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Read Ebook: Evolution of Expression Volume 2—Revised A Compilation of Selections Illustrating the Four Stages of Development in Art As Applied to Oratory; Twenty-Eighth Edition by Emerson Charles Wesley
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Ebook has 373 lines and 35192 words, and 8 pages
For the angel of death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still.
And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride; And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown.
And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord!
LORD BYRON.
UNWRITTEN MUSIC.
N. P. WILLIS.
LAUS MORTIS.
Nay, why should I fear Death, Who gives us life and in exchange takes breath? He is like cordial Spring That lifts above the soil each buried thing;--
Like Autumn, kind and brief The frost that chills the branches, frees the leaf. Like Winter's stormy hours, That spread their fleece of snow to save the flowers.
The loveliest of all things-- Life lends us only feet, Death gives us wings! Fearing no covert thrust, Let me walk onward armed with valiant trust.
Dreading no unseen knife, Across Death's threshold step from life to life! Oh, all ye frightened folk, Whether ye wear a crown or bear a yoke,
Laid in one equal bed, When once your coverlet of grass is spread, What daybreak need you fear? The love will rule you there which guides you here!
Where Life, the Sower, stands, Scattering the ages from his swinging hands, Thou waitest, Reaper lone, Until the multitudinous grain hath grown.
Scythe-bearer, when thy blade Harvest my flesh, let me be unafraid! God's husbandman thou art! In His unwithering sheaves, oh, bind my heart.
FREDERIC LAWRENCE KNOWLES.
TAXATION OF THE COLONIES.
EDMUND BURKE.
MY HEART LEAPS UP.
My heart leaps up when I behold A rainbow in the sky: So was it when my life began, So is it now I am a man, So be it when I shall grow old Or let me die! The Child is father of the Man: And I could wish my days to be Bound each to each by natural piety.
WORDSWORTH.
AS YOU LIKE IT.
VITAL SLIDE.
THE RISING IN 1776.
Out of the north the wild news came, Far flashing on its wings of flame, Swift as the boreal light which flies At midnight through the startled skies. And there was tumult in the air, The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat, And through the wide land everywhere The answering tread of hurrying feet; While the first oath of Freedom's gun Came on the blast from Lexington; And Concord, roused, no longer tame, Forgot her old baptismal name, Made bare her patriot arm of power, And swelled the discord of the hour.
Within its shade of elm and oak The church of Berkley Manor stood; There Sunday found the rural folk, And some esteemed of gentle blood. In vain their feet with loitering tread Passed 'mid the graves where rank is naught; All could not read the lesson taught In that republic of the dead.
How sweet the hour of Sabbath talk, The vale with peace and sunshine full Where all the happy people walk, Decked in their homespun flax and wool! Where youth's gay hats with blossoms bloom, And every maid with simple art, Wears on her breast, like her own heart, A bud whose depths are all perfume; While every garment's gentle stir Is breathing rose and lavender.
The pastor came; his snowy locks Hallowed his brow of thought and care; And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks, He led into the house of prayer. The pastor rose; the prayer was strong; The psalm was warrior David's song; The text, a few short words of might,-- "The Lord of hosts shall arm the right!"
He spoke of wrongs too long endured, Of sacred rights to be secured; Then from his patriot tongue of flame The startling words for Freedom came. The stirring sentences he spake, Compelled the heart to glow or quake, And, rising on his theme's broad wing, And grasping in his nervous hand The imaginary battle-brand, In face of death he dared to fling Defiance to a tyrant king.
Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed In eloquence of attitude, Rose, as it seemed, a shoulder higher; Then swept his kindling glance of fire From startled pew to breathless choir; When suddenly his mantle wide His hands impatient flung aside. And, lo! he met their wondering eyes Complete in all a warrior's guise.
A moment there was awful pause,-- When Berkley cried, "Cease, traitor! cease! God's temple is the house of peace!" The other shouted, "Nay, not so, When God is with our righteous cause; His holiest places then are ours, His temples are our forts and towers, That frown upon the tyrant foe; In this, the dawn of Freedom's day, There is a time to fight and pray!"
And now before the open door-- The warrior priest had ordered so-- The enlisting trumpet's sudden roar Rang through the chapel, o'er and o'er, Its long reverberating blow, So loud and clear, it seemed the ear Of dusty death must wake and hear. And there the startling drum and fife Fired the living with fiercer life; While overhead, with wild increase, Forgetting its ancient toll of peace, The great bell swung as ne'er before: It seemed as it would never cease; And every word its ardor flung From off its jubilant iron tongue Was, "WAR! WAR! WAR!"
"Who dares"--this was the patriot's cry, As striding from the desk he came,-- "Come out with me, in Freedom's name For her to live, for her to die?" A hundred hands flung up reply, A hundred voices answered "I!"
T. B. READ.
THE TENT-SCENE BETWEEN BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.
CASSIUS. That you have wronged me doth appear in this: You have condemned and noted Lucius Pella, For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein, my letters were slighted off.
BRUTUS. You wronged yourself, to write in such a case.
CAS. At such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear its comment.
BRU. Let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself Are much condemned to have an itching palm; To sell and mart your offices for gold, To undeservers.
CAS. I an itching palm? You know that you are Brutus that speak this, Or, by the gods, this speech were else your last.
BRU. The name of Cassius honors this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide its head.
CAS. Chastisement?
BRU. Remember March, the ides of March remember! Did not great Julius bleed for justice's sake? What villain touched his body, that did stab, And not for justice?--What! shall one of us, That struck the foremost man of all this world, But for supporting robbers;--shall we now Contaminate our fingers with base bribes? And sell the mighty space of our large honors For so much trash as may be grasped thus? I had rather be a dog, and bay the moon, Than such a Roman.
CAS. Brutus, bay not me: I'll not endure it. You forget yourself, To hedge me in: I am a soldier, I, Older in practice, abler than yourself To make conditions.
BRU. Go to; you're not, Cassius.
CAS. I am.
BRU. I say you are not.
CAS. Urge me no more: I shall forget myself: Have mind upon your health: tempt me no further.
BRU. Away, slight man!
CAS. Is't possible!
BRU. Hear me, for I will speak. Must I give way and room to your rash choler? Shall I be frighted when a madman stares?
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