III. DESCRIPTION OF A STORM. FROM D'ISRAELI. D'ISRAELI is an English writer, who first distinguished himself as an author, but has, for several years, devoted himself to politics. He has been a member of the English ministry and of Parliament. 1. * * * THEY looked round on every side, and hope gave way before the scene of desolation. Immense branches were shivered from the largest trees; small ones were entirely stripped of their leaves; the long grass was bowed to the earth; the waters were whirled in eddies out of the little rivulets; birds, leaving their nests to seek shelter in the crevices of the rocks, unable to stem the driving air, flapped their wings and fell upon the earth; the frightened animals of the plain, almost suffocated by the impetuosity of the wind, sought safety, and found destruction; some of the largest trees were torn up by the roots; the sluices of the mountains were filled, and innumerable torrents rushed down the before empty gullies. The heavens now open, and the lightning and thunder contend with the horrors of the wind. 2. In a moment, all was again hushed. Dead silence succeeded the bellow of the thunder, the roar of the wind; the rush of the waters, the moaning of the beasts, the screaming of the birds. Nothing was heard save the plash of the agitated lake, as it beat up against the black rocks which girt it in. 3. Again, greater darkness enveloped the trembling earth. Anon, the heavens were rent with lightning, which nothing could have quenched but the descending deluge. Cataracts poured down from the lowering firmament. For an instant, the horses dashed madly forward; beast and rider blinded and stifled by the gushing rain, and gasping for breath. Shelter was nowhere. The quivering beasts reared, and snorted, and sank upon their knees, dismounting their riders. 4. He had scarcely spoken, when there burst forth a terrific noise, they knew not what; a rush, they could not understand; a vibration which shook them on their horses. Every terror sank before the roar of the cataract. It seemed that the mighty mountain, unable to support its weight of waters, shook to the foundation. A lake had burst upon its summit, and the cataract became a falling ocean. The source of the great deep appeared to be discharging itself over the range of mountains; the great gray peak tottered on its foundation!It shook!—it fell! and buried in its ruins, the castle, the village, and the bridge! 1. IV. HYMN TO THE NIGHT-WIND. UNBRIDLED SPIRIT, throned upon the lap Of thy most melancholy voice; sublime, Thou ridest on the rolling clouds, which take 2. Daughter of Darkness! when remote the noise 3. When but the watch-dog's voice is heard, or wolves When sleep weighs down the eyelids of the world, Forth from thy cave, wide-roaming, thou dost come Behold! Stemming with eager prow the Atlantic tide, The wings of night brood shadowy; heave the waves 4 5. 6. And many a thought, with troubled tenderness And many a heart its supplicating prayer Breathes forth; meanwhile, the boldest sailor's cheek With a low, insidious moan, Rush past the gales that harbinger thy way, Rolls the deep thunder, with tremendous crash, Amid the severing clouds that pour their storms, Disturbed, arise The monsters of the deep, and wheel around Thou rushest on; and with a maniac tone Sing'st in the rifted shroud; the straining mast Thou churn'st the deep To madness, tearing up the yellow sands V. THE CATARACT OF LODORE. FROM SOUTHEY. ROBERT SOUTHEY, a distinguished English poet, was born in Bristol, in 1774. He wrote upon a great variety of subjects, and was, in 1813, appointed Poet Laureate, a post which he retained till his decease, in March, 1843. [This lesson is inserted on account of its very peculiar adaptation for practice on the difficult sound ing.] How does the water Come down at Lodore? From its sources which well In the tarn on the fell; In the mountains, Its rills and its gills; Through moss and through brake, It runs and it creeps For awhile, till it sleeps In its own little lake. And through the wood-shelter, Hurry-skurry. Here it comes sparkling, On which it is bent, It reaches the place Of its steep descent. The cataract strong As if a war waging Its caverns and rocks among; Rising and leaping, Sinking and creeping, Eddying and whisking, Confounding, astounding, Dizzying and deafening the ear with its sound. Collecting, projecting,. Receding and speeding, And shocking and rocking, And darting and parting, And threading and spreading, And whizzing and hissing, Dividing and gliding and sliding, And falling and brawling and sprawling, |