Your weapons, think on the beseeching eyes, To whet them, could have lent you tears for water! Thrust the unbidden feet, that from their nooks The land that bore you, - 0܂ your wives and babes! Do honor to her! Let her glory in Your breeding! Rescue her! Revenge her, or 7. Rouse ye, Romans! Rouse ye, slaves! ... Have ye brave sons ? - Look in the next fierce brawl Yet this is Rome, Yet, we are ROMANS! Was greater than a king! And once again 8. I have been, I am, I shall be, even to the tomb, the man of the public liberty, the man of the constitution. If to be such be to become the man of the people rather than of the nobles, then woe to the privileged orders! For privileges shall have an end, but... the people... are eternal! 9. Strike till the last armed foe expires! Strike for your altars and Strike your sires! for the green graves of God, and your native land! 10. Now, by your children's cradles, - now, by your fathers' graves, Be men to-day, Quir-i'tēs, or be forever slaves! 11. Courage, Romans! The gods are for us! those gods whose temples and altars the impious Tarquin has profaned. By the blood of the wronged Lucretia, I swear, (hear me, ye Powers Supreme!) by this blood, which was once so pure, and which nothing but royal villainy could have polluted, — I swear that I will pursue, to the death, these Tarquins, with fire and sword; nor will I ever suffer any one of that family, or of any other family whatsoever, to be king in Rome! On, to the Forum! Bear the body hence, high in the public view, through all the streets! On, Romans, on! The fool shall set you free! 12. I'll keep them all; No, if a Scot would save his soul, he shall not: I'll keep them . . . by this hand! § 63. Exercises in Force. (See § 36.) The following Exercises require the loudest vocal Force and highes Pitch. 1. Rescue, my Lord of Norfolk, rescue! rescue! His horse is slain, and all on foot he fights, 2. Rebellious subjects, enemies to peace, (Will they not hear?) - What, ho! you men, you beasts, 3. Rise, fathers, rise! 't is Rome demands your help; Point at their wounds, and cry aloud, To battle! The following speech of Virginius offers a beautiful instance of Transition from loud Force to gentle, and from high tones to the purest and most patnetic low tones. Virginius, it will be remembered, having slain his daughter to save her from the pollution of Appius Claudius, who has claimed her as a slave, is touched with insanity. 4. Lucius. Justice will be defeated. She is immutable, and though all The guilty globe should blaze, she would spring up Its fierceness. But where's Virginia? Will she not come? I'll call her. She'll not dare — Dare? Did I say dare? Poor child! O, when Did my Virginia dare? (Calls.) Virginia! Is it a voice, or nothing, answers me? I hear a sound so fine... there's nothing lives 'Twixt it and silence: such a slender one I've heard when I have talked with her in fancy! The following passages require moderate Force, and at the Dash there should be a Transition from middle Pitch to low, with aspirated quality. 1. So stately her bearing, so proud her array, The main she will traverse for ever and aye. Hush! hush! thou vain dreamer! this hour is her last! 2. A thousand hearts beat happily; and when Music arose with its voluptuous swell, Soft eyes locked love to eyes which spake again, And all went merry as a marriage bell; But hush! hark! a deep sound strikes like a rising knell! 3. Make fast the doors; heap wood upon the fire; Draw in your stools, and pass the goblet round, And be the prattling voice of children heard. Now let us make good cheer! Do I not see, or do I dream I see But what is this? A form that midmost in the circle sits, And foul with... blood O yes! I know it— there Sits DANGER, with his feet upon the hearth! The following should be read with gentle Force and in the purest low tones. 1. FROM THE MAY QUEEN. Tennyson. There's not a flower on all the hills: the frost is on the pane; I only wish to live till the snowdrops come again: I wish the snow would melt, and the sun come out on high; I long to see a flower so, before the day I die. I have been wild and wayward, but you'll forgive me now; You'll kiss me, my own mother, upon my cheek and brow; Nay, nay, you must not weep, nor let your grief be wild, You should not fret for me, mother, you have another child. If I can, I'll come again, mother, from out my resting-place; Though you'll not see me, mother, I shall look upon your face, Though I cannot speak a word, I shall hearken what you say, And be often, often with you when you think I'm far away. |