LITMIR.BIZ

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FOR PRACTISE

      FROM MILTON'S "L'ALLEGRO"

       Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee

       Jest, and youthful Jollity,

       Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles,

       Nods and Becks, and wreathèd Smiles,

       Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,

       And love to live in dimple sleek,—

       Sport that wrinkled Care derides,

       And Laughter holding both his sides.

      Come, and trip it as ye go

       On the light fantastic toe;

       And in thy right hand lead with thee

       The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty:

       And, if I give thee honor due,

       Mirth, admit me of thy crew,

       To live with her, and live with thee,

       In unreprovèd pleasures free;

      To hear the lark begin his flight,

       And singing, startle the dull Night

       From his watch-tower in the skies,

       Till the dappled Dawn doth rise;

       Then to come in spite of sorrow,

       And at my window bid good-morrow

       Through the sweetbrier, or the vine,

       Or the twisted eglantine;

       While the cock with lively din

       Scatters the rear of darkness thin,

       And to the stack, or the barn-door,

       Stoutly struts his dames before;

      Oft listening how the hounds and horn

       Cheerly rouse the slumbering Morn,

       From the side of some hoar hill,

       Through the high wood echoing shrill;

       Sometime walking, not unseen,

       By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,

       Right against the eastern gate,

       Where the great Sun begins his state,

       Robed in flames and amber light,

       The clouds in thousand liveries dight,

       While the plowman near at hand

       Whistles o'er the furrowed land,

       And the milkmaid singing blithe,

       And the mower whets his scythe,

       And every shepherd tells his tale,

       Under the hawthorn in the dale.

      THE SEA

      The sea, the sea, the open sea,

       The blue, the fresh, the fever free;

       Without a mark, without a bound,

       It runneth the earth's wide regions round;

       It plays with the clouds, it mocks the skies,

       Or like a cradled creature lies.

       I'm on the sea, I'm on the sea,

       I am where I would ever be,

       With the blue above and the blue below,

       And silence wheresoe'er I go.

       If a storm should come and awake the deep,

       What matter? I shall ride and sleep.

      I love, oh! how I love to ride

       On the fierce, foaming, bursting tide,

       Where every mad wave drowns the moon,

       And whistles aloft its tempest tune,

       And tells how goeth the world below,

       And why the southwest wind doth blow!

       I never was on the dull, tame shore

      But I loved the great sea more and more,

       And backward flew to her billowy breast,

       Like a bird that seeketh her mother's nest,—

       And a mother she was and is to me,

       For I was born on the open sea.

      The waves were white, and red the morn,

       In the noisy hour when I was born;

       The whale it whistled, the porpoise rolled,

       And the dolphins bared their backs of gold;

       And never was heard such an outcry wild,

       As welcomed to life the ocean child.

       I have lived, since then, in calm and strife,

       Full fifty summers a rover's life,

       With wealth to spend, and a power to range,

       But never have sought or sighed for change:

       And death, whenever he comes to me,

       Shall come on the wide, unbounded sea!

      —Barry Cornwall.

      The sun does not shine for a few trees and flowers, but for the wide world's joy. The lonely pine upon the mountain-top waves its sombre boughs, and cries, "Thou art my sun." And the little meadow violet lifts its cup of blue, and whispers with its perfumed breath, "Thou art my sun." And the grain in a thousand fields rustles in the wind, and makes answer, "Thou art my sun." And so God sits effulgent in Heaven, not for a favored few, but for the universe of life; and there is no creature so poor or so low that he may not look up with child-like confidence and say, "My Father! Thou art mine."—Henry Ward Beecher.

      THE LARK

      Bird of the wilderness,

       Blithesome and cumberless,

       Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!

       Emblem of happiness,

       Blest is thy dwelling-place:

       Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

      Wild is thy lay, and loud,

       Far in the downy cloud,—

       Love gives it energy; love gave it birth.

       Where, on thy dewy wing

       Where art thou journeying?

       Thy lay is in heaven; thy love is on earth.

      O'er fell and fountain sheen,

       O'er moor and mountain green,

       O'er the red streamer that heralds the day;

       Over the cloudlet dim,

       Over the rainbow's rim,

       Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

      Then, when the gloaming comes,

       Low in the heather blooms,

       Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be!

       Emblem of happiness,

       Blest is thy dwelling-place.

       Oh, to abide in the desert with thee!

      —James Hogg.

      In joyous conversation there is an elastic touch, a delicate stroke, upon the central ideas, generally following a pause. This elastic touch adds vivacity to the voice. If you try repeatedly, it can be sensed by feeling the tongue strike the teeth. The entire absence of elastic touch in the voice can be observed in the thick tongue of the intoxicated man. Try to talk with the tongue lying still in the bottom of the mouth, and you will obtain largely the same effect. Vivacity of utterance is gained by

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