And striped its pure, celestial white Who rear'st aloft thy regal form, Flag of the brave! thy folds shall fly, Like shoots of flame on midnight's pall; Each gallant arm that strikes below That lovely messenger of death. Flag of the seas! on ocean wave Flag of the free heart's hope and home, Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, And all thy hues were born in heaven. For ever float that standard sheet! Where breathes the foe but falls before us, "The American Flag." BRILLIANCY OF TONE 1. "Bell" exercise. Inhale deeply and fully; compress the air against the closed lips until they burst open on the word bell. Immediately place the tongue against the roof of the mouth to utter the sound of l, and hold the sound as long as possible, allowing it to die away very gradually in force. Avoid breathiness and violence in the explosion. Remember that the motive power should come from the abdominal muscles, and on no account from the throat. Practise this exercise rather gently at first, but later it can be done with increased sharpness and force. 2. "Bel1" resonance. This is similar to the last exercise, but an effort is made to increase the vibration of the voice while dwelling on the letter l. This can be done by making the voice tremble and by manipulating the tongue slightly. Aim also to bring the head resonance more particularly into play. 3. "Bell" varied. Repeat the first exercise in great variety. Take first the middle pitches of the voice, then the upper and lower keys. Practise considerably on the very low pitches, aiming at clearness. Strike the word bell several times in quick succession. Imitate the striking of a bell, by clear-cut blows, by swells of the voice, and other effects as they suggest themselves. EXAMPLES FOR PRACTISE IN BRILLIANCY 1. Hear the sledges with the bells-silver bells— All the heavens, seem to tinkle with a crystalline delight; Hear the mellow wedding-bells, golden bells! What a world of happiness their harmony foretells! Through the balmy air of night how they ring out their delight! From the molten-golden notes, and all in tune, What a liquid ditty floats To the turtle-dove that listens, while she gloats on the moon! Oh, from out the sounding cells, What a gush of euphony voluminously wells! How it swells! how it dwells On the Future! how it tells of the rapture that impels To the swinging and the ringing of the bells, bells, bells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells To the rhyming and the chiming of the bells! Hear the loud alarum bells-brazen bells! What a tale of terror, now, their turbulency tells! In the startled ear of night How they scream out their affright! Too much horrified to speak, They can only shriek, shriek, out of tune, In a clamorous appealing to the mercy of the fire, By the side of the pale-faced moon. Oh, the bells, bells, bells! What a tale their terror tells of despair! How they clang, and clash, and roar! What a horror they outpour On the bosom of the palpitating air! Yet the air, it fully knows, By the twanging and the clanging, How the danger ebbs and flows; yet the ear distinctly tells In the jangling and the wrangling, How the danger sinks and swells, By the sinking or the swelling in the anger of the bells of the bells Of the bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells, bells In the clamor and the clangor of the bells! Hear the tolling of the bells-iron bells! What a world of solemn thought their monody compels! In the silence of the night, How we shiver with affright At the melancholy menace of their tone! For every sound that floats From the rust within their throats is a groan. And the people-ah, the people— They that dwell up in the steeple, all alone, And who tolling, tolling, tolling, in that muffled monotone, Feel a glory in so rolling on the human heart a stone They are neither man nor woman— They are neither brute nor human-they are Ghouls: And their king it is who tolls; And he rolls, rolls, rolls, rolls a pæan from the bells! Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme, Keeping time, time, time, in a sort of Runic rhyme, To the moaning and the groaning of the bells. "The Bells." EDGAR ALLAN POE. 2. Thus saying, from her side the fatal key, With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, Excelled her power; the gates wide open stood, Under spread ensigns marching, might pass through JOHN MILTON. |