Chapter 6 - Modulation (Continued)

Stress | Rhythm | Transition | Climax | Imitative Modulation

STRESS

Force applied to syllables or words is called Stress, and may be Initial, Median, Terminal, Compound, Thorough or Intermittent

INITIAL

1. Go ring the bells and fire the guns, And fling the starry banners out; Shout "Freedom!" till your lisping ones Give back their cradle shout.

2. But it can not, shall not be; this great woe to our beloved country, this catastrophe for the cause of national freedom, this grievous calamity for the whole civilized world, it can not be, it shall not be. No, by the glorious Nineteenth of April, 1775; no, by the precious blood of Bunker Hill, of Princeton, of Saratoga, of King's Mountain, of Yorktown; no, by the dear immortal memory of Washington, that sorrow and shame shall never be.
EVERETT.

3. "Now upon the rebels, charge!" shouts the red-coat officer. They spring forward at the same bound. Look! their bayonets almost touch the muzzles of their rifles. At this moment the voice of the unknown rider was heard: "Now let them have it! Fire 1"
CHARLES SHEPPARD.

4. Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand
and my heart to this vote! Sir, before God I believe the hour is
come. My judgment approves this measure, and my whole heart
is in it. All that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope
in this life, I am now ready to stake upon it; and I leave off as;
I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the declara.
tion. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing of God, it
shall be my dying sentiment: Independence now, and Independ*.
ence forever. WEBSTER.

MEDIAN

1. How beautiful this night! The balmiest sigh,
That vernal zephyrs breathe in evening's ear
Were discord to the speaking quietude,

That wraps this moveless scene. Heaven's ebon vault,
Studded with stars unutterably bright,
Through which the moon's unclouded grandeur rolls,
Seems like a canopy which love has spread
To curtain her sleeping world.
"Queen Mab."  SHELLEY

2. So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan, that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon; but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave,
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.
"Thanatopsis."   BRYANT.

3. And you, ye storms, howl out his greatness! Let your thunders roll like drums in the march of the God of armies! Let your lightnings write his name in fire on the midnight darkness; let the illimitable void of space become one mouth for song; and let the unnavigated ether, through its shoreless depths, bear through the infinite remote the name of him whose goodness endureth forever! SPUBGEON.

4. Father, Thy hand
Hath reared these venerable columns; Thou
Didst weave this verdant roof. Thou didst look down
Upon the naked earth, and forthwith rose
All these fair ranks of trees. They in Thy sun
Budded, and shook their green leaves in Thy breeze,
And shot toward heaven.
"God's First Temples." BRYANT.

TERMINAL

1. But here I stand and scoff you! here I fling
Hatred and full defiance in your face!
Your Consul's merciful; for this all thanks.
He dares not touch a hair of Catiline!
"Catiline's Defiance.''     GEORGE CROLT.

2. It is often said that time is wanted for the duties of religion.
The calls of business, the press of occupation, the cares of life,
will not suffer me, says one, to give that time to the duties of
piety which otherwise I would gladly bestow. Say you this with
out a blush? You have no time, then, for the special service of
that great Being whose goodness alone has drawn out to its
present length your cobweb thread of life, whose care alone has
continued you in possession of that unseen property which you
call your time.   BUCKINGHAM.

3. You've set me talking, sir; I'm sorry;
It makes me wild to think of the change! What do you care for a beggar's story?
Is it amusing? You find it strange? I had a mother so proud of me!
'Twas well she died before Do you know *If the happy spirits in heaven can see
The ruin and wretchedness here below?
"The Vagabonds." TROWBRIDGE.

4. And, Douglas, more I tell thee here,
Even in thy pitch of pride, Here in thy hold, thy vassals near,
I tell thee, thou'rt defied! And, if thou said'st I am not peer To any lord in Scotland here, Lowland or Highland, far or near,
Lord Angus, thou hast lied!

"Marmion and Douglas." SIR WALTER SCOTT.

COMPOUND

1. Gone to be married! gone to swear a peace! It is not so; thou hast misspoke, misheard; Be well advised, tell o'er thy tale again. It cannot be; thou dost but say 't is so.

"Arm, warriors, arm for fight; the foe at hand, Whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit this day."

THOROUGH

1. Ho! sound the tocsin from the tower,
And fire the culverin! Bid each retainer arm with speed,
Call every vassal in!
"The Baron's Last Banquet."     A. G. GREENE

2. I conjure you, by that which you profess (Howe'er you come to know it), answer me. Tho you untie the winds, and let them fight Against the churches; tho the yeasty waves Confound and swallow navigation up; Tho bladed corn be lodged, and trees blown down; Tho castles topple on their warders' heads;

Tho palaces, and pyramids, do slope
Their heads to their foundations; tho the treasure

Of nature's germins tumble all together,
Even till destruction sicken, answer me
To what I ask you.
"Macbeth." SHAKESPEARE

3. And now the martyr is moving in triumphal march, mightier than when alive. BEECHER.

INTERMITTENT

1. Pity the sorrows of a poor old man, Whose trembling limbs have borne him to your door, Whose days are dwindled to the shortest span; Oh! give relief, and Heav'n will bless your store. "The Beggar." THOMAS MOSS.

2. I tax not you, you elements, with unkindness. I never gave you kingdom, called you children. You owe me no subscription. Why, then, let fall Your horrible pleasure? Here I stand, your slave, A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.

3. We buried the old year in silence and sadness. To many it brought misfortune and affliction. The wife hath given her husband and the husband his wife at its stern behest; the father hath consigned to its cold arms the son in whom his life centered, and the mother hath torn from her bosom her tender babe and buried it in her heart in the cold, cold ground.
EDWARD BROOKS.

4. Save me, O God, for the waters are come in unto my soul. I sink in deep mire where there is no standing: I am come into deep water where the floods overflow me. I am weary of my crying; my throat is dried; mine eyes fail while I wait for my God.

RHYTHM

In the reading of both prose and poetry, there is a rhythmic movement that is physiological in its basis. The succession of heavy and light sounds, or accented and unaccented syllables, is in keeping with the action and reaction found in the larynx itself, where an alternate tension and relaxation of the vocal chords takes place. This marking of time is as natural as the beating of the pulse and is essential to musical utterance. Professor Raymond, in "Poetry as a Representative Art," says: "With exceptions, the fewness of which confirms the rule, all of our English words of more than one syllable must necessarily be accented in one way; and all of our articles, prepositions, and conjunctions of one syllable are unaccented, unless the sense very plainly demands a different treatment. These two facts enable us to arrange any number of our words so that accents shall fall on syllables separated by like intervals. The tendency to compare things, and to put like with like, which is in constant operation where there are artistic possibilities, leads men to take satisfaction in this kind of an arrangement; and when they have made it, they have produced rhythm."

1. In slumbers of midnight the sailor boy lay, His hammock swung loose to the sport of the wind: But watch-worn and weary his cares flew away,
And visions of happiness danced o'er his mind. "The Sailor Boy's Dream." DIMOND.

2. For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams Of the beautiful Annabel Lee, And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes Of the beautiful Annabel Lee.

And so all the night-tide I lie down by the side
Of my darling, my darling, my life and my bride,
In her sepnlcher there by the sea,
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
"Annabel Lee."
POE.

3. A hurry of hoofs in a village street, A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark, And beneath from the pebbles, in passing, a spark Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet: That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light, The fate of a nation was riding that night; And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight, Kindled the land into flame with its heat. "Paul Revere's Ride."
LONGFELLOW.

4. When the mists have rolled in splendor
From the beauty of the hills, And the sunshine, warm and tender,
Falls in kisses on the rills, We may read Love's shining letter
In the rainbow of the spray; We shall know each other better
When the mists have rolled away. We shall know as we are known,
Never more to walk alone, In the dawning of the morning,
When the mists have rolled away.

5. Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsel of the wicked
 Nor standeth in the way of sinners,
Nor sitteth in the seat of scoffers:
But his delight is in the law of Jehovah;
And on his law doth he meditate day and night.
And he shall be like a tree planted by the streams of water,
That bringeth forth its fruit in its season, "
Whose leaf also doth not wither;
And whatsoever he doeth shall prosper*

The wicked are not so,
But are like the chaff which the wind driveth away.
Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgment,
Nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous.
For Jehovah knoweth the way of the righteous;
But the way of the wicked shall perish.
"First Psalm."    THE BIBLE.

6. When I do count the clock that tells the time, And see the brave day sunk in hideous night; When I behold the violet past prime, And sable curls all silvered o'er with white; When lofty trees I see barren of leaves, Which erst from heat did canopy the herd, And summer's green all girdled up in sheaves, Borne on the bier with white and bristly beard; Then of thy beauty do I question make, That thou among the wastes of time must go, Since sweets and beauties do themselves forsake, And die as fast as they see others grow; And nothing 'gainst Time's scythe can make defense Save breed, to brave him when he takes thee hence. Shall I compare thee to a summer's day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate: Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May, And summer's lease hath all too short a date. Sometimes too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd; And every fair from fair sometimes declines, By chance, or nature's changing course untrimm'd; But thy eternal summer shall not fade, Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest. So long as men can breathe, or eyes can see, So long lives this, and this gives life to thee. As an unperf ect actor on the stage, Who with his fear is put besides his part, Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage, Whose strength's abundance weakens his own heart; So I, for fear of trust, forget to say The perfect ceremony of love's rite, And in mine own love's strength seem to decay, O'ercharged with burthen of mine own love's might. O, let my books be then the eloquence And dumb presagers of my speaking breast, Who plead for love, and look for recompense, More than that tongue that more hath more expressed. O, learn to read what silent love hath writ: To hear with eyes belongs to love's fine wit. "Sonnets." SHAKESPEARE.

TRANSITION

The abrupt changes and quick contrasts made in the modulations of the voice are called transitions. The ability to make these changes promptly and gracefully is an important element in good reading.

1. Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,

And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows; But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar.
When Ajax strives some rock's vast weight to throw,
The line, too, labors, and the words move slow;
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o'er the unbending corn and skims along the main.
"Essay on Criticism."     POPE.

2. O, how our organ can speak with its many and wonderful
voices!

Play on the soft lute of love, blow the loud trumpet of war, Sing with the high sesquialter, or, drawing its full diapason, Shake all the air with the grand storm of its pedals and stops. STORY.

3. Ever, as on they bore, more loud, And louder rang the pibroch proud. At first the sound, by distance tame, Mellowed, along the waters came; And lingering long by cape and bay, Wailed every harsher note away; When bursting bolder on the ear, The clan's shrill gathering they could hear, Those thrilling sounds, that call the might Of old Clan-Alpine to the fight.

4. How soft the music of those village bells, Falling at intervals upon the ear In cadence sweet, now dying all away, Now pealing loud again and louder still, Clear and sonorous, as the gale comes on. COWPER.

5. When you are enacting a part, think of your voice as a color, and, as you paint your picture (the character you are painting, the scene you are portraying), mix your colors. You have on your palate a white voice, la voix blanche; a heavenly, ethereal or blue voice, the voice of prayer; a disagreeable, jealous, or yellow voice; a steel-gray voice, for quiet sarcasm; a brown voice of hopelessness; a lurid, red voice of hot rage; a deep, thunderous voice of black; a cheery voice, the color of the green sea, that a brisk breeze is crisping; and then there's a pretty little pink voice and shades of violet but the subject is endless. MANSFIELD.

CLIMAX

Climax is the artistic building up of a dramatic effect by means of increased force and intensity.

1. We have petitioned, we have remonstrated, we have supplicated, we have prostrated ourselves at the foot of the throne. PATRICK HENRY.

2. I not only did not say this, but did not even write it; I not only did not write it, but took no part in the embassy; I not only took no part in the embassy, but used no persuasion with the Thebans. "On the Crown." DEMOSTHENES.

3. It is coming fast upon you; already it is near at hand yet a few short weeks, and we may be in the midst of those unspeakable miseries the recollection of which now rends your souls asunder.       LORD ROUGHAM.

4. They must be repealed. You will repeal them. I pledge myself for it that you will in the end repeal them: I stake my reputation on it. I will consent to be taken for an idiot if they are not finally repealed. CHATHAM.

5. Ay, is it so?
Then wakes the power which in the age of iron
Bursts forth to curb the great, and raise the low.
Mark, where she stand: around her form I draw
The awful circle of our solemn Church!
Set but a foot within that holy ground,
And on thy head yea, tho it wore a crown
I launch the curse of Rome!
"Richelieu."
EDWARD BULWER-LYTTON.

6. I impeach Warren Hastings, Esquire, of high crimes and misdemeanors. I impeach him in the name of the Commons of Great Britain, in Parliament assembled, whose parliamentary trust he has betrayed. I impeach him in the name of all the Commons of Great Britain, whose national character he has dishonored. I impeach him in the name of the people of India, whose laws, rights, and liberties he has subverted, whose property he has destroyed, whose country he has laid waste and desolate. I impeach him in the name, and by virtue, of those eternal laws of justice which he has violated. I impeach him in the name of human nature itself, which he has cruelly outraged, injured, and oppressed, in both sexes, in every age, rank, situation and condition of life. "Impeachment of Warren Hastings." EDMUND BURKE.

7. Look to your hearths, my lords!
For there, henceforth, shall sit, for household gods,
Shapes hot from Tartarus; all shames and crimes;
Wan Treachery, with his thirsty dagger drawn;
Suspicion, poisoning his brother's cup;
Naked Rebellion, with the torch and axe,
Making his wild sport of your blazing thrones;
Till Anarchy comes down on you like night,
And massacre seals Rome's eternal grave.
"Catiline's Defiance."     GEORGE CROLY.

8. Then soon he 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 the 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. "The Revolutionary Rising." THOMAS BUCHANAN READ.

9. King Henry.  What's he, that wishes so?
My cousin Westmoreland? No, my fair cousin:
If we are marked to die, we are enough
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men the greater share of honor.
God's will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
By Jove, I am not covetous for gold;
Nor care I who doth feed upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires:
But if it be a sin to covet honor
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, 'faith, my coz, wish not a man from England:
God's peace! I would not lose so great an honor,
As one man more, methinks, would share from me,
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more.
Bather proclaim it, Westmoreland, through my host,
That he which hath no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse:
We would not die in that man's company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Crispian:
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tiptoe when this day is nam'd,
And rouse him at the name of Crispian.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast his neighbors,
And say, "To-morrow is Saint Crispian":

Then will he strip his sleeve, and show his scars,
And say, "These wounds I had on Crispian's day.”
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he'll remember, with advantages,

What feats he did that day: then shall our names,
Familiar in their mouths as household words,
Harry the king, Bedford and Exeter,
Warwick and Talbot, Salisbury and Gloster,
Be in their flowing cups freshly remember'd:
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Crispin Crispian shall ne'er go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered:
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he to-day that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he ne'er so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition:
And gentlemen in England, now a-bed,
Shall think themselves accurs'd they were not here;
And hold their manhoods cheap, whiles any speaks
That fought with us upon SAINT CRISPIN'S DAY.
"Henry V." SHAKESPEARE.

IMITATIVE MODULATION

The melody or sounds of words frequently express their meaning, and this correspondence between sound and sense can be made an effective element in speech. Good taste and a musical ear will best guide the speaker.

1. With sturdy steps came stalking on his sight A hideous giant, horrible and high. "Faerie Queene." SPENSER.

2. There crept A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves.

3. And her step was light and airy
As the tripping of a fairy;
When she spoke, you thought, each minute,
'Twas the trilling of a linnet;
When she sang, you heard a gush
Of full-voiced sweetness like a thrush.
"The Spanish Duel." J. F. WALLER.

4. Hear the sledges with the bells, silver bells,
What a world of merriment their melody foretells!
How they tinkle, tinkle, tinkle in the icy air of night,
While the stars that oversprinkle all the heavens seem to twinkle
With a crystalline delight.
"The Bells." POE.

5. O hark, O hear! how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going; O sweet and far, from cliff and scar,
The horns of Elf land faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Blow, bugle; answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.
"Bugle Song."   TENNYSON.

6. With klingle, klangle, klingle, Way down the dusty dingle, The cows are coming home; Now sweet and clear, and faint and low, The airy tinklings come and go, Like chiming from some far-off tower, Or patterings of an April shower That makes the daisies grow Ko-kling, ko-klang, koklinglelingle, Way down the darkening dingle The cows come slowly home. "When the Cows Come Home." AGNES E. MITCHELII.

7. The Cataract strong then plunges along,
Striking and raging, as if a war waging
Its caverns and rocks among; rising and leaping,
Sinking and creeping, swelling and sweeping,
Showering and springing, flying and flinging,
Writhing and ringing, eddying and whisking,
Spouting and frisking, turning and twisting,
Around and around with endless rebound!
"The Cataract of Lodore." ROBERT SOUTHEY.

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