In low pitch, read somewhat lower than middle pitch, and make as full a tone as you can.
In very low pitch, read as low in pitch as you can with ease, and do not try to make it loud or full until you have had considerable practice. Don't pinch or strain the throat: if you do, the quality will be bad.
HIGH PITCH.
1. Merrily swinging on brier and weed,
Near to the nest of his little dame,
Over the mountain-side or mead,
Robert of Lincoln is telling his name,—
Bob-o-link, bob-o-link,
Spink, spank, spink!
Snug and safe is that nest of ours
Hidden among the summer flowers:
Chee, chee, chee!
2. Oh! did you see him riding down,
And riding down, while all the town
Came out to see, came out to see,
And all the bells rang mad with glee?
Oh! did you hear those bells ring out,
The bells ring out, the people shout?
And did you hear that cheer on cheer
That over all the bells rang clear?
3. I am that merry wanderer of the night:
I jest to Oberon, and make him smile,
When I, a fat and bean-fed horse, beguile,
Neighing in likeness of a silly foal.
And sometimes lurk I in a gossip's bowl,
In very likeness of a roasted crab;
And, when she drinks, against her lips I bob,
And on her withered dew-lap pour the ale.
MIDDLE PITCH.
1. The honey-bee that wanders all day long
The field, the woodland, and the garden o'er,
To gather in his fragrant winter-store,
Humming in calm content his quiet song,
Sucks not alone the rose's glowing breast,
The lily's dainty cup, the violet's lips;
But from all rank and noisome weeds he sips
The single drop of sweetness ever pressed
Within the poison chalice. Thus, if we
Seek only to draw forth the hidden sweet
In all the varied human flowers we meet
In the wide garden of Humanity,
And, like the bee, if home the spoil we bear,
Hived in our hearts, it turns to nectar there.
2. Now the laughing, jolly Spring began to show her buxom face in the bright morning. The buds began slowly to expand their close winter folds, the dark and melancholy woods to assume an almost imperceptible purple tint; and here and there a little chirping blue-bird hopped about the orchards. Strips of fresh green appeared along the brooks, now released from their icy fetters; and nests of little variegated flowers, nameless, yet richly deserving a name, sprang up in the sheltered recesses of the leafless woods.