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Young Spring, bright Summer, Autumn's solemn form,
And Winter, with his aged locks, and breathe,

In mournful cadences, that come abroad

Like the far wind-harp's wild and touching wail,
A melancholy dirge o'er the dead year,

Gone from the earth forever.

For memory and for tears.

Still chambers of the heart,

'Tis a time Within the deep,

a specter dim,

Whose tones are like the wizard voice of Time,
Heard from the tomb of ages, points its cold
And solemn finger to the beautiful

And holy visions that have passed away,

And left no shadow of their loveliness

On the dead waste of life. That specter lifts

The coffin-lid of Hope and Love

And, bending mournfully above the pale,

Sweet forms, that slumber there, scatters dead flowers
O'er what has passed to nothingness.

The year

Has gone, and with it many a glorious throng
Of happy dreams. Its mark is on each brow,
Its shadow in each heart. In its swift course
It waved its scepter o'er the beautiful—
And they are not. It laid its pallid hand
Upon the strong man—
—and the haughty form

Is fallen, and the flashing eye is dim.

It trod the hall of revelry, where thronged
The bright and joyous-and the tearful wail
Of stricken ones is heard, where erst the song
And reckless shouts resounded.


It passed o'er

The battle-plain, where sword and spear and shield
Flashed in the light of midday-and the strength
Of serried hosts is shivered, and the grass,
Green from the soil of carnage, waves above
The crushed and moldering skeleton. It came,
And faded like a wreath of mist at eve;

Yet, ere it melted in the viewless air,
It heralded its millions to their home
In the dim land of dreams.


Remorseless Time! Fierce spirit of the glass and scythe! what power Can stay him in his silent course, or melt His iron heart to pity? On, still on He presses, and forever. The proud bird, The condor of the Andes, that can soar Through heaven's unfathomable depths, or brave The fury of the northern hurricane, And bathe his plumage in the thunder's home, Furls his broad wings at night-fall, and sinks down To rest upon his mountain crag; but Time Knows not the weight of sleep or weariness, And night's deep darkness has no chain to bind His rushing pinions,


Revolutions sweep
O’er earth, like troubled visions o'er the breast
Of dreaming sorrow; cities rise and sink,
Like bubbles on the water; fiery isles
Spring blazing from the ocean, and


back To their mysterious caverns; mountains rear To heaven their bald and blackened cliffs, and bow Their tall heads to the plain; new empires rise, Gathering the strength of hoary centuries, And rush down like the Alpine avalanche, Startling the nations, and the very stars, Yon bright and burning blazonry of God, Glitter awhile in their eternal depths, And like the Pleiad, loveliest of their train, Shoot from the glorious spheres, and pass away, To darkle in their glorious spheres, and pass away, Time, the tomb-builler, holds his fierce career, Dark, stern, all-pitless, and pauses not Amid the mighty wrecks that strew his path, To sit and muse, like other conquerors, Upon the fearful ruin he has wrought.

Energetic Force, Pure Tone, Expulsive and Explosive Forms.



1. Is this a time to be gloomy and sad,

When our mother Nature laughs around,
When even the deep blue heavens look glad,

And gladness breathes from the blossoming ground? 2. The clouds are at play in the azure space,

And their shadows at play on the bright green vale; And here they stretch to the frolic chase,

And there they roll on the easy gale.
3. And looked at the broad-faced sun, how he smiles

On the dewy earth that smiles on his ray,
On the leaping waters and gay young isles;

Ay, look, and he'll smile thy gloom away.



Energetic Force, Orotund Quality, Expulsive Form.

Responsibilities of our Republic.


1. The old world has already revealed to us, in its unsealed books, the beginning and end of all its own marvelous struggles in the cause of liberty. Greece, lovely Greece, “the land of scholars and the nurse of arms,” where sister republics in fair procession chanted the praises of liberty and the gods, where and what is she ? For two thousand years the oppression has bound her to the earth. Her arts are no more. The last sad relics of her temples are but the barracks of a ruthless soldiery; the fragments of her columns and her palaces are in the dust, yet beautiful in ruin. She fell not when the mighty were upon her. Her sons were united at Thermopylæ and Marathon, and the tide of her triumph rolled back upon the Hellespont. She was conquered by her own factions. She fell by the hands of her own people. The man of Macedonia did not the work of destruction. It was already done, by her own corruptions, banishments, and dissensions.

2. Rome, republican Rome, whose eagles glanced in the rising and setting sun, where and what is she? The Eternal City yet remains, proud even in her desolation, noble in her decline, venerable in the majesty of religion, and calm as in the composure of death. The malaria has but traveled in the paths worn by her destroyers. More than eighteen centuries have mourned over the loss of her empire. A mortal disease was upon her vitals before Cæsar had crossed the Rubicon. The Goths and Vandals and Huns, the swarms of the North, completed only what was already begun at home. Romans betrayed Rome. The legions were bought and sold, but the people offered the tribute-money. When we reflect on what has been and is, how is it possible not to feel a profound sense of the responsibleness of this republic to all future ages! What vast motives press upon us for lofty efforts! What brilliant prospects invite our enthusiasm! What solemn warnings at once demand our vigilance and moderate our confidence!

1. Define Energetic Force.


2. When combined with Orotund, Effusive Form, what styles of thought and feeling may be appropriately expressed?

3. What, when combined with Pure Tone, Expulsive and Explosive? 4. What, when with Orotund, Expulsive Form?

5. With what other Qualities and Forms may it be combined?

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5. Selections. "Closing year." "Spring." "Responsibilities of our


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1. Lo, the poor Indian!

2. Little lads looking about.

3. Learned lads like long lessons.

4. Leaves have their time to fall.

5. Leave me, leave me to die alone.

Impassioned Force.

Impassioned is the degree of Force heard in the expression of violent and imptuous emotion.

To cultivate Impassioned Force repeat each of the elements, words, and sentences twelve times, beginning with the mildest sound that can be given in Effusive Form, Pure Tone, Subdued Force, and gradually increasing with each repetition, retaining the same pitch as nearly as possible.




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