This female dog-star of her little sky, Where all beneath her influence droop or die. Oh! wretch without a tear-without a thought, The widow'd couch of fire, that thou hast spread! Then, when thou fain wouldst weary heaven with prayer, Look on thine earthly victims and despair! Down to the dust!-and, as thou rott'st away, Even worms shall perish on thy poisonous clay. PROMETHEUS. BYRON. [Few subjects have had such strong attractions for Painters, Scnlptors and Poets as the fate of this heroic embodiment of the undaunted spirit, rising above corporeal pangs, and asserting its divinity. Byron has seized the noble idea with all his wonderful quickness of conception, and has produced a poem worthy of bis theme. This piece should be declaimed with strength, of voice and dignity of manner.] TITAN! to whose immortal eyes The sufferings of mortality, Seen in their sad reality, Were not as things that gods despise, A silent suffering, and intense; Which speaks but in its loneliness, Titan! to thee the strife was given Which for its pleasure doth create, Was thine-and thou hast borne it well. The fate thou didst so well foresee, That in his hand the lightnings trembled. Thy Godlike crime was to be kind, To render with thy precept less The sum of human wretchedness, And strengthen man with his own mind: But baffled as thou wert from high, Still in thy patient energy, In the endurance, and repulse Of thine impenetrable Spirit, Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse, A mighty lesson we inherit : Thou art a symbol and a sign To Mortals of their fate and force; Like thee, Man is in part divine, A troubled stream from a pure source; His own funereal destiny; His wretchedness, and his resistance, And a firm will, and a deep sense, Its own concenter'd recompense, WASHINGTON. BRYANT. [A fitting tribute to our greatest statesman, from our greatest poet. Should be delivered with a full, sonorous tone.] GREAT were the hearts, and strong the minds, The immortal league of love that binds And deep the gladness of the hour, That noble race is gone; the suns Wide-as our own free race increase- State after state, a mighty train. A PSALM OF LIFE. LONGFELLOW. [This brief poem should be given in a slow, solemn manner. But the reader should carefully avoid falling into a sing-song recitation, which the swinging rhythm of the construction will be apt to lead to.] Tell me not, in mournful numbers, Life is real! Life is earnest ! Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Art is long and time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stont and brave, In the world's broad field of battle, Be not like dumb, driven cattle! Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant! Lives of great men all remind us, Footprints, that perhaps another, A forlorn and shipwrecked brother Let us, then, be up and doing PAUL REVERE'S RIDE. LONGFELLOW. [This spirited poem gives opportunity for many different styles of delivery. First-the calm, but determined, utterance of the brave man's resolve. Second-the whispering description of the churchyard and belfry. Last-in bold, rapid accents should pour out the sharp, ringing description of the impetuous ride.J Listen, my children, and you shall hear Who remembers that famous day and year. He said to his friend,-" If the British march Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch Of the North-Church tower, as a signal-light,One, if by land, and two, if by sea; And I on the opposite shore will be, Ready to ride and spread the alarm Through every Middlesex village and farm, Then he said Good night, and with muffled oar A phantom ship, with each mast and spar |