44

THE FALLS OF LODORE,

Which Heaven shall guard: And put the world's
whole strength

Into one giant arm, it shall not force

This lineal honor from me: This from thee
Will I to mine leave, as 'tis left to me.

THE FALLS OF LODORE.

SOUTHEY.

A matchless exercise for gaining, by practice, a perfect control of the voice, so as to enunciate rapidly and distinctly. It is full of varied expression, which the sense will indicate : How does the water come down at Lodore ?

Showering and springing,

Eddying and whisking,

Spouting and frisking;
Turning and twisting;
Around and around,.
Collecting, disjecting,
With endless rebound.
Smiting and fighting,
In turmoil delighting,
Confounding, astounding,

Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound.

Receding and speeding,

And shocking and rocking,
And darting and parting,
And threading and spreading,
And whizzing and hissing,
And dripping and skipping,

And hitting and spitting
And shining and twining,

HOTSPUR'S DEFENCE.

And rattling and battling,
And shaking and quaking,
And pouring and roaring,
And waving and raving,
And tossing and crossing,
And running and stunning,
And hurrying and skurrying,
And glittering and frittering,
And gathering and feathering,
And dinning and spinning,
And foaming and roaming,
And hopping and dropping,
And working and jerking,
And gurggling and struggling,
And heaving and cleaving,

And thundering and floundering,
And falling and brawling, and sprawling,
And driving and riving and striving,

And sprinkling and crinkling and twinkling,
And sounding and bounding and rounding,
And bubbling and troubling and doubling;
Dividing and gliding and sliding,

Grumbling and rumbling and tumbling,
Clattering and battering and shattering,

And gleaming and streaming and skimming and beaming,
And rushing and flushing and brushing and gushing,
And flapping and rapping and clapping and slapping,
And curling and whirling and purling and twirling;
Retreating and meeting and beating and sheeting,
Delaying and straying and spraying and playing,
Advancing and prancing and glancing and dancing,
Recoiling, turmoiling and toiling and boiling ;
And thumping and bumping and flumping and jumping,
And thrashing and clashing and flashing and splashing;
And so never ending,
But always descending,

Sounds and motions forever and ever are blending,
All at once and all o'er,

With a mighty uproar ;

And this way the water comes down at Lodore.

45

HOTSPUR'S DEFENCE.

Nothing in our language is finer for fiery declamation and bitter irony than the gallant Percy's Defence of his

46

HOTSPUR'S DEFENCE.

AU

conduct, before his sovereign. U is simply magnificent, and has been a favorite with the greatest actors that ever graced the boards:

My liege, I did deny no prisoners.

But, I remember, when the fight was done,
When I was dry with rage, and extreme toil,
Breathless and faint, leaning upon my sword,
Came there a certain lord, neat, trimly dress'd,
Fresh as a bridegroom: and his chin new reap'd,
Show'd like a stubble-land at harvest-home:
He was perfumed like a milliner:

And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held
A pouncet-box which ever and anon

He gave his nose, and took 't away again ;-
Who, therewith angry, when it next came there,
Took it in snuff;-and still he smil'd and talk'd:
And, as the soldiers bore dead bodies by,

He called them-un taught knaves, unmannerly,
To bring a slovenly unhandsome corse
Betwixt the wind and his nobility.

With many holyday and lady terms

He question'd me; among the rest demanded]

My prisoners, in your majesty's behalf.

I then, all smarting, with my wounds being cold,
To be so pester'd with a popinjay, i

Out of my grief and my impatience,

Answer'd neglectingly, I know not what;

He should, or he should not;-for he made me mad,

To see him shine so brisk, and smell so sweet,;

And talk so like a waiting gentlewoman,

Of guns, and drums, and wounds (God save the mark!),

And telling me, the sovereign'st thing on earth

Was parmaceti for an inward bruise;

And that it was great pity, so it was,

That villainous saltpetre should be digg'd
Out of the bowels of the harmless earth,
Which many a good tall fellow had destroyed
So cowardly; and but for these vile guns,
He would himself have been a soldier.
This bald, disjointed chat of his, my lord,
I answer'd indirectly, as I said:
And I beseech you, let not his report
Come current for an accusation,
Betwixt my love and your high majesty.

DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM.

47

DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM.

N. P. WILLIS.

This admirable composition gives ample scope for gentle, mournful, tear-stricken recitation. The thoughts prompt the speaker to natural expression :

The king stood still

Till the last echo died: then throwing off
The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back
The pall from the still features of his child,
He bowed his head upon him, and broke forth
In the resistless eloquence of woe:-

"Alas! my noble boy! that thou should'st die,
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair.
How could he mark thee for the silent tomb,
My proud boy, Absalom!

"Cold is thy brow, my son! and I am chill,
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee;
How was I wont to feel my pulses thrill,

Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee,
And hear thy sweet my father' from these dumb
And cold lips, Absalom!

"The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush
Of music, and the voices of the young;

And life will pass me in the mantling blush,
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;
But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come
To meet me, Absalom!

"And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart,
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
How will its love for thee, as I depart,

Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token !
It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom,
To see thee, Absalom!

"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee :—
And thy dark sin!-Oh! I could drink the cup,
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee.
May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My erring Absalom!"

48

THE BOY ARCHER.

He covered up his face, and bowed himself
A moment on his child: then, giving him
A look of melting tenderness, he clasped
His hands convulsively, as if in prayer;
And, as a strength were given him of God,
He rose up calmly, and composed the pall
Firmly and decently, and left him there,
As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.

THE BOY ARCHER.

SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

The fire and energy of Tell contrasts nobly with the youthful ambition of his son's young and noble heart. It is a charming exercise, and exceedingly effective when well delivered:

SCENE.-Exterior of TELL's cottage. Enter ALBERT (TELL'S SON) with bow and arrows, and VErner.

Verner. Ah! Albert! What have you there?
Albert. My bow and arrows, Verner.

Ver. When will you use them like your father, boy?
Alb. Some time, I hope.

Ver.

You brag! There's not an archer

In all Helvetia can compare with him.

Alb. But I'm his son; and when I am a man

I may be like him. Verner, do I brag,

To think I some time may be like my father?

If so, then is it he that teaches me;

For, ever as I wonder at his skill,

He calls me boy, and says I must do more
Ere I become a man.

Ver.

May you be such

A man as he-if heaven wills, better-I'll
Not quarrel with its work; yet 'twill content me
If you are only such a man.

Alb.

I'll show you

How I can shoot. (goes out to fix the mark.)

Ver. Nestling as he is, he is the making of a bird
Will own no cowering wing.

Re-enter ALBERT.

Alb. Now, Verner, look! (shoots) There's within
An inch!