Yet, Freedom! yet, thy banner, torn, but flying, But the sap lasts, and still the seed we find Sown deep even in the bosom of the North; 13. FROM THE ODE TO IMMORTALITY. Wordsworth. High and exultant Orotund, quick Time, with Transition to moderate Time and Force. Then sing, ye birds, sing, sing a joyous song! And let the young lambs bound As to the tabor's sound! We in thought will join your throng, Ye that pipe and ye that play, Ye that through your hearts to-day Feel the gladness of the May! What though the radiance which was once so bright Be now forever taken from my sight, Though nothing can bring back the hour Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Which having been must ever be; In the faith that looks through death; In years that bring the philosophic mind. Orotund, rising at the close to the high pitch of exultant joy. I hear the echoes through the mountains throng, Give themselves up to jollity, And with the heart of May Doth every beast keep holiday; Thou child of joy, Shout round me, let me hear thy shout, thou happy shepherd-boy! Purest Quality of subdued Orotund. - Middle Pitch. - Intonations soft, tender, emotional, reverential. This passage is regarded by actors and elocutionists as one of the best in the language for testing the taste, feeling, and elocutionary skill of a reader. The quality of mercy is not STRAINED ; The throned monarch BETTER THAN HIS CROWN: Wherein doth sit the dread and fear of kings:- It is enthroned in the hearts of kings; And earthly power doth then show likest God's, 15. WELCOME TO ALEXANDRA. Tennyson.. Lively and Joyous. - Pure Orotund Quality. — Middle and High Pitch. Welcome her, thunders of fort and of fleet! Break, happy land, into earlier flowers! Make music, O bird, in the new-budded bowers! Welcome her, welcome the land's desire. 16. THE FIRST WARM DAY OF SPRING. Horace Smith. Cry Holiday! Holiday! let us be gay, And share in the rapture of heaven and earth; To welcome the Spring on the day of her birth; Loud carols each rill as it leaps in its bed; The wind brings us music and balm from the south, The tidings of joy with her many-tongued mouth; 17. SOUND SUITED TO SENSE.- Pope. Imitative Modulation.- A varied Quality, in 6th line guttural. — Moderate Time, changing to quick. 'Tis not enough no harshness gives offense; Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. Flies o'er the unbending corn, and skims along the main. When Fate, relenting, lets the flower revive? Shall Nature's voice, to Man alone unjust, Bid him, though doomed to perish, hope to live? Is it for this fair Virtue oft must strive With disappointment, penury, and pain? No! Heaven's immortal Spring shall yet arrive, Bright through the eternal year of Love's triumphant reign. And only healer when the heart hath bled, — My hands, and eyes, and heart, and crave of thee a gift. Once more upon the waters! yet once more! That knows his rider. Welcome to their roar! Swift be their guidance, wheresoe'er it lead! Though the strained mast should quiver as a reed, Flung from the rock, on ocean's foam, to sail Where'er the surge may sweep, the tempest's breath prevail. O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty: the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone: who can be a companion of thy course? The oaks of the mountains fall; the mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows ngain; the moon herself is lost in the heavens: but thou art forever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course. When the world is dark with tempests, when thunders roll and lightnings fly, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in vain; for he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair floats on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art, perhaps, like me, - for a season: thy years will have an end. Thou wilt sleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. - Do we want a tribunal? My Lords, no example of antiqnity, nothing in the modern world, nothing in the range of human imagination, can supply us with a tribunal like this. We commit safely the interests of India and humanity into your hands. Therefore it is with confidence that, ordered by the Commons, I impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high crimes and misdemeanors. I impeach him in the name of the Commons of Great Britain |