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Pathetic and Plaintive. 1. Nay, weep not, dearest, though the child be dead,

He lives again in heaven's unclouded life,
With other angels that have early fled

From these dark scenes of sorrow, sin, and strife;
Nay, weep not, dearest, though thy yearning love

Would fondly keep for earth its fairest flowers,
And e'en deny to brighter realms above

The few that deck this dreary world of ours :
Though much it seems a wonder and a woe

That one so loved should be so early lost,
And hallowed tears may unforbidden flow,

To mourn the blossom that we cherished most,
Yet all is well: God's good design I see,
That where our treasure is, our hearts may

be !

2. Sleep on — sleep on, above thy corse,

The winds their Sabbath keep,
The wave is round thee, and thy breast

Heaves with the heaving deep ;
O'er thee, mild eve her beauty flings,
And there the white gull lifts her wings,
And the blue halcyon loves to lave
Her plumage in the holy wave.

3. Sleep on,- thy corse is far away,

But love bewails thee yet;
For thee, the heart-wrung sigh is breathed,

And lovely eyes are wet;
And she, the young and beauteous bride,
Her thoughts are hovering by thy side,
As oft she turns to view with tears
The Eden of departed years.

4. Morar! thou art low indeed; thou hast no mother to mourn thee; no maid with her tears of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth; fallen is the daughter of Morglan. Who, on his staff, is this? Who this, whose head is white with age, whose eyes are galled with tears, who quakes at every step? It is thy father, O Morar! the father of no son but thee.

5. Weep, thou father of Morar! weep; but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead ; low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice, no more awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in the grave, to bid the slumberer awake? Farewell, thou bravest of men, thou conqueror of the field; but the field shall see thee no more, nor the gloomy wood be lightened by the splendor of thy steel.

Thou hast left no son, - but the song shall preserve thy name.


RULE 5. The language of earnest entreaty, excessive grief or sorrow, lamentation, remorse, horror, and despair, should generally be uttered with moderate movement, and in a tone of voice somewhat subdued and below the middle pitch. The falling inflection usually prevails.

Earnest Entreaty and Lamentation.
1. Forsake me not thus, Adam ! Witness, Heaven,

What love sincere, and reverence in my heart,
I bear thee, and unwitting have offended,
Unhappily deceived! Thy suppliant,

QUESTION. What is the rule for reading the language of earnest entreaty, ex arsive grief or sorrow, lamentation, remorse, horror, and despair?

I beg and clasp thy knees; bereave me not,
Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid,
Thy counsel in this uttermost distress,
My only strength and stay. Forlorn of thee,
Whither should I betake me, where subsist?

On me, exercise not
Thy hatred for this misery befallen;
On me, already lost, me, than thyself
More miserable : both have sinned; but thou,
Against God only; I, against God and thee.


3. Look down, illustrious senators of Rome! from that height of power to which you are raised, on the unexampled distresses of a prince, who is, by the cruelty of a wicked intruder, become an outcast from all mankind. Let not the crafty insinuations of him who returns murder for adoption, prejudice your judgment. Do not listen to the wretch who bas butchered the son and relations of a king, who gave him power to sit on the same throne with his own sons.

4. Fathers, senators of Rome, arbiters of nations, to you I fly for refuge from the murderous fury of Jugurtha. By your affection for your children; by your love for your country; by your own virtues; by the majesty of the Roman commonwealth; by all that is sacred, and all that is

deliver a wretched prince from undeserved, unprovoked injury; and save the kingdom of Numidia,

which is your own property, from being the prey of violence, . usurpation, and cruelty.

dear to you,

Grief, Sorrow, and Melancholy.
1. Ha ! let me see her; alas ! she's cold;

Her blood is settled, and her joints are stiff ;
Life and these lips have long been separated ;
Death lies on her, like an untimely frost

Upon the sweetest flower of all the field.
Unhappy time! unfortunate old man !
Most miserable hour that e'er time saw,
In lasting labor of his pilgrimage!
But one, poor one, one poor and loving child,
But one thing to rejoice and solace in,

And cruel death hath snatched it from my sight:
2. He comes not. I have watched the moon go down,

But yet he comes not. Once it was not so.

He thinks not how these bitter tears do flow
The while he holds his riot in that town.
Yet he will come, and chide, and I shall weer ;
And he will wake my infant from its sleep,
To blend its feeble wailing with my tears.

Oh! how I love a mother's watch to keep,
Over those sleeping eyes, — that smile, which cheers

My heart, though sunk in sorrow, fixed and deep!
I had a husband once, who loved me. Now,
He ever wears a frown upon his brow.

Lamentation, Remorse, and Despair. 1, Me miserable! which way shall I fly

Infinite wrath, and infinite despair ?
Which way I fly is hell ; myself am hell;
And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep
Still threat'ning to devour me, opens wide,
To which the hell I suffer seems a heaven.
Oh! then at last relent. Is there no place
Left for repentance, none for pardon left?
None left but by submission ; and that word
Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame
Among the spirits beneath, whom I seduced
With other promises and other vaunts,
Than to submit, boasting I could subdue
Th' Omnipotent.


Ah me! they little know
How dearly I abide that boast so vain !
Under what torments inwardly I groan,
While they adore me on the throne of hell !
With diadem and scepter high advanced,
The lower still I fall, only supreme
In misery. Such joy ambition finds.
But say I could repent, and could obtain,
By act of grace, my former state ; how soon
Would height recall high thoughts, how soon unsay
What feigned submission swore! Ease would recant
Vows made in pain, as violent and void.
This knows my punisher; therefore, as far
From granting he, as I from begging peace.
All hope excluded thus, behold instead
Of us, outcast, exiled, his new delight,
Mankind created, and for him this world !
So farewell hope ; and with hope, farewell fear;
Farewell remorse! All good to me is lost!

Remorse, Horror, and Despair. 1. Solitude shall protract the lingering hours of eternity, and darkness aggravate the horrors of despair. At this moment, I seemed to be driven by some secret and invisible power, through the glowing system of creation, and passed innumerable worlds in a moment. As I approached the verge of nature, I perceived the shadows of total and boundless vacuity open before me, a dreadful region of eternal silence, solitude, and darkness.

2. Unutterable horror seized me at the prospect, and this exclamation burst from me with all the vehemence of desir : Oh ! that I had been doomed forever to the common receptacle of impenitence and guilt! There society would have alleviated the torment of despair ; and the rage of fire could not have excluded the comfort of light! Or, if I had

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