pause, somewhere near the middle of each line, which is called the caesura or caesural pause. In the following lines it is marked thus (||):
EXAMPLES.
There are hours long departed || which memory brings,
Like blossoms of Eden || to twine round the heart,
And as time rushes by || on the might of his wings,
They may darken awhile || but they never depart.
REMARK.—The caesural pause should never be so placed as to injure the sense. The following lines, if melody alone were consulted, would be read thus:
With fruitless la || bor Clara bound,
And strove to stanch || the gushing wound;
The Monk with un || availing cares,
Exhausted all || the church's prayers.
This manner of reading, however, would very much interfere with the proper expression of the idea. This is to be corrected by making the caesural pause yield to the sense. The above lines should be read thus:
With fruitless labor || Clara bound,
And strove || to stanch the gushing wound;
The Monk || with unavailing cares,
Exhausted || all the church's prayers,
EXERCISES.
I. DEATH OF FRANKLIN.
(To be read in a solemn tone.)
Franklin is dead. The genius who freed America', and poured a copious stream of knowledge throughout Europe', is returned unto the bosom of the Divinity'. The sage to whom two worlds' lay claim, the man for whom science' and politics' are disputing, indisputably enjoyed au elevated rank in human nature.
The cabinets of princes have been long in the habit of notifying the death of those who were great', only in their funeral orations'. Long hath the etiquette of courts', proclaimed the mourning of hypocrisy'. Nations' should wear mourning for none but their benefactors'. The representatives' of nations should recommend to public homage' only those who have been the heroes of humanity'.
II. BONAPARTE.
He knew no motive' but interst'; acknowledged no criterion' but success'; he worshiped no God' but ambition'; and with an eastern devotion', he knelt at the shrine of his idolatry'. Subsidiary to this, there was no creed' that he did not profess'; there was no opinion' that he did not promulgate': in the hope of a dynasty', he upheld the crescent'; for the sake of a divorce', he bowed before the cross'; the orphan of St. Louis', he became the adopted child of the republic'; and, with a parricidal ingrati-tude', on the ruins both of the throne and the tribune, he reared the throne of his despotism'.
At his touch crowns' crumbled'; beggars' reigned'; systems' van-ished'; the wildest theories' took the color of his whim'; and all that was venerable' and all that was novel', changed places with the rapidity of a drama'. Nature had no obstacle' that he did not surmount'; space, no opposition' he did not spurn'; and whether amid Alpine rocks'—Arabian sands'—or Polar snows'—he seemed proof' against peril', and empowered with ubiquity'.
III. HAMLET ON SEEING THE SKULL OF YORICK.
Alas, poor Yorick'! I knew him', Horatio'; a fellow of infinite jest', of most excellent fancy'. He hath borne me on his back' a thousand times'; and now', how abhorred my imagination is'! My gorge rises' at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed', I know not how oft', Where be your gibes' now? your gambols'? your songs'? your flashes of merriment', that were wont to set the table on a roar'? Not one', now, to mock your own grinning'? quite chopfallen'? Now get you to my lady's chamber' and tell her', let her paint an inch thick' to this favor' she must come'; make her laugh at that'.
IV. DESCRIPTION OF A BATTLE.
Yet still Lord Marmion's falcon flew'
With wavering flight', while fiercer grew
Around, the battle yell.
The border slogan rent the sky',
A Home'! a Gordon'! was the cry';
Loud' were the clanging blows';
Advanced'—forced back'—now low'—now high',
The pennon sunk'—and rose';
As bends the bark's mast in the gale',
When rent are rigging', shrouds', and sail',
It wavered 'mid the foes'.
The war, that for a space did fail',
Now trebly thundering swelled the gale',
And Stanley'! was the cry;
A light on Marmion's visage spread',
And fired his glazing eye':—
With dying' hand', above his head',
He shook the fragment of his blade',
And shouted'—"Victory'!
Charge', Chester', charge'! On' Stanley', on'!"—
Were the last words of Marmion.
V. LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
For the inflections and emphasis in this selection, let the pupil be guided by his own judgment.
A chieftain to the Highlands bound,
Cries, "Boatman, do not tarry!
And I'll give thee a silver pound,
To row us o'er the ferry."
"Now, who be ye would cross Loch-Gyle
This dark and stormy water?"
"Oh! I'm the chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.
"And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together,
For should he find us in the glen,
My blood would stain the heather.
"His horsemen hard behind us ride;
Should they our steps discover,
Then who will cheer my bonny bride,
When they have slain her lover?"
Out spoke the hardy Highland wight
"I'll go, my chief—I'm ready:
It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady:
"And, by my word! the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry;
So, though the waves are raging white,
I'll row you o'er the ferry."
By this, the storm grew loud apace,
The water wraith was shrieking;
And, in the scowl of heaven, each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still, as wilder grew the wind,