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She's at the window many an hour

His coming to discover:

And he look'd up to Ellen's bower,
And she look'd on her lover-

But ah! so pale, he knew her not,

Though her smile on him was dwelling-
And am I then forgot-forgot?

It broke the heart of Ellen.

In vain he weeps, in vain he sighs,

Her cheek is cold as ashes;

Nor love's own kiss shall wake those eyes

To lift their silken lashes.

T. Campbell.

Problem XLIX. Contrast emotions and note the true and the false differences that may occur.

214 WILT thou be gone? It is not yet near day:

It was the nightingale, and not the lark,
That pierced the fearful hollow of thine ear;
Nightly she sings in yon pomegranate-tree:
Believe me, love, it was the nightingale.

"Romeo and Juliet."

Shakespeare.

215 THE moving moon went up the sky, and nowhere did abide: softly she was going up, and a star or two beside her beams bemocked the sultry main, like April hoar-frost spread; but where the ship's huge shadow lay, the charmèd water burnt alway, a still and awful red.

216 LOVE had he found in huts where poor men lie;

His daily teachers had been woods and rills,

The silence that is in the starry sky,

Coleridge.

The sleep that is among the lonely hills.

Wordsworth.

217 STREW on her roses, roses, and never a spray of yew.

In quiet she reposes: ah! would that I did too.

Her mirth the world required: she bathed it in smiles of glee,

But her heart was tired, tired, and now they let her be.

Her life was turning, turning, in mazes of heat and sound.

But for peace her soul was yearning, and now peace laps her round.

Her cabined, ample spirit, it fluttered and failed for breath.

To-night it doth inherit the vasty Hall of Death.

"Requiescat."

Matthew Arnold.

218. TO THE SKYLARK.

AWAKE ere the morning dawn, -skylark, arise!
The last of the stars hath waxed dim in the skies;
The peak of the mountain is purpled in light,
And the grass with the night dew is diamonded white;
The young flowers at morning's call open their eyes
Then up ere the break of day, skylark, arise!

Earth starts like a sluggard half roused from a dream;
Pale and ghost-like the mist floats away from the stream,
And the cataract hoarsely, that all the night long
Poured forth to the desolate darkness its song,
Now softens to music as brighten the skies -
Then up ere the dawn of day, skylark, arise!
Arise from the clover, and up to the cloud,
Ere the sun leaves his chamber in majesty proud,
And, ere his light lowers to earth's meaner things,
Catch the stainless effulgence of heaven on thy wings,
While thy gaze as thou soarest and singest shall feast
On the innermost shrine of the uttermost east.

Up, up with a loud voice of singing! the bee
Will be out to the bloom, and the bird to the tree;

The trout to the pool, and the par to the rill,

The flock to the plain, and the deer to the hill;
Soon the marsh will resound to the plover's lone cries —
Then up ere the dawn of day, skylark, arise!
Up, up with thy praise-breathing anthem! alone
The drowsyhead, man, on his bed slumbers prone;
The stars may go down, and the sun from the deep
Burst forth, still his hands they are folded in sleep.
Let the least in creation the greatest despise —
Then up to heaven's threshold, blithe skylark, arise!

219. BEFORE SEDAN.

"The dead hand clasped a letter."

David M. Moir.

HERE, in this leafy place, quiet he lies, cold, with his sightless face turned to the skies; 'tis but another dead; all you can say is said. Carry his body hence, - kings must have slaves; kings climb to eminence over men's graves: so this man's eye is dim; throw the earth over him. What was the white you touched, there, at his side? Paper his hand had clutched

tight ere he died;-message or wish, may be;-smooth the folds out and see. Hardly the worst of us here could have smiled!-only the tremulous words of a child; - prattle, that has for stops just a few ruddy drops. Look. She is sad to miss, morning and night, his—her dead father's kiss; tries to be bright, good to mamma, and sweet. That is all. "Marguerite." Ah, if beside the dead slumbered the pain! Ah, if the hearts that bled slept with the slain! If the grief died; - but no;-death will not have it so. Henry Austin Dobson.

Problem L. Intensify and lift the sorrow of a weakness into the realm of the ideal and the noble.

220 DEAR master, I can go no farther: oh, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master!

Shakespeare. 221 "Ir's time for me to go to that there berryin'-ground, sir,” he returns, with a wild look.

What burying-ground, Joe?"

"Lie down, and tell me. "Where they laid him as wos wery good to me; wery good to me, indeed, he wos. It's time fur me to go down to that there berryin'-ground, sir, and ask to be put along with him. I wants to go there and be berried. He used fur to say to me, 'I am as poor as you, to-day, Jo,' he sez. I wants to tell him that I am as poor as him, now, and have come there to be laid along with him."

THE

XXVII. STRAIGHTNESS OF INFLECTION.

THE straightness or directness of an inflection is in proportion to the dignity, genuineness, or sincerity of the speaker. Ir colloquial or trivial speech there is a tendency to circumflexes, but when the speech is noble, direct, intense, or earnest, the inflections are straight.

In the expression of abnormal emotions also, such as anger, contempt, sarcasm, or playful mischief, where there is a double antithesis in the mind, or a double meaning, we find that there is a tendency to circumflex inflections. But in manifesting deep conviction, simple and genuine thought, deep and sincere feeling, wherever "the eye is single," the inflections of the voice tend to be straight and direct.

The principle underlying straightness of inflection, therefore, is that when there is a crook in the mind, there is a crook in the voice. When the mind is direct and single, the inflection is direct and single; the straightness of inflection is a direct manifestation of the degree of sincerity and singleness of aim or attention, and of the degree of nobility in the relation of the speaker to the truth and to his audience.

Circumflex inflections should be rarely used. Except in char acterization and abnormal emotions, they should be avoided. Their too frequent use is a very common and a very serious fault. Students should struggle to keep inflections as straight as possible. Even the simplest and most colloquial conversation may be made more simple and unaffected, more noble and dignified by using straight inflections: notice the difference in the inflections of the cobbler in the extract from Julius Cæsar when he is punning and quibbling, and in his last speech when he frankly states, "We come to see Cæsar." The use of circumflex inflections to appear tender and kindly is one of the worst affectations. Those who teach small children and inferiors must make efforts to be manly and womanly, and to feel that all who are taught, however humble, are objects worthy of reverent interest. The fault of using circumflex inflections must be overcome by nobleness, frankness, and simplicity.

Problem LI. Contrast a simple attitude of mind with a complex one, or a direct aim with an indirect one.

222 Queen. HAMLET, you have your father much offended. Hamlet. Madame, you have my father much offended.

223 Sir Peter. VERY well, ma'am, very well! So a husband is to have no influence, -no authority!

Lady Teazle. Authority? No, to be sure! If you wanted authority over me, you should have adopted me, and not married me; I am sure you were old enough.

Sheridan.

Problem LII. Contrast noble with ignoble emotion, a normal or ideal character with a low or abnormal one.

224 THEY are slaves who fear to speak
For the fallen and the weak:

They are slaves who will not choose
Hatred, scoffing, and abuse,

Rather than in silence shrink

From the truth they needs must think;

They are slaves who dare not be

In the right with two or three.

"Stanzas on Freedom."

James Russell Lowell.

225 "I GRANT you I was down, and out of breath; and so was he."

226 WE were gettin' on nicely up here to our village,

With good old idees o' wut's right an' wut ain't;
We kind o' thought Christ went agin war an' pillage,
An' that eppyletts worn't the best mark of a saint.
But John P.

Robinson he

Sez this kind o' thing's an exploded idee.

"Bigelow Papers."

Lowell.

227 Flavius. Hence! home, you idle creatures, get you home! Is this a holiday? What! know you not,

Being mechanical, you ought not walk

Upon a laboring-day without the sign

Of your profession? Speak, what trade art thou?

First Citizen. Why, sir, a carpenter.

Marullus. Where is thy leather apron and thy rule?
What dost thou with thy best apparel on? -

You, sir; what trade are you?

Second Citizen. Truly, sir, in respect of a fine workman, I am but, as you would say, a cobbler.

Marullus. But what trade art thou? Answer me directly.

Second Citizen. A trade, sir, that I hope I may use with a safe conscience; which is indeed, sir, a mender of bad soles.

Marullus. What trade, thou knave? thou naughty knave, what trade? Second Citizen. Nay, I beseech you, sir, be not out with me: yet, if you be out, sir, I can mend you.

Marullus. What meanest thou by that? Mend me, thou saucy fellow! Second Citizen. Why, sir, cobble you.

Flavius. Thou art a cobbler, art thou?

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