Outlines of the art of elocution

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London, 1883 - 142 oldal
 

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65. oldal - Ring out the grief that saps the mind, For those that here we see no more : Ring out the feud of rich and poor, Ring in redress to all mankind. Ring out a slowly dying cause, And ancient forms of party strife: Ring in the nobler modes of life, With sweeter manners, purer laws.
54. oldal - Besides, sir, we have no election. If we were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and slavery ! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be heard on the plains of Boston ! The war is inevitable ; and let it come ! I repeat it, sir, let it come ! It is in vain, sir, to extenuate the matter. Gentlemen may cry, peace, peace ! — but there is no peace.
44. oldal - Keen as are the arrows Of that silver sphere, Whose intense lamp narrows In the white dawn clear Until we hardly see, we feel that it is there.
71. oldal - tis his will : Let but the commons hear this testament, (Which, pardon me, I do not mean to read) And they would go and kiss dead Caesar's wounds, And dip their napkins in his sacred blood ; Yea, beg a hair of him for memory, And, dying, mention it within their wills, Bequeathing it, as a rich legacy, Unto their issue.
27. oldal - Now strike the golden lyre again : A louder yet, and yet a louder strain ! Break his bands of sleep asunder And rouse him like a rattling peal of thunder. Hark, hark ! the horrid sound Has raised up his head : As awaked from the dead And amazed he stares around. Revenge, revenge...
73. oldal - But, as you know me all, a plain blunt man, That love my friend ; and that they know full well That gave me public leave to speak of him : For I have neither wit,* nor words, nor worth, Action, nor utterance, nor the power of speech, To stir men's blood : I only speak right on...
72. oldal - If you have tears, prepare to shed them now. You all do know this mantle. I remember The first time ever Caesar put it on ; 'Twas on a summer's evening, in his tent ; That day he overcame the Nervii. — Look ! in this place, ran Cassius...
63. oldal - Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much ; Who, born for the Universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind.
29. oldal - The sound must seem an echo to the sense : Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows, And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar : When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labors, and the words move slow: Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain, Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the main.
78. oldal - Thou too, hoar Mount! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene Into the depth of clouds, that veil thy breast— Thou too again, stupendous Mountain! thou That as I raise my head, awhile bowed low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears...

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