2. Over the dim cloudlet, soar, musical cherub, singing, away! o'er fountain sheen and fell, o'er green mountain and moor, o'er the red streamer that heralds the day, over the rainbow's rim. (Six lines; four dimeters and two trimeters, the third line rhyming with the sixth, the others, in couplets.) 3. Let the trumpets, lads, be suing for us: to pleasure calling; calling to ruin! Our life is stormy; such is its boon. (Six lines, dimeter -catalectic.) 4. To the chief who advances in triumph, hail! Be the ever-green pine blest and honored! may the tree, in his banner that glances, the shelter and grace of our line, long flourish! (Four lines, tetrametercatalectic-rhyming alternately.) EXERCISE LXXVIII. The following extracts are intended to illustrate some of the varieties of meter and stanza. Bring in the passages copied on paper, with the versification marked. In marking the versification, mark first each accented syllable and then mark the others as unaccented. When a number of lines in any piece have been thus marked, determine whether the movement is Iambic, Trochaic, Anapestic, or Dactylic, and divide it off accordingly into feet. The proper designation should then be given to the verse, as being Iambic, Trochaic, etc., and as being monometer, dimeter, trimeter, tetrameter, etc. Thus in the following lines, the first is Iambic trimeter; the second is Trochaic tetrameter; the third is Anapestic tetrameter; the fourth is Dactylic trimeter-catalectic: 1. | Stand up | and bless | the Lord. | 2. | Who are | in those | graves we | know not. | 3. | At the dead | of the night | a sweet vision I saw. | 4. | Ferry me | over the | ferry. | In the case of rhyming passages, the rhyme should be described as being in couplets, quatrains, sonnet-meter, etc., and the formula for the rhyme and stanza should be given. 1. Italy, loved of the sun, Wooed of the sweet winds and wed by the sea, Was other inheritance like unto thee?-Bayard Taylor. 2. I know not where his islands lift Their fronded palms in air; Beyond his love and care. - Whittier. 3. When breezes are soft and skies are fair, 4. I thought the sparrow's note from heaven, I brought him home, in his nest, at even; He sings the song, but it cheers not now, He sang to my ear,-they sang to my eye.-Emerson. 5. If our faith in Thee was shaken, 6. Willows whiten, aspens quiver, Flowing down to Camelot. Overlook a space of flowers, The Lady of Shalott. - Tennyson. 7. Day after day, day after day, We stuck, nor breath nor motion; 8. Rarely, rarely, comest thou, Spirit of Delight: 9. Launch thy bark, mariner! 10. I'll not leave thee, thou lone one, Thy leaves o'er the bed, Lie scentless and dead.-Moore. 11. When reposing that night on my pallet of straw, By the wolf-scaring fagot that guarded the slain, At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw, And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.-Campbell. 12. Touch us gently, Time! We've not proud nor soaring wings: Our ambition, our content Lies in simple things. Rhet.-31. Humble voyagers are we, 13. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane-as I do here. Byron. 14. Dwell within us, blessed Spirit; Where thou art, no ill can come; 15. O then shall the veil be removed, And round me Thy brightness be poured; 16. The Lord my Shepherd is; What can I want beside ?- Watts. 17. The Lord himself, the mighty Lord, 18. My God, permit me not to be 19. Hail to the brightness of Zion's glad morning; 20. Who knows the errors of his thoughts? 21. Swell the anthem, raise the song; 22. In Death's kindly bosom our last hope remains: The dead fear no tyrants; the grave has no chains. 23. 'Tis the wink of an eye, 'tis the draught of a breath, 24. Creep into thy narrow bed, Creep, and let no more be said! Vain thy onset, all stands fast. Thou thyself must break at last.-Arnold. 25. Christmas is here; Winds whistle shrill, Icy and chill. Little care we; Little we fear Weather without, Sheltered about The mahogany-tree. - Thackeray. 26. Break, break, break, At the foot of thy crags, O Sea! But the tender grace of a day that is dead Will never come back to me.- Tennyson. |