Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, To battle!
Great Pompey's shade complains that we are slow,
And Scipio's ghost walks unavenged amongst us.

The following speech of Virginius offers a beautiful instance of Transition from loud Force to gentle, and from high tones to the purest and most pathetic low tones. Virginius, it will be remembered, having slain his daughter to save her from the pollution of Appius Claudius, who has claimed her as a slave, is touched with insanity.

4.

Lucius. Justice will be defeated.
Virginius. Who says that?
He lies in the face of the gods. She is immutable,
Immaculate, and immortal! and though all
The guilty globe should blaze, she would spring up
Through the fire, and soar above the crackling pile,
With not a downy feather ruffled by

O, when

Its fierceness.
But where 's Virginia?
Will she not come? I'll call her. She'll not dare –
Dare? Did I say dare? Poor child!
Did my Virginia dare? (Calls.) Virginia!
Is it a voice, or nothing, answers me?
I hear a sound so fine... there's nothing lives
'Twixt it and silence: such a slender one

I've heard when I have talked with her in fancy!
A phantom sound!

The following passages require moderate Force, and at the Dash there should be a Transition from middle Pitch to low, with aspirated quality.

1. So stately her bearing, so proud her array,

The main she will traverse for ever and aye.
Many ports will exult at the gleam of her mast!

Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last!

2. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell,

Soft eyes looked love to eyes which spake again,
And all went merry as a marriage bell;

But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell!

3. Make fast the doors; heap wood upon the fire; Draw in your stools, and pass the goblet round,

But what is this?

And be the prattling voice of children heard.
Now let us make good cheer!
Do I not see, or do I dream I see
A form that midmost in the circle sits,
Half visible, his face deformed with scars,
And foul with ... blood O yes! I know it— there
Sits DANGER, with his feet upon the hearth!

The following should be read with gentle Force and in the purest low tones.

1. FROM THE MAY QUEEN. - Tennyson.

There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane; I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again:

I wish the snow would melt, and the sun come out on high; I long to see a flower so, before the day I die.

I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child.

One more unfortunate,
Weary of breath,
Rashly importunate,

Gone to her death!
Take her up tenderly,

Lift her with care; Fashioned so slenderly, Young and so fair!

Look at her garments
Clinging like cerements;

If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face, Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away.

While 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.