These specimens of pauses in Shakspere's verse indicate the natural varieties of dramatic form. In such cases the pause often occurs between speeches, or where some action is to be understood as filling the time; as in the second instance, where the accolade is given in the middle of the line. (See Abbott's _Shakespearian Grammar_, pp. 413 ff.) ‸ Break, ‸ break, ‸ break, On thy cold gray stones, O Sea! And I would that my tongue could utter The thoughts that arise in me. (TENNYSON: _Break, Break, Break._) In Lanier's _Science of English Verse_, p. 101, this stanza is represented in musical notation, with rests, to show that rhythm "may be dependent on silences." Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And never brought to mind? Should auld acquaintance be forgot, And auld ‸ lang ‸ syne? (BURNS: _Auld Lang Syne._) Here the syllables "auld" and "lang" may be regarded as lengthened so as to fill the time of the missing light syllables. So in many cases there is a choice between compensatory lengthening and compensatory pause. Thus ‸ said the Lord ‸ in the Vault above the Cherubim, Calling to the angels and the souls in their degree: "Lo! Earth has passed away On the smoke of Judgment Day. That Our word may be established shall We gather up the sea?" Loud ‸ sang the souls ‸ of the jolly, jolly mariners: "Plague upon the hurricane that made us furl and flee! But the war is done between us, In the deep the Lord hath seen us-- Our bones we'll leave the barracout', and God may sink the sea!" (KIPLING: _The Last Chantey._) This is an instance of a pause forming a regular part of the verse-rhythm. Thus in the first verse of each stanza the second and sixth syllables are omitted, and the result gives the characteristic effect of the rhythm. In measures where there is regular catalexis (that is, where the last light syllable of the verse is regularly omitted) the phenomenon is really of the same kind. These, these will give the world another heart, And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum Of mighty workings?---- Listen awhile, ye nations, and be dumb. (Keats: _Sonnet to Haydon_.) Call her once before you go,-- Call once yet! In a voice that she will know,-- "Margaret! Margaret!" Children's voices should be dear (Call once more) to a mother's ear; Children's voices, wild with pain,-- Surely she will come again! Call her once, and come away; This way, this way!... Come, dear children, come away down: Call no more! One last look at the white-walled town, And the little gray church on the windy shore; Then come down! She will not come, though you call all day; Come away, come away! (MATTHEW ARNOLD: _The Forsaken Merman_.)