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4. Nor were his political' his only' talents. His eloquence was an era in the senate; peculiar, and spontaneous'; familiarly expressing gigantic sentiments and instructive wisdom'; not like the torrent of Demosthenes, or the splendid conflagration of Tully; it resembled sometimes the thunder', and sometimes the music' of the spheres. He did not conduct the understanding through the painful subtilty of argumentation, nor was he ever on the rack of exertion'; but rather lightened' upon the subject, and reached the point by the flashings of the mind, which, like those of the eye, were felt, but could not be followed'.

5. Upon the whole, there was in this man something that could create', subvert', or reform'; an understanding', a spirit', and an eloquence', to summon mankind to society, or to break the bonds of slavery asunder, and to rule the wildness of free minds with unbounded authority; something that could establish', or overwhelm' empires, and strike a blow' in the world that should resound through the universe'. ROBERTSON.



1. MAN, born of woman,

Is of few days,

And full of trouble.

He cometh forth as a flower, and is cut down`;
He fleeth also as a shadow,

And continueth not.

2. Upon such dost thou open thine eye,
And bring me unto judgment with thee?
Among the impure is there one pure?
Not one.

3. Are his days so determined'?

Hast thou numbered his months",
And set fast his bounds for him,
Which he can never pass'?

Turn then from him that he may rest,
And enjoy', as an hireling', his day`.

4. The tree' hath hope`, if it be cut down';
It becometh green again,

And new shoots are put forth.

If even the root is old in the earth,
And its stock die in the ground,
From vapor of water it will bud,
And bring forth boughs as a young plant.


5. But man dieth, and his power is gone`:
He is taken away', and where is he?

6. Till the waters waste from the sea,
Till the river faileth and is dry land,
Man lieth low, and riseth not again.
Till the heavens are old, he shall not awake,
Nor be aroused from his sleep.

7. Oh! that thou wouldst conceal me
In the realm of departed souls!
Hide me in secret, till thy wrath be past`;
Appoint me then a new term,

And remember me again.

But alas'! if a man die',
Shall he live again?

8. So long, then, as my toil endureth',
Will I wait till a change come to me.
Thou wilt call' me, and I shall answer';
Thou wilt pity the work of thy hands.
Though now thou numberest my steps',
Thou shalt then not watch for my sin.
My transgression will be sealed in a bag`,
Thou wilt bind up and remove my iniquity.

9. Yet alas! the mountain falleth and is swallowed up^,
The rock is removed out of its place`,

The waters hollow out the stones`,

The floods overflow the dust of the earth,
And thus, thou destroyest the hope of man.

10. Thou contendest with him, till he faileth`,

Thou changest his countenance, and sendest him away.
Though his sons become great and happy',

Yet he knoweth it not;

If they come to shame and dishonor`,

He perceiveth it not`.



Some lessons will now be given for the purpose of illustrating the principles applicable to the reading of poetry. It will be recollected that these have already been stated as follows, viz:

1. The rising inflection and monotone are used more frequently in poetry than in prose.

2. Avoid changing the accent or emphasis for the sake of accommodating the meter.

3. At the end of each line, there should generally be a slight pause, especially in rhyme.

4. In most kinds of poetry, there should be, somewhere near the middle of each line, a slight pause, which is called a cesura, and sometimes there should be one or two additional pauses still slighter than the cesura. These latter are called demi-cesuras. The cesura is marked thus, ( || ), and the demi-cesura, thus, ( [ ). 5. A simile in poetry should be read in a lower tone than the rest of the passage.



In this lesson, the cesural pauses are all marked. Let it be remembered that these should never be permitted to interfere, in any considerable degree, with the proper expression of the sense, however much the meiody may be thereby increased. A word should never be divided by the cesura. It is desirable also to avoid separating a noun from its preceding adjective or article, and a verb from its adverb. These pauses must be very slight, especially the demi-cesura, which indeed should be scarcely perceptible. For more particular directions upon the subject, see Kaimes' Elements of Criticism.

1. But most by numbers || judge | a poet's song,

And smooth or rough, with them | is right or wrong;

In the bright muse, || though thousand | charms conspire,
Her voice is all || these tuneful | fools admire,
Who haunt | Parnassus || but to please | the ear,

Not mend their minds; || as some to church repair,
Not for the doctrine, || but the music there.

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2. These, equal syllables || alone | require,
Though oft the ear | the open | vowels tire;
While expletives || their feeble aid | do join,
And ten low words || oft creep | in one dull line:
While they ring round || the same | unvaried chimes,
With sure returns || of still expected rhymes;
Where'er you find || "the cooling | western breeze,'
In the next line | it "whispers | through the trees,'
If crystal streams || "with pleasing | murmurs creep,"
The reader's threatened || (not in vain) | with "sleep :"
Then at the last || and only couplet fraught
With some unmeaning || thing they call a thought,
A needless Alexandrine || ends the song,

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That, like a wounded snake, || drags | its slow length along.

3. Leave such | to tune || their own dull rhymes, | and know
What's roundly | smooth || or languishingly | slow;
And praise the easy || vigor of a line,

Where Denham's | strength, || and Waller's | sweetness join.

4. True ease in writing || comes from art, | not chance, As those move easiest, || who have learned to dance.

'Tis not enough || no harshness gives offense,
The sound must seem || an echo to the sense:
Soft is the strain || when Zephyr | gently blows,
And the smooth stream || in smoother | numbers flows;
But when loud surges || lash | the sounding shore,
The hoarse rough verse || should like the torrent roar.
When Ajax strives || some rock's | vast weight to throw,
The line too labors, and the words | move slow.
Not so when swift || Camilla | scours the plain,

Flies o'er th' unbending corn, || and skims | along the main.

REMARKS. In the third line, the melody would require that the cesural pause should be after "though," but the sense is more fully expressed by placing it after "muse." In the eighth line, the cesura would come after the first syllable in the word "syllables; " but it is desirable to avoid dividing a word, and therefore it is removed to the end of the word. For the same reason, in the twentieth line, to avoid dividing the word "Alexandrine," the cesura is removed three syllables beyond its natural place.



In the two succeeding lessons, the cesuras are all marked, but the demi-cesuras are but partially noted.

1. Nor a drum | was heard, || not a funeral note,
As his corse | to the rampart we hurried;
Not a soldier | discharged || his farewell | shot
O'er the grave || where our hero was buried.
2. We buried him | darkly, || at dead of night,
The sods with our bayonets | turning;
By the struggling moonbeam's || misty light,
And the lantern || dimly burning.

3. No useless coffin || enclosed | his breast,

Not in sheet | nor in shroud || we wound him;
But he lay like a warrior || taking his rest,
With his martial cloak around him.

4. Few and short' || were the prayers we said,
And we spoke || not a word of sorrow;
And we steadfastly gazed || on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought || of the morrow.

5. We thought, I as we hollowed his narrow bed,
And smoothed down || his lonely pillow,

That the foe and the stranger I would tread | o'er his head,
And we far away on the billow.

6. Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone',
And o'er his cold ashes || upbraid him,
But little he'll reck, || if they'll let him sleep on
In the grave where a Briton has laid him.

7. But half of our heavy task was done,

When the clock || struck the hour for retiring;
And we heard || the distant random gun
Which the foe was sullenly firing.

8. Slowly and sadly | we laid him down,

From the field of his fame || fresh and gory;
We carved not a line, || and we raised not a stone;
But left him | alone with his glory.




1. IN slumbers of midnight || the Sailor-boy lay, His hammock | swung loose || at the sport of the wind But watch-worn and weary, his cares | flew away, And visions of happiness || danced | o'er his mind. 2. He dreamed of his home, || of his dear native bowers, And pleasures that waited || on life's merry morn; While Memory each scene || gayly covered with flowers, And restored every rose, but secreted the thorn. 3. Then Fancy her magical pinions | spread wide,


And bade the young dreamer || in ecstasy rise; Now, far, far behind him || the green waters glide, And the cot of his forefathers | blesses his eyes. 4. The jessamine clambers || in flower o'er the thatch, And the swallow sings sweet || from her nest in the wall; All trembling with transport || he raises the latch, And the voices of loved ones || reply to his call.

5. A father bends o'er him || with looks of delight;

His cheek is impearled || with a mother's warm tear; And the lips of the boy || in a love-kiss unite

With the lips of the maid | whom his bosom holds dear. 6. The heart of the sleeper | beats high in his breast,

Joy quickens his pulse, || all his hardships seem o'er; And a murmur of happiness | steals through his rest"O God! thou hast blest me, || I ask for no more." 7. Ah! whence is that flame || which now bursts on his eye? Ah! what is that sound that now larums his ear? 'Tis the lightning's red glare || painting hell on the sky! 'Tis the crashing of thunders, the groan of the sphere!

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