye may do, I care not. Since first my young arm knew how to wield a Roman sword have I not routed your armies, burned your towns, and dragged your generals at my chariot wheels? And do ye now expect to see me cower and whine with dread of Carthagenian vengeance? Compared to that fierce mental strife which my heart has just passed through at Rome, the piercing of this flesh, the rending of these sinews, would be but sport to me. ", Venerable senators, with trembling voices and out- stretched hands, besought me to return no more to Carthage. The gererous people, with loud wailing, and l6o SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION wildly tossing gestures, bade me stay. The voice of a beloved mother, — her withered hands beating her breast, her gray hairs streaming in the wind, tears flow- ing down her furrowed cheeks — praying me not to leave her in her lonely and helpless old age, is still sounding in my ears. Compared to anguish like this, the paltry torment you have in store is as the murmur of the meadow brook to the wild tumult of the mount- ain storm. Go! bring your threatened tortures! The woes I see impending over this fated city will be enough to sweeten death, though every nerve should tingle with its agony. I die — but mine shall be the triumph; yours the untold desolation. For every drop of blood that falls from my veins, your own shall pour in torrents! Woe, unto thee, O Carthage! I see thy homes and tem- ples all in flames, thy citizens in terror, thy women wail- ing for the dead. Proud city! thou art doomed! the curse of Jove, a living, lasting curse is on thee! The hungry waves shall lick the golden gates of thy rich palaces, and every brook run crimson to the sea. Rome, with bloody hand, shall sweep thy heart-strings, and all thy homes shall howl in wild response of anguish to her touch. Proud mistress of the sea, disrobed, un- crowned and scourged — thus again do I devote thee to the infernal gods! Now, bring forth your tortures! Slaves! while ye tear this quivering flesh, remember how often Regulus has beaten your armies and humbled your pride! Cut as he would have carved you! Burn deep as his curse! SUNBEAMS AND SHADOWS. I saw a little maiden, Playing with the sunbeams bright. How her merry blue eyes sparkled As with innocent delight SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION l6l She gathered, in her childish glee, Her apron full, with care, Then, peeping archly in to see, She found no sunbeams there! I saw her but a moment, Yet that vision pure and bright, Is shrined within my memory, As some fair thing of light. I seem to hear her silvery laugh Still ringing in my ear, As looking in her apron folds, ' She found no sunbeams there. Once more, she stood before me, A happy, trusting bride; A wreath was on her snowy brow, Her chosen, by her side. The dark and silken lashes Shaded those eyes of light, That danced in joy, when years ago, She caught the sunbeams bright. Again the vision passed away, As it had done before, And from that joyous wedding-day, I saw her face no more Till ten long years bad glided on, Since last, with joy and pride, I saw that beauteous child of earth, A young and blooming bride. I mingled with the gathered throng That round the altar stood ; The memories of other years, Rushed o'er me like a flood. Before me in her snowy robes, As on her bridal day, i62 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION ^ In calm and passionless repose That lovely earth-child lay. \ No wreath was on her marble brow, No sparkle in her eye; 'T was Heaven's decree that this sweet flower Should only bloom to die. Yet not to die, but live again, III far-off worlds of light, To dwell once more in happiness Amid the sunbeams bright. The locks are changed from brown to gray, That erst adorned my head; Since those three visions passed away — The child — the bride — the dead. I *m dreaming now, I 'm dreaming, And the vision 1 behold Is the City of the Ransomed, Where the streets are paved with gold. And as I look and listen, Falls upon my ravished ear, Music, not of mortals' breathing, Such as only angels hear. And I see bright forms around me Floating in the perfumed air, Clad in robes of snowy whiteness Such as only angels wear. One there is among the number, Whom on earth I used to know, When a child she watched the sunbeams, Watched them come, and saw them go. By her golden hair I know her, By her pure and radiant brow; For I saw the little maiden, As I see the angel now. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 63 Little change had come upon her, Save the eyes, on earth so bright, Now are beaming on her sisters, With a calmer, holier light. And the Saviour's smiles are resting On that being, bright and fair, As she whispers to the angels She hath found her sunbeams " there! " SHERIDAN'S RIDE. THOMAS BUCHANAN READ. Up from the South at break of day, Bringing to Winchester fresh dismay, The affrighted air with a shudder bore, Like a herald in haste to the chieftain's door, The terrible grumble, and rumble, and roar. Telling the battle was on once more, And Sheridan twenty miles away. And wider still those billows of war, Thundered along the horizon's bar; And louder yet into Winchester rolled The roar of that red sea uncontrolled, Making the blood of the listener cold, As he thought of the stake in that fiery fray, And Sheridan twenty miles away. But there is a road from Winchester town, A good, broad highway leading down; And there, through the flush of the morning light, A steed, as black as the steeds of night, Was seen to pass, as with eagle flight; As if he knew the terrible need, He stretched away with his utmost speed; Hills rose and fell; but his heart was gay, With Sheridan fifteen miles away. 1 64 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Still sprung from those swift hoofs ,thundering South The dust, like smoke from the cannon's mouth, Or the trail of a comet, sweeping faster and faster, Foreboding to foemen the doom of disaster. The heart of the steed, and the heart of the master, Were beating like prisoners assaulting their walls, Impatient to be where the battle-field calls; Every nerve of the charger was strained to full play, With Sheridan only ten miles away. Under Ins spurning: feet, the road Like an arrowy Alpine river flowed, And the landscape sped away behind, Like an ocean Hying before the wind; And the steed, like a bark fed with furnace ire, Swept on, with his wild eye full of fire. But lo! he is nearing his heart's desire; He is snuffing the smoke of the roaring fray, With Sheridan only five miles away. The first that the General saw were the groups Of stagglers, and then the retreating troops; What was done! what to do? a glance told him both, Then striking his spurs, with a terrible oath, He dashed down the line, 'mid a storm of huzzas, And the wave of retreat checked its course there, because The sight of the master compelled it to pause. With foam and with dust the black charger was gray; By the flash of his eye, and the red nostril's play, He seemed to the whole great army to say, " I have brought you Sheridan all the way From Winchester, down to save the day. Hurrah! hurrah for Sheridan! '-- Hurrah! hurrah for horse and man! And when their statues are placed on high Under the dome of the Union sky, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 65 The American soldiers' Temple of Fame, There, with the glorious General's name, Be it said in letters both bold and bright: " Here is the steed that saved the day By carrying Sheridan into the fight, From Winchester — twenty miles away! " LOCHINVAR'S RIDE. SIR WALTER SCOTT. Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the West, — Through all the wide border his steed was the best ! And save his good broadsword he weapons had none, — • He rode all unarmed and he rode all alone. So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war, There never was knight like the young Lochinvar. He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone; He swam the Esk River where ford there was none; But ere he alighted at Netherby gate, The bride had consented, the gallant came late; For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war, Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar. So boldly he entered the Netherby hall, 'Mong bridesmen, and kinsmen, and brothers, and all: Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword (For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word), "Oh, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war, Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?" "I long wooed your daughter, — my suit you denied; — Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide; And now am I come with this lost love of mine, To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine. There are maidens in Scotland more lovely by far, That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar." The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up, 1 66 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup, She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye. He took her soft hand ere her mother could bar, — " Now tread we a measure! " said young Lochinvar. So stately his form, and so lovely her face That never a hall such a galliard did grace; While her mother did fret and her father did fume, And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume, And the bridemaidens whispered "*T were better by far, To have matched our fair cousin to young Lochinvar." 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 croup the fair lady he swung, So light to the saddle before her he sprung! "She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scar! They '11 have fleet steeds that follow," quoth young Loch- invar. There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan; Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran: There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lee, But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see. So daring in love, and so dauntless in war, Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar? SANDALPHON. H. W. LONGFELLOW. Have you read in the Talmud of old, In the Legends the Rabbins have told Of the limitless realms of the air, — SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 67 Have you read it,— the marvelous story Of Sandalphon, the Angel of Glory, Sandalphon, the Angel of Prayer? How, erect, at the outermost gates Of the City Celestial he waits, With his feet on the ladder of light, That, crowded with angels unnumbered, By Jacob was seen, as he slumbered Alone in the desert at night? The Angels of Wind and of Fire Chant only one hymn, and expire With the song's irresistible stress; Expire in their rapture and wonder, As harp-strings are broken asunder By music they throb to express. But serene in the rapturous throng, Unmoved by the rush of the song, With eyes unimpassioned and slow, Among the dead angels, the deathless Sandalphon stands listening breathless To sounds that ascend from below; — From spirits on earth that adore, From the souls that entreat and implore In the fervor and passion of prayer; From the hearts that are broken with losses, And weary, with dragging the crosses Too heavy for mortals to bear. And he gathers the prayers as he stands, And they change into flowers in his hands, Into garlands of purple and red; And beneath the great arch of the portal, Through the streets of the City Immortal Is wafted the fragrance they shed. l68 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION It is but a legend I know, — A fable, a phantom, a show, Of the ancient Rabbinical lore; Yet the old mediaeval tradition, The beautiful, strange superstition, But haunts me and holds me the more. When I look from my window at night, And the welkin above is all white, All throbbing antl panting with stars, Among them majestic is standing Sandalphon the angel, expanding His pinions in nebulous bars. And the legend, I feel, is a part Of the hunger and thirst of the heart, The frenzy and fire of the brain, That grasps at the fruitage forbidden, The golden pomegranates of Eden, To quiet its fever and pain. THE RIDE FROM GHENT TO AIX. BROWNING. 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 un- drew; " Speed! " echoed the wall to us galloping through; Behind shut the postern, the lights sank to rest, And into the midnight we galloped abreast. Not a word to each other; we kept the great pace — Neck by neck, stride by stride, never changing our place; I turned in my saddle and made its girths tight, Then shortened each stirrup, and set the pique right, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 69 Rebuckled the check-strap, chained slacker the bit, Nor galloped less steadily Roland a whit. "X was moonset at starting; but while we drew near Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear; At Boom, a great yellow star came out to see; At Duffield 'twas morning as plain as could be; And from Mecheln church steeple we heard the half- chime — So Joris broke silence with " Yet there is time! " At Aerschot, up leaped of a sudden the sun, And against him the cattle stood black every one, To stare through the mist at us galloping past: And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last, With resolute shoulders, each butting away The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray, And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear bent back For my voice, and the other pricked out on his track; And one eye's black intelligence, — ever that glance O'er its white edge at me, his own master, askance; And the thick heavy spume-flakes, which aye and anon His fierce lips shook upward in galloping on. By Hasselt, Dirck groaned: and cried Joris, " Stay spur! Your Roos galloped bravely, the fault 's not in her; We '11 remember at Aix " — for one heard the quick wheeze Of her chest, saw the stretched neck, and staggering knees, And sunk tail, and horrible heave of the flank, As down on her haunches she shuddered and sank, So we were left galloping, Joris and I, Past Looz and past Tongres, no cloud in the sky; The broad sun above laughed a pitiless laugh; 170 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 'Neath our feet broke the brittle, bright stubble like chaff, Till over by Dalhem a dome-spire sprang white, And " Gallop," gasped Joris, " for Aix is in sight! " " How they '11 greet us! " — and all in a moment his roan Rolled neck and croup over, lay dead as a stone; And there was my Roland to bear the whole weight Of the news which alone could save Aix from her fate, With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim. Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer; Clapped my hands, laughed and sang, any noise, bad or good, Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood. And all I remember is friends flocking round, As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground; And no voice but was praising this Roland of mine, As I poured down his throat our last measure of wine, Which (the burgesses voted by common consent) Was no more than his due who brought good news from Ghent. PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. H. W. LONGFELLOW. Listen, my children, and you shall hear Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere, On the eighteenth of April, in Seventy-Five: Hardly a man is now alive Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend — " If the British march By land or sea from the town to-night, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION I?t Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North Church tower, as a signal light- One if by land, and two if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, For the country folk to be up and to arm." Then he said good-night, and with muffled oar Silently rode to the Charlestown shore, Just as the moon rose over the bay, Where, swinging wide at her moorings, lay The Somerset, British man-of-war; A phantom ship, with each mast and spar Across the moon, like a prison bar, And a huge, black hulk, that was magnified By its own reflection in the tide. Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street Wanders and watches with eager ears, Till in the silence around him he hears The muster of men at the barrack-door, The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet, And the measured tread of the grenadiers Marching down to their boats on the shore. Then he climbed to the tower of the church, Up to the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread, To the belfry-chamber overhead, And startled the pigeons from their perch On the somber rafters, that round him made Masses and moving shapes of shade — Up the light ladder, slender and tall, To the highest window in the wall, Where he paused to listen and look down A moment on the roofs of the quiet town, And the moonlight flowing over all. 172 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION Meanwhile, impatient to mouut and ride, Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride, On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere. Now he patted his horse's side, Now gazed on the landscape far and near, Then impetuous stamped the earth, And turned and tightened his saddle-girth;" But mostly he watched with eager search The belfry tower of the old North Church, As it rose above the graves on the hill, Lonely, and spectral, and sombre, and still. And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height, A glimmer, and then a gleam of light! He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight A second lamp in the belfry burns! A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed that flies fearless and fleet: That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame by its heat. It was twelve by the village clock When he crossed the bridge into Medford town, He heard the crowing of the cock, And the barking of the farmer's dog, And felt the damp of the river fog, That rises when the sun goes down. It was one by the village clock When he rode into Lexington. He saw the gilded weathercock Swim in the moonlight as he passed, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 173 Arid the meetinghouse windows, blank and bare, Gaze at him with a spectral glare, w As if they already stood aghast At the bloody work they would look upon. It was two by the village clock When he came to the bridge in Concord town. He heard the bleating of the flock, And the twitter of birds among the trees, And felt the breath of the morning breeze Blowing over the meadows brown. And one was safe and asleep in his bed Who at the bridge would be first to fall — Who that day would be lying dead, Pierced by a British musket-ball. You know the rest. In the books you have read How the British regulars fired and fled — How the farmers gave them ball for ball, From behind each fence and farmyard wall, Chasing the red-coats down the lane, Then crossing the fields to emerge again, Under the trees at the turn of the road, And only pausing to fire and load. So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm — A cry of defiance, and not of fear — A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door, And a word that shall echo for evermore! For, borne on the night-wind of the Past, Through all our history, to the last, In the hour of darkness, and peril, and need, The people will waken and listen to hear ; The hurrying hoof-beat of that steed, And the midnight message of Paul Revere. 174 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION SHAMUS O'BRIEN, THE BOLD BOY OF GLINGALL. A TALE OF '98. SHERIDAN LEFANOR. Jist afther the war, in the year of '98, As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate, 'T was the custom, whenever a pisant was got, To hang- him by thrial — barrin' sich as was shot. There was trial by jury goin' on by daylight, And the martial-law hangin' the lavins by night. It 's them was hard times for an honest gossoon: If he missed in the judges — he 'd meet a dragoon; An whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence, The divil a much time they allowed for repentance. An its many's the fine boy was then on his keepin* Wid small share of restin', or atin', or sleepin', An' because they loved Erin, an' seorned to sell it, A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet — Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day, With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay; An' the bravest an' hardiest boy iv them all Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town iv Glingall. His limbs were well set, an' his body was light, An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white; But his face was as pale as the face of the dead, An' his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red. An' for all that he was n't an ugly young bye, For the divil himself cou 1 d n't blaze with his eye, So droll and so wicked, so dark and so bright, Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night! An' he was the best mower that ever has been, An' the illigantest hurler that ever was seen, An' his dancing was sich that the men used to stare, An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare; An' by gorra, the whole world gev it into him there. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 75 An' it 's he was the boy that was hard to be caught, An' it 's often he run, an' its often he fought, An' its many the one can remember right well The quare things he done: an' it 's often I heard tell How he lathered the yeomen, himself agin four, An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore. But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest, An' treachery prey on the blood of the best; Afther many a brave action of power and pride, An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side, An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast, In the darkness of night he was taken at last. Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon, For the door of the prison must close on you soon, An' take your last look at her dim lovely light, That falls on the mountain and valley this night; One look at the village, one look at the flood, An' one at the sheltering, far-distant wood; Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill; An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still; Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin' an' wake, An' farewell to the girl that would die for your sake. An' twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough jail, An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin' all bail; The fleet limbs wor chained, and the sthrong hands wor bound, An' he laid down his length on the cowld prison ground, An' the dreams of his childhood kern over him there As gentle an' soft as the sweet summer air; An' happy remembrances crowding on ever, As fast as the foam-flakes dhrift down on the river, Bringing fresh to his heart merry days long gone by, Till the tears gathered heavy and thick in his eye. But the tears did n't fall, for the pride of his heart Would not suffer one drop down his pale cheek to start; 176 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION An' he sprang to his feet in the dark prison cave, An' he swore with the fierceness that misery gave, By the hopes of the good, an' the cause of the brave, That when he was mouldering in the cold grave His enemies never should have it to boast His scorn of their vengeance one moment was lost; His bosom might bleed, but his cheek should be dhry, For, undaunted he lived, and undaunted he 'd die. Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone, The terrible day iv the thrial kem on, There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand An' sodgers on guard, an' dhragoons sword-in-hand; An' the court house so full that the people were bothered, An' attorneys an' criers on the point iv bein' smothered; An' counsellors almost gov over for dead, An' the jury sittin' up in their box overhead; 1 An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big, With his gown on his back, and an illigant new wig; An' silence was called, an' the minute it was said The court was as still as the heart of the dead, An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock, An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock. For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng, An' he looked at the bars, so firm and so strong, An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend, A chance to escape, nor a word to defend; An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone, As calm and as cold as a statue of stone; An' they read a big writin', a yard long at laste, An' Jim did n't understand it, nor mind it a taste, An' the judge took a big pinch of snuff, and he says, " Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, av you plaze? " An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread, An' Shamus O'Brien made answer and said; SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 77 "My lord, if you ask me, if in my life-time I thought any treason, or did any crime That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here, The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear, Though I stood by the grave to receive my death blow, Before God and the world I would answer you, no! But if you would ask me, as I think it like, If in the rebellion I carried a pike, An' fought for ould Ireland from the first to the close, An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes, I answer you, yes; and I tell you again, Though I stand here to perish, it's my glory that then In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry, An' that now for her sake I am ready to die." Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright, And the judge was n't sorry the job was made light; By my sowl, its himself was the crabbed ould chap; In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap. Then Shamus's mother in the crowd standin' by, Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry: " O judge! darlin', do n't, oh, do n't say the word! The crathure is young, have mercy, my lord; He was foolish, he did n't know what he was doin'; You do n't know him, my lord — oh, do n't give him to ruin! He 's the kindliest crathure, the tendherest hearted; Do n't part us forever, we that 's so long parted. Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord,. An- God will forgive you — oh, do n't say the word! " That was the first minute that O'Brien was shaken, When he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken; An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother, The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther the other; An' two or three times he endeavored to spake, But the sthrong, manly voice used to falther and break; I78 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride, He conquered and masthered his grief's swelling tide, ''An'," says he, "mother, darlin', don 't break your poor heart, For, sooner or later, the dearest must part; And God knows it 's betther than wandering in fear On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer, To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast, From thought, labor, and sorrow, forever shall rest. Then, mother, my darlin', do n't cry any more, Do n't make me seem broken, in this, my last hour; For I wish, when my head 's lyin' under the raven, No thrue man can say that 1 died like a craven! " Then towards the judge Shamus bent down his head, An' that minute the solemn death-sentince was said. The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high, An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky; An' why are the men standin' idle so late? An' why do the crowds gather fast in the street? What come they to talk of? what come they to see? An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree? O, Shamus O'Brien! pray fervent and fast, May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last; Pray fast and pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh, When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die. An' fasther an' fasther, the crowd gathered there, Boys, horses, and gingerbread, just like a fair; An' whiskey was sellin', and cussamuck too, An' ould men and young women enjoying the view. An* ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark, There wasn't sich a sight since the time of Noah's ark, An' be gorry, 't was thrue for him, for divil sich a scruge, Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge, For thousands were gathered there, if there was one, Waitin' till such time as the hangin' 'id come on, SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 79 At last they threw open the big prison-gate, An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state, An' a cart in the middle, and Shamus was in it, Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute. An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien, Wid prayin* and blessin', and all the girls cryin', A wild wailin' sound kem on by degrees, Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin* through trees. On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone, An* the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on; An' at every side swellin' around of the cart, A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart. Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand, An' the hangman j^ets up with the rope in his hand; An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes down on the ground, An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last look around. Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still, Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turned chill, An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare, For the gripe iv the life-strangling cord to prepare; An' the good priest has left him, bavin' said his last prayer, But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound, And with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground, Bang! bang! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabres; He's not down! he's alive still! now stand to him, neighbors! Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd — By the heavens, he's free! — than thunder more loud, By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken — One shout that the dead of the world might awaken. The sodgers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that, An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat; To-night he '11 be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin, I Go SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION An' the divil *s in the dice if you catch him ag'in. Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang, But if you want hangin' it 's yourself you must hang. He has mounted his horse, and soon he will be In America, darlint, the land of the free. OVER THE RIVER. N. A. W. PRIEST. Over the river they beckon to me, Loved ones who crossed to the other side; The gleam of their snowy robes I see, But their voices are drowned by the rushing tide. There *s one with ringlets of sunny gold, And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold, And the pale mist hid him from mortal view. We saw not the angels that met him there — The Gates of the City we could not see; Over the river, over the river, My brother stands, waiting to welcome me. Over the river the boatman pale Carried another, the household pet; Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale — Darling Minnie! I see her yet! She closed on her bosom her dimpled hands, And fearlessly entered the phantom bark; We watched it glide from the silver sands, And all our sunshine grew strangely dark. We know she is safe on the further side, Where all the ransomed and angels be; Over the river, the mystic river, My childhoods's idol is waiting for me. SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 151 For none return from those quiet shores, Who cross with the boatman cold and pale; We hear the dip of the golden oars, And catch a glimpse of the snowy sail; And lo! they have passed from our yearning hearts, They cross the stream and are gone for aye. We may not sunder the vail apart That hides from our vision the gates of day; We only know that their barks no more Sail with us o'er life's stormy sea; Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore They watch, and beckon, and wait for me. And I sit and think when the sunset's gold Is flashing on river, and hill, and shore, I shall one day stand by the waters cold And list to the sound of the boatman's oar. I shall watch for the gleam of the flapping sail; I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand; I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale To the better shore of the Spirit Land. I shall know the loved, who have gone before, And joyfully sweet will the meeting be, When over the river, the peaceful river, The Angel of Death shall carry me. THE FIREMAN. ROBERT T. CONRAD. The city slumbers. O'er its mighty walls Night's dusky mantle, soft and silent, falls; vSleep o'er the world slow waves its wand of lead, And ready torpors wrap each sinking head. Stilled is the stir of labor and of life; Hushed is the hum, and tranquilized the strife. Man is at rest, with all his hopes and fears; 1 82 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION The young forget their sports, the old their cares; The grave are careless; those who joy or weep All rest contented on the arm of sleep. Sweet is the pillowed rest of beauty now, And slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow; Her bright dreams lead her to the moonlit tide, Her heart's own partner wandering by her side; 'Tis summer'r eve; the soft gales scarcely rouse The low-voiced ripple and the rustling boughs; And, faint and far, some minstrel's melting tone, Breathes to her heart a music like its own. When, hark! O, horror! what a crash is there! What shriek is that which fills the midnight air? 'Tis fire! 'tis fire! She wakes to dream no more; The hot blast rushes through the blazing door; The dun smoke eddies round; and, hark! that cry: "Help! help! Will no one aid? I die, I die!" She seeks the casement; shuddering at its height She turns again; the fierce flames mock her flight; Along the crackling stairs they fiercely play, And roar, exulting, as they seize their prey. " Help! help! Will no one come? " She can no more; But, pale and breathless, sinks upon the floor. Will no one save thee? Yes, there yet is one Remains to save, when hope itself is gone: When all have fled, when all but he would fly, The fireman comes, to rescue or to die. He mounts the stair, — it wavers 'neath his tread; He seeks the room, flames flashing round his head; He bursts the door; he lifts her prostrate frame, And turns again to brave the raging flame. The fire -blast smites him with its stifling breath: The falling timbers menace him with death; The sinking floors his hurried step betray; And ruin crashes round his desperate way; SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION I S3 Hot smoke obscures, ten thousand cinders rise, Yet still he staggers forward with his prize; He leaps from burning stair to stair. On! on! Courage! One effort more, and all is won! The stair is passed, — the blazing hall is braved; Still on! yet on! once more! Thank Heaven, she 's saved! ANALYSIS OF THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. PHILIP LAWRENCE. Of the varied productions of a great and popular poet the most intellectual have been least understood; and in order that one of the best of them may be fully appreciated we will endeavor, with all deference, to ex- plain its meaning. When Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, one of Amer- ica's most gifted poets, was a young man and resided with his parents at their old homestead, he had often, in hours of leisure, listened to the ticking of the clock standing half way up the stairs, and thought how many meanings there were in its ceaseless tick, tick, which seemed to be continually repeating the words, "For- ever — never! Never — forever! " This has been so beau- tifully expressed by the poet, that for the benefit of young persons we will proceed to analyze and explain the various verses of the poem. The first verse describes the old homestead: "Somewhat back -from the village street Stands the old-fashion 'd country-seat: Across its antique portico Tall poplar trees their shadows throw, And from its station in the hall, An ancient timepiece says to all — " ' Forever — never! Never — forever] ' " 184 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION As the poet sat and listened he imagined the ceaseless swing of the pendulum, with its continued tick, tick, seemed to say to him, "Forever — never! Never — for- ever! " The second verse describes the clock: " Half way up the stairs it stands," etc. The old monk having retired in disgust, or despair, from the world and its pleasures, imagines there can be no happiness for him either in the present or the future, and he therefore repeats to all who pass by the warning that they must not expect their present happiness to continue, as they would be sure to find their joys would be like his own bygone dreams, which, however beautiful they arose on his vis- ion in the night, yet faded away in the light of the morning. The third verse says, " By day its voice is low and light," etc. In one chamber the wealthy maiden, the frivolous daughter of fashion, has retired to her couch, and there she imagines that all the luxuries and pleas- ures that wealth can purchase or procure will always be hers; but the old clock tells her that her enjoyments will be but for a season, and not forever; that they will be only on earth, and not in Heaven — while to the poor servant girl, who lies in the next chamber and on her sleepless couch ponders over her lowly lot, the kind old monitor promises that if she fulfill her duty while on earth her wearisome toils will soon cease, and that her reward will be to dwell in a home of purity and happi- ness in the lovely Spirit Land. The fourth verse tells us that "Through days of sor- row and of mirth," etc. On earth our enjoyments will be but for a season, but in Heaven they will endure forever. The fifth verse says, "In that mansion used to be," etc. The stranger is warned that although he is now enjoying ease and plenty, yet on the morrow he must SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 85 encounter toil and privation; yet if he does his duty while on earth an eternity of happiness will be his. The lovely sixth verse describes the delight of youth and love: " There groups of merry children played," etc. The ardent youth tells the blooming maiden that his passion for her will endure forever — but the lady laughingly replies that she does not believe him. He then vows that he loves her not only with his heart, but also with his soul, and that his affection will endure not only in this life but also through all eternity. The seventh verse describes how near to each other are life and death — the bride of the living, and the bride of the dead. " From that chamber clothed in white," etc. The happy bride apparel'd in the garb of purity comes forth from one chamber; while in the other room, also clothed in white, lies one whose joys and sorrows in this world are all at rest. To the first the old clock sounds its warning voice, to remind her, that her present enjoyment is but for a season, and not until she also lies upon the couch of death can she ex- perience happiness forever. The eighth verse tells, how friends " All are scattered now and fled," etc. Upon this earth we shall never be reunited, but when our eyes are closed in their last sleep, and weeping friends lament us as dead, our happy eyes have opened upon the joys of Heaven, and our ears are ringing with the songs of the seraphs in the holy land of love; while with sighs of ecstacy we are clasped in the arms of those we had loved and lost; once more reunited never again to part. The ninth verse explains all : " Never here, (on earth) forever there, (in heaven) Where all parting, pain, and care, And death, and time shall disappear — Forever there, but never here! 1 86 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION The horologue of eternity Sayeth this incessantly — " ' Forever — never! Never — forever! ' " On earth happiness is but for a season. In Heaven it will endure forever. " Deo Gratias" THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS. H. W. LONGFELLOW. Somewhat back from the village street Stands the old-fashion'd country-seat: Across its antique portico Tall poplar trees their shadows throw And from its station in the hall An ancient timepiece says to all — " Forever — never! Never — forever! " Half-way up the stairs it stands, And points, and beckons with its hands, From its case of massive oak, Like a monk, who, under his cloak, Crosses himself, and sighs alas! With sorrowful voice, to all who pass— " Forever — never! Never — forever! " By day its voice is low and light; But in the silent dead of night, Distinct as a passing footstep's fall, It echoes along the vacant hall — Along the ceiling, along the floor, And seems to say at each chamber-door — " Forever — never! Never — forever! " SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION 1 87 Through days of sorrow and of mirth, Through days of death and days of birth, Through every swift vicissitude Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood, And as if, like God, it all things saw, It calmly repeats those words of awe — " Forever — never! Never — forever! " In that mansion used to be Free-hearted hospitality: His great fires up the chimney roar'd; The stranger feasted at his board; But like the skeleton at the feast, That warning timepiece never ceased — • " Forever — never! Never — forever! " There groups of merry children play'd, There youths and maidens dreaming stray 'd: O precious hours! O golden prime, And affluence of love and time! Even as a miser counts his gold, Those hours the ancient timepiece told — " Forever — never! Never — forever! " From that chamber, clothed in white, The bride came forth on her wedding-night; There, in that silent room below, The dead lay in his shroud of snow; And, in the hush that follow'd the prayer, Was heard the old clock on the stair — " Forever — never! Never — forever! " >8 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION All are scatter'd now and fled — Some are married, some are dead; And when I ask, with throbs of pain, " Ah! when shall they all meet again? " As in the days long since gone by. The ancient timepiece makes reply — " Forever — never! Never — forever! " Never here, forever there — Where all parting, pain, and care, And death, and time shall disappear — Forever there, but never here! The horologue of Eternity Sayeth this incessantly — " Forever — never! Never — forever! " THE BURNING PRAIRIE. ALICE CARY. The prairie stretched as smooth as a floor, As far as the eye could see, And the settler sat at his cabin door, With his little girl on his knee, Striving her letters to repeat, And pulling her apron over her feet. His face was wrinkled but not old, For he bore an upright form, And his shirt sleeves back to the elbow rolled They showed a brawny arm. And near in the grass with toes upturned, Was a pair of old shoes, cracked and burned. A dog with his head betwixt his paws, Lay lazily dozing near, Now and then snapping his tar-black jaws SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION At the fly that buzzed in his ear; And near was the cow-pen, made of rails, And a bench that held two milking pails. In the open door an ox-yoke lay, The mother's odd redoubt, To keep the little one, at her play On the floor, from falling out; While she swept the hearth with a turkey wing, And filled her tea-kettle at the spring. The little girl on her father's knee, With eyes so bright and blue, From A, B, C, to X, Y, Z, Had said her lesson through; When a wind came over the prairie land, And caught the primer out of her hand. The watch dog whined, the cattle lowed And tossed their horns about, The air grew gray as if it snowed, " There will be a storm, no doubt," So to himself the settler said; " But, father, why is the sky so red?" The little girl slid off his knee, And all of a tremble stood; " Good wife," he cried, "come out and see The skies are as red as blood." " God save us! " cried the settler's wife, "The prairie 's a-fire, we must run for life! " She caught the baby up, " Come, Are ye mad? to your heels, my man; " He followed, terror-stricken, dumb, And so they ran and ran. Close upon them was the snort and swing Of buffaloes madly galloping. I90 SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION The wild wind, like a sower, sows The ground with sparkles red; And the flapping wings of the bats and crows, And the ashes overhead, And the bellowing deer, and the hissing snake, What a swirl of terrible sounds they make. No gleam of the river water yet, And the flames leap on and on, A crash and a fiercer whirl and jet, And the settler's house is gone. The air grows hot; "This fluttering curl Would burn like flax," said the little girl. And as the smoke against her drifts, . And the lizard slips close by her, She tells how the little cow uplifts Her speckled face from the fire; For she cannot be hindered from looking back At the fiery dragon on their track. They hear the crackling grass and sedge, The flames as they whir and rave, On, on! they are close to the water's edge, — They are breast deep in the wave; And lifting their little one high o'er the tide, "We are saved, thank God, we are saved! " they cried. THE CREED OF THE BELLS. GEORGE W. BUNGAY. How sweet the chime of the Sabbath bells! Each one its creed in music tells, In tones that float upon the air, As soft as song, as pure as prayer; And I will put in simple rhyme The language of the golden chime; SIMPLIFIED ELOCUTION I