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'Tis not enough the voice be sound and clear, 'Tis modulation that must charm the ear.

When desperate heroines grieve with tedious moan,
And whine their sorrows in a see-saw tone,
The same soft sounds of unimpassioned woes
Can only make the yawning hearers doze.
The voice all modes of passion can express,
That marks the proper word with proper stress.
But none emphatic can that actor call,
Who lays an equal emphasis on all.

Some o'er the tongue the laboured measures roll,
Slow and deliberate as the parting toll:
Point every step, mark every pause so strong,
Their words, like stage processions, stalk along.
All affectation but creates disgust,

And e'en in speaking we may seem too just.
In vain for them the pleasing measure flows,
Whose recitation runs it all to prose;
Repeating what the poet sets not down,
The verb disjoining from its friendly noun,
While pause and break and repetition join
To make a discord in each tuneful line.

Some placid natures fill the allotted scene
With lifeless drone, insipid, and serene;
While others thunder every couplet o'er,
And almost crack your ears with rant and roar.
More nature oft and finer strokes are shown,
In the low whisper, than tempestuous tone.
And Hamlet's hollow voice and fixed amaze,
More powerful terror to the mind conveys,
Than he, who swollen with big, impetuous rage,
Bullies the bulky phantom off the stage.

He, who in earnest studies o'er his part,
Will find true nature cling about his heart.
The modes of grief are not included all

In the white handkerchief and mournful drawl ;
A single look more marks th' internal woe,
Than all the windings of the lengthened oh!
Up to the face the quick sensation flies,
And darts its meaning from the speaking eyes :
Love, transport, madness, anger, scorn, despair,
And all the passions, all the soul is there.

Lloyd.

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Heard ye those loud-contending waves,
That shook Cecropia's pillared state?
Saw ye the mighty from their graves
Look up, and tremble at her fate?
Who shall calm the angry storm?
Who the mighty task perform,

And bid the raging tumult cease?
See the son of Hermes rise,

With siren tongue, and speaking eyes,
Hush the noise, and soothe to peace!
See the olive branches waving
O'er Ilissus' winding stream,
Their lovely limbs the Naiads laving,
The Muses smiling by, supreme!
See the nymphs and swains advancing,
To harmonious measures dancing:
Grateful Io Peans rise

To thee, O Power! who can inspire
Soothing words-or words of fire,

And shook thy plumes in Attic skies!
Lo! from the regions of the north,

The reddening storm of battle pours,
Rolls along the trembling earth,

Fastens on the Olynthian towers.

Where rests the sword ?-where sleep the brave?
Awake! Cecropia's ally save

From the fury of the blast:

Burst the storm on Phocis' walls!
Rise! or Greece for ever falls;

Up! or Freedom breathes her last.
The jarring states, obsequious now,
View the patriot's hand on high;
Thunder gathering on his brow,

Lightning flashing from his eye.
Borne by the tide of words along,
One voice, one mind, inspire the throng :

"To arms! to arms! to arms!' they cry;
'Grasp the shield, and draw the sword;
Lead us to Philippi's lord;

Let us conquer him, or die!'

Ah, Eloquence! thou wast undone ;
Wast from thy native country driven,

When Tyranny eclipsed the sun,

And blotted out the stars of heaven!

When Liberty from Greece withdrew,
And o'er the Adriatic flew

To where the Tiber pours his urn-
She struck the rude Tarpeian rock,
Sparks were kindled by the stroke-
Again thy fires began to burn!
Now shining forth, thou mad'st compliant
The conscript fathers to thy charms,
Roused the world-bestriding giant,
Sinking fast in Slavery's arms.
I see thee stand by Freedom's fane,
Pouring the persuasive strain,
Giving vast conceptions birth :
Hark! I hear thy thunders sound,
Shake the Forum round and round,
Shake the pillars of the earth!
First-born of Liberty divine?
Put on Religion's bright array:
Speak! and the starless grave shall shine
The portal of eternal day!

Rise, kindling with the orient beam,
Let Calvary's hill inspire the theme,
Unfold the garments rolled in blood!
Oh, touch the soul-touch all her chords
With all the omnipotence of words,

And point the way to heaven-to God!

Carey.

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When public bodies are to be addressed on momentous occasions, when great interests are at stake and strong passions excited, nothing is valuable, in speech, further than it is connected with high intellectual and moral endowments. Clearness, force, and earnestness, are the qualities which produce conviction. True eloquence, indeed, does not consist in speech. It can not be brought from afar. Labour and learning may toil for it, but they will toil in vain. Words and phrases may be marshalled in every way, but they can not compass it. It must exist in the man, in the subject, and in the occasion.

Affected passion, intense expression, the pomp of declamation, all may aspire after it,-they can not reach it. It comes, if it come at all, like the outbreaking of a fountain from the earth, or the bursting forth of volcanic fires, with

spontaneous, original, native force. The graces taught in the schools, the costly ornaments, and studied contrivances of speech, shock and disgust men, when their own lives, and the fate of their wives, their children, and their country, hang on the decision of the hour. Then, words have lost their power, rhetoric is vain, and all elaborate oratory contemptible.

Even genius itself then feels rebuked and subdued, as in the presence of higher qualities. Then, patriotism is eloquent; then, self-devotion is eloquent. The clear conception, outrunning the deductions of logic, the high purpose, the firm resolve, the dauntless spirit, speaking on the tongue, beaming from the eye, informing every feature, and urging the whole man onward, right onward to his object-this, this is eloquence; or rather, it is something greater and higher than all eloquence-it is action, noble, sublime, Godlike action. Daniel Webster.

Ex. 145.

Hamlet's Instruction to the Players.

Speak the speech, I pray you, as I pronounced it to you; trippingly on the tongue; but if you mouth it, as many of our players do, I had as lief the town-crier spoke my lines. Nor do not saw the air too much with your hand, thus, but use all gently; for in the very torrent, tempest, and (as I may say,) whirlwind of your passion, you must acquire, and beget a temperance, that may give it smoothness. Oh, it offends me to the soul, to hear a robustious periwig-pated fellow tear a passion to tatters, to very rags, to split the ears of the groundlings; who, for the most part, are capable of nothing but inexplicable dumb-shows, and noise. I would have such a fellow whipped for o'erdoing Termagant: it outherods Herod. Pray you, avoid it.

Be not too tame neither; but let your own discretion be your tutor. Suit the action to the word; the word to the action with this special observance that you o'erstep not the modesty of nature; for any thing so overdone is from the purpose of playing; whose end, both at the first, and now was, and is, to hold, as 'twere, the mirror up to nature; to show virtue her own feature scorn her own image; and the very age and body of the time, his form, and pressure. Now this, overdone, or come tardy off, though it make the unskilful laugh, can not but make the judicious grieve; the censure of which one, must, in your allowance, o'erweigh a whole theatre of others. Oh, there be players, that I have seen play, and heard others praise, and that highly, not to speak it profanely, that, neither having the accent of Chris

tians, nor the gait of Christian, pagan, nor man, have so strutted and bellowed, that I have thought some of Nature's journeymen had made men, and not made them well: they imitated humanity so abominably.

Ex. 146.

The Perfect Orator.

Shakspeare.

Imagine to yourselves a Demosthenes, addressing the most illustrious assembly in the world, upon a point whereon the fate of the most illustrious of nations depended-How awful such a meeting! how vast the subject !—Is man possessed of talents adequate to the great occasion ?-Adequate ! Yes, superior. By the power of his eloquence, the augustness of the assembly is lost in the dignity of the orator; and the importance of the subject, for a while, superseded by the admiration of his talents. With what strength of argument, with what powers of the fancy, with what emotions of the heart, does he assault and subjugate the whole man; and, at once, captivate his reason, his imagination, and his passions! To effect this, must be the utmost effort of the most improved state of human nature. Not a faculty that he possesses, is here unemployed; not a faculty that he possesses, but is here exerted to its highest pitch. All his internal powers are at work: all his external, testify their energies. Within, the memory, the fancy, the judgment, the passions, are all busy without,-every muscle, every nerve is exerted; not a feature, not a limb, but speaks. The organs of the body, attuned to the exertions of the mind, through the kindred organs of the hearers, instantaneously vibrate those energies from soul to soul. Notwithstanding the diversity of minds in such a multitude; by the lightning of eloquence, they are melted into one mass-the whole assembly, actuated in one and the same way, become, as it were, but one man, and have but one voice. The universal cry is-Let us march against Philip, let us fight for our liberties-let us conquer or die !

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Sheridan.

Ex. 147. Elegy written in a Country Churchyard.
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day;
The lowing herd winds slowly o'er the lea;
The ploughman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.

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