5. Learning is wealth to the poor, and an ornament to the rich. 6. I have been accused of ambition in presenting this measure. Emphasis of Stress. Emphasis of Stress is either the prevailing Stress intensified or an entire change of Stress. MEDIAN STRESS. 1. O change! O wondrous change! Burst are the prison bars. 2. But all, thou hast all seasons for thine own, O Death. RADICAL STRESS. 1. Whence and what art thou, execrable shape? 2. Be ready, gods, with all your thunder-bolts, dash him to pieces. FINAL STRESS. 1. Back to thy punishment, false fugitive! 2. Thou slave! thou wretch! thou coward! COMPOUND STRESS. 1. Ecstacy! my purse, as yours, doth temperately keep time. 2. Banished from Rome! What's banished but set free from daily contact with the things I loathe? THOROUGH STRESS. 1. O Rome! O Rome! thou hast been a tender nurse to me. 2. Arm! arm! ye heavens, against these perjured kings! Emphasis of Quality. Emphasis of Quality is a change in certain words and phrases, from the prevailing quality to that of some other. This change is usually from a Pure Tone or Orotund to Aspirate, Pectoral, or Guttural. It is a very impressive form of Emphasis. ASPIRATE. 1. And then I cried for vengeance. 2. If I were an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop remained upon my country's shores, I would never lay down my arms. never ! never! PECTORAL OR GUTTURAL. 1. Revenge is stamped upon my spear, Never! 2. O that the slave had forty thousand lives! Emphasis of Pitch. Emphasis of Pitch is a sudden raising or lowering of Pitch on certain words and phrases, either through the Discrete or Concrete Movement. VERY HIGH PITCH. 1. Simpson came up with his face pale as ashes, and said, "Captain, the ship is on fire." Then "Fire! fire! fire!" on shipboard. VERY LOW PITCH. 1. And hark, the deep voices replying, CIRCUMFLEX. 1. O upright judge! Mark, Jew! a learned judge! Emphasis of Movement. Emphasis of Movement is a sudden change on certain words and phrases, from the prevailing movement. VERY SLOW MOVEMENT. 1. Not among the prisoners-Missing! EXAMPLE. [The following selection contains a great variety of Emphasis and several different combinations. The Painter of Seville. SUSAN WILSON. 'Twas morning in Seville; and brightly beamed With young aspirants, his long-cherished art, Who strives his unbought knowledge to impart, The pupils came, and glancing round, Not his own work of yesterday, A sketch, so rich, so pure, so bright, It almost seemed that there were given Tints and expression warm from heaven. A poet's brightest dream was there! Murillo entered, and amazed, On the mysterious painting gazed; "Whose work is this?-speak, tell me!—he Who to his aid such power can call," Exclaimed the teacher eagerly, "Will yet be master of us all; Would I had done it!-Ferdinand! Isturitz! Mendez !-say, whose hand Among ye all?" With half-breathed sigh, Each pupil answered, ""Twas not I!" "How came it then?" impatiently At the summons came A bright-eyed slave, Who trembled at the stern rebuke His master gave. For, ordered in that room to sleep, And faithful guard o'er all to keep, Murillo bade him now declare What rash intruder had been there, And threatened-if he did not tell The truth at once-the dungeon-cell. "Thou answerest not," Murillo said; (The boy had stood in speechless fear.) "Speak on!" At last he raised his head And murmured, "No one has been here." """Tis false!" Sebastian bent his knee, And clasped his hands imploringly, And said, "I swear it, none but me!" "List!" said his master. "I would know The lash shall force you-do you hear? 'Twas midnight in Seville; and faintly shone From one small lamp, a dim uncertain ray Within Murillo's study-all were gone Who there, in pleasant tasks or converse gay, Passed cheerfully the morning hours away. 'Twas shadowy gloom, and breathless silence, save, That to sad thoughts and torturing fear a prey, One bright-eyed boy was there-Murillo's little slave. Almost a child-that boy had seen Not thrice five summers yet, O'er which his locks of jet Profusely curled; his cheek's dark hue "Alas! what fate is mine!" he said, "I'll sleep no more!" he cried; "and now Before my master comes; for then I shall be but a slave again. He seized a brush-the morning light He cried, "Shall I efface it? No! |