WORDS OFTEN MISPRONOUNCED

[By accenting the wrong syllable].

If pupils do not know how to accent these words correctly, tell them to

The curfew tolls the knell | of parting dày,
The lowing hérd | winds slowly | o'er the lèa,
The plówman | homeward | plods his weary way,
And leaves the world | to darkness and to mè.

2.

Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight,
And all the áir | a solemn stillness | holds,

Save where the béetle | wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tínklings | lull the distant fòlds;

3.

Save that from yonder | ivy-mantled tówer,

The moping owl | does to the moon | compláin | Of such as, wand'ring near her secret bówer, Molest her ancient solitary rèign.

4.

Beneath those rugged élms, that yew-tree's shade, Where heaves the turf | in many a moldering héap, Each | in his narrow cell forever láid,

The rude forefathers | of the hàmlet | sleep.

5.

The breezy cáll | of incense-breathing mórn,

The swallow twittering | from the straw-built shéd, The cock's shrill clárion, or the echoing hórn,

No more shall rouse them | from their lowly bèd.

6.

For them no more the blazing héarth | shall burn,
Or busy housewife | ply her evening càre;

No children | run | to lisp their sire's retúrn,
Or climb his knées | the envied kiss | to share.

7.

Oft did the hárvest | to their sickle | yield,

Their fúrrow | oft | the stubborn glèbe | has broke; How jocund did they drive their team a-fièld!

How bowed the woods | beneath their sturdy stròke!

8.

Let not Ambition | mock their useful tóil,
Their homely jóys, and destiny | obscure;
Nor Grandeur | hear | with a disdainful smíle |
The short and simple annals of the poor.

9.

The boast of héraldry, the pomp of power,
And all that beaúty, all that wealth | e'er gáve,
Awaits alike | the inevitable hour.

The paths of glóry | lead | but to the gràve.

10.

Nor you, ye proúd, impute to these the fault,
If Memory | o'er their tomb | no trophies raise,
Where, through the long-drawn aisle | and fretted vault,
The pealing anthem | swells the note of pràise.

11.

Can storied úrn or animated búst

Back to its mansion | call the fleeting bréath? Can Honor's voice | provoke the silent dúst,

Or Flattery soothe | the dull, cold ear of Death?

12.

Perhaps in this neglected spot | is laid |

Some héart | once pregnant | with celestial fìre; Hands that the rod of èmpire | might have swàyed, Or waked to écstasy | the living lyre:

13.

But Knowledge | to their eyes | her ample páge,
Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;

Chill Pénury | repressed their noble ráge,
And froze the genial current | of the sòul.

14.

Full many a gem of purest ray serene |

The dark unfathomed caves of òcean | bear; Full many a flower | is born to blush unseén,

And waste its sweetness on the desert àir.

15.

Some village Hampden that, with dauntless bréast,
The little tyrant | of his fields | withstood;
Some mute inglorious Milton | here may rest,
Some Cromwell, guiltless of his country's blood.

16.

The applause of listening senates | to commánd,
The threats of pain and ruin | to despíse,
To scatter plénty | o'er a smiling lánd,

And read their history | in a nation's éyes,

17.

Their lot forbáde; nor circumscribed | alóne |
Their growing virtues, but their crimes | confined;-
Forbade to wade through slaughter | to a thróne,
And shut the gates | of mercy | on mankind,

18.

The struggling pangs of conscious truth | to hide,
To quench the blushes of ingenuous shàme,

Or heap the shrine of Luxury and Príde |
With incense | kindled at the Muse's flame.

19.

Far from the madding crowd's | ignoble strife,
Their sober wishes | never learned to strày;
Along the cool, sequestered vale | of life |
They kept the noiseless tenor of their wày.

20.

Yet even these bones, | from insult | to protéct,
Some frail memórial | still erected nígh,

With uncouth rhymes | and shapeless sculpture | decked,
Implores the passing tribute | of a sìgh.