Oh, you and I have heard our fathers say There was a Brutus once that would have brook'd As easily as a king! SHAKESPEARE. VERY LOUD. And now before the open door- So loud and clear, it seemed the ear The great bell swung as ne'er before. Was, "WAR! WAR! WAR!" T. B. READ. Then wakes the power which in the age of iron Bursts forth to curb the great, and raise the low. Mark, where she stands around her form I draw The awful circle of our solemn church! Set but a foot within that holy ground, And on thy head yea, though it wore a crown On, on, you noblest English, BULWER Whose blood is fetched from fathers of war proof! Fathers, that, like so many Alexanders, Have, in these parts, from morn till even fought, Cry, Heaven for Harry! England! and St. George! SHAKESPEARE. PITCH. PITCH is the elevation given to the voice. High pitch being used in the expressions of acute feelings of joy and grief, pain, fear, delight, and astonishment. Middle pitch should be used in the expression of moderate emotion and unimpassioned language, simple narration, &c. Low pitch is used in expressing awe, reverence, sublimity, deep and settled feeling. Very low is employed in expressions of deep solemnity, grandeur, vastness, &c. HIGH. Merrily swinging on brier and weed, Over the mountain-side or mead, Robert of Lincoln is telling his name: Spink, spank, spink; Snug and safe is that nest of ours, I come from haunts of coot and hern, I make a sudden sally, And sparkle out among the fern, To bicker down a valley. BRYANT. I chatter over stony ways, I chatter, chatter, as I flow To join the brimming river; For men may come and men may go, But I go on forever. TENNYSON. What a world of merriment their melody foretells, In the icy air of night! To the tintinnabulation that so musically wells РОЕ. Oh! Then, I see Queen Mab hath been with you. In shape no bigger than an agate stone Her chariot is an empty hazel-nut, Made by the joiner squirrel, or old grub, SHAKESPEARE. Middle. The books which help you most are those which make you think most. The hardest way of learning is by easy reading; but a great book that comes from a great thinker, is a ship of thought, deep freighted with truth and with beauty. Full many a gem of purest ray serene THEO. PARKER. The dark, unfathomed caves of ocean bear; GRAY There is a tide in the affairs of men, Which, taken at its flood, leads on to fortune; And we must take the current when it serves, SHAKESPEARE. I mourn no more my vanished years: Beneath a tender rain, An April rain of smiles and tears My heart is young again. The west-winds blow, and, singing low I hear the glad streams run, The windows of my soul I throw WHITTIER. It is a pleasing sight of a Sunday morning, when the bell is sending its sober melody across the quiet fields, to behold the peasantry in their best finery, with ruddy faces and modest cheerfulness, thronging tranquilly along the green lanes to church; but it is still more pleasing to see them in the evenings, gathering about their cottage doors, and appearing to exult in the humble comforts and embellishments which their own hands have spread around them. IRVING When I look upon the tombs of the great, every emotion of envy dies in me; when I read the epitaphs of the beautiful, every inordinate desire goes out; when I meet with the grief of parents upon a tombstone, my heart melts with compassion; when I see the tomb of the parents themselves, I consider the vanity of grieving for those whom we must quickly follow. When I see kings lying by those who deposed them, when I consider rival wits placed side by side, or the holy men that divided the world with their contests and disputes, I reflect with sorrow and astonishment on the little competitions, factions, and debates of mankind. When I read the several dates of the tombs, of some that died yesterday, and some six hundred years ago, I consider that great day when we shall all of us be contemporaries, and make our appearance together. ADDISON. Low. So live, that when thy summons comes to join To that mysterious realm, where each shall take Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, BRYANT. |