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IV. Very Low. 1. Hear the tolling of the bèlls
Iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels!
In the silence of the night
How we shiver with affright
For every sound that floats
Is a groan.
2. 'Tis midnight's holy hour, and silence now
Is brooding, like a gentle spirit, o'er
3. Night, sable goddess ! from her ebon throne,
In rayless majesty, now stretches forth
4. Hùsh! the dèad-march wails in the people's ears,
The dark crowd moves, and there are sobs and tears;
Ashes to ashes, dust to dùst;
5. Still night;—and the old church bell hath tolled,
With its swinging peal, the passing hòur,-
And it seems to say,
As it dies away, —
Solemnly sighs the far-spent knell.
TRANSITION. WE following exercises will be found useful in breaking up
monotony of style, and in giving a ready command of the voice. The pupil should acquire facility in making the changes of intonation indicated at the margin. The exercise is not withont use if practiced merely mechanically; but the true way, in this case as in all others, is for the reader to throw himself in sympathy with the sentiment expressed, that he may spontaneously give the requisite variety of vocal effect independently of the specific directions. 1. Soft. Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; Loud. But when loud surges lash the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse should like the tòrrent roar,
2. Slow. When Ajax strives some rock’s vast weight to throw,
The line, tòo, làbors, and the words move slów; Quick. Not sò, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er the unbending corn and skims along the
The combat dèepens. On, ye brave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!
Ah! few shall part where many meet!
Shall be a soldier's sèpulcher.
1. Aspi- Lo, dim in the starlight their white tènts appear! rated. Ride sòftly! ride slowly! the onset is near!
Mòre slowly! mòre softly! the sentry may hèar! Loud. Now fall on the foe like a tempest of fàme!
Strike down the false banner whose triumph were 5. Aspirated. Hùsh! hårk! did stealing stéps go by ?
shame! Strìke, strike for the true flàg, for freedom and fàme! Slow and
Came not faint whispers near ?
Amid the foliage sere.
6. Full tone.
Her giant form
Mid the deep darkness, white as snow!
Like playful làmbs o'er a mòuntain's side. Full tone. So stātely her bēaring, so proud her arrāy,
The māin she will trāverse for ever and dye.
Many pòrts will exùlt at the gleam of her màst. Aspirated. Hùsh! hùsh! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her
Hark! below the gates unbårring!
Slow and tired came the hunters;
Slow they entered with their master;
soft. Slightly aspirated.
In the hall they laid him dòwn.
On his brow an angry frown.
9. Pure tone. O Freedom, thou art not, as poets dréam,
A fair young girl, with light and delicate limbs,
When he took off the gýves.
A bearded màn,
10. Loud. Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once
Or close the wall up with our English dèad !
As modest stillness and humility;
Then imitate the action of the tiger;
Disguise fair nature with hard-favored ràge. · Very Loud. Òn, on, you noblest English,
Whose blood is fetched from fathers of wàr-proof!
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument.
Straining upon the start. The game's afòot;
Follow your spirits, and, upon this charge,
Tone of the one with yawning made reply:
Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams,
The other, smiling, said the sàme;
But with face transfigured and eye of fàme: “Trees, meadows, mountains, groves, and streams! Blue sky and clouds, and sunny glèams !"
12. Gradually How soft the music of those village bèlls,
In cadence sweet! now dying all away,
louder. Clear and sonorous, as the gàle comes on.
13. Gradually Ever, as on they bore, more loud,
louder. And lòuder rang the pibroch proud. Gradually At first the sound, by distance tame, softer. Mèllowed, along the waters came;
And lingering long by cape and bay,
Wailed every harsher note away;
The clàns’shrill gathering they could hear,
11. Soft Oro- Fāther of ēarth and heaven! I call thy nàme! tund. Round me the smoke and shout of bàttle roll;
My eyes are dàzzled with the rustling flame;
Father, sustàin an untried soldier's soul,
Or lífe, or death, whatever be the goal
Loud Oro- Now for the fight-now for the cànnon pealtund. Fòrward — through blood and toil and cloud
The vòlley's roll, the rocket's blasting spire;
sire: Earth cries for blòod,-in thùnder on them wheel! This hour to Europe's fate shall set the triumph