I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on ;
I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on;
I loved the garish day, and spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will. Remember not past years.
So long Thy power has blest me, sure it still
Will lead me on
O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent till
The night is gone:
And with the morn those angel-faces smile
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.
STILL, STILL WITH THEE.
Still, still with Thee-when purple morning breaketh,
When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee;
Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight.
Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee!
Alone with Thee-amid the mystic shadows,
The solemn hush of nature newly born;
Alone with Thee in breathless adoration
In the calm dew and freshness of the morn.
When sinks the soul subdued by toil, to slumber,
Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer;
Sweet the repose beneath thy wings o'ershading
But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there.
So shall it be at last in that bright morning.
When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee,
Oh, in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning,
Shall rise the glorious thought-I am with Thee.
HARRIET BEECHER STOWE.
FIFTEENTH STEP IN RENDERING.
Soliloquy comes from solus " alone, and " loqui" to speak. It therefore means" to speak alone." Soliloquy is a talking to one's self or with one's self. It is a discourse uttered in solitude.
In this style, the real innermost self is revealed. Here is the greatest freedom possible of mental action and expression. The person talks with self as if self were another person, asks question and answers them. Long pauses are made for deliberation. Freedom of movement,-standing, sitting, walking with the hands behind the back etc., with unlimited expression of whatever feeling is dominant, is allowed.
HAMLET'S SOLILOQUY.
To be, or not to be,- that is the question :-
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And by opposing end them. To die;- to sleep;-
No more;- and, by a sleep, to say we end
The heart-ache, and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to,- 't is a consummation
To sleep! perchance to dream;- Ay, there's the rub;
For in that sleep of death what dreams may come,
When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,
Must give us pause. There's the respect
That makes calamity of so long life:
For who would bear the whips and scorns of time,
The oppressor's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised love, the law's delay,
The insolence of office, and the spurns
That patient merit of the unworthy takes,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin?
Who would fardels bear,
To grunt and sweat under a weary life;
But that the dread of something after death,-
The undiscovered country from whose bourn
No traveler returns,-puzzles the will,
And makes us rather bear those ills we have,
Than fly to others that we know not of?
Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of thought;
And enterprises of great pith and moment,
With this regard, their currents turn awry,
And lose the name of action.
"HAMLET. "
KING OF DENMARK. REMORSE.
O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven;
It hath the primal eldest curse upon't,
A brother's murder. Pray can 1 not,
Though inclination be as sharp as will:
My stronger guilt defeats my strong intent;
And, like a man to double business bound,
I stand in pause where I shall first begin,
And both neglect. What if this cursed hand
Were thicker than itself with brother's blood,
Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens
To wash it white as snow? Whereto serves mercy
But to confront the visage of offence?
And what's in prayer but this twofold force,
To be forestalled ere we come to fall,
Or pardon'd being down? Then I'll look up;
My fault is past. But, O, what form of prayer
Can serve my turn? Forgive me my foul murder? ›
That cannot be ; since I am still possess'd
Of those effects for which I did the murder,-
My crown, mine own ambition, and my queen.
May one be pardon'd and retain the offence?
In the corrupted currents of this world
Offence's gilded hand may shove by justice,
And oft 'tis seen the wicked prize itself
Buys out the law: but 'tis not so above;
There is no shuffling, there the action lies
In his true nature; and we ourselves compell'd,
Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults,
To give in evidence. What then? What rests?
Try what repentance can: what can it not?
Yet what can it when one cannot repent?
O wretched state! O bosom black as death!
O limed soul, that, struggling to be free,
Art more engaged! Help, angels! Make assay.
Bow, stubborn knees; and, heart with strings of
Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe!
All may be well.
"HAMLET. "
WHAT MY LOVER SAID.
By the merest chance, in the twilight gloom,
In the orchard path he met me;
In the tall wet grass, with its faint perfume,
And I tried to pass but he made no room—
Oh, I tried, but he would not let me.
So I stood and blushed till the grass grew red,
With my face bent down above it;
While he took my hand as he whispering said—
How the clover lifted each pink, sweet head
To listen to all that my lover said;
Oh, the clover in bloom-how I love it!
In the high wet grass went the path to hide;
And the low wet leaves hung over;
But I could not pass on either side,
For I found myself when I vainly tried
In the arms of my steadfast lover.
And he held me there and he raised my head,
While closed the path before me:
And he looked down into my eyes and said—
How the leaves bent down from the boughs overhead
To listen to all that my lover said-
Oh, the leaves hanging lightly o'er me!
Had he moved aside but a little way
I could surely then have passed him;
And he knew I never could wish to stay,
And would not have heard what he had to say
Could I only aside have cast him.
It was almost dark, and the moments sped,
And the searching night wind found us, But he drew me nearer and softly saidHow the pure sweet wind grew still instead
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