human
The orator who would do justice to a great theme or a great occasion must thoroughly study and understand the subject; he must accurately and, if possible, minutely digest in writing beforehand the substance, and even the form, of his address; otherwise, though he may speak ably, he will be apt not to make in all respects an able speech. He must entirely possess himself beforehand of the main things which he wishes to say, and then throw himself upon the excitement of the moment and the sympathy of the audience. In those portions of his discourse which are didactic or narrative, he will not be likely to wander, in any direction, far from his notes; although even in those portions new facts, illustrations, and suggestions will be apt to spring up before him as he proceeds. But when the topic rises, when the mind kindles from within, and the strain becomes loftier, or bolder, or more pathetic, when the sacred fountain of tears is ready to overflow, and audience and speaker are moved by one kindred sympathetic passion, then the thick-coming fancies cannot be kept down, the storehouse of the memory is unlocked, images start up from the slumber of years, and all that the orator has seen, read, heard, or felt returns in distinct shape and vivid colors. The cold and premeditated text will no longer suffice for the glowing thought. The stately, balanced phrase gives place to some abrupt, graphic expression, that rushes unbidden to his lips. The unforeseen incident or locality furnishes an apt and speaking image; and the discourse instinctively transposes itself into a higher key.
gpt
Whither away? Shall we sail or stay? Whither away, I said,
human
Into the sunset's glory of gold and passion of rose-red? Over the water changed to wine and into the sky we slip, But never a fairer shore than this shall find our buoyant ship, Not though by shadowy Arcady we drop the anchor at last, And in the dusk our weary sails come rattling down the mast. Into the dark steals off the bark: let us stay in our bridal June: Whither away should lovers stray from the Island of Honeymoon?
gpt
O far away in the dying day, and farther away, she cried,
human
Ere the glory of gold has faded yet or the passion of rose-red died, O far away from the happier present visit the happy past, Though never shall our ghostly sails die down the shadowy mast: For we will flit by the twilight land and name the places fair, But set no foot on the shore, she cried,