And up to heav'n, like a joyous lark,
My quivering pinions bore.

“And now that bold and hardy few

Are a nation wide and strong;

And danger and doubt I have led them through,

And they worship me in song;

And over their bright and glancing arms,

On field, and lake, and sea,

With an eye that fires, and a spell that charms,
I guide them to victory!"

SPRING.-N. P. WILLIS.

THE spring is here, the delicate-footed May,
With its slight fingers full of leaves and flowers;
And with it comes a thirst to be away,

Wasting in wood-paths its voluptuous hours;
A feeling that is like a sense of wings,
Restless to soar above these perishing things.

We pass out from the city's feverish húm,
To find refreshment in the silent woods;
And nature, that is beautiful and dumb,

Like a cool sleep upon the pulses broods;
Yet, even there, a restless thought will steal,
To teach the indolent heart it still must feel.

Strange that the audible stillness of the noon,
The waters tripping with their silver feet,
The turning to the light of leaves in June,

And the light whisper as their edges meet,-
Strange that they fill not with their tranquil tone,
The spirit walking in their midst, alone!

There is no contentment in a world like this,
Save in forgetting the immortal dream;
We may not gaze upon the stars of bliss,
That through the cloud-rifts radiantly stream;
Bird-like, the prison'd soul will lift its eye,
And pine, till it is hooded from the sky!

THE CLIME OF THE EAST.-BYRON.

KNOW
Know ye the land where the cypress and myrtle

Are emblems of deeds that are done in their clíme,

Where the rage of the vulture, the love of the turtle

Now melt into sorrow, now madden to crime?

Know ye the land of the cedar and vine

Where the flowers ever blossom, the leaves ever shine;

Where the light wings of zephyr, oppress'd with perfume,

Wax faint o'er the gardens of Gul* in her bloom;
Where the cítron and olive are fairest of fruit,

* Gul, the Rose.

And the voice of the nightingale never is mute;

Where the tints of the earth and the hues of the sky,
In color though varied, in beauty may vie,

And the purple of Ocean is deepest in dye;

Where the virgins are soft as the roses they twine,
And all, save the spirit of man, is divine?

"Tis the clíme of the East,-'tis the land of the sun!
Can he smile on such deeds as his children have done?
Oh! wild as the accents of lovers' farewell,

Are the hearts which they bear, and the tales which they tell.

The exercise in Intonation serves also for an exercise in Blank Verse; and the next Exercise contains some other varieties of metrical arrangement.

3. EXERCISE IN EXPRESSION.

I have chosen the following well-known and beautiful ode, as the vehicle of instruction, and as a particular Exercise in Expression, although quite familiar to the reader, as a composition,—because it affords great scope for transition of pitch, variation of force, and change of time, in accordance with the varied action and quality of the personification of each individual passion. It is in these transitions and variations that the main beauty of the ode lies; and on the marking of them distinctly, depends the effect in delivery.

The ode is also a good practice in rhythmical reading, from the variety as well as polish of the versification.

The pupil will carefully note the short analysis of the expression of each passion, and the marginal directions as to tone and time due to each particular passage.

THE PASSIONS-AN ODE.-COLLins.

DIRECTIONS. Begin calmly, smoothly, and in moderate time, and middle pitch.

The tone and

INTRODUCTION, OR PRELUDe.

When Music, heavenly maid, was young
Ere yet in early Greece she sung,

The Passions oft, to hear her shell,

Throng'd around her magic cell;
f.app.

f. a

P. m

time must here Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,

change, and be varied to express the diffe. rent emotions described.

P.

In ordinary (And, as they oft had heard apart,

time.

Fear deprives the voice of its power; the tone becomes thin and feeble, and the utterance (when the

passion is highly-wrought) tremulous, indistinct, and broken.

Anger is high in pitch, loud, and quick in the time of its utterance; and the words do not flow, but burst out in sudden starts, indicative of the rashness of passion.

This is distinct from the expression of dignified anger, just severity, and reproof, which is solemn and measured in its delivery, and low in pitch.

Despair vents itself in a low, moaning tone; till it reaches its wildest paroxysm, when it is cracked and shrieking. Both shades of expression are beautifully and distinctly individualized by the poet in the descriptive verses.