Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go
To mix forever with the elements,-
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mold.
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone-nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world—with kings,
The powerful of the earth-the wise, the good,
Fair forms, and hoary seers, of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulcher. The hills
Rock-ribbed, and ancient as the sun,
Stretching in pensive quietness between ;
The venerable woods- rivers that move
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old ocean's gray and melancholy waste,
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man.
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe, are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom. Take the wings
Of morning, and the Barcan desert pierce,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound
Save his own dashings-yet the dead are there;
And millions in those solitudes, since first
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep- the dead there reign alone.
So shalt thou rest,- and what if thou withdraw
Unheeded by the living- and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one, as before, will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come
And make their bed with thee.
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life's green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron, and maid,
And the sweet habe, and the gray-headed man—
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side,
By those who, in their turn, shall follow them.
So live, that, when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave, at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT,
Thought gives a slide in the voice, but feeling makes it Vital. Emotional speech prolongs the vowel. Emotional language requires longer slides than mental or didactic speech. The last named would be but inflection as compared with the Vital Slide or the slide colored with emotion.
Thought gives inflection to the consonant: feeling swells out or makes a slide on the emphatic vowel. Long Vital Slide is marked in expressions of Surprise, Exclamation, Emphatic Interrogation, Supplica tion and other strong emotions.
WOLSEY TO CROMWELL.
Cromwell, I did not think to shed a tear,
In all my miseries; but thou hast forced me,
Out of thy honest truth, to play the woman.
And when I am forgotten, as I shall be,
And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention
Of me more must be heard of,— say, I taught thee;
Say, Wolsey that once trod the ways of glory,
And sounded all the depths and shoals of honor
Found thee a way, out of his wreck, to rise in;
A sure and safe one, though thy master missed it.
Mark but my fall, and that that ruined me,
Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition:
By that sin fell the angels: how can man, then,
The image of his Maker hope to win by 't?
Love thyself last; cherish those hearts that hate thee;
Corruption wins not more than honesty:
Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace,
To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not.
Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's,
Thy God's and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Crom-
well,
Thou fall'st a blessed martyr! Serve the king;
And- Prithee, lead me in:
There take an inventory of all I have,
To the last penny; 'tis the king's; my robe,
And my integrity to Heaven, is all
I dare now call mine own. O Cromwell, Cromwell,
Had I but served my God with half the zeal
I served my king, he would not in mine age
Have left me naked to mine enemies.
Hubert. Heat me those irons hot; and look thou
stand
Within the arras. When I strike my foot
Upon the bosom of the ground, rush forth
And bind the boy which you shall find wi' me
Fast to the chair; be heedful; hence, and watch.
1st. Execu. I hope your warrant will bear out
the deed.
Hub. Uncleanly scruples! fear not you; look
to 't.
Young lad come forth; I have to say with you.
Arthur. Good-morrow, Hubert.
Hub. Good-morrow little prince.
Arth. As little prince as may be.
You are sad.
Hub. Indeed, I have been merrier.
Arth.
Methinks nobody should be sad but I.
Yet I remember when I was in France,
Young gentlemen would be sad as night
Only for wantonness. By my christendom,
So I were out of prison, and kept sheep,
I should be as merry as the day is long;
And so I would be here, but that I doubt
My uncle practises more harm to me.
He is afraid of me, and I of him.
Is it my fault that I was Jeffrey's son?
No, indeed, it's not; and I would to heaven
I were your son, so you would love me, Hubert.
Hub. (Aside.) If 1 talk to him, with his inno-
He will awake my mercy, which lies dead;
Therefore I will be sudden and despatch.
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert?
In sooth, I would you were a little sick,
That I might sit all night and watch with you.
I warrant I love you more than you do me.
Hub. (Aside.) His words do take possession of my bosom.
Read here, young Arthur.
How now, foolish rheum?
Turning dispiteous torture out of door!
I must be brief, lest resolution drop
|