VI. 1. How read first half of first line? 2. How describe Revenge by tone of voice? 3. How read third line? 4. Quality on fourth? 5. Quality on fifth? 6. How paint the beating of the drum? 7. How paint Pity? 8. How read last line? VII. 1. How give veering song of Jealousy? (Nasal intonation-with scorn.) 2. Changes in last line? VIII. 1. Tone used in expressing Melancholy? 2. How read "dashing soft from rocks around"? (Stacato.) 3. Time on "Through glades, etc."? 4. How read last three lines? (Delicate diminuendo, hollow voice, giving the idea of distance, by arching the throat.) IX. 1. How describe Cheerfulness? 2. Meaning of buskins? 3. Meaning of Faun and Dryad? 4. Meaning of oak-crowned sisters, satyrs, sylvan boys, etc.? 5. Do you see this creature who personates cheerfulness? X. 1. How will Joy differ from Cheerfulness? 2. Meaning of Tempe's vale? 3. What is the general time of this stanza? The questions might be multiplied, and would, undoubtedly. This lesson has been given as a specimen. If the reading is an intellectual exercise, some such analy sis must be given. READING AND ELOCUTION. The Creeds of the Bells. How sweet the chime of the Sabbath bells! "In deeds of love excel! excel !" "O heed the ancient landmarks well !" "O swell! ye purifying waters swell !" "Though faith alone in Christ can save, "Not faith alone, but works as well, "Farewell! farewell! base world, farewell [" "To all the truth, we tell! we tell !" George Bungay. Ode on the Passions. WHEN Music, Heavenly maid, was young, From the supporting myrtles round First, Fear his hand, its skill to try, Next, Anger rushed, his eyes on fire, In lightnings owned his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre, And swept, with hurried hands, the strings. With woful measures, wan Despair Low sullen sounds! - his grief beguiled; A solemn, strange, and mingled air; 'Twas sad, by fits, by starts, 't was wild. But thou, O Hope! with eyes so fair, And, from the rocks, the woods; the vale, A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And longer had she sung-but, with a frown, He threw his blood-stained sword in thunder down; The war-denouncing trumpet took, And blew a blast, so loud and dread, Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe; And, ever and anon, he beat, The doubling drum with furious heat. And though, sometimes, each dreary pause between, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unaltered mien; While each strained ball of sight seemed bursting from his head. Thy numbers, Jealousy, to naught were fixed; Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of different themes the veering song was mixed: And now it courted Love-now, raving, called on Hate. With eyes upraised, as one inspired, Pale Melancholy sat retired; In notes, by distance made more sweet, Poured through the mellow horn her pensive soul: Bubbling runnels joined the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole: Love of peace and lonely musing In hollow murmurs died away. |