Within, the waves in softer murmurs glide,
And ships secure, without their hawsers ride.

Pope.

4. With many a weary step, and many a groan, Up the high hill he heaves a huge round stone: The huge round stone, resulting with a bound, Thunders impetuous down, and smokes along the ground.

Broome.

5. First march the heavy mules securely slow, O'er hills, o'er dales, o'er crags, o'er rocks they go.

6.

.....

Pope.

.... Arms on armour clashing bray'd Horrible discord; and the madding wheels Of brazen chariots rag'd.

7.

.....

Milton.

The pilgrim oft

At dead of night, amid his orisons hears
Aghast the voice of Time, disparting towers;
Tumbling all precipitate down-dash'd,
Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon.

Dyer.

8. In those deep solitudes and awful cells, Where heavenly-pensive Contemplation dwells, And ever-musing Melancholy reigns.

9. For who to dumb forgetfulness a prey,
This pleasing anxious being e'er resign'd;
Left the warm precincts of the cheerful day,
Nor cast one longing, lingering look behind.

10.

Gray.

O now for ever
Farewell content!

Farewell the tranquil mind!

Farewell the plumed troops, and the big war

That make ambition virtue! Oh farewell! Farewell the neighing steed, and the shrill trump; The spirit-stirring drum, the ear-piercing fife, The royal banner, and all quality,

Pride, pomp, and circumstance of glorious war! And Oh! ye immortal engines, whose rude throats The immortal Jove's dread clamours counterfeit, Farewell! Othello's occupation's gone.

Shakespeare.

you

11. Can there in woman be such glorious faith!
Sure all ill stories of thy sex are false !
Oh woman! lovely woman! nature made thee
To temper man; we had been brutes without
Angels are painted fair to look like you :
There is in you all that we believe of heaven;
Amazing brightness, purity and truth;
Eternal joy and everlasting love.

12. Come, show me what thou wilt do:

Otway.

Woo't weep? Woo't fast? Woo't fight? Woo't tear thyself?

Woo't drink up Eisel? eat a crocodile ?

I'll do't.-Dost thou come hither but to whine?
To out face me with leaping in her grave?
Be buried quick with her and so will I :
And if thou prat'st of mountains, let them throw
Millions of acres on us, till our ground,

Singeing his pate against the burning zone,
Make Ossa like a wart.

Shakespeare,

13. At first the chieftain to the chime,
With lifted hand kept feeble time ;
That motion ceas'd,-yet feeling strong
Varied his look as chang'd the song :
At length no more his deafen'd ear

The minstrel melody can hear;

His face grows sharp-his hands are clench'd,
As if some pang his heart-strings wrench'd;
Set are his teeth, his faded eye

Is sternly fix'd on vacancy.

Thus motionless, and moanless drew
His parting breath, stout Roderick Dhu!!

Scott.

14. Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns When the faint and the feeble deplore;

Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems

A thousand wild waves on the shore !

Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,

May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate! Yea! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain, Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again, To bear is to conquer our fate.

Campbell.

15. Ah! Why all abandon'd to darkness and wo;
Why, lone Philomela, that languishing fall!
For Spring shall return, and a lover bestow,
And sorrow no longer thy bosom enthral.
But if pity inspire thee, renew the sad lay,
Mourn, sweetest complainer, man calls thee to

mourn;

O sooth him, whose pleasures like thine pass away; Full quickly they pass-but they never return.

Beattie.

16. Now, in the names of all the gods at once, Upon what meat doth this our Cæsar feed, That he has grown so great? Age, thou art sham'd!

Rome, thou hast lost thy breed of noble bloods!

When could they say, till now, that talk'd of Rome,

That her wide walls encompass'd but one man?

O! you and I have heard our fathers say There was a Brutus once, that would have brook'd

The eternal fiend, to keep his state in Rome,
As easily as a king.

Shakespeare.

CHAP. XI.

Monotone.

It was shown in Chapter Second, that every syllable in spoken language must be inflected, or circumflected in a greater or less degree; therefore monotone cannot exist in speech.

All sounds produced by the organs of speech, are of two kinds, that is, stationary and moveable: stationary sounds belong exclusively to the music of song; moveable sounds belong exclusively to the melody of speech.

MONOTONE, or stationary sounds, were they applicable to spoken language, would be equal to the music of song; this would be a continuation of tone on one syllable, word, or number of words, without any accent or slide of voice, either upwards or downwards.

The moment any reader introduces such sounds, that moment he ceases to read.

This modification of voice, viz. monotone, cannot exist in spoken language, but exclusively belongs to the music of song, and is the grand distinguishing characteristic between speech and song.

What is said here, is to shew that notwithstanding all that has been written on this subject to the contrary, ignorance of the speaking voice is the cause of maintaining that sameness of voice, or monotone, can ever have place in the melody of speech.

Our most popular writers on elocution, have not only erred in copying the prosodial blunders of their literary predecessors, but have introduced the doctrine, and endeavoured to enforce the practice of monotony into speech, which, though equally distant from truth, is not of such ancient date, and, therefore, cannot claim the same prescriptive privilege. To gainsay it, therefore, may not be such unpardonable heresy with elocutionists, as to utter a syllable against prosody is in the eyes of grammarians.

The author is very little concerned about the opinions of either. Should they choose to rest satisfied with the antiquity of the one, and the great names that have sanctioned the other, he has no desire to disturb their repose. Truth is his object, whether it be opposed to antiquity or names:-he wishes nothing here taken for granted, but to be admitted only, when it has been proved by the test of experiment.

The late Mr JOHN WALKER, teacher of elocution in London, whose works have done more towards the improvement of English elocution, than all other writers upon the subject, after having defined the tones of speech and the tones of song very accurately, in his Melody of Speaking, has the following most extraordinary paragraph :—

"But though singing and speaking sounds are thus essentially distinct, it must not be imagined that singing tones are never to be used in speaking. Far from it. The monotone is not only productive of the greatest variety, but often forms the greatest beauty, of solemn, sublime, and plaintive pronunciation; so that verse, properly pronounced, is sometimes not only figuratively, but literally a song."

Had this eminent author been properly acquainted with the music of language, or even with the music of song, (he has acknowledged that he was very little