All audio files can be found on our catalog page: https://librivox.org/a-snow-storm-by-thomas-frederick-young/
Each week a poem is chosen to be recorded by as many LibriVox volunteers as possible!Pedantic critics may find fault with my modest productions, and perhaps justly, in regard to grammatical construction, and mechanical arrangement, but I shall be satisfied, if the public discern a vein of true poetry glittering here and there through what I have just written. The public are the final judges of compositions of this sort, and not the writer himself, or his personal friends. It is they, therefore, who must decide whether these humble attempts of my 'prentice hand, shall be numbered with writings that have been forgotten, or whether their author shall be encouraged to strike his lyre in a higher key, to accompany his Muse, while she tries to sing in a loftier strain.
PORT ALBERT, March, 1887.
This week's poem can be found here.
Set your recording software to:
Channels: 1 (Mono)
Bit Rate: 128 kbps
Sample Rate: 44100 kHz
Have questions on "how"?
Check LV's Recording Notes thread before recording. If this is your first recording, you'll also find this Newbie Guide to Recording useful.
Begin your reading with the abbreviated LibriVox disclaimer:
No more than 0.5 to 1 second of silence at the beginning of the recording!
Then read the poem:A Snow Storm by T. F. Young, read for LibriVox.org by [your name].
[Add, if you wish, date, your location, and/or your personal url.]
I hear the wintry wind again,
I see the blinding snow,
Pil'd high, by eddying winds, in heaps,
No matter where I go.
The storm is raging hard, without;
But let us not complain,
For fiercely tho' it rages now,
A calm will come again.
And, though the wildly raging storm
Makes all things bleak and bare,
Beside the fire we brave it well,
And closer draw our chair.
In social fellowship, our hearts
With kindly thoughts grow warm;
Then is there not a pleasant side,
E'en to a raging storm?
And when the angry storm has calm'd,
As ev'ry storm must do,
Then, sure, the tempest's handiwork,
Has pleasant features, too.
An artist's eye would look around,
Upon these calmer days,
And view the pure white heaps of snow,
With pleas'd and puzzl'd gaze.
Like purest marble, deftly carv'd,
They stretch o'er vale and hill,
Fair monuments, not made by man,
But rear'd by nature's skill.
The sweeping curve, the graceful arch,
The line so firm and free;
A skilful sculptor well might say:
"Can this teach aught to me?"
The trees are rob'd in purest white,
And gleaming atoms shine
From out the snow, beneath the sun,
Like stones from Ophir's mine.
The merry shouts of busy men
Sound, as they dig the snow;
And, when the way is clear, the bells
With joyful jingle, go.
Then who shall say the tempest's work
Brings more of pain than joy;
Or that the evil things, to us
Are pain, without alloy?
At the end of your reading, leave a space and then say:
End of poem. This recording is in the public domain.
Please leave 5 seconds of silence at the end of your recording.
Save your recording as an mp3 file using the following filename and ID3 tag format:
File name - all in lowercase: snowstorm_young_your initials in lowercase_128kb.mp3
(e.g. snowstorm_young_klh_128kb.mp3 )
ID3 tags (Version 2.30): ID Tags are completed during Cataloging
*Readers, please check back in a day or so for any feedback regarding your reading.
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(If you wish to contribute, please have your readings submitted by 0600 GMT Sunday, January 13, 2109. (12:00AM CDT)
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