PLATFORM
PIECES
OR SIXTH YEAR PUPILS
HENRY GAINES HAWN
Class
Book
GopyrigM?..
CQHRIGHT DEPOSED
PLATFORM PIECES
COMPILED AND ANNOTATED
FOR THE SIXTH GRADE
BY
HENRY GAINES HAWN
president of the hawn school of the speech arts, carnegie
hall, new york city) dramatic instructor, cornell university
masque; special lecturer, Brooklyn institute of arts and sciences;
ex-president of the national speech arts association; ex-presi-
dent of the new york state association of elocutionists; former
instructor of elocution, polytechnic institute, brooklyn, new york
author of "diction for singers and composers"
D. C. HEATH AND COMPANY
BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO
Hit.
COPYRIGHT, 191 7> BY
D. C. HEATH AND COMPANY
I A?
V .'
FEB -7 1917
©CU455472
rv uo I ,
PREFACE
This volume aims to justify its title. The selections are
made with reference to their fitness for platform presentation.
Two vital questions arise in making compilations for children:
first, how near to the child's mentality shall the literature
approach; second, to what extent shall it be what is known
popularly as "good literature." As an answer to the first
question the author holds that the only wise thing here, as in all
departments of education, is to keep a little in advance of the
young mind — to give it something to which it must climb.
The second query must be answered by the emphatic statement
that a piece of writing, expressed in good English, which por-
trays with approximate truthfulness any phase of life is "good
literature," even though its author be unknown to fame.
The question as to the wisdom of using dialect selections in
schoolroom exercises is a much mooted one. Generally speaking,
pure English is to be preferred; but a judicious use of dialect
selections brings about a co-ordination between speech and the
mental ear and corrects much bad usage in the normal speech,
by enabling the pupil to hear, for the first time, his own distor-
tions in phonetics. These dialect selections are also true to life
and therefore have a distinct artistic value, and, moreover,
they lend variety to the program.
The suggestions for the interpretation of the selections in this
book are not rules, to be invariably followed. Rather it is in-
tended that the teacher be true to his own conception, and
that the student, likewise, be permitted and even encouraged
to use his own mind. These suggestions will show the impor-
tance of getting a conception of the selection as a whole before
iv PREFACE
attempting to give the selection. It may be stated that the
detailed hints on delivery are consistent with the present writer's
understanding of each selection.
The simple yet comprehensive outline, in the last chapter, of
the laws of oral and other physical expression of thought is
offered with the assurance that, if these laws are obeyed, the
resulting interpretation will be artistic — at least in form.
The principles of expression must be understood as a whole,
not memorized nor tabulated, but thoroughly sensed; and,
except in the rare case of a student of actually defective speech,
no special exercise should be practiced to acquire any one
element. Even enunciation so practiced tends to produce
offensive affectation.
With a closing word of endorsement of the renewed interest
— at present almost at flood tide — in the drama and in pag-
eantry, the author trusts that neither will be allowed to sup-
plant the good old custom of memorizing and delivering
individual gems of thought by the individual student.
HENRY GAINES HAWN
NEW YORK CITY,
September 30, 1916.
CONTENTS
Author's Preface
PAGE
iii
I. PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS
What Constitutes a State? .... Sir William Jones .
Our Country Thos. Smith Grimke .
The Mayflower Edward Everett . . .
Boston Boys Nora Perry
Paul Revere 's Rede Henry W. Longfellow
The Unknown Speaker Anonymous ....
Concord George W. Curtis . .
Warren's Address John Pierpont . . .
Independence Bell Anonymous ....
The Rising in 1776 Thos. Buchanan Read
Nathan Hale Francis Miles Finch .
Mollie Pitcher Kate Brownlee Sherwood
The Vow of Washington John G. Whittier . .
Washington's Birthday Daniel Webster . . .
Washington Monument Robert C. Winthrop .
Lincoln Charles H. Fowler . .
Abraham Lincoln William E. Pulsifer .
General Grant to the Army . . . Ulysses S. Grant . .
The Roll-Call N. G. Shepherd . . .
Decoration Day Albert Bigelow Paine
Forgp/e — Forget Anonymous ....
God Save Our Native Land . . . Julius H. Seelye . .
The Flag Goes By Henry Holcomb Bennett
Endurance of the Republic . . . William E. Pulsifer .
The Flag that Makes Men Free . Kate Brownlee Sherwood
Give Us Men Bishop of Exeter . .
Arnold Winkelried James Montgomery
A Patriot's Last Speech Robert Emmet . . .
Marco-Bozzaris Fitz-Greene Halleck
The Charge of the Light Brigade at
Balaklava Alfred Tennyson .
1
2
2
4
7
11
13
15
16
18
20
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
3i
3i
S3
34
36
37
39
40
43
44
46
H. HUMOROUS SELECTIONS
Father Land and Mother Tongue Samuel Lover 49
The Twins Henry S. Leigh 5°
vi CONTENTS
/.
My Greataunt's Portrait .... Anonymous 51
The Aged Stranger; or I Was With
Grant F. Bret Harte 52
The Ballad of the Oysterman . . Oliver Wendell Holmes ... 54
The Walrus and the Carpenter . Lewis Carroll 55
A Gentle Man J.W. Foley 59
The Christmas Turkey Anonymous 61
Here She Goes — And There She
Goes James Nack 62
m. NARRATIVE SELECTIONS
A Story of the Barefoot Boy . . John Towns end Trowbridge . 68
Tom Constance Fenimore Woolson 71
The Stranger's Alms Henry Abbey 73
Tidings of the Atlantic John B. Gough 74
The Light on Deadman's Bar . . Eben Eugene Rexford ... 75
A Tragedy of the North Sea . . Joseph C. Powell 79
The Wreck of Rivermouth .... John G. Whittier 81
The Rescue Anonymous 83
The Pride of Battery "B" . . . Frank H. Gas s away .... 85
Bay Billy Frank H. Gassaway .... 88
The Pipes at Lucknow John G. Whittier 91
The Victor of Marengo Anonymous 94
The Legend of Bregenz Adelaide Anne Procter ... 96
The Battle of Ivry Thos. Babington Macaulay . 100
Tubal-Cain Charles Mackay 102
Lochinvar Sir Walter Scott 104
The Fight of Paso Del Mar . . . Bayard Taylor 106
IV. ORATORICAL SELECTIONS
The True Glory of a Nation . . E. P. Whipple 109
A Nation's Strength Ralph Waldo Emerson ... no
The Sons of New England .... Loring in
The Pilgrim Fathers Felicia Dorothea Hem an s . . 112
The Power of Free Ideas .... George W. Curtis 113
The People of the United States S. Grover Cleveland .... 115
Public Opinion Wendell Phillips 117
The Reformer Horace Greeley 118
Building the Temple John B. Gough 119
The Triumph of the War .... George W. Curtis 1 20
Abraham Lincoln H.C. Doming 121
Abraham Lincoln Julia Ward Howe 123
Address at Gettysburg Abraham Lincoln 124
CONTENTS
Vll
What's Hallowed Ground? .... Thomas Campbell 125
Women, Victims of War Junius Henri Browne ... 126
Wanted, A Boy Anonymous 127
The Lesson of the Hour 0. D. Robinson 128
The Present Age Victor Hugo 129
V. PATHETIC SELECTIONS
The Picket Guard Lamar Fontaine
... 131
Robert Southey 133
Victor Hugo 135
The Battle of Blenheim . . .
At the Barricade
Two Words
The Arrow and the Song . .
The Dog
The Boy who Didn't Pass . .
Smiting the Rock Thos. Dunn English
Somebody's Mother Anonymous 142
Anonymous .
Henry W. Longfellow
Senator Vest . . . .
Anonymous . . . .
136
•137
137
139
140
VI. DRAMATIC SELECTIONS
Lament of a Little Girl . . .
The Weaker Sex
Boys' and Girls' Rights . . .
The Wind and the Moon . . .
The Windmill Henry W. Longfellow
Rienzi's Address M . R. Mitford . . .
The Cry of Little Brothers . . . Ethelred Breeze Barry
Hiawatha's Sailing Henry W. Longfellow
Anonymous . .
Belle Fliegelman
Anonymous . .
George Macdonald
145
146
147
149
151
152
154
155
VH. NATURE SELECTIONS
The Great Wide World
The Laughing Chorus ......
Discontent
The Petrifled Fern
Who Plants a Tree ,
Apple Blossoms
Home Thoughts from Abroad . .
Our Good Old World
The Day is Done
Where Should the Scholar Live?.
Small Beginnings
The Fountain
Purity of Character
William Brighty Rands
Anonymous ....
Anonymous ....
Mrs. M. B. Branch .
Lucy Larcom ....
William Wesley Martin
Robert Browning . .
Wilbur D. Nesbit . .
Henry W . Longfellow
Henry W . Longfellow
Charles Mackay . . .
James Russell Lowell
Henry Ward Beecher
159
160
161
162
164
165
166
167
168
170
172
i73
174
viii CONTENTS
VIII. ETHICAL SELECTIONS
Columbus Joaquin Miller 176
The Head and the Heart .... John G. Saxe 178
If I Knew Anonymous 179
So Little Anonymous 179
Have You a Sand Pile? Anonymous 180
I Can and I Can't Anonymous 181
It Couldn't Be Done Anonymous 182
Opportunity Speaks William J. Lampton .... 183
Don't Give Up Phoebe Cary 185
The Miller of the Dee Charles Mackay 186
The Spur of Failure Anonymous 187
Gradatim Josiah Gilbert Holland ... 188
A Happy World Anonymous 189
A Prayer Anonymous 189
Smile Anonymous 190
The Current of Life Anonymous 191
The Psalm of Life Henry W. Longfellow . . . 192
The Smaller Things Reynale Smith Pickering . . 193
Temperance Yates 194
An Aim Anonymous 195
Self-Culture Anonymous 197
What Is Your Niche? Anonymous 197
The Camel's Nose L.H. Sigourney 198
The Fox and the Cat Anonymous 199
Be True Anonymous 200
Unnoticed and Unhonored Heroes William Ellery Channing . . 201
The Unnoted Heroes S. E. Riser 202
Rise Above It Anonymous 203
Ultima Veritas Washington Gladden .... 205
Three Words of Strength . . . . J. C. F. von Schiller .... 206
We've All Our Angel Side .... Anonymous 207
Up Higher Joseph Bert Smiley .... 208
There's a Good Time Coming . . Charles Mackay 209
The Whirling Wheel Tudor Jenks 210
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION
Introductory 213
The Science of Speech 213
The Art of Speech 223
The Phonetics of Speech 224
Some Matters of Basic Importance in Interpretation .... 235
PLATFORM PIECES
PLATFORM PIECES
I.— PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS
WHAT CONSTITUTES A STATE
Sir William Jones
Suggestions: The speaker should deliver this poem directly to the audi-
ence, as if the text were the closing paragraph of a fervid oration in
rhyme.
What constitutes a state?
Not high-raised battlement or labored mound,
Thick wall or moated gate;
Not cities proud with spires and turrets crowned;
Not bays and broad-armed ports,
Where, laughing at the storm, rich navies ride;
Not starred and spangled courts,
Where low-browed baseness wafts perfume to pride.
No ! — men, high-minded men,
With powers as far above dull brutes endued
In forest, brake, or den,
As beasts excel cold rocks and brambles rude, —
Men who their duties know,
But know their rights, and, knowing, dare maintain,
Prevent the long-aimed blow,
And crush the tyrant while they rend the chain;
These constitute a state;
And sovereign law, that state's collected will,
O'er thrones and globes elate,
Sits empress, crowning good, repressing ill.
2 PLATFORM PIECES
OUR COUNTRY
Thomas Smith Grimke
Suggestions: This selection should be spoken to the audience with much
earnestness.
We cannot honor our country with too deep a reverence;
we cannot love her with an affection too pure and fervent;
we cannot serve her with an energy of purpose or a faithful-
ness of zeal too steadfast and ardent. And what is our country?
It is not the East, with her hills and her valleys, with her count-
less sails, and the rocky ramparts of her shores. It is not the
North, with her thousand villages and her harvest-home, with
her frontiers of the lake and the ocean. It is not the West,
with her forest-sea, and her inland isles, with her luxuriant
expanses clothed in the verdant corn, with her beautiful Ohio
and her verdant Mississippi. Nor is it yet the South, opulent
in the mimic snow of the cotton, in the rich plantations of the
rustling cane, and in the golden robes of the rice-fields. What
are these but the sister families of one greater, better, holier
family, — our country?
THE MAYFLOWER
Edward Everett
Suggestions: This selection should be given in an oratorical manner
throughout, with gestures of interrogation and emphasis.
Methinks I see it now, that one solitary, adventurous
vessel, the Mayflower of a forlorn hope, freighted with the
prospects of a future state, and bound across the unknown
sea. I behold it pursuing, with a thousand misgivings, the
uncertain, the tedious voyage. Suns rise and set, and weeks
and months pass, and winter surprises them on the deep, but
brings them not the sight of the wished-for shore. I see them
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 3
now, scantily supplied with provisions, crowded almost to
suffocation in their ill-stored prison, delayed by calms, pur-
suing a circuitous route; and now, driven in fury before the
raging tempest, in their scarcely seaworthy vessel. The awful
voice of the storm howls through the rigging. The laboring
masts seem straining from their base; the dismal sound of
the pumps is heard; the ship leaps, as it were, madly, from
billow to billow; the ocean breaks and settles with ingulfing
floods over the floating deck, and beats with deadening weight
against the staggering vessel.
I see them escape from these perils, pursuing their all but
desperate undertaking, and landed at last, after a five months'
passage, on the ice-clad rocks of Plymouth, weak and exhausted
from the voyage, poorly armed, scantily provisioned, depend-
ing on the charity of their shipmaster for even a draught of
water, without shelter, without means, surrounded by hostile
tribes.
Shut now the volume of history, and tell me, on any prin-
ciple of human probability, what shall be the fate of this hand-
ful of adventurers? Tell me, man of military science, in how
many months they were all swept off by the thirty savage
tribes enumerated within the boundaries of New England?
Tell me, politician, how long did this shadow of a colony, on
which your conventions and treaties had not smiled, languish
on the distant coast? Student of history, compare for me the
baffled projects, the deserted settlements, the abandoned ad-
ventures of other times, and find the parallel of this. Was
it the winter storm, beating upon the houseless heads of women
and children? Was it hard labor and spare meals? Was it
disease? Was it the tomahawk? Was it the deep malady of
a blighted hope, a ruined enterprise, and a broken heart, ach-
ing in its last moments at the recollections of the loved and
left, beyond the sea? Was it some, or all of these united, that
hurried this forsaken company to their melancholy fate? And
is it possible that neither of these causes, that not all combined,
4 PLATFORM PIECES
were able to blast this bud of hope? Is it possible that from a
beginning so feeble, so frail, so worthy not so much of admira-
tion as of pity, there has gone forth a progress so steady, a
growth so wonderful, a reality so important, a promise, yet to
be fulfilled, so glorious?
BOSTON BOYS
{Grandfather 's Story)
Nora Perry
Suggestions: The speaker need not assume a senile voice, but must
rather suggest a grandfather who is dramatic when he recalls how the
boy of the past talked and acted. This poem is best said seated, the
words addressed not to the audience, but to imaginary grandchildren at his
knee.
What! you want to hear a story all about that old-time glory
When your grandsires fought for freedom against the British
crown;
When King George's redcoats mustered all their forces, to be
flustered
By our Yankee raw recruits, from each village and each town;
And the very boys protested, when they thought their rights
molested ?
My father used to tell us how the British General stared
With a curious, dazed expression, when the youngsters in pro-
cession
Filed before him in a column, not a whit put out or scared.
Then the leader told his story — told the haughty, handsome
Tory
How his troops there, on the mall there (what you call "the
Common," dears),
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 5
All the winter through had vexed them, meddled with them
and perplexed them,
Flinging back to their remonstrance only laughter, threats
and sneers.
"What!" the General cried in wonder — and his tones were
tones of thunder —
"Are these the rebel lessons that your fathers taught you,
pray?
Did they send such lads as you here, to make such bold ado here,
And flout King George's officers upon the king's highway?"
Up the little leader started, while heat hghtning flashed and
darted
From his blue eyes, as he answered, stout of voice, with all
his might:
"No one taught us, let me say, sir; no one sent us here to-day,
sir;
But we're Yankees, Yankees, Yankees, and the Yankees
know their rights!
"And your soldiers at the first, sir, on the mall there, did their
worst, sir —
Pulled our snow-hills down we'd built there, broke the ice
upon the pond:
'Help it, help it, if you can, then!' back they shouted, every
man, then,
When we asked them, sir, to quit it; and we said, this goes
beyond
"Soldiers' rights or soldiers' orders, for we've kept within our
borders
To the south'ard of the mall there, where we've always had
our play!"
6 PLATFORM PIECES
" Where you always shall hereafter, undisturbed by threats or
laughter
From my officers or soldiers. Go, my brave boys! from this
day
"Troops of mine shall never harm you, never trouble or alarm
you,"
Suddenly the British General, moved with admiration,
cried.
In a minute caps were swinging, five-and-twenty voices
ringing
In a shout and cheer that summoned every neighbor, far
and wide.
And these neighbors told the story, how the haughty, hand-
some Tory,
Bowing, smiling, hat in hand, there faced the little rebel
band:
How he said, just then and after, half in earnest, half in
laughter:
"So it seems the very children strike for Freedom in this
land!"
So I tell you now the story all about that old-time glory,
As my father's father told it, long and long ago, to me;
How they met and had it out there, what he called their blood-
less bout there;
How he felt "What! was he there, then?" Why, the
leader, that was he!
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 7
PAUL REVERE'S RIDE 1
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Suggestions: It seems an absurdity to address the audience as "my
children," but it has to be done if the poem is to be delivered in the form
in which it was written. Great care in the variety of expression will make
this recitation attractive. When once the race is begun, there must be no
dropping of the rapid rate of delivery until the race is over. Such expres-
sions as "It was twelve by the village clock" must be given as if a part of
the race.
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in seventy-five;
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and year.
He said to his friend — "If the British march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry arch
Of the North Church tower, as a signal light, —
One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm ,
Through every Middlesex village and farm,
For the country folk to be up and to arm."
Then he said good night, and with muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
Across the moon, like a prison bar,
1 All selections by Longfellow in this book are taken from the authorized
edition of his works, published by Houghton Mifflin Company.
PLATFORM PIECES
And a huge, black hulk, that was magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and street,
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the shore.
Then he climbed to the tower of the church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him made
Masses and moving shapes of shade —
Up the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.
Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead
In their night encampment on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
That he could hear, like a sentinel's tread
The watchful night wind, as it went
Creeping along from tent to tent,
And seeming to whisper, "All is well!"
A moment only he feels the spell
Of the place and the hour, and the secret dread
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
On a shadowy something far away,
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS g
Where the river widens to meet the bay, —
A line of black, that bends and floats
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.
Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
On the opposite shore walked Paul Revere.
Now he patted his horse's side,
Now gazed at the landscape far and near,
Then impetuous stamped the earth,
And turned and tightened his saddle girth;
But mostly he watched with eager search
The belfry tower of the old North Church,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Lonely, and spectral, and sombre, and still.
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry's height,
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he turns,
But lingers and gazes, till full on his sight
A second lamp in the belfry burns.
A hurry of hoofs in a village street,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the dark,
And beneath, from the pebbles, in passing, a spark
Struck out by a steed flying fearless and fleet:
That was all! And yet, through the gloom and the light,
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
And the spark struck out by that steed, in his flight,
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
It was twelve by the village clock,
When he crossed the bridge into Medford town.
He heard the crowing of the cock
And the barking of the farmer's dog,
And felt the damp of the river fog,
That rises after the sun goes down.
io PLATFORM PIECES
It was one by the village clock,
When he galloped into Lexington.
He saw the gilded weathercock
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meetinghouse windows, blank and bare,
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
As if they already stood aghast
At the bloody work they would look upon.
It was two by the village clock,
When he came to the bridge in Concord town.
He heard the bleating of the flock,
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
Blowing over the meadows brown.
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Who that day would be lying dead,
Pierced by a British musket ball.
You know the rest. In the books you have read
How the British regulars fired and fled;
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
From behind each fence and farmyard wall;
Chasing the redcoats down the lane,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
And only pausing to fire and load.
So through the night rode Paul Revere;
And so through the night went his cry of alarm
To every Middlesex village and farm, —
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS n
For, borne on the night wind of the past,
Through all our history, to the last,
In the hour of darkness, and peril, and need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
The hurrying hoof beat of that steed,
And the midnight message of Paul Revere.
THE UNKNOWN SPEAKER
Anonymous
Suggestions: The speaker should start this selection with great simplicity
but, when the stranger gives his address, should make the attack loud and
most abrupt and fervid throughout.
It is the Fourth day of July, 1776.
In the old State House in the city of Philadelphia are gathered
half a hundred men to strike from their limbs the shackles of
British despotism. There is silence in the hall — every face
is turned toward the door where the committee of three, who
have been out all night penning a parchment, are soon to enter.
The door opens, the committee appears. That tall man with
the sharp features, the bold brow, and the sand-hued hair,
holding the parchment in his hand, is a Virginia farmer, Thomas
Jefferson. That stout-built man with stern look and flashing
eye, is a Boston man, one John Adams. And that calm-faced
man with hair drooping in thick curls to his shoulders, that is
the Philadelphia printer, Benjamin Franklin.
The three advance to the table.
The parchment is laid there.
Shall it be signed or not? A fierce debate ensues. Jefferson
speaks a few bold words. Adams pours out his whole soul.
The deep-toned voice of Lee is heard, swelling in syllables of
thunderlike music. But still there is doubt, and one pale-faced
man whispers something about axes, scaffolds, and a gibbet.
"Gibbet?" echoes a fierce, bold voice through the hall.
12 PLATFORM PIECES
" Gibbet? They may stretch our necks on all the gibbets in
the land; they may turn every rock into a scaffold; every tree
into a gallows; every home into a grave, and yet the words of
that parchment there can never die! They may pour our
blood on a thousand scaffolds, and yet from every drop that
dyes the ax a new champion of freedom will spring into birth.
The British King may blot out the stars of God from the sky,
but he cannot blot out His words written on that parchment
there. The works of God may perish, — His words, never!
"The words of this declaration will live in the world long
after our bones are dust. To the mechanic in his workshop
they will speak hope; to the slave in the mines, freedom; but
to the coward-kings, these words will speak in tones of warning
they cannot choose but hear.
"Sign that parchment! Sign, and not only for yourselves,
but for all ages, for that parchment will be the text-book of
freedom — the Bible of the rights of men forever. Nay, do not
start and whisper with surprise! It is truth, your own hearts
witness it; God proclaims it. Look at this strange history of
a band of exiles and outcasts, suddenly transformed into a
people — a handful of men weak in arms — but mighty in
Godlike faith; nay, look at your recent achievements, your
Bunker Hill, your Lexington, and then tell me, if you can,
that God has not given America to be free! . . .
" Were this hand freezing in death, were this voice choking
in the last struggle, I would still with the last impulse of that
soul, with the last wave of that hand, with the last gasp of that
voice, implore you to remember this truth — God has given
America to be free! Yes, as I sank into the gloomy shadows of
the grave, with my last faint whisper I would beg you to sign
that parchment for the sake of the millions whose very breath
is now hushed in intense expectation as they look up to you for
the awful words, 'You are free!"'
The unknown speaker fell exhausted in his seat, but the work
was done.
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 13
A wild murmur runs through the hall. "Sign!" There is
no doubt now. Look how they rush forward! Stout-hearted
John Hancock has scarcely time to sign his bold name before the
pen is grasped by another, another, and another. Look how
the names blaze the parchment! Adams and Lee, Jefferson
and Carroll, Franklin and Sherman! And now the parch-
ment is signed.
Now, old man in the steeple, now bare your arm and let the
bell speak! Hark to the music of that bell! Is there not a
poetry in that sound, a poetry more sublime than that of Shake-
speare and Milton? Is there not a music in that sound that
reminds you of those sublime tones which broke from angel
lips when the news of the child Jesus burst on the hilltops of
Bethlehem? For the tones of that bell now come pealing,
pealing, pealing, "Independence now and Independence for-
ever!"
CONCORD
George W. Curtis
Suggestions: After starting with a rather quiet description, give the
greater part of this selection with oratorical fervor. Visualize the scene
when possible. Suggest the dying soldier when young Hayward speaks.
Use gestures of direction, interrogation and emphasis only.
It was a brilliant April night. The hills were already green.
The early grain waved in the fields, and the air was sweet with
blossoming orchards. Under the cloudless moon the soldiers
marched silently, and Paul Revere rode swiftly, galloping
through Medford and West Cambridge, rousing every house
as he went, spurring for Lexington and Hancock and Adams.
In the awakening houses lights flashed from window to win-
dow. Drums beat faintly far away, and on every side signal
guns flashed and echoed. Stop the news! Stop the sunrise!
The murmuring night trembled with the summons so earnestly
expected, so dreaded, so desired.
14 PLATFORM PIECES
All that day and night the news was flying from mouth to
mouth, from heart to heart, rousing every city and town and
solitary farm in the colonies; and before the last shot of the
minute-men on the British retreat from Concord bridge was
fired, the whole country was rising; Massachusetts, New
England, America were closing around the city, and the siege
of Boston and the war of American Independence had begun.
Such was the opening of the first battle of the Revolution —
a conflict whose magnificent results shine through the world
as the beacon-light of free, popular government. And who
won this victory? The minute-men and militia, who in the
history of our English race have been always the vanguard
of freedom.
The minute-man of the Revolution — who was he? He
was the husband and father who left the plow in the furrow
and the hammer on the bench and, kissing wife and children,
marched to die, or to be free. He was the old, the middle-
aged, and the young. He was Captain Davis, of Acton, who
reproved his men for jesting on the march. He was Deacon
Josiah Haynes, of Sudbury, eighty years old, who marched
with his company to the South Bridge at Concord, then joined
in the hot pursuit to Lexington, and fell as gloriously as Warren
at Bunker Hill. He was James Hayward, of Acton, twenty-
two years old, foremost in the deadly race from Concord to
Charlestown, who raised his piece at the same moment with
a British soldier, each exclaiming — "You are a dead man."
The Briton dropped, shot through the heart. James Hayward
fell mortally wounded. " Father," he said, "I started with
forty bullets, I have three left. I never did such a day's work
before. Tell mother not to mourn too much; and tell her
whom I love more than my mother that I am not sorry I turned
out."
This was the minute-man of the Revolution, who carried a
bayonet that thought, and whose gun, loaded with a principle,
brought down not a man, but a system.
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 15
WARREN'S ADDRESS
John Pierpont
Suggestions: This poem is clearly an address by a commander to his
men, and should be addressed to the audience with great fervor as if they
were the soldiers. This little poem is an old favorite.
Stand! the ground's your own, my braves!
Will ye give it up to slaves?
Will ye look for greener graves?
Hope ye mercy still?
What's the mercy despots feel?
Hear it in that battle peal!
Read it on yon bristling steel!
Ask it, — ye who will.
Fear ye foes who kill for hire?
Will ye to your homes retire?
Look behind you! — they're afire!
And, before you, see
Who have done it! From the vale
On they come! — and will ye quail?
Leaden rain and iron hail
Let their welcome be!
In the God of battles trust!
Die we may, — and die we must;
But, O, where can dust to dust
Be consigned so well,
As where heaven its dews shall shed
On the martyred patriot's bed,
And the rocks shall raise their head,
Of his deeds to tell?
16 PLATFORM PIECES
INDEPENDENCE BELL
Anonymous
Suggestions: This selection calls for animated description from the first
line on. Use several voices in the second stanza, to suggest the assembling
crowd. Re- visualize the whole scene. Distinguish the last stanza from the
rest of the poem by changing the position of the body before giving it, and
by a rather quiet delivery.
There was tumult in the city,
In the quaint old Quaker town,
And the streets were rife with people
Pacing restless up and down;
People gathering at corners,
Where they whispered each to each
And the sweat stood on their temples
With the earnestness of speech.
"Will they do it?" "Dare they do it?"
"Who is speaking?" "What's the news?"
"What of Adams?" "What of Sherman?"
"Oh, God grant they won't refuse!"
"Make some way there!" "Let me nearer!"
"I am stifling!" "Stifle then!
When a nation's life's at hazard,
We've no time to think of men!"
So they beat against the portal,
Man and woman, maid and child;
And the July sun in heaven
On the scene looked down and smiled.
The same sun that saw the Spartan
Shed his patriot blood in vain
Now beheld the soul of freedom,
All unconquered, rise again.
See! See! The dense crowd quivers
Through all its lengthy line,
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 17
As the boy beside the portal
Looks forth to give the sign,
With his little hands uplifted,
Breezes dallying with his hair,
Hark! with deep, clear intonation,
Breaks his young voice on the air.
Hushed the people's swelling murmur,
List the boy's exultant cry!
"Ring!" he shouts; "ring, grandpa!
Ring! oh, ring for Liberty!"
Quickly at the given signal
The old bellman lifts his hand,
Forth he sends the good news, making
Iron music through the land.
How they shouted! What rejoicing!
How the old bell shook the air,
Till the clang of freedom ruffled
The calm gliding Delaware;
How the bonfires and the torches
Lighted up the night's repose,
And from the flames, like fabled Phoenix,
Our glorious Liberty arose!
That old State House bell is silent,
Hushed is now its clamorous tongue,
But the spirit it awakened
Still is living — ever young;
And when we greet the smiling sunlight
On the Fourth of each July
We will ne'er forget the bellman
Who, betwixt the earth and sky,
Rang out loudly, "Independence!"
Which, please God, shall never die.
18 PLATFORM PIECES
THE RISING IN 1776
Thomas Buchanan Read
Suggestions: This selection is to be given as a vivid and rapid descrip-
tion; do not impersonate the pastor. Close with great fervor and loud
tone.
Out of the North the wild news came,
Far flashing on its wings of flame,
Swift as the boreal light which flies
At midnight through the startled skies.
And there was tumult in the air,
The fife's shrill note, the drum's loud beat,
And through the wide land everywhere
The answering tread of hurrying feet,
While the first oath of Freedom's gun
Came on the blast from Lexington;
And Concord, roused, no longer tame,
Forgot her old baptismal name,
Made bare her patriot arm of power,
And swelled the discord of the hour. . . .
The pastor came: his snowy locks
Hallowed his brow of thought and care;
And calmly, as shepherds lead their flocks,
He led into the house of prayer. . . .
The pastor rose: the prayer was strong;
The psalm was warrior David's song;
The text, a few short words of might, —
"The Lord of hosts shall arm the right."
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 19
He spoke of wrongs too long endured,
Of sacred rights to be secured;
Then from his patriot tongue of flame
The startling words for Freedom came.
The stirring sentences he spake
Compelled the heart to glow or quake,
And, rising on his theme's broad wing,
And grasping in his nervous hand
The imaginary battle-brand,
In face of death he dared to fling
Defiance to a tyrant king.
Even as he spoke, his frame, renewed
In eloquence of attitude,
Rose, as it seemed a shoulder higher;
Then swept his kindling glance of fire
From startled pew to breathless choir;
When suddenly his mantle wide
His hands impatient flung aside,
And, lo! he met their wondering eyes
Complete in all a warrior's guise. . . .
"Who dares" — this was the patriot's cry,
As striding from the desk he came —
"Come out with me in Freedom's name,
For her to five, for her to die?"
A hundred hands flung up reply,
A hundred voices answered, "I!"
20 PLATFORM PIECES
NATHAN HALE
Francis Miles Finch
Suggestions: Change the style of delivery to suit the changing senti-
ments throughout. End with an increased breadth of expression.
To drum-beat and heart-beat,
A soldier marches by;
There is color in his cheek,
There is courage in his eye, —
Yet to drum-beat and heart-beat
In a moment he must die.
By starlight and moonlight,
He seeks the Briton's camp;
He hears the rustling flag
And the armed sentry's tramp;
And the starlight and moonlight
His silent wanderings lamp.
With slow tread and still tread,
He scans the tented line,
And he counts the battery guns
By the gaunt and shadowy pine;
And his slow tread and still tread
Gives no warning sign.
The dark wave and the plumed wave,
It meets his eager glance;
And it sparkles 'neath the stars
Like the glimmer of a lance, —
A dark wave, a plumed wave,
On an emerald expanse.
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 21
A sharp clang, a steel clang,
And terror in the sound!
For the sentry, falcon-eyed,
In the camp a spy has found;
With a sharp clang, a steel clang,
The patriot is bound.
With calm brow, steady brow,
He listens to his doom;
In his look there is no fear,
Nor a shadow-trace of gloom,
But with calm brow and steady brow
He robes him for the tomb.
In the long night, the still night,
He kneels upon the sod;
And the brutal guards withhold
E'en the solemn Word of God!
In the long night, the still night,
He walks where Christ had trod.
'Neath the blue morn, the sunny morn,
He dies upon the tree;
And he mourns that he can lose
But one life for liberty;
And in the blue morn, the sunny morn,
His spirit wings are free.
From the Fame-leaf and the Angel-leaf,
From monument and urn,
The sad of earth, the glad of Heaven,
His tragic fate shall learn,
And on Fame-leaf and on Angel-leaf
The name of Hale shall burn.
22 PLATFORM PIECES
MOLLIE PITCHER
Kate Brownlee Sherwood
Suggestions: This recitation calls for a very abrupt attack and great
animation throughout the first four stanzas. Distinguish the last two
stanzas from the rest of the poem by a pause and a quiet delivery.
'Twas hurry and scurry at Monmouth town,
For Lee was beating a wild retreat;
The British were riding the Yankees down,
And panic was pressing on flying feet.
Galloping down like a hurricane,
Washington rode with his sword swung high,
Mighty as he of the Trojan plain,
Fired by a courage from the sky.
"Halt, and stand to your guns!" he cried,
And a bombardier made swift reply,
Wheeling his cannon into the tide;
He fell 'neath the shot of a foeman nigh.
Mollie Pitcher sprang to his side,
Fired as she saw her husband do,
Telling the King in his stubborn pride
Women, like men, to their homes are true.
Washington rode from the bloody fray
Up to the gun that a woman manned.
"Mollie Pitcher, you saved the day,"
He said, as he gave her a hero's hand.
He named her sergeant with manly praise,
While her war-brown face was wet with tears —
A woman has ever a woman's ways,
And the army was wild with cheers.
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 23
THE VOW OF WASHINGTON 1
John Greenleae Whittier
Suggestions: Say this poem with dignity, in slow tempo and with a rich
tone, setting off the last stanza from the rest of the poem by a pause.
The sword was sheathed: in April's sun
Lay green the fields by Freedom won;
And severed sections, weary of debates,
Joined hands at last and were United States.
O city sitting by the sea!
How proud the day that dawned on thee,
When the new era, long desired, began,
And, in its need, the hour had found the man! . . .
How felt the land in every part
The strong throb of a nation's heart,
As its great leader gave, with reverent awe,
His Pledge to Union, Liberty, and Law!
That pledge the heavens above him heard,
That vow the sleep of centuries stirred;
In world-wide wonder listening peoples bent
Their gaze on Freedom's great experiment.
Could it succeed? Of honor sold
And hopes deceived all history told.
Above the wrecks that strewed the mournful past,
Was the long dream of ages true at last?
Thank God! the people's choice was just,
The one man equal to his trust,
1 All selections by Whittier in this book are taken from the authorized
edition of his works, published by Houghton Mifflin Company.
24 PLATFORM PIECES
Wise beyond lore, and without weakness good,
Calm in the strength of flawless rectitude!
His rule of justice, order, peace,
Made possible the world's release;
Taught prince and serf that power is but a trust,
And rule alone, which serves the ruled, is just;
That Freedom generous is, but strong
In hate of fraud and selfish wrong,
Pretense that turns her holy truths to lies,
And lawless license masking in her guise. . . .
Then let the sovereign millions, where
Our banner floats in sun and air,
From the warm palm-lands to Alaska's cold,
Repeat with us the pledge a century old!
WASHINGTON'S BIRTHDAY
Daniel Webster
Suggestions: Say simply and earnestly, directly to the audience.
This day is the anniversary of the birth of Washington.
It is celebrated from one end of this land to the other. The
whole atmosphere of the country is, this day, full of his praise.
The hills, the rocks, the groves, the vales, and the rivers re-
sound with his fame. All the good, whether learned or un-
learned, high or low, rich or poor, feel this day that there is
one treasure common to them all, and that is the fame of
Washington. They all recount his deeds, ponder over his
principles and teachings, and resolve to be more and more guided
by them in the future.
To the old and the young, to all born in this land, and to all
whose preferences have led them to make it the home of their
adoption, Washington is an animating theme. Americans are
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 25
proud of his character. All exiles from foreign shores are eager
to join in admiration of him. He is this day, here, everywhere,
all over the world, more an object of regard than on any former
day since his birth. By his example and under the guidance
of his precepts will we and our children uphold the Constitution.
Under his military leadership our fathers conquered their ancient
enemies, and under the outspread banner of his political and
constitutional principles will we conquer now.
To that standard we shall adhere, and uphold it under evil
report and under good report. We will sustain it, and meet
death itself, if it come. We will ever encounter and defeat
error, by day and by night, in light or in darkness, — thick
darkness, if it come, — till
"Danger's troubled night is o'er
And the star of peace return."
WASHINGTON MONUMENT
Robert C. Winthrop
Suggestions: This selection should be given very earnestly from the
first line to the last, employing marked emphasis.
The widespread Republic is the true monument to Washing-
ton. Maintain its independence; uphold its Constitution;
preserve its Union; defend its liberty; let it stand before the
world in all its original strength and beauty, securing peace,
order, equality, and freedom to all within its boundaries, and
shedding light and hope and joy upon the pathway of human
liberty throughout the world, — and Washington needs no other
monument. Other structures may fitly testify our veneration
for him: this, this alone, can adequately illustrate his services
to mankind.
Nor does he need even this. The Republic may perish;
the wide arch of our Union may fall; star by star its glories
may expire; stone by stone its columns and its capital may
26 PLATFORM PIECES
moulder and crumble; all other names which adorn its annals
may be forgotten; — but as long as human hearts shall any-
where pant, or human tongues shall anywhere plead, for a
true, rational, constitutional liberty, our hearts shall enshrine
the memory and our tongues prolong the fame of George
Washington.
LINCOLN
Charles H. Fowler
Suggestions: This selection must be given oratorically, after the first
paragraph, which should be said quietly. The whole address should be
said to the audience, with earnestness and a reverent appreciation of the
theme.
Abraham Lincoln was the representative character of his
age. No man ever so fully embodied the purposes, the affec-
tions, and the power of the people. He came up among us.
He was one of us. His birth, his education, his habits, his
motives, his feelings, his ambitions, were all our own. Had he
been born among hereditary aristocrats, he would not have
been our President. But born in the cabin and reared in the
field and in the forest, he became the Great Commoner. The
classics of the schools might have polished him, but they would
have separated him from us. But trained in the common
school of adversity, his calloused palms never slipped from
the poor man's hand. A child of the people, he was as ac-
cessible in the White House as he had been in the cabin.
His practical wisdom made him the wonder of all lands.
With such certainty did Lincoln follow causes to their ultimate
effects that his foresight of contingencies seemed almost pro-
phetic. While we in turn were calling him weak and stubborn
and blind, Europe was amazed at his statesmanship and awed
into silence by the grandeur of his plans.
Measured by what he did, Lincoln is a statesman without a
peer. He stands alone in the world. He came to the govern-
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 27
ment by a minority vote, without an army, without a navy,
without money, without munitions. He stepped into the midst
of the most stupendous, most widespread, most thoroughly
equipped and appointed, most deeply planned rebellion of all
history. He stamped upon the earth, and two millions of
armed men leaped forward to defend their country. He spoke
to the sea, and the mightiest navy the world had ever seen
crowned every wave.
He is radiant with all the great virtues, and his memory
shall shed a glory upon this age that shall fill the eyes of men
as they look into history. An administrator, he saved the
nation in the perils of unparalleled civil war. A statesman, he
justified his measures by their success. A philanthropist,
he gave liberty to one race and freedom to another. A med-
iator, he exercised mercy under the most absolute obedience to
law. A leader, he was no partisan. A commander in a war
of the utmost carnage, he was unstained with blood. A ruler
in desperate times, he was untainted with crime. As a man,
he has left no word of passion, no thought of malice, no trick
of craft, no act of jealousy, no purpose of selfish ambition.
He had adorned and embellished all that is good and all that
is great in our humanity, and has presented to all coming
generations the representative of the divine idea of free
government.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
{Extract from a speech)
William E. Pulsleer
Suggestions: Give this selection with oratorical fervor directly to the
audience.
We have met to-night to celebrate the birthday of the greatest
American citizen — Abraham Lincoln. Many of our states
have, by law, made the birthdays of Washington and Lincoln
holidays, in order that our citizens may on these days honor
28 PLATFORM PIECES
their memories, renew allegiance to the patriotic principles for
which they lived, and keep unsullied the political faith in which
they died. Yesterday all the public and many of the private
schools in the United States called the attention of their chil-
dren to the life and character of our martyred President. The
newspapers have published this week estimates of Lincoln as
a man, as a lawyer and as a President. To-night hundreds
of orators throughout this broad country are vying with each
other in their attempts to impress anew upon their hearers
the importance and value in our national life of great, gaunt,
patient Abraham Lincoln. This day, let us hope, has shown
both the old and new stock of the American people that Abra-
ham Lincoln in his life brought the government a little closer
to the people, and in his death drew heaven a little closer to
the earth.
GENERAL GRANT TO THE ARMY
Ulysses S. Grant
Suggestions: Let the speaker say something like this in introduction:
" My declamation is taken from an oration by General U. S. Grant who, in
addressing the soldiers of the United States, is said to have used these
words":
Soldiers of the Armies of the United States! By your
patriotic devotion to your country in the hour of danger and
alarm, your magnificent fighting, bravery, and endurance,
you have maintained the supremacy of the Union and the
Constitution, overthrown all armed opposition to the enforce-
ment of the laws, and of the proclamations forever abolishing
Slavery — the cause and pretext of the rebellion — and opened
the way to the rightful authorities, to restore order and in-
augurate peace on a permanent and enduring basis on every
foot of American soil. Your marches, sieges, and battles, in
distance, duration, resolution, and brilliancy of results, dim
the luster of the world's past military achievements, and will
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 20
be the patriot's precedent in defence of liberty and the right in
all time to come. In obedience to your country's call, you left
your homes and families and volunteered in its defence.
Victory has crowned your valor and secured the purpose
of your patriotic hearts; and with the gratitude of your country-
men and the highest honors a great and free nation can accord,
you will soon be permitted to return to your homes and families,
conscious of having discharged the highest duty of American
citizens. To achieve these glorious triumphs, and to secure to
yourselves, your countrymen, and posterity, the blessings of
free institutions, tens of thousands of your gallant comrades
have fallen and sealed the priceless legacy with their lives. The
graves of these a grateful nation bedews with tears, honors
their memories, and will ever cherish and support their stricken
families.
THE ROLL-CALL
N. G. Shepherd
Suggestions: This poem should be delivered as if the scene were being
re-lived. Call the roll with true military abruptness. The descriptive
passages should be given solemnly
"Corporal Green!" the orderly cried;
"Here!" was the answer, loud and clear,
From the lips of a soldier standing near,
And "Here!" was the word the next replied.
"Cyrus Drew!" and a silence fell;
This time no answer followed the call;
Only his rear-man saw him fall, —
Killed or wounded, he could not tell.
There they stood in the failing light,
Those men of battle, with grave, dark looks
As plain to be read as open books,
While slowly gathered the shades of night.
30 PLATFORM PIECES
The fern on the slope was splashed with blood,
And down in the corn where the poppies grew
Were redder stains than the poppies knew,
And crimson-dyed was the river's flood.
For the foe had crossed from the other side
That day, in the face of a murderous nre
That swept them down in its terrible ire,
And their lifeblood went to color the tide.
" Herbert Kline!" At the call there came
Two stalwart soldiers into the line,
Bearing between them Herbert Kline,
Wounded and bleeding, to answer his name.
"Ezra Kerr!" and a voice said, "Here!"
"Hiram Kerr!" but no man replied.
They were brothers, these two. The sad winds sighed,
And a shudder crept through the cornfield near.
"Ephraim Deane!" Then a soldier spoke:
"Deane carried our regiment's colors," he said,
"When our ensign was shot. I left him dead,
Just after the enemy wavered and broke.
"Close to the roadside his body lies;
I paused a moment and gave him to drink:
He murmured his mother's name, I think,
And death came with it and closed his eyes."
'Twas a victory, — yes, but it cost us dear;
For that company's roll when called at night,
Of a hundred men who went into the fight,
Numbered but twenty that answered, "Here!"
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 31
DECORATION DAY
Albert Bigelow Paine
Suggestions: This is an excellent little poem for some patriotic occasion.
Say partly to the audience and partly as if in soliloquy.
Over the new-turned sod
The sons of our fathers stand,
And the fierce old fight
Slips out of sight
In the clasp of a brother's hand.
For the old blood left a stain
That the new has washed away,
And the sons of those
That have faced as foes
Are marching together to-day.
Oh, the roses we plucked for the blue
And the lilies we twined for the gray
We have bound in one wreath,
And in silence beneath
Slumber our heroes to-day.
FORGIVE — FORGET
Anonymous
Suggestions: This selection calls for very varied description in tone and
manner, the dominant tone being one of exultation. Give the closing
words as if in prayer.
Small matter now, who then was right or wrong,
For wrong and right were mixed, upon both sides:
What though some narrow, bitter heart derides?
Were Lee and Thomas here to-night one song
32 PLATFORM PIECES
And prayer they'd raise, "God keep our Union strong!"
While men shall love the Good and Beautiful
And women love the Brave and Dutiful!
Forgotten be the rancor of the past,
Far from our souls be grief and hatred cast;
Let us no more re-fight an ancient war,
Re-live its horrors, and re-show each scar.
We are one nation now, a billowy sea
Of many states, each clothed with power to be
Her own fair queen for every homely need.
And o'er her farms, her hills, her fruitful mead
She, like a southern planter's wife, makes home
And happiness, and rules the things that come
Within the deep recesses of the heart.
But when some general danger comes, apart
From those that touch the home — some threat of war,
Some great convulsion, common need, too far
Beyond her force; to make the deserts bloom,
Conserve the gifts of nature, and make room
For all wide betterments beyond the means
Of any state — 'tis then our planter queens
Look to their lord, the king, the Union great
That as a glacier huge moves on like fate.
Then, let our enemies beware; let sea
And mountain leave our path. "Thus shall it be,"
And lo, 'tis done, when ninety millions vow
"The thing is right, the people will it now!"
No more can politicians stir up strife
Between the South and North. Like man and wife
Who tried life separate, in sorrow deep
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 33
They groaned apart, their still true hearts a- weep
O'er ruined home, past tenderness and truth,
O'er straightened means, and all dead dreams of youth.
They raise no bronzes to those dreary days
But long for kind oblivion's misty haze.
Again, the twain are one, with firm resolve
Whate'er may happen, or what clash evolve,
There'll be no parting, for they love and trust,
"Forgive, forget," they sigh, as lovers must.
No trophies grim, no monuments we need
To keep in mind each fratricidal deed.
Could I but wield old Merlin's magic wand
I'd waft away all statues in the land
Of demigods made famous in the fight
'Twixt kin — not even Lee and Grant in sight.
Were Lee and Thomas here to-night, one song
And prayer they'd raise: "god keep our union strong!"
GOD SAVE OUR NATIVE LAND
Julius H. Seelye
Suggestions: This must be given as if in prayer. Say no part of it to the
audience.
God save our native land,
And make her strong, to stand
For truth and right.
Long may her banner wave,
Flag of the free and brave!
Thou who alone canst save,
Grant her thy might.
34 PLATFORM PIECES
Ever from sea to sea
May law and liberty
O'er all prevail.
Where'er the rivers flow,
Where'er the breezes blow,
May love and justice grow,
And never fail.
In living unity
May all her people be
Kept evermore.
From hence on every side
May freedom's swelling tide
Roll grandly, far and wide,
To every shore.
O God! to thee we raise
Our grateful song of praise
For this glad land.
Thou didst our fathers lead,
Thou wilt their children heed,
Supplying all their need
From thy full hand.
THE FLAG GOES BY
Henry Holcomb Bennett
Suggestions: Stand at "attention" in delivering this poem. Suggest
the military salute on the words "hats off." Suggest hearing an approach-
ing band all through.
Hats off!
Along the street there comes
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums,
A flash of color beneath the sky:
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 35
Hats off!
The flag is passing by:
Blue and crimson and white it shines,
Over the steel-tipped, ordered lines.
Hats off!
The colors before us fly;
But more than the flag is passing by.
Sea-fights and land-fights, grim and great,
Fought to make and save the State:
Weary marches and sinking ships;
Cheers of victory on dying lips;
Days of plenty and years of peace;
March of a strong land's swift increase;
Equal justice, right, and law,
Stately honor and reverend awe;
Sign of a nation great and strong
To ward her people from foreign wrong!
Pride and glory and honor, — all
Live in the colors to stand or fall.
Hats off!
Along the street there comes
A blare of bugles, a ruffle of drums;
And loyal hearts are beating high:
Hats off!
The flag is passing by!
36 PLATFORM PIECES
ENDURANCE OF THE REPUBLIC
{Extract from a speech)
William E. Pulsifer
Suggestions: This selection requires an oratorical delivery.
Gladstone prophesied that our republic would not endure,
for as time grew apace he believed that those great prin-
ciples for which our fathers fought would be subordinated to
materialism; because the love of money would kill the love
of country and the principles upon which this republic is
founded.
Those of us who have studied carefully the utterances of
public men, who have read thoughtfully the editorials of the
press, who have held conversation with some of our fellow
citizens since the beginning of this terrible European war, have
not failed to note that there is not manifested that intense feel-
ing of devotion to the flag and all that that starry banner means
in the way of protection of territory and citizens, whether
native-born or foreign-born, over which it floats, that the
people of a great republic like ours should manifest whenever
the honor of the country is assailed or the lives of American
citizens are put in jeopardy.
One cannot help wondering whether Gladstone was right
in his prophecy: whether or not our love of wealth and luxury
is not greater than the love for the land consecrated by the
blood of the soldiers of the Revolution and sanctified by the
lives of those who fell during the days of the Civil War. Has
the influx of a population that knew little and cared less for
our institutions when they were admitted to American citizen-
ship influenced the body politic to such a degree that they have
changed us instead of our changing them?
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 37
THE FLAG THAT MAKES MEN FREE
Kate Brownlee Sherwood
Suggestions: The refrain, which is the only part of the thought in this
selection to be directed to the audience, calls for growth in emphasis and
fervor with every repetition.
The battle clouds obscured the land and dimmed the nether
seas,
The dread alarms of war wailed out on every swelling breeze;
The land the fathers wrestled for in hunger, cold and thirst,
Lay bound and bleeding in the toils of tyranny accursed.
They sought for sign or symbol, but to rescue there was
none,
When lo, across the darkness flashed the flag of Washington;
The bonny flag, the beauteous flag, the flag of colors three,
Your flag, my flag, the people's flag,
The flag that makes men free.
And red for human brotherhood; no matter creed or clan,
The same rich blood proclaims us one in God's eternal plan;
And white for peace and purity and heaven on earth begun,
And blue the expanding canopy, the clustered stars in one;
They kissed its folds and through the years of storm and stress
they came,
The ragged Continentals crowned with earth-compelling fame;
Their star-bespangled banner streaming over land and sea,
Your flag, my flag, the people's flag,
The flag that makes men free.
And lo, the scene was shifted and, while the people slept,
Through marts of trade and traffic the foes of freedom crept;
For pride and power they wrestled, for lust of greed and gain,
They forged the human shackles and might resumed her reign;
38 PLATFORM PIECES
As jeer and sneer run riot where dread and discord reel,
The right of man lay trampled beneath the tyrant's heel;
They fired the torch of treason and mock with anarchy,
Your flag, my flag, the people's flag,
The flag that makes men free.
Then shop and school and farm and mine and factory out-
pour,
And thrice a hundred thousand men are marshalled at the
fore;
And thrice a hundred thousand men with purpose staunch and
true,
On storied height, on gory plain, to die for me and you;
To consecrate our flag anew to truth's unending fame,
Equality, fraternity, in thunder tones proclaim;
To fly from fort and citadel for aye, exultingly,
Your flag, my flag, the people's flag,
The flag that makes men free.
What word, O fallen heroes, within the portals low,
Where underneath the Southern cross, the sweet magnolias
blow?
Guard well that flag! lest while you sleep, the foe should haul
it down
While weeping fills our peaceful land and cannons flame and
frown!
Guard well that flag! lest greed and graft should splash those
stars of light,
And followed by the orphan's moan fair freedom takes her
flight!
Guard well that flag! for faith and hope and better days to be,
Your flag, my flag, the people's flag,
The flag that makes men free!
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 39
GIVE US MEN
Bishop of Exeter
Suggestions: Before giving this selection, it would be well to say that
this poem was written at a time of threatened national danger as a call
for recruits to the colors.
Give us Men!
Men from every rank,
Fresh and free and frank;
Men of thought and reading,
Men of light and leading,
Men of noble breeding,
The Nation's welfare speeding;
Men of faith and not of faction,
Men of lofty aim in action —
Give us Men!
I say again,
Give us Men!
Give us Men!
Strong and stalwart ones;
Men whom highest hope inspires,
Men whom purest honor fires,
Men who trample self beneath them,
Men who make their Country wreathe them
As her noble sons —
Worthy of their sires;
Men who never shame their mothers;
Men who never fail their brothers;
True, however false are others.
Give us Men!
I say again,
Give us men!
40 PLATFORM PIECES
Give us Men!
Men who, when the tempest gathers,
Grasp the standard of their fathers
In the thickest fight.
Men who strike for home and altar;
(Let the coward cringe and falter)
God defend the right.
True as truth, though lorn and lonely,
Tender as the brave are only,
Men who tread where saints have trod;
Men for Country — Home — and God!
Give us Men!
I say again — again!
Give us Men!
ARNOLD WINKELRIED
James Montgomery
Suggestions: This poem is mostly descriptive. As early as possible in
the declamation, assume the air of an eye witness of the whole scene enacted.
Much descriptive gesture may be used to advantage.
" Make way for liberty!" he cried —
Made way for liberty, and died.
In arms the Austrian phalanx stood
A living wall, a human wood;
Impregnable their front appears,
All-horrent with projected spears.
Opposed to these, a hovering band
Contended for their fatherland;
Peasants, whose new-found strength had broke
From manly necks the ignoble yoke;
Marshaled once more at freedom's call,
They came to conquer or to fall.
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 41
And now the work of life and death
Hung on the passing of a breath;
The fire of conflict burned within;
The battle trembled to begin:
Yet, while the Austrians held their ground,
Point for assault was nowhere found;
Where'er the impatient Switzers gazed,
The unbroken line of lances blazed;
That line 'twere suicide to meet,
And perish at their tyrants' feet.
How could they rest within their graves,
To leave their homes the haunts of slaves?
Would they not feel their children tread,
With clanking chains, above their head?
It must not be: this day, this hour,
Annihilates the invader's power!
All Switzerland is in the field —
She will not fly, she cannot yield,
She must not fall; her better fate
Here gives her an immortal date.
Few were the numbers she could boast,
Yet every freeman was a host,
And felt as 'twere a secret known
That one should turn the scale alone
While each unto himself was he
On whose sole arm hung victory.
It did depend on one, indeed;
Behold him — Arnold Winkelried!
There sounds not to the trump of Fame
The echo of a nobler name.
Unmarked, he stood amid the throng,
In rumination deep and long,
Till you might see, with sudden grace,
42 PLATFORM PIECES
The very thought come o'er his face,
And, by the motion of his form,
Anticipate the bursting storm,
And, by the uplifting of his brow,
Tell where the bolt would strike, and how.
But 'twas no sooner thought than done —
The field was in a moment won!
"Make way for liberty!" he cried,
Then ran, with arms extended wide,
As if his dearest friend to clasp;
Ten spears he swept within his grasp.
"Make way for liberty!" he cried;
Their keen points crossed from side to side;
He bowed amidst them like a tree,
And thus made way for liberty.
Swift to the breach his comrades fly —
"Make way for liberty!" they cry,
And through the Austrian phalanx dart,
As rushed the spears through Arnold's heart.
While, instantaneous as his fall,
Rout, ruin, panic, seized them all;
An earthquake could not overthrow
A city with a surer blow.
Thus Switzerland again was free;
Thus death made way for liberty.
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 43
A PATRIOT'S LAST SPEECH
Robert Emmet
Suggestions: A word of preface is needed for this selection. Just say
that Emmet, the Irish patriot, at his last trial, spoke in his own defense as
follows. The audience may be addressed as if they composed the jury.
Let no man dare, when I am dead, to charge me with dis-
honor! Let no man attaint my memory by believing that I could
have engaged in any cause but that of my country's liberty
and independence; or that I could have become the pliant
minion of power in the oppression or miseries of my countrymen.
I would not have submitted to a foreign oppressor, for the
same reason that I would resist the domestic tyrant. In the
dignity of freedom I would have fought upon the threshold
of my country, and its enemy should enter only by^ passing
over my lifeless corpse.
Am I, who lived but for my country, and who have sub-
jected myself to the dangers of the jealous and watchful
oppressor and the bondage of the grave, only to give my coun-
trymen their rights, and my country her independence, — am I
to be loaded with calumny and not suffered to resent it or
repel it? No! God forbid!
If the spirits of the illustrious dead participate in the con-
cerns and cares of those who are dear to them in this transi-
tory life, O ever dear and venerated shade of my departed
father, look down with scrutiny upon the conduct of your suf-
fering son, and see if I have ever for a moment deviated from
those principles of morality and patriotism which it was your
care to instil into my youthful mind, and for which I am now
about to offer up my life.
My lords, you are impatient for the sacrifice. The blood
which you seek is not congealed by the artificial terrors which
surround your victim; it circulates warmly and unruffled
through the channels which God created for noble purposes,
44 PLATFORM PIECES
but which you are bent to destroy for purposes so grievous
that they cry to heaven.
Be yet patient; I have but a few words to say. I am going
to my cold and silent grave; my lamp of life is nearly extin-
guished; my race is run; the grave opens to receive me, and I
sink into its bosom! I have but one request to ask at my de-
parture from this world, — it is the charity of its silence. Let
no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives
dare now vindicate them, let not prejudice or ignorance asperse
them. Let them and me repose in obscurity and peace, and my
tomb remain uninscribed until other times and other men can
do justice to my character. When my country takes her
place among the nations of the earth, then, and not till then,
let my epitaph be written. I have done.
MARCO-BOZZARIS
Fitz-Greene Halleck
Suggestions: Deliver the first part of this poem as a quiet description.
Beginning with an abrupt attack on the words "He woke," a very ani-
mated delivery is necessary to convey the rapid action of the poem through
the words "but Bozzaris fell." The last stanza must be set off from the
body of the poem by a pause.
At midnight, in his guarded tent,
The Turk was dreaming of the hour
When Greece, her knee in suppliance bent,
Should tremble at his power.
In dreams, through camp and court he bore
The trophies of a conqueror;
In dreams, his song of triumph heard;
Then wore his monarch's signet-ring;
Then pressed that monarch's throne — a king:
As wild his thoughts, and gay of wing,
As Eden's garden-bird.
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 45
At midnight, in the forest shades,
Bozzaris ranged his Suliote band,
True as the steel of their tried blades,
Heroes in heart and hand.
There had the Persian's thousands stood,
There had the glad earth drunk their blood,
On old Plataea's day:
And now there breathed that haunted air,
The sons of sires who conquered there,
With arms to strike, and soul to dare,
As quick, as far as they.
An hour passed on — the Turk awoke;
That bright dream was his last:
He woke — to hear his sentries shriek,
"To arms! they come! the Greek! the Greek!"
He woke — to die mid flame and smoke,
And shout and groan, and saber-stroke,
And death- shots falling thick and fast
As lightnings from the mountain-cloud;
And heard, with voice as trumpet loud,
Bozzaris cheer his band:
"Strike! — till the last armed foe expires;
Strike! — for your altars and your fires;
Strike! — for the green graves of your sires;
God — and your native land!"
They fought — like brave men, long and well;
They piled the ground with Moslem slain;
They conquered — but Bozzaris fell,
Bleeding at every vein.
His few surviving comrades saw
His smile, when rang their proud — "hurrah,"
And the red field was won:
46 PLATFORM PIECES
Then saw in death his eyelids close,
Calmly, as to a night's repose,
Like flowers at set of sun.
But to the hero, when his sword
Has won the battle for the free,
Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word,
And in its hollow tones are heard
The thanks of millions yet to be.
Bozzaris! with the storied brave
Greece nurtured in her glory's time,
Rest thee — there is no prouder grave,
Even in her own proud clime.
We tell thy doom without a sigh;
For thou art Freedom's now, and Fame's
One of the few, the immortal names
That were not born to die.
THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE AT
BALAKLAVA
Alfred Tennyson
Suggestions: No collection is complete without this old favorite, which
should be spoken by a boy with a strong voice and military bearing. The
speaker should seem to be re-living the action, thus making the time present.
Great fervor and vivid description are necessary to an adequate delivery
of this poem.
Half a league, half a league,
Half a league onward,
All in the valley of Death,
Rode the Six Hundred.
" Forward, the Light Brigade!
Charge for the guns!" he said.
Into the valley of Death
Rode the Six Hundred!
PATRIOTIC SELECTIONS 47
"Forward, the Light Brigade!"
Was there a man dismayed?
Not though the soldier knew
Some one had blundered:
Theirs not to make reply,
Theirs not to reason why,
Theirs but to do and die, —
Into the valley of Death
Rode the Six Hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them,
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well;
Into the jaws of Death,
Into the mouth of Hell,
Rode the Six Hundred.
Flashed all their sabers bare,
Flashed as they turned in air,
Sabring the gunners there,
Charging an army, while
All the world wondered:
Plunged in the battery-smoke,
Right through the line they broke:
Cossack and Russian
Reeled from the saber-stroke
Shattered and sundered.
Then they rode back, but not —
Not the Six Hundred.
Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
48 PLATFORM PIECES
Cannon behind them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at with shot and shell,
While horse and hero fell,
They that had fought so well
Came through the jaws of Death,
Back from the mouth of Hell,
All that was left of them,
Left of Six Hundred.
When can their glory fade?
Oh, the wild charge they made!
All the world wondered.
Honor the charge they made!
Honor the Light Brigade,
Noble Six Hundred!
HUMOROUS SELECTIONS 53
"I was with Grant," the stranger said —
Said the farmer, "Nay, no more,
I prithee sit at my frugal board,
And eat of my humble store.
"How fares my boy, my soldier boy,
Of the old Ninth Army Corps?
I warrant he bore him gallantly
In the smoke and the battle's roar!"
"I know him not," said the aged man,
"And, as I remarked before,
I was with Grant — " "Nay, nay, I know,"
Said the farmer, "say no more;
"He fell in battle — I see, alas!
Thou'dst smooth these tidings o'er —
Nay, speak the truth, whatever it be,
Though it rend my bosom's core.
" How fell he — with his face to the foe,
Upholding the flag he bore?
O, say not that my boy disgraced
The uniform that he wore!"
"I cannot tell," said the aged man,
"And should have remarked before,
That I was with Grant — in Illinois —
Some three years before the war."
Then the farmer spake him never a word,
But beat with his fist full sore
That aged man who had worked for Grant
Some three years before the war.
54 PLATFORM PIECES
THE BALLAD OF THE OYSTERMAN 1
Oliver Wendell Holmes
Suggestions: This recitation, well done, is a splendid piece of humor.
Even in descriptive lines the speaker should use masculine tones when
speaking of the oysterman, and light, feminine tones when alluding to the
maiden. He might also employ burlesque gestures throughout and mock
heroics in the last stanza.
It was a tall young oysterman lived by the riverside,
His shop was just upon the bank, his boat was on the tide;
The daughter of a fisherman, that was so straight and slim,
Lived over on the other bank, right opposite to him.
It was the pensive oysterman that saw a lovely maid,
Upon a moonlight evening, a sitting in the shade;
He saw her wave her handkerchief, as much as if to say,
"I'm wide awake, young oysterman, and all the folks away."
Then up arose the oysterman, and to himself said he,
"I guess I'll leave the skiff at home, for fear that folks should
see;
I read it in the storybook, that, for to kiss his dear,
Leander swam the Hellespont, — and I will swim this here."
And he has leaped into the waves, and crossed the shining
stream,
And he has clambered up the bank, all in the moonlight gleam,
O there were kisses sweet as dew, and words as soft as rain —
But they have heard her father's step, and in he leaps again!
Out spoke the ancient fisherman, "O what was that, my
daughter?"
"Twas nothing but a pebble, Sir, I threw into the water."
1 From the authorized edition of Holmes's poems, published by Houghton
Mifflin Company.
HUMOROUS SELECTIONS 55
"And what is that, pray tell me, love, that paddles off so fast? "
"It's nothing but a porpoise, Sir, that's been a swimming past."
Out spoke the ancient fisherman, "Now bring me my harpoon.
I'll get into my fishing-boat, and fix the fellow soon."
Down fell that pretty innocent, as falls a snow-white lamb,
Her hair drooped round her pallid cheeks, like seaweed on a
clam.
Alas for those two loving ones ! she waked not from her swound,
And he was taken with the cramp, and in the waves was drowned;
But Fate has metamorphosed them in pity of their woe,
And now they keep an oyster-shop for mermaids down below.
THE WALRUS AND THE CARPENTER
Lewis Carroll
Suggestions: The speaker should impersonate when direct quotation is
used in this poem, making the voices as varied as possible in pitch and in
tempo. He should assume a serious manner.
The sun was shining on the sea,
Shining with all his might;
He did his very best to make
The billows smooth and bright —
And this was odd, because it was
The middle of the night.
The moon was shining sulkily,
Because she thought the sun
Had got no business to be there
After the day was done:
"It's very rude of him," she said,
"To come and spoil the fun!"
56 PLATFORM PIECES
The sea was wet as wet could be,
The sands were dry as dry.
You could not see a cloud, because
No cloud was in the sky:
No birds were flying overhead —
There were no birds to fly.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Were walking close at hand;
They wept like anything to see
Such quantities of sand:
"If this were only cleared away,"
They said, "it would be grand!"
"If seven maids with seven mops
Swept it for half a year,
Do you suppose," the Walrus said,
"That they could get it clear?"
"I doubt it," said the Carpenter,
And shed a bitter tear.
"O Oysters, come and walk with us! "
The Walrus did beseech.
"A pleasant walk, a pleasant talk,
Along the briny beach:
We can not do with more than four,
To give a hand to each."
The eldest Oyster looked at him,
But never a word he said:
The eldest Oyster winked his eye,
And shook his heavy head, —
Meaning to say he did not choose
To leave the Oyster-bed.
HUMOROUS SELECTIONS 57
But four young Oysters hurried up,
All eager for the treat:
Their coats were brushed, their faces washed,
Their shoes were clean and neat —
And this was odd, because, you know,
They hadn't any feet.
Four other Oysters followed them,
And yet another four;
And thick and fast they came at last,
And more, and more, and more, —
All hopping through the frothy waves,
And scrambling to the shore.
The Walrus and the Carpenter
Walked on a mile or so,
And then they rested on a rock
Conveniently low:
And all the little Oysters stood
And waited in a row.
"The time has come," the Walrus said,
"To talk of many things:
Of shoes — and ships — and sealing wax —
Of cabbages — and kings —
And why the sea is boiling hot —
And whether pigs have wings."
"But wait a bit," the Oysters cried,
"Before we have our chat;
For some of us are out of breath,
And all of us are fat!"
"No hurry!" said the Carpenter.
They thanked him much for that.
58 PLATFORM PIECES
"A loaf of bread," the Walrus said,
"Is what we chiefly need:
Pepper and vinegar besides
Are very good indeed:
Now if you're ready, Oysters dear,
We can begin to feed."
"But not on us!" the Oysters cried,
Turning a little blue.
"After such kindness that would be
A dismal thing to do!"
"The night is fine," the Walrus said;
"Do you admire the view?
"It was so kind of you to come!
And you are very nice!"
The Carpenter said nothing but,
"Cut us another slice:
I wish you were not quite so deaf —
I've had to ask you twice!"
"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but,
"The butter's spread too thick!"
"I weep for you," the Walrus said;
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.
HUMOROUS SELECTIONS 59
"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again? "
But answer came there none —
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.
A GENTLE MAN
J. W. Foley
Suggestions: Like all travesties, this poem must be delivered as if the
speaker were in earnest and sees no fun nor mockery in the words he speaks.
He was as mild a man and kind
As in this world of ours you'd find,
So gentle he that in the night
He would not even strike a light;
When it was chill and cold about
He would not put the candle out;
So truthful, he could not, he said,
Endure to He upon his bed.
To hang a picture here or there
Was something he could never bear;
And oft the beating of the rain
He knew must give the window pane;
He said it always gave him some
Regret to have a week day come,
And as the seasons passed along
He hoped they would become quite strong.
Lest it become completely broke
He would not ever crack a joke,
60 PLATFORM PIECES
Or drive a nail because he said
'Twas better if the nail were led.
To shoe a horse he heard might give
It pain, and he so sensitive
No matter what was his excuse
Could never bear to shoo a goose.
To break the news he'd not agree
No matter what the news might be,
Lest he should give it needless pain
Or could not make it whole again;
When from its high and lofty tower
He heard the town clock strike the hour
He shut his ears, so great his woe
To think 'twould hurt the hour so.
On sunny days, though oft he tried,
He could not lock his door inside,
Because when all was bright and fair
It seemed a shame to keep it there:
And oft he let his lamp go out
When it was pleasant all about
Because he felt it would be sin
If he should always keep it in.
In darkness oft he sits and sings
To keep from making light of things;
He will not build, I know 'tis true,
A grate fire when a small will do,
And he spends many useful hours
In taking pistils from the flowers,
Lest from their little shoots should be
Some quite appalling tragedy. '
HUMOROUS SELECTIONS 61
THE CHRISTMAS TURKEY
Anonymous
Suggestions: The speaker should tell this verse as if in conversation, and
should give full impersonation to the pastor and the boy.
A farmer kind and able,
One of the parish, sent one morn
A nice fat turkey, raised on corn,
To grace the pastor's table.
The farmer's lad went with the fowl and thus addressed the
pastor,
"Dear me, if I ain't tired! Here's a gobbler from my
master."
The pastor said, "Thou should'st not thus present the fowl
to me,
Come take my chair, and speak for me, and I will act for
thee."
The preacher's chair received the boy, the fowl the pastor
took,
Went out with it, and then came in with pleasant smile and
look,
And to the boy he said, "Dear sir, my honored master
Presents this turkey and his best respects to you, his pastor."
"Good!" said the boy, "your master is a gentleman and
scholar !
My thanks to him, and for yourself here is a half a dollar."
The pastor felt around his mouth a most peculiar twitching
And holding fast the gobbler he bolted for the kitchen;
He gave the turkey to the cook, and came back in a minute,
Then took the youngster's hand and put half a dollar in it.
62 PLATFORM PIECES
HERE SHE GOES -AND THERE SHE GOES
James Nack
Suggestions: This old selection is worth restoring to our programs.
The recitation starts with quiet description, but soon develops so as to
include impersonations of all the characters. The fun begins when the
landlord has once begun to count the ticks of the clock; he must show
consternation over all that happens, but must not stop counting with hand
or voice for a moment, his eyes expressing his emotion of anger, etc. His
manner must show that he will not stop his counting, although he is growing
hysterical.
Two Yankee wags, one summer day,
Stopped at a tavern on their way;
Supped, frolicked, late retired to rest,
And woke to breakfast on the best.
The breakfast over, Tom and Will
Sent for the landlord and the bill;
Will looked it over; "Very right —
But hold! what wonder meets my sight?
Tom! the surprise is quite a shock!"
"What wonder? where?" "The clock! the clock!"
Tom and the landlord in amaze
Stared at the clock with stupid gaze,
And for a moment neither spoke;
At last the landlord silence broke:
"You mean the clock that's ticking there?
I see no wonder, I declare;
Though may be, if the truth were told,
'Tis rather ugly — somewhat old;
Yet time it keeps to half a minute,
But, if you please, what wonder's in it?"
HUMOROUS SELECTIONS 63
"Tom, don't you recollect," said Will,
"The clock in Jersey near the mill,
The very image of this present,
With which I won the wager pleasant?"
Will ended with a knowing wink.
Tom scratched his head, and tried to think.
"Sir, begging pardon for inquiring,"
The landlord said, with grin admiring,
"What wager was it?"
"You remember,
It happened, Tom, in last December,
In sport I bet a Jersey Blue
That it was more than he could do,
To make his finger go and come
In keeping with the pendulum,
Repeating, till one hour should close,
Still, here she goes — and there she goes.
He lost the bet in half a minute."
"Well, if I would, the deuce is in it!"
Exclaimed the landlord; "try me yet,
And fifty dollars be the bet. "
"Agreed, but we will play some trick
To make you of the bargain sick!"
"I'm up to that!"
"Don't make us wait;
Begin, the clock is striking eight."
He seats himself, and left and right
His finger wags with all his might,
And hoarse his voice, and hoarser grows,
With "Here she goes — and there she goes!"
"Hold," said the Yankee, "plank the ready!"
The landlord wagged his fingers steady
64 PLATFORM PIECES
While his left hand, as well as able,
Conveyed a purse upon the table.
"Tom, with the money let's be off!"
This made the landlord only scoff;
He heard them running down the stair,
But was not tempted from his chair;
Thought he, "The fools! I'll bite them yet!
So poor a trick sha'n't win the bet."
And loud and long the chorus rose
Of "Here she goes — and there she goes!"
While right and left his finger swung,
In keeping to his clock and tongue.
His mother happened in to see
Her daughter; "Where is Mrs. B ?
When will she come, as you suppose?
"Here she goes — and there she goes!"
"Here! Where?" — the lady in surprise
His finger followed with her eyes:
"Son, why that steady gaze and sad?
Those words — that motion — are you mad?
But here's your wife — perhaps she knows,
"Here she goes — and there she goes!"
His wife surveyed him with alarm,
And rushed to him and seized his arm;
He shook her off, and to and fro
His finger persevered to go,
While curled his very nose with ire,
That she against him should conspire,
And with more furious tone arose
The "Here she goes — and there she goes!"
HUMOROUS SELECTIONS 65
"Lawks!" screamed the wife. "I'm in a whirl!
Run down and bring the little girl;
She is his darling, and who knows
But" —
"Here she goes — and there she goes!"
"Lawks! he is mad! What made him thus!
Good lack! what will become of us?
Run for a doctor — run — run — run —
For Doctor Brown, and Doctor Dun,
And Doctor Black, and Doctor White,
And Doctor Grey, with all your might."
The doctors came, and looked and wondered,
And shook their heads, and paused and pondered,
Till one proposed he should be bled,
"No — leeched you mean," the other said.
"Clap on a blister," roared another.
"No — cup him" — "No — trepan him, brother!"
A sixth would recommend a purge,
The next would an emetic urge,
The eighth, just come from a dissection,
His verdict gave for an injection;
The last produced a box of pills,
A certain cure for earthly ills;
"I had a patient yesternight,"
Quoth he, "and wretched was her plight,
And as the only means to save her,
Three dozen patent pills I gave her,
And by to-morrow, I suppose
That" —
"Here she goes — and there she goes!"
"You all are fools," the lady said,
"The way is, just to shave his head,
66 PLATFORM PIECES
Run, bid the barber come anon" —
" Thanks, mother," thought her clever son,
"You help the knaves that would have bit me,
But all creation sha'n't outwit me!"
Thus to himself, while to and fro
His finger perseveres to go,
And from his lips no accent flows
But here she goes — and there she goest
The barber came — "Lord help him! what
A queer customer I've got;
But we must do our best to save him —
So hold him, gemmen, while I shave him!"
But here the doctors interpose —
"A woman never" —
"There she goes!"
"A woman is no judge of physic,
Not even when her baby is sick.
He must be bled" — "No — no — a blister;"
"A purge you mean" — "I say a clyster;"
"No — cup him" — "Leech him" — "Pills! pills! pills!"
And all the house the uproar fills.
What means that smile? What means that shiver?
The landlord's limbs with rapture quiver,
And triumph brightens up his face —
His finger yet shall win the race!
The clock is on the stroke of nine,
And up he starts — " 'Tis mine! 'tis mine!"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean the fifty!
I never spent an hour so thrifty;
HUMOROUS SELECTIONS 67
But you, who tried to make me lose,
Go, burst with envy, if you choose!
But how is this! Where are they?"
"Who?"
"The gentlemen — I mean the two
Came yesterday — are they below? "
"They galloped off an hour ago."
"Oh, purge me! blister! shave and bleed!
For, hang the knaves, I'm mad indeed!"
III.— NARRATIVE SELECTIONS
A STORY OF THE BAREFOOT BOY 1
John Townsend Trowbridge
Suggestions: Give the first part of this poem as a direct and simple nar-
rative. Later in the poem, impersonate the boys as vividly as possible.
Distinguish all that follows "John gave it up" from the rest of the poem
by a pause before beginning it and by a different manner in delivery, as this
last part of the composition is the application or moral of the story in
the first part.
On Haverhill's pleasant hills there played,
Some sixty years ago,
In turned-up trousers, tattered hat,
The " Barefoot Boy" we know.
He roamed his berry-fields content;
But while from bush and brier
The nimble feet got many a scratch,
His wit, beneath its homely thatch,
Aspired to something higher.
Over his dog-eared spelling book,
Or schoolboy's composition,
Puzzling his head with some hard sum,
Going for nuts, or gathering gum,
He cherished his ambition.
He found the turtles' eggs, and watched
To see the warm sun hatch 'em;
1 Used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.
68
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 69
Hunting with sling, or bow and arrow,
Or salt to trap the unwary sparrow,
Caught fish, or tried to catch 'em.
But more and more to rise, to soar —
This hope his bosom fired; —
He shot his arrow, sailed his kite,
Let out the string and watched its flight,
And smiled while he aspired.
"Now I've a plan — I know we can!"
He said to Matt — another
Small shaver of the barefoot sort;
His name was Matthew — Matt, for short;
Our barefoot's younger brother.
"What! fly?" says Matt. "Well, not just that,"
John thought; "for we can't fly;
But we can go right up," says he;
"Oh, higher than the highest tree:
Away up in the sky!"
"Oh, do," says Matt; "I'll hold thy hat,
And watch while thee is gone."
For these were Quaker lads; lisped each
In his pretty Quaker speech.
"No, that won't do," says John,
"For thee must help; then we can float
As light as any feather.
We both can lift; now don't thee see?
If thee lift me while I lift thee,
We shall go up together!"
70 PLATFORM PIECES
An autumn evening, early dusk,
A few stars faintly twinkled;
The crickets chirped; the chores were done;
'Twas just the time to have some fun
Before the tea-bell tinkled.
They spat upon their hands and clinched,
Firm under hold and upper;
"Don't lift too hard or lift too far,"
Says Matt; "or we may hit a star,
And not get back to supper!"
"Oh, no," says John; "we'll only lift
A few rods up, that's all,
To see the river and the town.
Now don't let go till we come down,
Or we shall catch a fall!
Hold fast to me; now, one, two, three!
And up we go." They jerk,
They pull and strain, but all in vain!
A bright idea, and yet, 'twas plain,
It somehow wouldn't work.
John gave it up; ah, many a John
Has tried and failed as he did.
'Twas a shrewd notion, none the less,
And still, in spite of ill success,
It somewhat has succeeded.
Kind Nature smiled on that wise child,
Nor could her love deny him
The large fulfillment of his plan,
Since he who lifts his brother man
In turn is lifted by him.
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 71
He reached the starry heights of peace
Before his head was hoary;
And now, at threescore years and ten,
The blessings of his fellow-men
Waft him a crown of glory.
TOM
Constance Fenimore Woolson
Suggestions: The speaker should start this poem very simply, striking
the dramatic note on the third line. He should make a long pause before
the last stanza, which should be said very quietly.
Yes, Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew.
Just listen to this:
When the old mill took fire, and the flooring fell through,
And I with it, helpless there, full in my view
What do you think my eyes saw through the fire
That crept along, crept along, nigher and nigher,
But Robin, my baby boy, laughing to see
The shining? He must have come there after me,
Toddled alone from the cottage, without
Anyone's missing him. Then, what a shout —
Oh! how I shouted, "For Heaven's sake, men,
Save little Robin!"
Again and again
They tried, but the fire held them back like a wall.
I could hear them go at it, and at it, and call,
"Never mind, baby, sit still like a man!
We're coming to get you as fast as we can."
They could not see him, but I could. He sat
Still on a beam, his little straw hat
Carefully placed by his side; and his eyes
72 PLATFORM PIECES
Stared at the flame with a baby's surprise,
Calm and unconscious, as nearer it crept.
The roar of the fire up above must have kept
The sound of his mother's voice shrieking his name
From reaching the child. But I heard it. It came
Again and again. O God, what a cry!
The axes went faster: I saw the sparks fly
Where the men worked like tigers, nor minded the heat
That scorched them, — when, suddenly, there at their feet,
The great beams leaned in — they saw him — then, crash!
Down came the wall! The men made a dash,
Jumped to get out of the way, and I thought,
"All's up with poor little Robin!" and brought
Slowly the arm that was least hurt to hide
The sight of the child there, — when swift, at my side,
Some one rushed by, and went right through the flame,
Straight as a dart — caught the child — and then came
Back with him, choking and crying, but — saved!
Saved safe and sound.
Oh, how the men raved,
Shouted, and cried, and hurrahed! Then they all
Rushed at the work again, lest the back wall
Where I was lying, away from the fire,
Should fall in and bury me.
Oh! you'd admire
To see Robin now: he's as bright as a dime,
Deep in some mischief, too, most of the time.
Tom, it was, saved him. Now, isn't it true
Tom's the best fellow that ever you knew?
There's Robin now! See, he's strong as a log!
And there comes Tom, too —
Yes, Tom was our dog.
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 73
THE STRANGER'S ALMS
Henry Abbey
Suggestions: This selection is descriptive, with only a line or two calling
for impersonation.
In Lyons, on the mart of that French town,
Years since, a woman leading a fair child
Craved a small alms of one, who, walking down
The thoroughfare, caught the child's glance and smiled
To see, behind its eyes, a noble soul;
He paused, but found he had no coin to dole.
His guardian angel warned him not to lose
This chance of pearl to do another good;
So, as he waited, sorry to refuse
The asked-for penny, there aside he stood,
And with his hat held, as by limb the nest,
He covered his kind face and sang his best.
The sky was blue above, and all the lane
Of commerce, where the singer stood, was filled,
And many paused, and listening, paused again
To hear the voice that through and through them thrilled.
I think the guardian angel helped along
The cry for pity, woven in a song. . . .
The hat of its stamped brood was emptied soon
Into the woman's lap, who drenched with tears
Her kiss upon the hand of help; 'twas noon,
And noon in her glad heart drove forth her fears.
The singer, pleased, passed on and softly thought,
"Men will not know by whom this deed was wrought."
74 PLATFORM PIECES
But when at night he came upon the stage,
Cheer after cheer went up from that wide throng,
And flowers rained on him; naught could assuage
The tumult of the welcome save the song
That he had sweetly sung, with covered face,
For the two beggars in the marketplace.
TIDINGS OF THE ATLANTIC
John B. Gough
Suggestions: This selection requires of the speaker very varied descrip-
tion: from the extremely simple to the intensely dramatic.
I was in New York when the question was often asked,
"Any news of the Atlantic?" And the answer day after day
was, "No! " She had been due ten, fifteen, eighteen days,
and still no news. Telegraphic despatches came from all
quarters, " Any news of the Atlantic ? " And the answer thrilled
back again, sinking down deep into the hearts of those who had
friends on board, "No!"
Twenty days, twenty-one days, twenty-two days passed,
and people began to be excited.
Guns booming told that a ship was coming up the Narrows.
People went out upon the Battery, on the Castle gardens, and
on the tops of houses to see and hear. It was an English ship;
the Union Jack was flying. They watched the ship till she came
to her moorings, and their hearts sank within them. They
sent hastily across, "Any news of the Atlantic?" And the
answer "No!" echoed through the air, filling many a heart
with anguish. "She sailed fifteen days before we did, and we
have heard nothing of her."
Then old men shook their heads and said, "She is gone after
the President" Twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven days
passed, and those who had friends on board began to make up
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 75
their mourning. Twenty-nine, thirty days passed, and the
captain's wife was so ill, that the doctors said she must die if
her suspense were not removed.
One bright, beautiful morning, guns were heard, and a ship
was seen coming up the Narrows. A crowd was again collected,
such as had never turned out since the city was founded. It
was a British ship, for her flag was floating in the breeze. How
men's hearts beat as they watched the ship till she came to her
moorings! The last hope seemed dying out, till at last, the
noble ship steamed up the river. Every eye was fixed upon
her. People gathered around her like clusters of bees. Then
an officer jumped upon the paddle-box and, putting a trumpet
to his mouth, called out, "The Atlantic is safe!"
How the people shouted! It was a shout from a hundred
thousand throats. Men shook hands who had never seen each
other before. Men dashed away tears from cheeks that had
been unused to such moisture. Bands of music paraded the
streets; transparencies were put in front of the hotels, "The
Atlantic is safe!" Telegraphic wires worked all night thrilling
the message, "The Atlantic is safe!" Thousands upon thou-
sands rejoiced, though not one in a hundred thousand had an
acquaintance on board.
THE LIGHT ON DEADMAN'S BAR
Eben Eugene Rexford
Suggestions: The speaker should treat this poem as an admixture of light
description and action, with impersonations.
The lighthouse keeper's daughter looked out across the bay
To the north, where, hidden in tempest, she knew the mainland
lay;
The waters were lashed to fury by the wind that swept the
sea.
"Father won't think of crossing in a storm like this," said she,
76 PLATFORM PIECES
" 'Twould be death to undertake it — and yet, when he thinks
of the light,
He may try to reach the island. Perhaps," and her eyes grew
bright
With the thought, "if I go and light it before the night shuts
down,
He may see it from the mainland, and stay all night in the town.
I'm sure that I can do it," she whispered, under her breath,
And her heart was strong with the courage that comes with the
thought of death
When it threatens to strike our loved ones. "For father's
sake," cried she,
"I'll light the lamp and tend it. Perhaps some ship at sea
May see it shine through the darkness and steer by its warning
star
Past the rocks and reefs of danger that he on Deadman's Bar."
She climbed the winding stairway with never a thought of
fear,
Though the demon of the tempest seemed shouting in her ear;
She seemed to feel the tower in the wild wind reel and rock,
As it shivered from foot to turret in the great waves' thunder-
shock;
But she thought not so much of danger to herself as to those at
sea,
And the father off on the mainland, as up the stair climbed
she,
Till at last she stood in the turret before the lamp whose light
Must be kindled to flash its warning across the stormy night.
'Twas an easy task to light it, and soon its ray shone out
Through the murky gloom that gathered the closing day about;
But a fear rose up in her bosom as the light began to burn —
Could she set the wheels in motion that made the great lamp
turn?
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 77
If the light in the tower turned not, those who saw it out at
sea
Might think it was North Point beacon or the light on Ste.
Marie,
And woe to the ships whose courses were steered by a steady
light
From the point where a turning signal should show its star at
night!
"If only my father had told me how to start the wheels!" she
cried,
As she sought to put them in motion; but all in vain she tried
To set the great lamp turning; the stubborn wheels stood still.
"It shall turn!" she cried; "it must turn!" and strong of heart
and will,
She roused to the task before her, and with her hands she
swung
The great lamp in a circle on the arm from which it hung.
Now it was flashing seaward, and now it flashed toward the
land,
And those who saw the beacon would think not that the hand
Of a little girl was turning the light up there in the storm,
To warn the ships from the dangers with which the low reefs
swarm.
Steadily round she swung it as darkness fell over the sea;
"Father will see it, believing the wheels are at work," laughed
she.
Darkness closed in about her as round and round she swung
The lamp in its iron socket. The tempest demons sung
Their fierce, wild songs above her; below, the maddened waves
Howled at the light that was cheating the pitiless sea of graves.
No thought of fear came to her up there alone in the night —
Her thoughts were all of the sailors and the turning of the light.
78 PLATFORM PIECES
The lonesome hours went by her on weary feet and slow;
Sometimes, before she knew it, her drowsy lids drooped low;
Then the thought of what might happen if she let the light
stand still
Was like a voice that roused her and sent a mighty thrill
Tingling through all her being. So steadily round she swung
The lamp, and smiled to see its gleam across the dark night flung.
"I wonder if father sees it? If he does, he's glad," thought she;
"It may be that Brother Benny is somewhere out at sea.
Who knows but what I am doing may save his ship and him? "
And then, for one little moment, the brave girl's eyes grew dim,
But her heart and her arm grew stronger with purpose high
and grand
As she thought of the sailor brother whose fate she might hold
in her hand.
So with hands that never faltered through all that long, long
night
She kept the great lamp turning till broke the ruddy light
Of morning over the waters. "Now I can sleep," said she,
With one last thought of her father and the brother out at sea;
Then the hands that were, oh, so weary! fell heavily at her side,
And she slept to dream of the beacon at the turning of the tide.
When she woke from her long, deep slumber the sun was high
in the sky;
Her father sat by her bedside, and another was standing by;
"Benny," she cried, in gladness, "did you see the light last
night?
I thought of you while I turned it, and, oh, I hoped you might!"
"My brave little sister," he answered, "do you know what you
did last night?
You saved the lives of two score men when you tended Dead-
man's Light.
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 79
'Twas a grand night's work, my sister — a brave night's work
to save
Two score of home-bound fishermen from a yawning ocean
grave.
Over there on the mainland they're talking of you to-day
As the girl that saved the good ship Jane. ' God bless the child! '
they say;
And in many a home they'll speak, dear, your name in prayer
to-night,
As they think of what they owe to her who tended Deadman's
Light."
A TRAGEDY OF THE NORTH SEA
Joseph C. Powell
Suggestions: The speaker must seize the opportunities for varied de-
scription in this selection, some passages being very quiet and others
intensely dramatic.
The fog had been so thick, since early in the morning, that
it was impossible to distinguish objects a few feet off. The
boat had to proceed very slowly; indeed, sometimes it did not
seem to be going at all. The whistle blew every minute, and
surely we thought no drifting craft could possibly be harmed by
our steamship, big as it was. But suddenly a little sloop popped
up right before us. In an instant the prow of the Bismarck cut
it in half.
The scenes attending this tragedy — this running down of
this smack and the attempt at rescuing the poor fishermen —
were so thrilling and heartbreaking that those who witnessed
the occurrence will never forget it.
As soon as the collision occurred the seamen were ordered
to close the hatchways, though the shock to the Bismarck was
very slight. Part of the schooner held together and brushed
80 PLATFORM PIECES
along the side of our ship before it overturned and went down.
Five of the fishermen held on to the rigging and shouted:
"For God's sake, throw us a rope!"
But there was no rope at hand. It seemed we were all so
close to the poor fellows that we could almost reach out and
take them by the hand. But unfortunately it was a case of
so near and yet so far. When the sloop overturned, the fisher-
men went down. In a few minutes they were heard crying
for help a few hundred yards away, but the fog was thick and
they could not be seen.
"Send out your boat!" they shouted. "Why don't you
hurry?" "Help! Help!" These were the piteous cries we
heard so distinctly.
The passengers were frantic because so helpless. The Bis-
marck was stopped as quickly as possible, but a huge steamer
cannot be brought to a standstill in a moment. Suddenly the
cries for help ceased, and that was ominous. A few minutes
later, however, two of the men could be seen. They had life
preservers encircling their heads and were bobbing up and
down with the waves. They had drifted so near the vessel as
to be within sight, despite the fog.
"Come and help us!" they shouted.
We answered, "The boat will be there in a minute; hold on!"
But where was the boat? Our seamen had been closing the
hatchways, and it took some time to do this. Self-preservation
is the first law of nature. And, moreover, the boats could not
be lowered till the steamer stopped.
And so, as the fisherman were shouting, "We cannot hold
out much longer," we were answering back, "You will be rescued
in a few minutes." The boat finally reached two of them, and
they were hauled in more dead than alive. But the others
were lost, and as soon as that sad fact was realized our vessel
started on again.
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 81
THE WRECK OF RIVERMOUTH
John G. Whittier
Suggestions: This poem calls for description with touches of impersona-
tion. Set off the last stanza from the rest of the poem by a pause.
Once, in the old Colonial days,
Two hundred years ago and more,
A boat sailed down through the winding ways
Of Hampton river to that low shore,
Full of a goodly company
Sailing out on the summer sea,
Veering to catch the land-breeze light,
With the Boar to left and the Rocks to right.
In Hampton meadows, where mowers laid
Their scythes to the swaths of salted grass,
"Ah, well-a-day! our hay must be made!"
A young man sighed, who saw them pass.
Loud laughed his fellows to see him stand
Whetting his scythe with a listless hand,
Hearing a voice in a far-off song,
Watching a white hand beckoning long.
"Fie on the witch!" cried a merry girl,
As they rounded the point where Goody Cole
Sat by her door with her wheel atwirl,
A bent and blear-eyed poor old soul.
"Oho!" she muttered, "ye're brave to-day!
But I hear the little waves laugh and say,
'The broth will be cold that waits at home;
For it's one to go, but another to come!'"
82 PLATFORM PIECES
"She's cursed," said the skipper; "speak her fair:
I'm scary always to see her shake
Her wicked head, with its wild, gray hair,
And nose like a hawk, and eyes like a snake."
But merrily still, with laugh and shout,
From Hampton river the boat sailed out,
Till the huts and the flakes on Star seemed nigh,
And they lost the scent of the pines of Rye.
They dropped their lines in the lazy tide,
Drawing up haddock and mottled cod;
They saw not the Shadow that walked beside;
They heard not the feet with silence shod.
But thicker and thicker a hot mist grew,
Shot by the lightnings, through and through;
And muffled growls, like the growl of a beast,
Ran along the sky from west to east.
Then the skipper looked from the darkening sea,
Up to the dimmed and wading sun;
But he spake like a brave man, cheerily,
"Yet there is time for our homeward run."
Veering and tacking they backward wore,
And just as a breath from the woods ashore
Blew out to whisper of danger past,
The wrath of the storm came down at last!
The skipper hauled at the heavy sail —
"God be our help!" he only cried,
As the roaring gale, like the stroke of a flail,
Smote the boat on its starboard side.
The Shoalsmen looked, but saw alone
Dark films of rain-cloud slantwise blown,
Wild rocks lit up by the lightning's glare,
The strife and torment of sea and air.
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 83
Suddenly seaward swept the squall;
The low sun smote through cloudy rack;
The Shoals stood clear in the light, and all
The trend of the coast lay hard and black.
But far and wide as eye could reach,
No life was seen upon wave or beach;
The boat that went out at morning never
Sailed back again into Hampton river.
O mower, lean on thy bended snath,
Look from the meadows green and low:
The wind of the sea is a waft of death,
The waves are singing a song of woe!
By silent river, by moaning sea,
Long and vain shall thy watching be:
Never again shall the sweet voice call,
Never the white hand rise and fall!
THE RESCUE
Anonymous
Suggestions: This is a piece of vivid description. Although the speaker
should begin it quietly, he must make it intensely dramatic after the first
sentence.
At half past seven on Saturday morning, May 16th, as the
keeper of the Williamsburgh reservoir was in front of his dam,
he saw in the east branch a spurt of water near the base. In
a moment he turned toward his barn, jumped on his horse and
rode for dear life down the road to Williamsburgh. So terrible
was the speed he made, that in less than ten minutes he was
among the cottages of Williamsburgh, crying and yelling like
a madman, "The dam! The dam is burst! Get up to the high
ground! The water is coming!"
84 PLATFORM PIECES
It had come. Those who were safe before the news came,
escaped. As for the rest, they took the chances of the flood.
Some clung to their houses; but the houses were mere toys
of paper, swept like feathers here and there, piled one upon
another, upset, spun round, beaten, buffeted and tossed about
with all that was human in them shaken into the terrible rail-
way speed of the deluge of timbers and rocks and waters.
Some fled, and were overwhelmed before the eyes of their
friends. Some went mad, and rode the deluge down the valley,
shrieking. Here and there one could be seen, sitting on the
roof of his shaking house and clinging to it as the billows struck
it. Of these last, none had a more wonderful experience than
a young Englishman of Leeds.
When the alarm was first given, he was at his work in the
spool-room of the silk works. Rushing out of the mill, his
first thought was for his father, wife and children. They had
all left the house.- As he shouted to them to run for their
lives, the wife and children obeyed; but the father, an old man,
thinking that safety could better be found in the house, went
back. With a bound his son was at his side, begging him to
leave the doomed building. But in an instant the floor gave
way beneath their feet, and the father disappeared from sight.
Climbing out of the window, the young man crawled up to the
roof just as the building broke up, leaving him with but a
fragment to cling to for his life.
On, on he went, sailing down that awful flood, in full sight of
wife and children, who, as they looked on in agony and terror,
expected momentarily to see him sink beneath the surging
mass. In a few seconds his frail raft was crushed like an egg-
shell; but his presence of mind never left him. He jumped
for another, and when that was gone for yet another.
Hastening down, down with the current at terrific speed,
intent only on the fearful task he had in hand, he never once
thought of the dams toward which he was hastening. The
first one was reached in an awful crash and jam. He was
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 85
hurled seemingly twenty feet into the air, to come down and
be submerged for the first time, far beneath the waves. He
came to the surface again, and clasped another piece of drift-
wood. It was then he realized with an intensity imaginable
only by those whose lives have been likewise imperiled, that
another and higher dam was but a short distance below, and
that unless he escaped from the flood before that point was
reached, there was absolutely no hope for life.
Just at this instant the swollen mass of water and debris
surged toward the shore. Will it remain? Will the broken
roofs at his feet serve him as a bridge with which to reach firm
earth again? No, they are moving out toward the current.
The last hold on life seems breaking away. He hears the roar
of the dam. More and more heartrending grow the screams
and groans of the women and children, sweeping down toward
him in houses and fragments of houses.
But just as he would yield himself in resignation to his ter-
rible fate, comes a sudden turn in the debris — a quick surge
of the gathering waters toward the shore. It is his last chance !
Better die here than below! He leaps! The fragment on which
he strikes totters, gives way from under him, but not before he
has made a spring, which with another and another leap, brings
him to the shore! Saved as by a miracle!
THE PRIDE OF BATTERY "B"
Frank H. Gassaway
Suggestions: In giving this poem, which calls for both narration and
impersonation, the speaker should use great simplicity of manner.
South Mountain towered upon our right,
Far off the river lay,
And over on the wooded height
We held our fines at bay.
86 PLATFORM PIECES
At last the muttering guns were still,
The day died slow and wan,
At last the gunners' pipes did fill,
The sergeant's yarns began.
When, as the wind a moment blew
Aside the fragrant flood,
Our brier-woods raised, within our view
A little maiden stood.
A tiny tot of six or seven,
From fireside fresh she seemed,
(Of such a little one in heaven
One soldier often dreamed).
And, as we stared, her little hand
Went to her curly head
In grave salute: "And who are you?"
At length the sergeant said.
"And where's your home?" he growled again.
She lisped out, "Who is me?
Why, don't you know? I'm little Jane,
The pride of Battery 'B.'
"My home? Why, that was burned away,
And pa and ma are dead,
And so I ride the guns all day
Along with Sergeant Ned.
"And I've a drum that's not a toy,
A cap with feathers, too,
And I march beside the drummer boy
On Sundays at review;
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 87
"But now our 'bacca's all give out,
The men can't have their smoke,
And so they're cross — why, even Ned
Won't play with me and joke,
"And the big Colonel said, to-day —
I hate to hear him swear —
He'd give a leg for a good pipe
Like the Yank had over there.
"And so I thought when beat the drum,
And the big guns were still,
I'd creep beneath the tent and come
Out here across the hill,
"And beg, good Mister Yankee men,
You give me some Lone Jack,
Please do, — when we get some again
I'll surely bring it back.". . .
We brimmed her tiny apron o'er,
You should have heard her laugh
As each man from his scanty store
Shook out a generous half.
To kiss the little mouth stooped down
A score of grimy men,
Until the sergeant's husky voice
Said "'Tention, squad!" — and then
We gave her escort, till good-night
The pretty waif we bid,
And watched her toddle out of sight —
Or else 'twas tears that hid
88 PLATFORM PIECES
Her tiny form — nor turned about
A man, nor spoke a word,
Till after a while a far, hoarse shout
Upon the wind we heard.
We sent it back, then cast sad eyes
Upon the scene around.
A baby's hand had touched the ties
That brothers once had bound.
That's all, — save when the dawn awoke
Again the work of hell,
And through the sullen clouds of smoke
The screaming missiles fell,
Our General often rubbed his glass,
And marveled much to see
Not a single shell that whole day fell
In the camp of Battery "B."
BAY BILLY
Frank H. Gassaway
Suggestions: This recitation calls for touches of impersonation. Give
the military commands very crisply. Observe the frequent changes in
time: the rapid, changing to slow, then again to quick, tempo. The last
stanza should be set off from the rest of the poem by a long pause, to sug-
gest the lapse of years. The speaker should also change his position before
giving this last stanza.
'Twas the last fight at Fredericksburg —
Perhaps the day you reck —
Our boys, the Twenty-second Maine,
Kept Early's men in check,
Just where Wade Hampton boomed away,
The fight went neck and neck.
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 89
All day we held the weaker wing,
And held it with a will;
Five several stubborn times we charged
The battery on the hill,
And five times beaten back, re-formed,
And kept our columns still.
At last from out the center fight
Spurred up a General's Aid,
"That battery must silenced be!"
He cried as past he sped.
Our Colonel simply touched his cap,
And then, with measured tread,
To lead the crouching line once more
The grand old fellow came.
No wounded man but raised his head
And strove to gasp his name,
And those who could not speak nor stir,
"God blessed him" just the same.
For he was all the world to us,
That hero gray and grim;
Right well he knew that fearful slope
We'd climb with none but him,
Though while his white head led the way
We'd charge hell's portals in.
This time we were not halfway up,
When 'midst the storm of shell,
Our leader, with his sword upraised,
Beneath our bay'nets fell.
And as we bore him back, the foe
Set up a joyous yell.
90 PLATFORM PIECES
Our hearts went with him. Back we swept;
And when the bugle said
"Up, charge!" no man was there
But hung his head.
"We've no one left to lead us now,"
The sullen soldiers said.
Just then, before the laggard line,
The Colonel's horse we spied —
Bay Billy, with his trappings on,
His nostril swelling wide,
As though still on his gallant back
The master sat astride.
Right royally he took the place
That was of old his wont,
And with a neigh, that seemed to say
Above the battle's brunt,
"How can the Twenty-second charge
If I am not in front?"
Like statues we stood rooted there,
And gazed a little space,
Above that floating mane we missed
The dear, familiar face;
But we saw Bay Billy's eye of fire,
And it gave us heart of grace.
No bugle call could rouse us all
As that brave sight had done;
Down all the battered line we felt
A lightning impulse run;
Up, up the hill we followed Bill,
And captured every gun!
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 91
And when upon the conquered height
Died out the battle's hum,
Vainly 'mid living and the dead
We sought our leader dumb;
It seemed as if a specter steed,
To win that day had come.
Not all the shoulder straps on earth
Could still our mighty cheer.
And ever from that famous day,
When rang the roll call clear,
Bay Billy's name was read, and then
The whole line answered "Here!"
THE PIPES AT LUCKNOW
John Greenleae Whittier
Suggestions: Although this poem calls for vivid description chiefly, the
touches of impersonation must be fully given.
. . . Dear to the lowland reaper
And plaided mountaineer,
To the cottage and the castle,
The Scottish pipes are dear.
Sweet sounds the ancient pibroch
O'er mountain, loch, and glade,
But the sweetest of all music
The pipes at Lucknow played.
Day by day the Indian tiger
Louder yelled and nearer crept,
Round and round the jungle serpent
Near and nearer circles swept.
"Pray for rescue, wives and mothers,
Pray to-day!" the soldier said;
92 PLATFORM PIECES
"To-morrow death's between us
And the wrong and shame we dread."
Oh, they listened, looked, and waited,
Till their hopes became despair,
And the sobs of low bewailing
Filled the pauses of their prayer.
Then up spoke a Scottish maiden,
With her ear upon the ground,
"Dinna ye hear it? dinna ye hear it?
The pipes o' Havelock sound!"
Hushed the wounded man his groaning,
Hushed the wife her little ones;
Alone they heard the drum roll
And the roar of Sepoy guns.
But to sounds of home and childhood,
The Highland ear was true;
"Dinna ye hear it? 'tis the slogan!
Will ye no believe it noo?"
Like the march of soundless music
Through the vision of the seer,
More of feeling than of hearing,
Of the heart than of the ear,
She knew the droning pibroch;
She knew the Campbell's call.
"Hark! hear ye no' MacGregor's,
The grandest o' them all?"
Oh, they listened dumb and breathless,
And they caught the sound at last,
Faint and far beyond the Goomtee,
Rose and fell the piper's blast!
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 93
Then a burst of wild thanksgiving,
Mingled woman's voice and man's;
"God be praised! The march of Havelock
And the piping of the clans!"
A
Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance,
Sharp and shrill as swords at strife,
Came the wild MacGregor's clan call —
Stirring all the air to life.
But when the far-off dust cloud
To plaided legions grew,
Full blithesomely and tenderly
The pipes of rescue blew.
Round the silver domes of Lucknow,
Round red Dowla's golden shrine,
Breathed the air to Britons dearest,
The air of "Auld Lang Syne."
O'er the cruel roll of war drums
Rose that sweet and homelike strain,
And the tartan clove the turban
As the Goomtee cleaves the plain.
Dear to the lowland reaper
And plaided mountaineer,
To the cottage and the castle,
The piper's song is dear.
Sweet sounds the Gaelic pibroch
O'er mountain, glen and glade;
But the sweetest of all music
The pipes at Lucknow played.
94 PLATFORM PIECES
THE VICTOR OF MARENGO
Anonymous
Suggestions: The speaker should note that the delivery of this selec-
tion requires a medley of quiet and dramatic description, with touches
of full impersonation.
Napoleon was sitting in his tent. Before him lay the map
of Italy. He took four pins, stuck them up, measured, moved
the pins, and measured again.
"Now," said he, "that is right. I will capture him there."
"Who, sire?" said an officer.
"Melas, the old fox of Austria. He will return from Genoa,
pass through Turin and fall back on Alexandria. I will cross
the Po, meet him on the plains of La Servia and conquer him
there." And the finger of the Child of Destiny pointed to
Marengo.
But God thwarted Napoleon's schemes. In the gorges of
the Alps a few drops of water had fallen, and the Po could not
be crossed in time. The battle was begun. Melas, pushed
to the wall by Lannes, resolved to push his way out; and
Napoleon reached the field to find Lannes beaten, Champeaux
dead, and Kellerman still charging. Old Melas poured his
Austrian phalanx on Marengo till the consular guard gave
way, and the well-planned victory of Napoleon became a
terrible defeat.
Just as the day was lost, Desaix, the boy general, came sweep-
ing across the field at the head of his cavalry, and halted near
the eminence where stood Napoleon. In the corps was a
drummer boy, a gamin, whom Desaix had picked up in the
streets of Paris, and who had followed the victorious eagles of
France in the campaigns of Egypt and Austria.
As the column halted, Napoleon shouted to him: "Beat a
retreat."
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 95
The boy did not stir.
" Gamin, beat a retreat!"
The boy grasped his drumsticks, stepped forward, and
said:
"O sire, I don't know how. Desaix never taught me that.
But I can beat a charge. Oh! I can beat a charge that would
make the dead fall in line. I beat that charge at the Pyramids
once, and I beat it at Mt. Tabor, and I beat it again at the
bridge of Lodi, and oh! may I beat it here?"
Napoleon turned to Desaix.
"We are beaten; what shall we do?" he said.
"Do? Beat them. It is only three o'clock; there is time
to win a victory yet. Up! gamin, the charge! Beat the old
charge of Mt. Tabor and Lodi!"
A moment later the corps, following the sword-gleam of
Desaix, and keeping step to the furious roll of the gamin's
drum, swept down on the host of Austria. They drove the first
line back on the second, the second back on the third, and there
they died. Desaix fell at the first volley; but the line never
faltered. As the smoke cleared away, the gamin was seen in
front of the line, marching right on, still beating the furious
charge.
Over the dead and wounded, over the breastworks and
ditches, over the cannon and rear guard, he led the way to vic-
tory; — and the fifteen days in Italy were ended.
To-day men point to Marengo with wonderment. They
laud the power and foresight that so skillfully planned the
battle; but they forget that Napoleon failed. They forget
that he was defeated. They forget how a little general, only
thirteen years old, made a victory of the Corsican's defeat;
and how a gamin of Paris put to shame the Child of
Destiny.
96 PLATFORM PIECES
A LEGEND OF BREGENZ
Adelaide Proctor
Suggestions: The speaker should start this poem in a quiet tone of nar-
rative. The ride, however, beginning in stanza 17, should be re-lived
and given in the quickest possible tempo. There should be a long pause
before the stanza beginning "Three hundred years are vanished."
Girt round with rugged mountains
The fair Lake Constance lies;
In her blue heart reflected,
Shine back the starry skies.
Midnight is there: and Silence,
Enthroned in Heaven, looks down
Upon her own calm mirror,
Upon a sleeping town:
For Bregenz, that quaint city
Upon the Tyrol shore,
Has stood above Lake Constance
A thousand years or more.
Mountain and lake and valley
A sacred legend know
Of how the town was saved one night
Three hundred years ago.
Far from her home and kindred
A Tyrol maid had fled,
To serve in the Swiss valleys,
And toil for daily bread. . . .
She spoke no more of Bregenz
With longing and with tears;
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 97
Her Tyrol home seemed faded
In a deep mist of years;
Yet, when her master's children
Would clustering round her stand,
She sang them ancient ballads
Of her own native land;
And when at morn and evening
She knelt before God's throne,
The accents of her childhood
Rose to her lips alone.
And so she dwelt: the valley
More peaceful year by year;
When suddenly strange portents
Of some great deed seemed near.
One day, out in the meadow,
With strangers from the town
Some secret plan discussing,
The men walked up and down.
At eve they all assembled;
Then care and doubt were fled;
With jovial laugh they feasted;
The board was nobly spread.
The elder of the village
Rose up, his glass in hand,
And cried, "We drink the downfall
Of an accursed land!
"The night is growing darker;
Ere one more day is flown,
Bregenz, our foeman's stronghold,
Bregenz shall be our own!"
98 PLATFORM PIECES
The women shrank in terror
(Yet Pride, too, had her part),
But one poor Tyrol maiden
Felt death within her heart. . . .
Before her eyes one vision,
And in her heart one cry
That said, "Go forth! save Bregenz,
And then, if need be, die!"
With trembling haste and breathless,
With noiseless step, she sped;
Horses and weary cattle
Were standing in the shed;
She loosed the strong, white charger,
That fed from out her hand;
She mounted, and she turned his head
Toward her native land.
Out — out into the darkness —
Faster and still more fast; —
The smooth grass flies behind her,
The chestnut wood is passed;
She looks up; clouds are heavy;
Why is her steed so slow? —
Scarcely the wind beside them
Can pass them as they go.
"Faster!" she cries, "oh, faster!"
Eleven the church bells chime;
"O God," she cries, "help Bregenz,
And bring me there in time!". . . .
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 99
She strives to pierce the blackness,
And looser throws the rein;
Her steed must breast the waters
That dash above his mane.
How gallantly, how nobly,
He struggles through the foam,
And see — in the far distance
Shine out the lights of home!
Up the steep bank he bears her,
And now they rush again
Toward the heights of Bregenz
That tower above the plain.
They reach the gates of Bregenz
Just as the midnight rings,
And out come serf and soldier
To meet the news she brings.
Bregenz is saved! Ere daylight
Her battlements are manned;
Defiance greets the army
That marches on the land.
Three hundred years are vanished,
And yet upon the hill
An old stone gateway rises
To do her honor still. . . .
And when, to guard old Bregenz
By gateway, street, and tower,
The warder paces all night long
And calls each passing hour;
ioo PLATFORM PIECES
"Nine," "ten," "eleven," he cries aloud,
And then (Oh, crown of fame!),
When midnight pauses in the skies,
He calls the maiden's name!
THE BATTLE OF IVRY
Thomas Babington Macaulay ,
Suggestions: This selection should be given in a very open tone of
voice. The speaker must seem to be living over this experience and,
as one of Navarre's soldiers, to be recalling the original occurrence.
During direct quotation impersonate the supposed speakers.
Now glory to the Lord of Hosts, from whom all glories are!
And glory to our Sovereign Liege, King Henry of Navarre!
Now let there be the merry sound of music and of dance,
Through thy cornfields green and sunny vines, O pleasant land
of France!
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle, proud city of the waters,
Again let rapture light the eyes of all thy mourning daughters;
As thou wert constant in our ills, be joyous in our joy,
For cold and stiff and still are they who wrought thy walls
annoy.
Hurrah! hurrah! a single field hath turned the chance of war;
Hurrah! hurrah! for Ivry, and King Henry of Navarre!
O! how our hearts were beating, when, at the dawn of day,
We saw the army of the League drawn out in long array;
With all its priest-led citizens, and all its rebel peers,
And AppenzeFs stout infantry, and Egmont's Flemish spears!
There rode the brood of false Lorraine, the curses of our land!
And dark Mayenne was in the midst, a truncheon in his hand;
And, as we looked on them, we thought of Seine's empurpled
flood
And good Coligni's hoary hair all dabbled with his blood;
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 101
And we cried unto the living God, who rules the fate of war,
To fight for His own holy Name, and Henry of Navarre.
The King has come to marshal us, in all his armor drest,
And he has bound a snow-white plume upon his gallant crest:
He looked upon his people, and a tear was in his eye;
He looked upon the traitors, and his glance was stern and
high.
Right graciously he smiled on us, as rolled from wing to wing,
Down all our line, a deafening shout, "God save our lord, the
King!"
"And if my standard bearer fall, — as fall full well he may,
For never saw I promise yet of such a bloody fray, —
Press where ye see my white plume shine, amidst the ranks of
war,
And be your oriflamme, to-day, the helmet of Navarre."
Hurrah! the foes are moving! Hark to the mingled din
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum, and roaring culverin!
The fiery Duke is pricking fast across Saint Andre's plain,
With all the hireling chivalry of Guelders and Almayne.
Now, by the lips of those ye love, fair gentlemen of France,
Charge for the golden lilies, — upon them with the lance !
A thousand spurs are striking deep, a thousand spears in rest,
A thousand knights are pressing close behind the snow-white
crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed, while, like a guiding star,
Amidst the thickest carnage blazed the helmet of Navarre.
Now, God be praised, the day is ours! Mayenne hath turned
his rein,
D'Aumale hath cried for quarter — the Flemish Count is slain!
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds before a Biscay gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, and flags, and cloven
mail.
102 PLATFORM PIECES
And then we thought on vengeance, and all along our van
" Remember St. Bartholomew!" was passed from man to man;
But out spake gentle Henry, "No Frenchman is my foe;
Down, down with every foreigner! but let your brethren go."
O! was there ever such a knight, in friendship or in war,
As our Sovereign Lord, King Henry, the soldier of Navarre!
Ho! maidens of Vienna! Ho! matrons of Lucerne!
Weep, weep and rend your hair for those who never shall return !
Ho! Philip, send for charity thy Mexican pistoles
That Antwerp monks may sing a mass for thy poor spearmen's
souls!
Ho ! gallant nobles of the League, look that your arms be bright !
Ho! burghers of St. Genevieve, keep watch and ward to-night!
For our God hath crushed the tyrant, our God hath raised the
slave,
And mocked the counsel of the wise and the valor of the brave.
Then glory to His holy Name, from whom all glories are!
And glory to our Sovereign Lord, King Henry of Navarre!
TUBAL-CAIN
Charles Mackay
Suggestions: This poem should be delivered in the same manner as
would be employed for a prose narrative, with touches of impersonation
if the speaker chooses.
Old Tubal-cain was a man of might
In the days when the earth was young;
By the tierce red light of his furnace bright,
The strokes of his hammer rung;
And he lifted high his brawny hand
On the iron glowing clear,
Till the sparks rushed out in scarlet showers
As he fashioned the sword and spear.
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 103
And he sang, "Hurrah for my handiwork!
Hurrah for the spear and sword!
Hurrah for the hand that shall wield them well!
For he shall be king and lord."
To Tubal-cain came many a one,
As he wrought by his roaring fire,
And each one prayed for a strong steel blade,
As the crown of his desire;
And he made them weapons sharp and strong,
Till they shouted loud in glee,
And gave him gifts of pearls and gold,
And spoils of forest, free.
And they sang, " Hurrah for Tubal-cain,
Who hath given us strength anew!
Hurrah for the smith! hurrah for the fire!
And hurrah for the metal true!"
But a sudden change came o'er his heart
Ere the setting of the sun,
And Tubal-cain was filled with pain
For the evil he had done.
He saw that men, with rage and hate,
Made war upon their kind;
That the land was red with blood they shed
In their lust for carnage blind.
And he said, "Alas, that ever I made,
Or that skill of mine should plan
The spear and the sword, for men whose joy
Is to slay their fellow-man!"
And for many a day old Tubal-cain
Sat brooding o'er his woe;
And his hand forbore to smite the ore,
And his furnace smouldered low;
104 PLATFORM PIECES
But he rose at last with a cheerful face,
And a bright, courageous eye,
And bared his strong right arm for work,
While the quick flames mounted high;
And he sang, "Hurrah for my handiwork!"
And the red sparks lit the air —
"Not alone for the blade was the bright steel made!
And he fashioned the first ploughshare.
And men, taught wisdom from the past,
In friendship joined their hands,
Hung the sword in the hall, the spear on the wall,
And ploughed the willing lands;
And sang, "Hurrah for Tubal-cain!
Our stanch good friend is he;
And, for the ploughshare and the plough,
To him our praise shall be.
But while oppression lifts its head,
Or a tyrant would be lord,
Though we may thank him for the plough,
We'll not forget the sword."
LOCHINVAR
Sir Walter Scott
Suggestions: Although the speaker should give this poem as descrip-
tion, primarily, the impersonations must be clearly indicated.
Oh, young Lochinvar is come out of the west!
Through all the wide Border his steed was the best;
And save his good broadsword he weapon had none, —
He rode all unarmed, and he rode all alone.
So faithful in love, and so dauntless in war,
There never was knight like the young Lochinvar!
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS 105
He stayed not for brake, and he stopped not for stone
He swam the Eske river where ford there was none;
But, ere he alighted at Netherby gate,
The bride had consented, — the gallant came late;
For a laggard in love, and a dastard in war,
Was to wed the fair Ellen of brave Lochinvar.
So boldly he entered the Netherby Hall,
Among bridesmen and kinsmen, and brothers, and all!
Then spoke the bride's father, his hand on his sword, —
For the poor craven bridegroom said never a word:
"O, come ye in peace here, or come ye in war,
Or to dance at our bridal, young Lord Lochinvar?"
"I long wooed your daughter, my suit you denied:
Love swells like the Solway, but ebbs like its tide.
And now am I come, with this lost love of mine
To lead but one measure, drink one cup of wine.
There are maidens in Scotland, more lovely by far,
That would gladly be bride to the young Lochinvar!"
The bride kissed the goblet; the knight took it up,
He quaffed off the wine, and he threw down the cup.
She looked down to blush, and she looked up to sigh, —
With a smile on her lips, and a tear in her eye.
He took her soft hand, ere her mother could bar:
"Now tread we a measure!" said young Lochinvar.
So stately his form, and so lovely her face,
That never a hall such a galliard did grace!
While her mother did fret, and her father did fume,
And the bridegroom stood dangling his bonnet and plume,
And the bride-maidens whispered, "'Twere better by far
To have matched our fair cousin with young Lochinvar !"
106 PLATFORM PIECES
One touch to her hand, and one word in her ear,
When they reached the hall door, and the charger stood near;
So light to the croup the fair lady he swung,
So light to the saddle before her he sprung!
"She is won! we are gone, over bank, bush, and scaur;
They'll have fleet steeds that follow!" quoth young Lochinvar.
There was mounting 'mong Graemes of the Netherby clan;
Forsters, Fenwicks, and Musgraves, they rode and they ran;
There was racing and chasing on Cannobie Lea,
But the lost bride of Netherby ne'er did they see ! —
So daring in love, and so dauntless in war,
Have ye e'er heard of gallant like young Lochinvar?
THE FIGHT OF PASO DEL MAR
Bayard Taylor
Suggestions: This selection is descriptive with touches of impersona-
tion. Dramatic action can be suggested during the description of the
fight. The speaker should distinguish the last two lines from the rest of
the poem by pausing before them and by delivering them in a quieter
tone and slower tempo.
Gusty and raw was the morning,
A fog hung over the seas,
And its gray skirts, rolling inland,
Were torn by the mountain trees;
No sound was heard but the dashing
Of waves on the sandy bar,
When Pablo of San Diego
Rode down to the Paso del Mar.
The pescador out in his shallop,
Gathering his harvest so wide,
Sees the dim bulk of the headland
Loom over the waste of the tide;
NARRATIVE SELECTIONS
He sees, like a white thread, the pathway-
Wind round on the terrible wall,
Where the faint, moving speck of the rider
Seems hovering close to its fall.
Stout Pablo of San Diego
Rode down from the hills behind
With the bells on his gray mule tinkling
He sang through the fog and wind.
Under his thick, misted eyebrows
Twinkled his eye like a star,
And fiercer he sang as the sea-winds
Drove cold on the Paso del Mar.
Now Bernal, the herdsman of Chino,
Had traveled the shore since dawn,
Leaving the ranches behind him —
Good reason had he to be gone!
The blood was still red on his dagger,
The fury was hot in his brain,
And the chill, driving scud of the breakers
Beat thick on his forehead in vain.
With his poncho wrapped gloomily round him,
He mounted the dizzying road,
And the chasms and steeps of the headland
Were slippery and wet, as he trod:
Wild swept the wind of the ocean,
Rolling the fog from afar,
When near him a mule-bell came tinkling,
Midway on the Paso del Mar.
"Back!" shouted Bernal, full fiercely,
And "Back!" shouted Pablo in wrath
As his mule halted, startled and shrinking,
On the perilous line of the path.
107
108 PLATFORM PIECES
The roar of devouring surges
Came up from the breakers' hoarse war;
And "Back, or you perish!" cried Bernal,
"I turn not on Paso del Mar!"
The gray mule stood firm as the headland:
He clutched at the jingling rein,
When Pablo rose up in his saddle
And smote till he dropped it again.
A wild oath of passion swore Bernal
And brandished his dagger still red,
While fiercely stout Pablo leaned forward
And fought o'er his trusty mule's head.
They fought till the black wall below them
Shone red through the misty blast;
Stout Pablo then struck, leaning farther,
The broad breast of Bernal at last.
And, frenzied with pain, the swart herdsman
Closed on him with terrible strength,
And jerked him, in spite of his struggles,
Down from the saddle at length.
They grappled with desperate madness,
On the slippery edge of the wall;
They swayed on the brink, and together
Reeled out to the rush of the fall.
A cry of the wildest death anguish
Rang faint through the mist afar,
And the riderless mule went homeward
From the fight of the Paso del Mar.
IV. — ORATORICAL SELECTIONS
THE TRUE GLORY OF A NATION
E. P. Whipple
Suggestions: This selection should be said to the audience, with an
earnest and emphatic delivery from the first to the last.
The true glory of a nation is an intelligent, honest, indus-
trious people. The civilization of a people depends on their
individual character; and a constitution which is not the
outgrowth of this character is not worth the parchment on which
it is written. You look in vain in the past for a single instance
where the people have preserved their liberties after their
individual character was lost. It is not in the magnificence
of its palaces, not in the beautiful creations of art lavished on
its public edifices, not in costly libraries and galleries of pictures,
not in the number or wealth of its cities, that we find a nation's
glory.
The ruler may gather around him the treasures of the world,
amid a brutalized people; the Senate Chamber may retain its
faultless proportions long after the voice of patriotism is hushed
within its walls; the monumental marble may commemorate
a glory which has forever departed. Art and letters may bring
no lesson to a people whose heart is dead.
The true glory of a nation is the living temple of a loyal,
industrious, upright people. The busy click of machinery,
the merry ring of the anvil, the lowing of the peaceful herds,
and the song of the harvest-home, are sweeter music than the
paeans of departed glory or the songs of triumph in war. The
vine-clad cottage of the hillside, the cabin of the woodsman,
109
no PLATFORM PIECES
and the rural home of the farmer, are the true citadels of any-
country. There is a dignity in honest toil which belongs not
to the display of wealth or the luxury of fashion. The man
who drives the plough or swings his axe in the forest, or with
cunning fingers plies the tools of his craft, is as truly the ser-
vant of his country as the statesman in the senate or the soldier
in battle.
The safety of a nation depends not alone on the wisdom of
the statesman or the bravery of its generals. The tongue of
the statesman never saved a nation tottering to its fall; the
sword of a warrior never stayed its destruction.
Would you see the image of true national glory, I would
show you villages where the crown and glory of the people are
in common schools, where the voice of prayer goes heavenward,
where the people have that most priceless gift, faith in God.
A NATION'S STRENGTH 1
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Suggestions: Let the speaker say this poem as a sermon in rhyme to
those directly in front of him.
Not gold, but only men can make
A people great and strong.
Men who, for truth and honor's sake,
Stand fast and suffer long.
Brave men who work while others sleep,
Who dare while others fly —
They build a nation's pillars deep
And lift them to the sky.
1 From the authorized edition of Emerson's works, published by
Houghton Mifflin Company.
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS in
THE SONS OF NEW ENGLAND
LORING
Suggestions: Give this declamation in rather a quiet way, with only an
occasional touch of fervor.
Nine-tenths of our people, perhaps more, are toiling on the
land, or on the sea, in the workshops, in the professions, in
all educational institutions, to furnish themselves and their
families with subsistence, to create the material wealth of the
community, and to elevate, and refine, and organize, and save
society. To the productive and. cultivating power of these
classes everything else stands secondary. To them every
avenue is open. From this great multitude spring, in each suc-
ceeding generation, the foremost men, who accomplish for us,
in every service, the great results.
It is our laborers who become our inventors, anxious to re-
lieve the burdens and quicken the capacity of toil. It is they
who, step by step, advance from the simplest, commonest ser-
vice up to the highest positions in all the great enterprises which
make up our busy life. They build, and organize, and rise into
the control of our railroads; they conduct our mills; they guide
our ships; they open the paths for capital; they fill our schools;
they apply their ingenuity to the soil; they legislate for us;
they rise into the highest seats of power.
The farmer's boy, to whom neither academy nor college
was ever opened, spends his youth in clearing the forests, and
his manhood in guiding the councils of his country through a
great war. A young village merchant becomes Secretary of
the Treasury, and upon his integrity and sagacity the country
implicitly relies. The highest judicial officer in the land once
labored on the soil. From our workshops and farms sprang
the heroes of the war. And all over the land stand the tasteful
and elegant abodes of those who toiled with their own hands
112 PLATFORM PIECES
to lay the foundation of their prosperity, — of those who have
not forgotten to cultivate themselves as they have progressed,
and who remember the intellectual and moral and religious
wants of the rising generation.
THE PILGRIM FATHERS
Felicia Dorothea Hemans
Suggestions: This poem can be made an attractive recitation when
properly interpreted. It must not be given in a small way, for the
thoughts are big. The speaker must employ a full tone, rich in quality,
and rather slow tempo.
The breaking waves dashed high on a stern and rockbound
coast,
And the woods against a stormy sky their giant branches
tossed,
And the heavy night hung dark the hills and waters o'er,
When a band of exiles moored their bark on the wild New
England shore.
Not as the conqueror comes, they, the true-hearted, came, —
Not with the roll of stirring drums, and the trumpet that sings
of fame:
Not as the flying come, in silence and in fear, —
They shook the depths of the desert's gloom with their hymns of
lofty cheer.
Amidst the storm they sang, and the stars heard and the sea!
And the sounding aisles of the dim wood rang to the anthems
of the free!
The ocean eagle soared from his nest by the white waves'
foam,
And the rocking pines of the forest roared; — this was their
welcome home.
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS 113
There were men with hoary hair amidst that pilgrim band;
Why had they come to wither there, away from their childhood's
land?
There was woman's fearless eye, lit by her deep love's truth;
There was manhood's brow serenely high, and the fiery heart
of youth.
What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine?
The wealth of seas, the spoils of war? — They sought a faith's
pure shrine!
Ay, call it holy ground, the soil where first they trod!
They have left unstained what there they found, — freedom
to worship God!
THE POWER OF FREE IDEAS
George W. Curtis
Suggestions: This selection was an oration when delivered by the
author; it becomes merely a declamation when delivered by any other.
No attempt to impersonate the original speaker is necessary. Speak in
your own voice and manner. All thought should be directed to the
audience, except in the apostrophe, "What are your spears, O Xerxes?"
etc. Maintain an oratorical position throughout.
The American Revolution was not the struggle of a class,
but of a people. A twopenny tax on tea or paper was not the
cause, it was only the occasion of the Revolution. The spirit
which fought the desperate and disastrous battle on Long
Island, was not a spirit which could be guided by the promise
of sugar gratis. The chance of success was slight; the penalty
of failure was sure; but they believed in God; they kissed wife
and child, left them in His hand, and kept their powder dry.
Then to Valley Forge, the valley of the shadow of death,
with feet bleeding upon the sharp ground, with hunger, thirst,
and cold dogging their steps; with ghastly death waiting for
H4 PLATFORM PIECES
them in the snow, they bore that faith in ideas which brought
their fathers over a pitiless sea to a pitiless shore. Ideas were
their food; ideas were their coats and camp fires. They knew
that their ranks were thin and raw, and the enemy trained and
many; but they knew, also, that the only difficulty with the
proverb that "God fights upon the side of the strongest" is,
that it is not true. If you load your muskets with bullets only,
the result is simply a question of numbers; but one gun loaded
with an idea is more fatal than the muskets of a whole regi-
ment. A bullet kills a tyrant; but an idea kills tyranny.
What chance have a thousand men fighting for a sixpence a
day, against a hundred fighting for fife and liberty, for home
and native land? In such hands the weapons themselves feel
and think. And so the family firelocks and rusty swords, the
horse-pistols and old scythes of our fathers thought terribly
at Lexington and Monmouth, at Saratoga and Eutaw Springs.
The old Continental muskets thought out the whole Revolu-
tion. The English and Hessian arms were better and brighter
than ours, but they were charged with saltpeter; ours were
loaded and rammed home with ideas.
Why is it that of late years there is a disposition to smile
at the great faith of our fathers, to excuse it, to explain it away,
or even to sneer at it as an abstraction or a glittering generality?
Have modern rhetoricians found something surer than moral
principles? Have they discovered a force in politics subtler
and more powerful than the Divine law? Or a loftier object
of human government than universal justice? You may pluck
the lightning harmless from the clouds, but there is no conductor
for the divine rage of a people demanding its national rights.
What are your spears, O Xerxes? What are your slings,
proud Persian, with your two million soldiers sheeting the
plains of Greece with splendor and roaring, like the jubilant
sea, along the Pass of Thermopylae? There stands Leonidas
with his three hundred, rock-like; and they beat you back
with an idea.
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS 115
Bourbon of Naples! You may extinguish ^Etna; but the
fire that burns in the Sicilian heart is immortal, inextinguish-
able.
Yes! it is an idea, invisible, abstract, but it has molded all
human history, to this hour. Liberty is justified of her chil-
dren. Whom does the world at this moment fold to its heart?
Who are held up before our eyes by Providence, like bullets
plainly displayed before they are dropped into the barrel and
shot home to the mark of God's purpose? Who now walk
through the world, each step giving life and liberty and hope
to the people? By the blessing of God, the contest has changed
from the sword to the ballot; and the hope of liberty, secured
by law, was never in the history of man so bright as it is to-day.
THE PEOPLE OF THE UNITED STATES
Stephen Grover Cleveland
Suggestions: Say this selection directly to the audience, with personal
concern, from start to finish.
Wherever human government has been administered in
tyranny, in despotism, or in oppression, there has been found,
among the governed, yearning for a freer condition and the
assertion of man's nobility. These are but the faltering steps
of human nature in the direction of the freedom which is its
birthright; and they presage .the struggle of men to become
a free people and thus reach the plane of their highest and
best aspirations. In this relation and in their cry for freedom,
it may be truly said, the voice of the people is the voice of
God.
The influence of these reflections is upon me as I speak of
those who, after darkness and doubt and struggle, burst forth
in the bright light of independence and liberty, and became
"one people" — free, determined, and confident — challenging
n6 PLATFORM PIECES
the wonder of the universe, proclaiming the dignity of man,
invoking the aid and favor of Almighty God.
One hundred years have past. We have announced and
approved to the world our mission and made our destiny secure.
I will not tamely recite our achievements. They are written
on every page of our history, and the monuments of our growth
and advancement are all about us.
But the value of these things is measured by the fullness
with which our people have preserved their patriotism, their
integrity, and their devotion to free institutions. If, engrossed
in material advancement or diverted by the turmoil of business
activity, they have not held fast to that love of country and
that simple faith in virtue and enlightenment which consti-
tuted the hope and trust of our fathers, all that we have built
rests upon foundations infirm and weak.
Meeting this test, we point to the scattered graves of many
thousands of our people who have bravely died in defense of
our national safety and perpetuity, mutely bearing testimony
to their love of country, and to an invincible living host stand-
ing ready to enforce our national rights and protect our land.
Our churches, our schools and universities, and our benevolent
institutions, which beautify every town and hamlet and look out
from every hillside, testify to the value our people place upon
religious teaching, upon advanced education, and upon deeds
of charity.
Surely such a people can be safely trusted with their free
government; and there need be no fear that they have lost
the qualities which fit them to be its custodians. If they
should wander, they will return to duty in good time. If they
should be misled, they will discover the true landmarks none
too late for safety, and if they should even be corrupted they
will speedily be found seeking with peace offerings their
country's holy altar.
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS 117
PUBLIC OPINION
Wendell Phillips
Suggestions: Say this speech to the audience with simplicity and earnest-
ness.
No matter where you meet a dozen earnest men pledged to
a new idea — wherever you have met them, you have met the
beginning of a revolution. Revolutions are not made; they
come. A revolution is as natural a growth as an oak. It comes
out of the past. Its foundations are laid far back. The
child feels; he grows into a man, and thinks; another, perhaps,
speaks, and the world acts out the thought. And this is the
history of modern society. The beginning of great changes is
like the rise of the Mississippi. A child must stoop and gather
away the pebbles to find it. But soon it swells broader and
broader, bears on its ample bosom the navies of a mighty re-
public, fills the Gulf, and divides a continent.
This is a reading and thinking age, and great interests at stake
quicken the general intellect. Nothing but Freedom, Justice,
and Truth is of any permanent advantage to the mass of man-
kind. To these, society, left to itself, is always tending. In
our day, great questions about them have called forth all the
energies of the common mind. The time has been when men,
cased in iron from head to foot and disciplined by long years
of careful instruction, went to battle. . . . What gunpowder
did for war, the printing-press has done for the mind, and the
statesman is no longer clad in the steel of special education,
but every reading man is his judge. Every thoughtful man,
the country through, who makes up an opinion, is his jury
to which he answers, and the tribunal to which he must
bow.
All hail, Public Opinion! Eternal vigilance is the price of
liberty: power is ever stealing from the many to the few. . . .
n8 PLATFORM PIECES
Only by unintermitted agitation can a people be kept suffi-
ciently awake to principle not to let liberty be smothered in
material prosperity. . . .
THE REFORMER
Horace Greeley
Suggestions: This short oration should be said to the audience, quietly
but earnestly.
The earnest, unselfish reformer, born into a state of dark-
ness, evil, and suffering, and honestly striving to displace these
by light and purity and happiness, may fall and die, as so many
have done before him, but he cannot fail. His vindication
shall gleam from the walls of his hovel, his dungeon, his
tomb; it shall shine in the radiant eyes of uncorrupted
childhood, and fall in blessings from the lips of high-hearted
generous youth.
The life wearily worn out in a doubtful and perilous conflict
with wrong and woe is our most conclusive evidence that wrong
and woe shall vanish forever.
Life is a bubble which any breath may dissolve; wealth or
power a snowflake, melting momently into the treacherous deep,
across whose waves we are floated on to our unseen destiny;
but to have lived so that one less orphan is called to choose
between starvation and infamy, one less slave feels the lash
applied, to have lived so that some eyes of those whom fame
shall never know are brightened and others suffused at the name
of the beloved one, so that the few who knew him truly shall
recognize him as the bright, warm, cheering presence which
was here for a season and left the world no worse for his stay
in it; — this is surely to have really lived, and not wholly in
vain.
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS 119
BUILDING THE TEMPLE
John B. Gough
Suggestions: This selection should be given with great fervor from start
to finish. Speak directly to the audience and use oratorical gestures and
manner.
. . . Count me over the chosen heroes of this earth, and I
will show you men that stood alone — ay, alone, while those
they toiled, and labored, and agonized for, hurled at them
contumely, scorn and contempt. They stood alone; they
looked into the future calmly, and with faith; they saw the
golden beam inclining to the side of perfect justice; and they
fought on, amidst the storm of persecution. .3
In Great Britain they tell me, when I go to see such a prison:
"Here is such a dungeon, in which such a one was confined."
" Here, among the ruins of an old castle, we will show you where
such a one had his ears cut off, and where another was mur-
dered." Then they will show me monuments towering up to
the heavens. "There is a monument to such a one; there is
a monument to another." And what do I find? That the
one generation persecuted and howled at these men, crying,
"Crucify them! crucify them!" and danced around the blazing
fagots that consumed them; and the next generation busied
itself in gathering up the scattered ashes of the martyred
heroes, and depositing them in the golden urn of a nation's
history.
Oh, yes! the men that fight for a great enterprise are the
men that bear the brunt of the battle, and "He who seeth in
secret " — seeth the desire of his children, their steady purpose,
their firm self-denial — "will reward them openly," though
they may die and see no sign of the triumphs of their
enterprise. . . .
120 PLATFORM PIECES
THE TRIUMPH OF THE WAR
George W. Curtis
Suggestions: The speaker must be careful not to make this bombastic,
remembering that much of it is colloquial.
. . . The great armies of the war have melted into the
greater hosts of peace. The old, familiar habits of life have
been long resumed. The wheels of industry turn; the factory
hums; the scythe sings in the field; and the laborer no longer
recalls the comrade who enlisted yesterday, nor hears the voice
of heroic duty calling him to battle. Gone are the armies,
silent the roar of battle. Healed are the wounds of the living;
green are the graves of the dead.
The cause that triumphed in our Civil War was not a sec-
tional advantage. It was the triumph of the American prin-
ciple of republican liberty over its enemies everywhere, in the
North as well as in the South, in Europe as well as in America.
When we fought, we fought a universal battle. When Sherman
marched to the sea he captured sneering London and plotting
Paris; and European doubt and contempt are buried forever
in the grave that covers slavery.
"If you put a million of men under arms," said Europe,
"you will end like all republics, in military despotism." But
all Europe saw that the great army which for four years shook
the continent with its march and countermarch was not what
armies had always been: the machine of a government to
manage the people. It was the people managing themselves.
It was the Yankee constable going his rounds. The struggle
was indeed a civil war; but so was the Revolution.
Our fathers stood only upon English principles. James
Otis, the fiery-tongue of the early Revolution, and John Adams,
the sagacious brain, pleaded only English precedents. When
Paul Revere rode up to Concord, rousing Middlesex as he went,
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS 121
he was an Englishman hurrying to defend English rights; and
at Lexington, at Saratoga, at Trenton, at King's Mountain,
our fathers were Englishmen defending England against her-
self. All the great traditions of freedom descend to us through
England. The road is straight from Runnymede to Bunker
Hill. At last, on the plains of York town, the baser England
surrendered to the better; and the England of Alfred and
Wickliffe, of John Hampden and John Milton, conquered the
England of the Stuarts and of slavery.
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
H. C. Deming
Suggestions: The speaker should give this selection as straightforward
oratory, making the attack firm and strong, and using a sincere and earnest
emphasis throughout.
Abraham Lincoln's work was finished when, unheralded
and almost unattended, leading his little son by the hand, he
walked into the streets of humiliated Richmond.
If, upon that auspicious morn, the crowning benediction had
descended upon him, he might well have wished to die. What
more could he ask for on earth? . . .
He had survived ridicule; he had outlived detraction and
abuse; he had secured the commendation of the world for
purity of purpose, constancy in disaster, clemency in triumph,
and the praise even of his armed foes for gentleness and mercy.
In times more troubled he had administered government with
more ability than Carnot, and war with more success than
Napoleon the Third. He had paled the glory of Hastings in
preserving an empire, and had earned comparison with Hamp-
den for self-command and rectitude of intention, while as
emancipator of a race he stood alone in solitary glory without
a rival and without a parallel.
122 PLATFORM PIECES
If fame had approached him with the laurels of a conqueror,
if power had offered him a scepter, and ambition a crown, he
would have scorned them all. He asked from men, he asked
from God, but one culminating boon — peace, peace on the
bloody waters and the blighted shore. . . .
Alas! Such a consummation was denied. There are mys-
terious conferences of guilt-laden men; a conspiracy is formed,
and on the night of the fourteenth of April, 1865, its purpose
is accomplished. The nation stands aghast; the crime of the
Dark Ages has entered our history; the soul of Abraham Lin-
coln is transferred from earth to heaven.
Crime always fails in its purpose; assassination is everlast-
ingly a blunder. Caesar is assassinated; and imperial sway
emerges a full-armed despotism from his tomb. William the
Silent is assassinated; but the republic of the Netherlands
breaks the double fetters of superstition and tyranny, and
expands into a great and flourishing commonwealth. Lin-
coln is assassinated; but he lives to-day in his imperishable
example, in his recorded words of wisdom, in his great maxims
of liberty and enfranchisement.
The good never die; to them belongs a double immortality;
they perish not upon the earth, and they exist forever in heaven.
The great primeval lawgiver, entombed for forty centuries in
that unknown grave in an obscure vale of Moab, to-day legis-
lates in your halls of State. Against the Philip of to-day,
the dead Demosthenes thunders; the dead Leonidas guards the
gates of every empire which wrestles for its sovereignty; the
dead Napoleon still sways France from that silent throne in
the Invalides; and the dead Abraham Lincoln will beckon the
wavering battle line of liberty till the last generation of man
" Shall creation's death behold
As Adam saw her prime."
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS 123
ABRAHAM LINCOLN
Julia Ward Howe
Suggestions: This rhymed eulogy should be spoken, partly to the audi-
ence, but mostly as if apostrophizing the spirit of the martyred president,
the speaker visualizing hazily, as in a dream, the scenes of Lincoln's early
life and struggle.
Through the dim pageant of the years
A wondrous tracery appears;
A cabin of the western wild
Shelters in sleep a new-born child.
Nor nurse, nor parent dear can know
The way those infant feet must go;
And yet a nation's help and hope
Are sealed within that horoscope.
Beyond is toil for daily bread,
And thought, to noble issues led,
And courage, arming for the morn
For whose behest this man was born.
A man of homely, rustic ways,
Yet he achieves the forum's praise,
And soon earth's highest meed was won,
The seat and sway of Washington.
No throne of honors and delights;
Days of distrust and sleepless nights,
To struggle, suffer and aspire,
Like Israel, led by cloud and fire.
A treacherous shot, a sob of rest,
A martyr's palm upon his breast,
124 PLATFORM PIECES
A welcome at the glorious seat
Where blameless souls of heroes meet;
And, thrilling through unnumbered days,
A song of gratitude and praise;
A cry that all the earth shall heed,
To God, who sent him in our need.
ADDRESS AT GETTYSBURG
Abraham Lincoln
Suggestions: Bear in mind that this immortal bit of literature is collo-
quial oratory. Do not attempt to impersonate Lincoln, but say the words,
with great fervor, in your own voice and manner.
Fourscore and seven years ago our fathers brought forth
upon this continent a new nation, conceived in liberty, and
dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that
nation, or any nation so conceived and so dedicated, can long
endure. We are met on a great battlefield of that war. We
have come to dedicate a portion of that field as a final resting-
place for those who here gave their lives that that nation might
live.
It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we cannot dedicate, we cannot conse-
crate, we cannot hallow this ground. The brave men, living
and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above
our power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor
long remember, what we say here, but it can never forget what
they did here.
It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the
unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so
nobly advanced. It is rather for us to be here dedicated to
the ^reat task remaining before us, — that from these honored
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS 125
dead we take increased devotion to the cause for which they
gave the last full measure of devotion — that we here highly
resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain — that this
nation shall, under God, have a new birth of freedom — and that
government of the people, by the people, and for the people,
shall not perish from the earth.
WHAT'S HALLOWED GROUND?
Thomas Campbell
Suggestions: Let the attack be strong on the first line of this poem, and
the emphasis marked throughout. Close with great dignity and earnest-
ness.
What's hallowed ground? Has earth a clod
Its Maker meant not should be trod
By man, the image of his God,
Erect and free,
Unscourged by superstition's rod,
To bow the knee?
What hallows ground where heroes sleep?
'Tis not the sculptured piles you heap:
In dews that heavens far distant weep,
Their turf may bloom;
Or genii twine beneath the deep
Their coral tomb.
But strew his ashes to the wind,
Whose sword or voice has saved mankind, —
And is he dead, whose glorious mind
Lifts thine on high?
To live in hearts we leave behind,
Is not to die!
126 PLATFORM PIECES
Is't death to fall for Freedom's right? —
He's dead alone that lacks her light!
And murder sullies in Heaven's sight,
The sword he draws: —
What can alone ennoble fight? —
A noble cause! . . .
What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!
Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth
Earth's compass round;
And your high priesthood shall make earth
All hallowed ground!
WOMEN, VICTIMS OF WAR
Junius Henri Browne
Suggestions: Start this simple oration quietly and earnestly, introduc-
ing emphasis with the second sentence.
It is common to consider war as affecting men only, while
its real and greatest victims are women. All history, public
and private, recounts the courage, fortitude and sufferings of
soldiers in the field; but hardly any one thinks of the long and
patient agony which the mothers and wives, the sisters and
sweethearts of the soldiers are forced to endure.
In every battle there are heroes many and great; but away
from the battle there are heroines more and greater than the
world can ever know, or the muse of history will ever record.
The ravages of war seem transient. Where the death-deal-
ing shell has burst, the grass grows green again. Where noble
lives have floated away on crimson tides, violets and daisies
cling together, and exchange caresses of fragrant peace. The
dead are forgotten even by their comrades, and the wounded
recover to tell of their escapes by blazing hearths to wonder-
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS 127
ing ears. The past seems as though it had never been; but to
the poor women who have been bereaved the past is present
always — its deep shadow never lifted. The vacant place,
the absent form, the missing voice, the departed love, are
constant reminders to them, that consolation is for those who
have not felt the touch of genuine grief.
WANTED— A BOY
Anonymous
Suggestions: The speaker should give the first two lines with conversa-
tional simplicity, introducing earnestness and emphasis in the third line.
"Wanted — A Boy." How often we
This quite familiar notice see!
Wanted — a boy for every kind
Of task that a busy world can find.
He is wanted — wanted now and here.
There are towns to build, there are paths to clear,
There are seas to sail, there are gulfs to span,
In the ever onward march of man.
Wanted — the world wants boys to-day,
And it offers them all it has to pay;
Boys who will guide the plow and pen,
Boys who will shape the way for men,
Boys who will forward the task begun,
For the world's great work is never done.
The world is eager to employ,
Not just one, but every boy
Who, with a purpose stanch and true
Will greet the work he finds to do.
Honest, faithful, earnest, kind,
To good awake, to evil blind,
A heart of gold without alloy —
Wanted, the world wants such a boy.
128 PLATFORM PIECES
THE LESSON OF THE HOUR
O. D. Robinson
Suggestions: The speaker should begin this selection very quietly, as
if simply telling a story, but, when the application of the story begins, he
should assume the oratorical tone and manner.
In the early days of Rome, according to an old Latin legend,
a great chasm opened in the heart of the city, which could not
be filled. When the oracle was consulted, the reply was given
that the chasm would not be closed till the most precious thing
in Rome had been cast in. Priceless jewels and costly gems
were vainly sacrificed in the dark gulf, but it closed not. At
last a noble youth asked his companions what more precious
thing they had to offer than courage and patriotism. Then,
while they stood aghast, he, clad in full armor, mounted his
horse, and leaped into the abyss. The chasm closed; and on
the very spot was established the Roman Forum, where, for
many centuries, justice was dispensed, and the interests of that
mighty government transacted.
The legend carries its own moral with it. Once and again
in our own history has the chasm opened, to close only when
those most precious in the nation had followed the example of
Marcus Curtius.
First, yawned the gulf of kingly oppression; and Warren and
his compatriots led the van of heroic souls. That closed the
chasm, and on its site we erected the temple of National
Independence.
Again, after many years, the dreadful gulf opened so wide
and so deep that it has passed into history by the name of the
" bloody chasm"; and when the call was made for the most
precious to fill the gap, willing victims came pouring forth from
counting-house and printing-office, from farm and workshop,
from school and college. They leaped down from the moun-
ORATORICAL SELECTIONS 129
tains of the North, and they came bounding over the prairies
of the West, till two hundred and fifty thousand of the nation's
chosen had plunged in!
But the chasm closed not! A more costly victim was de-
manded, and was found only when the assassin's bullet had
laid low the great Lincoln. Then the deep gulf of slavery closed ;
and above it we reared the Temple of Universal Liberty and
Equal Rights; and over its fair portals we wrote in golden
letters: "Neither slavery nor involuntary servitude, except as
a punishment for crime, shall exist within the United States
or in any place subject to their jurisdiction. ,,
THE PRESENT AGE
Victor Hugo
Suggestions: This oration should be given forcefully.
Let us proclaim it firmly, proclaim it even in fall and in
defeat, this age is the grandest of all ages; and do you know
wherefore? Because it is the most benignant. This age en-
franchises the slave in America, extinguishes in Europe the
last brands of the stake, civilizes Turkey, dignifies woman,
and subordinates the right of the strongest to the right of the
most just.
This age proclaims the sovereignty of the citizen and the
inviolability of life; it crowns the people and consecrates man.
In art it possesses every kind of genius; majesty, grace, power,
figure, splendor, depth, color, form, and style. In science it
works all miracles; it makes a horse out of steam, a laborer out
of the voltaic pile, a courier out of the electric fluid, and a
painter of the sun; it opens upon the two infinites those two
windows, the telescope on the infinitely great, the microscope
on the infinitely little; and it finds in the first abyss the stars
of heaven, and in the second abyss the insects which prove
the existence of a God.
130 PLATFORM PIECES
Man no longer crawls upon the earth, he escapes from it;
civilization takes to itself the wings of birds, and flies and whirls
and alights joyously on all parts of the globe at once; the
brotherhood of nations crosses the bounds of space and mingles
in the eternal blue.
V.— PATHETIC SELECTIONS
THE PICKET GUARD
Lamar Fontaine
Suggestions: Although this poem is mostly simple narrative, the speaker
should recite it as if tense with suppressed emotion. The tempo must be
rather slow, else the poem will be made trivial.
"All quiet along the Potomac," they say,
"Except now and then a stray picket
Is shot, as he walks on his beat, to and fro,
By a rifleman off in the thicket. "
'Tis nothing, — a private or two, now and then,
Will not count in the news of the battle;
Not an officer lost, only one of the men
Moaning out, all alone, the death-rattle.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
Where the soldiers He peacefully dreaming;
Their tents, in the rays of the clear autumn morn,
Or the light of the watchfires, are gleaming.
A tremulous sigh, as the gentle night wind,
Through the forest leaves softly is creeping;
While stars up above, with their glittering eyes,
Keep guard — for the army is sleeping.
There's only the sound of the lone sentry's tread,
As he tramps from the rock to the fountain,
And thinks of the two in the low trundle-bed
Far away in the cot on the mountain.
131
132 PLATFORM PIECES
His musket falls slack; his face, dark and grim,
Grows gentle with memories tender,
As he mutters a prayer for the children asleep;
For their mother — may Heaven defend her!
The moon seems to shine just as brightly as then,
That night, when the love yet unspoken
Leaped up to his lips; when low-murmured vows
Were pledged to be ever unbroken.
Then drawing his sleeve roughly over his eyes,
He dashes off tears that are welling,
And gathers his gun closer up to its place
As if to keep down the heart-swelling.
He passes the fountain, the blasted pine tree;
The footstep is lagging and weary;
Yet onward he goes, through the broad belt of light,
Toward the shades of the forest so dreary.
Hark! was it night wind that rustled the leaves?
Was it moonlight so wondrously flashing?
It looked like a rifle — " Ah! Mary, good-by!"
And the lifeblood is ebbing and plashing.
All quiet along the Potomac to-night,
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead —
The picket's off duty forever.
PATHETIC SELECTIONS 133
THE BATTLE OF BLENHEIM
Robert Southey
Suggestions: This poem calls for four distinct voices: your own, in de-
scriptive passages, a broken and rather breathy tone for the old Kaspar,
and the two children's voices. Kaspar is effective if, despite his age, he
is made to speak dramatically.
It was a summer evening,
Old Kaspar's work was done,
And he before his cottage door
Was sitting in the sun;
And by him sported on the green
His little grandchild Wilhelmine.
She saw her brother Peterkin
Roll something large and round,
Which he, beside the rivulet,
In playing there, had found.
He came to ask what he had found,
That was so large, and smooth, and round.
Old Kaspar took it from the boy,
Who stood expectant by,
And then the old man shook his head,
And with a natural sigh —
"'Tis some poor fellow's skull," said he,
"Who fell in the great victory.
"I find them in the garden,
For there's many hereabout;
And often when I go to plow,
The plowshare turns them out!
For many thousand men," said he,
"Were slain in that great victory."
i 3 4 PLATFORM PIECES
"Now tell us what 'twas all about,"
Young Peterkin he cries;
And little Wilhelmine looks up
With wonder- waiting eyes;
"Now tell us all about the war,
And what they fought each other for."
"It was the English," Kaspar cried,
"Who put the French to rout;
But what they fought each other for
I could not well make out,
But everybody said," quoth he,
"That 'twas a famous victory.
"My father lived at Blenheim then,
Yon little stream hard by;
They burned his dwelling to the ground,
And he was forced to fly;
So with his wife and child he fled,
Nor had he where to rest his head.
"With fire and sword the country round
Was wasted far and wide;
And many a childing mother then
And newborn baby died.
But things like that, you know, must be
At every famous victory.
"They say it was a shocking sight
After the field was won;
For many thousand bodies here
Lay rotting in the sun.
But things like that, you know, must be
After a famous victory.
PATHETIC SELECTIONS 135
"Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won,
And our good Prince Eugene."
"Why, 'twas a very wicked thing!"
Said little Wilhelmine,
"Nay, nay, my little girl," quoth he,
"It was a famous victory!
"And everybody praised the Duke
Who this great fight did win."
"But what good came of it at last?"
Quoth little Peterkin.
"Why, that I cannot tell," said he,
"But 'twas a famous victory,"
AT THE BARRICADE
Victor Hugo
Suggestions: This little poem presents difficulties, having three distinct
interpretative elements, description and two distinct impersonations. Be
sure to change the position of the body for the different characters.
Upon a barricade thrown 'cross the street
Where patriot's blood with felon's stains one's feet,
Ta'en with grown men, a lad aged twelve, or less!
"Were you among them, — you?" He answered: "Yes."
"Good!" said the officer, "when comes your turn,
You'll be shot, too." The lad sees lightnings burn,
Stretched 'neath the wall his comrades one by one:
Then says to the officer, "First let me run
And take this watch home to my mother, sir?"
"You want to escape?" "No, I'll come back." "What fear
These brats have! Where do you live?" "By the well,
below;
I'll return quickly if you let me go."
136 PLATFORM PIECES
"Be off, young scamp!" Off went the boy. "Good joke!"
And here from all a hearty laugh outbroke,
And with this laugh the dying mixed their moan.
But the laugh suddenly ceased, when, paler grown,
'Midst them the lad appeared, and breathlessly
Stood upright 'gainst the wall with: "Here am I."
Dull death was shamed; the officer said, "Be free!"
TWO WORDS
Anonymous
Suggestions: This poem should be said with perfect simplicity, directly
to the audience.
One day a harsh word rashly said,
Upon an evil journey sped,
And like a sharp and cruel dart
It pierced a fond and loving heart;
It turned a friend into a foe,
And everywhere brought pain and woe.
A kind word followed it one day,
Went swiftly on its blessed way;
It healed the wound and soothed the pain,
And friends of old were friends again;
It made the hate and anger cease,
And everywhere brought joy and peace.
But yet the harsh word left a trace,
The kind word could not quite efface;
And though the heart its love regained,
It bore a scar that long remained.
Friends could forgive but not forget,
Nor lose the sense of keen regret.
Oh, if we could but learn to know
How swift and sure our words can go,
PATHETIC SELECTIONS 137
How we would weigh with utmost care
Each thought before it sought the air,
And only speak the words that move
Like white-winged messengers of love.
THE ARROW AND THE SONG
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Suggestions: Speak this poem to the audience, as a piece of quiet de-
scription, with an appreciable pause between the stanzas, particularly
between the second and third.
I shot an arrow into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight
Could not follow it in its flight.
I breathed a song into the air,
It fell to earth, I knew not where;
For who has sight so keen and strong
That it can follow the flight of song?
Long, long afterward, in an oak
I found the arrow, still unbroke;
And the song, from beginning to end,
I found again in the heart of a friend.
THE DOG
Senator Vest
Suggestions: Say quietly and with great earnestness directly to the
audience.
The best friend a man has in the world may turn against
him and become his enemy. His son or daughter that he has
138 PLATFORM PIECES
reared with loving care may prove ungrateful. Those who are
nearest and dearest to us, those whom we trust with our happi-
ness and our good name, may become traitors to their faith.
The money that a man has he may lose. It flies away from
him, perhaps when he needs it most. A man's reputation may
be sacrificed in a moment of ill-considered action. The people
who are prone to fall on their knees to do us honor when suc-
cess is with us may be the first to throw the stone of malice
when failure settles its cloud upon our heads.
The one absolutely unselfish friend that man can have in
this selfish world, the one that never deserts him, the one that
never proves ungrateful or treacherous, is his dog. A man's
dog stands by him in prosperity and in poverty, in health
and in sickness. He will sleep on the cold ground, where the
wintry winds blow and the snow drives fiercely, if only he may
be near his master's side. He will kiss the hand that has no
food to offer; he will lick the wounds and sores that come in
encounter with the roughness of the world. He guards the
sleep of his pauper master as if he were a prince. When all
other friends desert, he remains. When riches take wings
and reputation falls to pieces, he is as constant in his love as
the sun in its journey through the heavens.
If fortune drives the master forth an outcast in the world,
friendless and homeless, the faithful dog asks no higher privi-
lege than that of accompanying him to guard him against his
enemies. And when the last scene of all comes and death
takes his master to its embrace and his body is laid away in
the cold ground, no matter if all other friends pursue their
way, there by the graveside will the noble dog be found, his
head between his paws, his eyes sad, but open in alert watch-
fulness, faithful and true, even in death.
PATHETIC SELECTIONS 139
THE BOY WHO DIDN'T PASS
Anonymous
Suggestions: This is a descriptive selection. Be careful not to make the
rhymes too apparent. Use the voice and manner of a sympathetic father
or mother.
A sad-faced little fellow sits alone in deep disgrace,
There's a lump arising in his throat and tears stream down
his face;
He wandered from his playmates, for he doesn't want to hear
Their shouts of merry laughter since the world has lost its
cheer;
He has sipped the cup of sorrow, he has drained the bitter
glass,
And his heart is fairly breaking; he's the boy who didn't
pass.
In the apple tree the robin sings a cheery little song,
But he doesn't seem to hear it, showing plainly something's
wrong;
Comes his faithful little spaniel for a romp and bit of play,
But the troubled little fellow bids him go away.
All alone he sits in sorrow with his hair a tangled mass
And his eyes are red with weeping; he's the boy who didn't
pass.
How he hates himself for failing, he can hear his playmates
jeer,
For they've left him with the dullards, gone ahead a half a year;
And he tried so hard to conquer, oh, he tried to do his best,
But now he knows he's weaker, yes, and duller than the rest.
He's ashamed to tell his mother, for he thinks she'll hate him,
too —
The little boy who didn't pass, who failed of getting through.
HO PLATFORM PIECES
Oh, you who boast a laughing son and speak of him as bright,
And you who love a little girl who comes to you at night
With smiling eyes and dancing feet, with honors from her school,
Turn to that lonely little boy who thinks he is a fool.
And take him kindly by the hand, the dullest in his class,
He is the one who most needs love, the boy who didn't pass.
SMITING THE ROCK
Thomas Dunn English
Suggestions: In giving this narrative poem, the speaker should use three
distinct impersonations.
The stern old judge in relentless mood,
Glanced at the two who before him stood:
She was bowed and haggard and old,
He was young and defiant and bold —
Mother and son; and to gaze at the pair,
Their different attitudes, look and air,
One would believe, e'er the truth were known,
The mother convicted, and not the son.
There was the mother; the boy stood nigh
With a shameless look and his head held high.
Age had come over her, sorrow and care;
These mattered but little so he was there,
A prop to her years and a light to her eyes,
And prized as only a mother can prize.
But what for him could a mother say,
Waiting his doom on the sentence day?
Her husband had died in shame and in sin,
And she, a widow, her living to win,
Had toiled and struggled from morn to night,
Making with want a wearisome fight,
PATHETIC SELECTIONS 141
Bent over her work with a resolute zeal
Till she felt her old frame totter and reel,
Her weak limbs tremble, her eyes grow dim,
But she had her boy, and she toiled for him.
And he — he stood in the criminal dock
With a heart as hard as the flinty rock,
An impudent glance and reckless air,
Braving the scorn of the gazers there,
Dipped in crime and encompassed round
With proofs of his guilt by his captors found.
Ready to stand, as he phrased it, "game,"
Holding not crime, but penitence, shame.
Poured in a flood o'er the mother's cheek
The moistening prayers, when the tongue was weak,
And she saw through the mist of those bitter tears
Only the child in his innocent years.
She remembered him pure as a child might be;
The guilt of the present she could not see,
And for mercy her wistful looks made prayer
To the stern old judge in his cushioned chair.
" Woman," the old judge crabbedly said,
"Your boy is the neighborhood's plague and dread;
Of a gang of reprobates, chosen chief;
An idler, a rioter, ruffian and thief.
The jury did right, for the facts are plain.
Denial is idle, excuses are vain.
The sentence the court imposes is one — "
"Your Honor," she cried, "he's my only son!"
The tipstaffs grinned as the woman spoke
And a ripple of fun through the courtroom broke,
But over the face of the culprit came
An angry look and a shadow of shame.
142 PLATFORM PIECES
"Don't laugh at my mother!" loud cried he.
"You've got me fast, and can deal with me;
But she's too good for your coward jeers,
And I'll — " Then his utterance choked with tears.
The judge for a moment bent his head,
And looked at him keenly. Then he said:
"We suspend the sentence. The boy can go."
And the words were tremulous, forced and low.
"But stop!" and he raised his finger then —
"Don't let them bring you here again.
There's something good in you yet, I know,
I'll give you a chance; make the most of it. Go."
The twain went forth and the old judge said:
"I meant to have given him a year instead.
And perhaps 'tis a difficult thing to tell
If clemency here be ill or well.
But a rock was struck in that callow heart
From which a fountain of good may start,
For one on the ocean of crime long tossed
Who loves his mother, is not quite lost."
SOMEBODY'S MOTHER
Anonymous
Suggestions: This poem should be given as a quiet narrative, with but
two touches of impersonation.
The woman was old and ragged and gray
And bent with the chill of the winter's day.
The street was wet with a recent snow,
And the woman's feet were aged and slow.
PATHETIC SELECTIONS 143
She stood at the crossing and waited long,
Alone, uncared for, amid the throng
Of human beings who passed her by,
Nor heeded the glance of her anxious eye.
Down the street, with laughter and shout,
Glad of the freedom of "school let out,"
Came the boys like a flock of sheep,
Hailing the snow piled white and deep.
Past the woman so old and gray
Hastened the children on their way.
Nor offered a helping hand to her —
So meek, so timid, afraid to stir,
Lest the carriages and horses' feet
Should crowd her down on the slippery street.
At last came one of a merry troop,
The gayest laddie of all the group,
He paused beside her and whispered low:
"I'll help you across, if you wish to go."
Her aged hand on his strong young arm
She placed, and so, without hurt or harm,
He guided the trembling feet along,
Proud that his own were firm and strong.
Then back again to his friends he went,
His young heart happy and well content.
144 PLATFORM PIECES
"She's somebody's mother, boys, you know,
For all she's aged and poor and slow;
"And I hope some fellow will lend a hand
To help my mother, you understand,
"If ever she's poor and old and gray,
When her own dear boy is far away."
And "somebody's mother" bowed low her head
In her home that night, and the prayer she said
Was: "God be kind to the noble boy,
Who is somebody's son and pride and joy!"
DRAMATIC SELECTIONS 147
But while you're sittin' talkin' to
The men down at the store
Why Ma, she's on her hands an' knees
A-scrubbin' up the floor.
"She does your washin', makes your shirts,
An' works hard all day long,
An' then she goes to meetin's where
There's talk of rightin' wrong
That's goin' on at the schoolhouse
Or when butchers sell bad meat —
An' she has your supper ready here
When you come home to eat."
My Pa, he says I talk too much,
An' I should hold my tongue —
The reason I can't understand
Is 'cause, he says, I'm young.
But I can't see that Ma's so weak,
Nor knows much less than Pa —
I think he's scared of government
That's managed by my Ma!
BOYS' AND GIRLS' RIGHTS
Anonymous
Suggestions: This poem is to be said by either a boy or a girl, directly to
the audience, with an earnestness amounting almost to impertinence,
not in the least apologetic at any part of the recitation.
In every land and continent,
Good people, bear in mind
How much is said about the rights
Of man and womankind;
148 PLATFORM PIECES
And though we're present everywhere,
And make a deal of noise,
There's very little said about
The rights of girls and boys.
We want the right to use our eyes
And take in every sight,
To see, compare, and measure facts,
The length and breadth and height.
We want the right to use our tongues,
And keep them busy, too,
In asking questions every day,
And have them answered true.
When we do wrong, we want the right
To claim a day of grace, —
A household jury, if you will,
To sit upon our case, —
And not be punished for our faults
With sudden words and blows,
Enough to drive the goodness out
Through fingers and through toes.
We want to be respected, too,
And not be snubbed outright,
And put off with a careless word,
Because we're small and slight.
And when we take the Ship of State,
And throw by childish toys,
We'll make a law to regulate
The rights of girls and boys!
DRAMATIC SELECTIONS 149
THE WIND AND THE MOON
George Macdonald
Suggestions: This is a very effective recitation if, by puffing the cheeks
and glancing up, the wind is fully impersonated in his repeated attempts
to put out the moon. Set off the last stanza from the rest of the poem by
changing the position of the body before giving it.
Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out.
You stare
In the air
Like a ghost in a chair,
Always looking what I am about;
I hate to be watched; I will blow you out."
The Wind blew hard, and out went the Moon.
So, deep
On a heap
Of clouds, to sleep,
Down lay the Wind, and slumbered soon —
Muttering low, "I've done for that Moon.''
He turned in his bed; she was there again!
On high
In the sky,
With her one ghost eye,
The Moon shone white and alive and plain.
Said the Wind — "I will blow you out again."
The Wind blew hard, and the Moon grew dim.
"With my sledge
And my wedge
I have knocked off her edge!
If only I blow right fierce and grim,
The creature will soon be dimmer than dim."
150 PLATFORM PIECES
He blew and he blew, and she thinned to a thread.
"One puff
More's enough
To blow her to snuff!
One good puff more where the last was bred,
And glimmer, glimmer, glum will go the thread!"
He blew a great blast, and the thread was gone;
In the air
Nowhere
Was a moonbeam bare;
Far off and harmless the shy stars shone;
Sure and certain the Moon was gone!
The Wind he took to his revels once more;
On down,
In town,
Like a merry mad clown,
He leaped and hallooed with whistle and roar,
"What's that?" The glimmering thread once more!
He flew in a rage — he danced and blew;
But in vain
Was the pain
Of his bursting brain;
For still the broader the Moon scrap grew,
The broader he swelled his big cheeks and blew.
Slowly she grew — till she filled the night,
And shone
On her throne
In the sky alone,
A matchless, wonderful, silvery light,
Radiant and lovely, the Queen of the Night.
DRAMATIC SELECTIONS 151
Said the Wind, "What a marvel of power am I!
With my breath,
Good faith!
I blew her to death —
First blew her away right out of the sky —
Then blew her in; what a strength am I!"
But the Moon she knew nothing about the affair,
For high
In the sky
With her one white eye,
Motionless, miles above the air,
She had never heard the great Wind blare.
THE WINDMILL
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Suggestions: In giving this poem, the speaker should impersonate the
spirit of the windmill in soliloquy.
Behold, a giant am I!
Aloft here in my tower
With my granite jaws I devour
The maize, the wheat, and the rye,
And grind them into flour.
I look down over the farms;
In the fields of grain I see
The harvest that is to be,
And I fling aloft my arms,
For I know it is all for me.
I hear the sound of flails
Far off from the threshing-floors
In barns with their open doors,
152 PLATFORM PIECES
And the wind, the wind in my sails
Louder and louder roars.
I stand here in my place,
With my foot on the rock below,
And whichever way it may blow,
I meet it face to face,
As a brave man meets his foe.
And while we wrestle and strive,
My master the miller stands
And feeds me with his hands,
For he knows who makes him thrive,
Who makes him lord of lands.
On Sundays I take my rest;
Church-going bells begin
Their low, melodious din;
I cross my arms on my breast,
And all is peace within.
RIENZI'S ADDRESS
M. R. MlTFORD
Suggestions: As a preface, the speaker might say that this is a speech
from Miss Mitford's drama "Rienzi," delivered by the hero to a crowd of
citizens.
Friends: I come not here to talk.
Ye know too well
The story of our thraldom — we are slaves!
The bright sun rises to his course, and lights
A race of slaves! He sets, and his last beam
Falls on a slave — not such as, swept along
By the full tide of power, the conqueror leads
To crimson glory and undying fame;
But base, ignoble slaves — slaves to a horde
DRAMATIC SELECTIONS 153
Of petty tyrants, feudal despots, lords,
Rich in some dozen paltry villages —
Strong in some hundred spearsmen — only great
In that strange spell, a name! Each hour, dark fraud,
Or open rapine, or protected murder
Cries out against them. But this very day,
An honest man, my neighbor — there he stands —
Was struck — struck like a dog, by one who wore
The badge of Ursini! because, forsooth,
He tossed not high his ready cap in air,
Nor lifted up his voice in servile shouts,
At sight of that great ruffian! Be we men,
And suffer such dishonor? Men, and wash not
The stain away in blood? Such shames are common.
I have known deeper wrongs. I, that speak to you —
I had a brother once — a gracious boy,
Full of all gentleness, of calmest hope,
Of sweet and quiet joy; there was the look
Of heaven upon his face, which limners give
To the beloved disciple. How I loved
That gracious boy! Younger by fifteen years,
Brother at once and son! He left my side,
A summer bloom on his fair cheeks, a smile
Parting his innocent lips. In one short hour,
The pretty, harmless boy was slain! I saw
The corse, the mangled corse, and then I cried
For vengeance! Rouse, ye Romans! rouse, ye slaves!
Have ye brave sons? Look, in the next fierce brawl,
To see them die! Have ye daughters fair? Look
To see them live, torn from your arms, distained,
Dishonored! and if ye dare call for justice,
Be answered by the lash! Yet this is Rome,
That sat on her seven hills, and, from her throne
Of beauty, ruled the world! Yet we are Romans!
Why, in that elder day, to be a Roman
154 PLATFORM PIECES
Was greater than a king! And once again —
Hear me, ye walls, that echoed to the tread
Of either Brutus! — once again I swear,
The eternal city shall be free!
THE CRY OF LITTLE BROTHERS 1
Ethelred Breeze Barry
Suggestions: Let the boy or girl who speaks this say a word of explanation
that this poem is supposed to be the plea of stray cats and dogs.
We are the little brothers,
Homeless in cold and heat;
Four-footed little beggars,
Roaming the city street,
Snatching a bone from the gutter,
Creeping through alleys drear,
Stoned and sworn at and beaten,
Our hearts consumed with fear.
You pride yourselves on the beauty
Of your city fair and free;
Yet we are dying by thousands
In coverts you never see.
You boast of your mental progress,
Of your libraries, schools and halls;
But we who are dumb denounce you,
As we crouch beneath their walls.
You sit in your tinseled playhouse
And weep o'er a mimic wrong.
Our woes are the woes of the voiceless,
Our griefs are unheeded in song.
1 From the New York "Times."
DRAMATIC SELECTIONS 155
You say that the same God made us.
When before His throne you come
Shall you clear yourselves in His presence
On the plea that He made us dumb?
Are your hearts too hard to listen
To a starving kitten's cries?
Or too gay for the patient pleading
In a dog's beseeching eyes?
Behold us, your little brothers,
Starving, beaten, oppressed —
Stretch out a hand to help us
That we may have food and rest.
Too long have we roamed neglected,
Too long have we sickened with fear.
The mercy you hope and pray for
You can grant us now and here.
HIAWATHA'S SAILING
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Suggestions: This excerpt from Longfellow's famous poem would seem
to require the rhythmic delivery suggesting a chant, except in the few
colloquial lines. A legato vocalization between the words, with slight
aspirations, will produce an effect imitative of the rustling trees.
"Give me of your bark, O Birch Tree!
Of your yellow bark, O Birch Tree!
Growing by the rushing river,
Tall and stately in the valley!
I a light canoe will build me,
Build a swift Cheemaun for sailing,
That shall float upon the river,
156 PLATFORM PIECES
Like a yellow leaf in autumn,
Like a yellow water lily!
"Lay aside your cloak, O Birch Tree!
Lay aside your white skin wrapper,
For the summer time is coming,
And the sun is warm in heaven,
And you need no white skin wrapper!"
Thus aloud cried Hiawatha
In the solitary forest,
By the rushing Taquamenaw,
When the birds were singing gaily,
In the Moon of Leaves were singing,
And the Sun, from sleep awaking,
Started up and said, " Behold me!
Geezis, the great Sun, behold me!"
And the tree with all its branches
Rustled in the breeze of morning,
Saying, with a sigh of patience,
"Take my cloak, O Hiawatha!"
With his knife the tree he girdled;
Just beneath its lowest branches,
Just above the roots, he cut it,
Till the sap came oozing outward;
Down the trunk, from top to bottom,
Sheer he cleft the bark asunder,
With a wooden wedge he raised it,
Stripped it from the trunk unbroken.
"Give me of your boughs, O Cedar!
Of your strong and pliant branches,
My canoe to make more steady,
Make more strong and firm beneath me!"
Through the summit of the Cedar
Went a sound, a cry of horror,
Went a murmur of resistance;
But it whispered, bending downward,
DRAMATIC SELECTIONS 157
"Take my boughs, O Hiawatha!"
Down he hewed the boughs of cedar,
Shaped them straightway to a framework,
Like two bows he formed and shaped them,
Like two bended bows together.
"Give me of your roots, O Tamarack!
Of your fibrous roots, O Larch Tree!
My canoe to bind together,
So to bind the ends together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"
And the Larch with all its fibers,
Shivered in the air of morning,
Touched his forehead with its tassels,
Said, with one long sigh of sorrow,
"Take them all, O Hiawatha!"
From the earth he tore the fibers,
Tore the tough roots of the Larch Tree,
Closely sewed the bark together,
Bound it closely to the framework.
"Give me of your balm, O Fir Tree!
Of your balsam and your resin,
So to close the seams together
That the water may not enter,
That the river may not wet me!"
* And the Fir Tree, tall and somber,
Sobbed through all its robes of darkness,
Rattled like a shore with pebbles,
Answered wailing, answered weeping,
"Take my balm, O Hiawatha!"
And he took the tears of balsam
Took the resin of the Fir Tree,
Smeared therewith each seam and fissure,
Made each crevice safe from water.
"Give me of your quills, O Hedgehog!
158 PLATFORM PIECES
All your quills, O Kagh, the Hedgehog!
I will make a necklace of them,
Make a girdle for my beauty,
And two stars to deck her bosom!"
From a hollow tree the Hedgehog
With his sleepy eyes looked at him,
Shot his shining quills, like arrows,
Saying, with a drowsy murmur,
Through the tangle of his whiskers,
"Take my quills, O Hiawatha!"
From the ground the quills he gathered,
All the little shining arrows,
Stained them red and blue and yellow,
With the juice of roots and berries;
Into his canoe he wrought them,
Round its waist a shining girdle,
Round its bows a gleaming necklace,
On its breast two stars resplendent.
Thus the Birch Canoe was builded,
In the valley, by the river,
In the bosom of the forest;
And the forest's life was in it,
All its mystery and its magic,
All the lightness of the birch tree,
All the toughness of the cedar,
All the larch's supple sinews;
And it floated on the river
Like a yellow leaf in autumn,
Like a yellow water lily.
Paddles none had Hiawatha,
Paddles none he had or needed,
For his thoughts as paddles served him,
And his wishes served to guide him;
Swift or slow at will he glided,
Veered to right or left at pleasure.
VII.— NATURE SELECTIONS
THE GREAT WIDE WORLD
William Brighty Rands
Suggestions: This poem should be given as an impersonation of a child
talking to the spirit of the outer world.
Great, wide, beautiful, wonderful World,
With the wonderful water round you curled,
And the wonderful grass upon your breast —
World, you are beautifully dressed.
The wonderful air is over me,
And the wonderful wind is shaking the tree;
It walks on the water, and whirls the mills,
And talks to itself on the top of the hills.
You friendly Earth! how far do you go,
With the wheat fields that nod, and the rivers that flow,
With cities, and gardens, and cliffs, and isles,
And people upon you for thousands of miles?
Ah, you are so great and I am so small,
I tremble to think of you, World, at all;
And yet when I said my prayers to-day,
A whisper inside me seemed to say,
"You are more than the Earth, though you are such a dot:
You can love and think, and the Earth can not."
159
160 PLATFORM PIECES
THE LAUGHING CHORUS
Anonymous
Suggestions: The speaker should give this poem with sprightly animation
throughout, as if he actually hears the flowers grow and talk.
Oh, such a commotion under the ground
When March called, "Ho, there! ho!"
Such spreading of rootlets far and wide,
Such whispering to and fro,
And "Are you ready?" the snowdrop asked,
"Tis time to start, you know."
"Almost, my dear," the scilla replied;
"I'll follow as soon as you go."
Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came
Of laughter soft and low,
From the millions of flowers under the ground
Yes — millions — beginning to grow.
"I'll promise my blossoms," the crocus said,
"When I hear the bluebirds sing."
And straight thereafter, narcissus cried,
"My silver and gold I'll bring."
"And ere they are dulled," another spoke,
"The hyacinth bells shall ring."
And the violet only murmured, "I'm here."
And sweet grew the air of spring.
Then, "Ha! ha! ha!" a chorus came
Of laughter soft and low
From the millions of flowers under the ground
Yes — millions — beginning to grow.
Oh, the pretty, brave things! Through the coldest days,
Imprisoned in walls of brown,
They never lost heart, though the blast shrieked loud
And the sleet and the hail came down,
NATURE SELECTIONS 161
But patiently each wrought her beautiful dress,
Or fashioned her beautiful crown;
And now they are coming to brighten the world,
Still shadowed by winter's frown;
And well may they cheerily laugh, "Ha! ha!"
In a chorus soft and low,
The millions of flowers hid under the ground
Yes — milhons — beginning to grow.
DISCONTENT
Anonymous
Suggestions: The speaker should give this poem as a quiet narrative,
impersonating the bird and the flower by means of different voices only.
Down in a field one day in June,
The flowers all bloomed together
Save one, who tried to hide herself,
And drooped that pleasant weather.
A robin who had flown too high,
And felt a little lazy,
Was resting near this buttercup,
Who wished she was a daisy,
For daisies grow so trig and tall;
She always had a passion
For wearing frills around her neck,
In just the daisies' fashion.
And buttercups must always be
The same old tiresome color,
While daisies dress in gold and white,
Although their gold is duller.
162 PLATFORM PIECES
"Dear Robin," said this sad young flower,
"Perhaps you'd not mind trying
To find a nice white frill for me
Some day when you are flying."
"You silly thing!" the robin said,
"I think you must be crazy;
I'd rather be my honest self
Than any made-up daisy.
"You're nicer in your own bright gown;
The little children love you;
Be the best buttercup you can,
And think no flower above you.
"Though swallows leave me out of sight,
We'd better keep our places,
Perhaps the world would all go wrong
With one too many daisies.
"Look bravely up into the sky,
And be content with knowing
That God wished for a buttercup
Just here, where you are growing."
THE PETRIFIED FERN
Mrs. M. B. Branch
Suggestions: This poem must not be given in a flippant manner. From
the very first, its serious intent and application must be at least suggested.
In a valley, centuries ago,
Grew a little fern leaf, green and slender,
Veining delicate and fibers tender;
Waving when the wind crept down so low;
NATURE SELECTIONS 163
Rushes tall and moss and grass grew round it,
Playful sunbeams darted in, and found it,
Drops of dew stole in by night, and crowned it,
But no foot of man e'er trod that way.
Earth was young and keeping holiday.
Monster fishes swam the silent main,
Stately forests waved their giant branches,
Mountains hurled their snowy avalanches,
Mammoth creatures stalked across the plain;
Nature reveled in grand mysteries;
But the little fern was not of these,
Did not number with the hills and trees,
Only grew and waved its wild, sweet way,
No one came to note it day by day.
Earth, one time, put on a frolic mood,
Heaved the rocks, and changed the mighty motion
Of the deep, strong currents of the ocean;
Moved the plain, and shook the haughty wood,
Crushed the little fern in soft, moist clay,
Covered it, and hid it safe away.
Oh, the long, long centuries since that day!
Oh, the agony, oh, life's bitter cost,
Since that useless little fern was lost!
Useless! Lost! There came a thoughtful man
Searching Nature's secrets far and deep;
From a fissure in a rocky steep
He withdrew a stone, o'er which there ran,
Fairy pencilings, a quaint design,
Veinings, leafage, fibers clear and fine,
And the fern's life lay in every line!
So, I think, God hides some souls away,
Sweetly to surprise us the last day.
1 64 PLATFORM PIECES
WHO PLANTS A TREE 1
Lucy Larcom
Suggestions: Let the speaker say this poem to the audience as if giving
personal advice, using a simple manner throughout.
He who plants a tree
Plants a hope.
Rootlets up through fibers blindly grope;
Leaves unfold into horizons free.
So man's life must climb
From the clods of time
Unto heavens sublime.
Canst thou prophesy, thou little tree,
What the glory of thy boughs shall be?
He who plants a tree
Plants a joy;
Plants a comfort that will never cloy.
Every day a fresh reality,
Beautiful and strong,
To whose shelter throng
Creatures blithe with song.
If thou couldst but know, thou happy tree,
Of the bliss that shall inhabit thee!
He who plants a tree,
He plants peace;
Under its green curtains jargons cease,
Leaf and zephyr murmur soothingly;
Shadows soft with sleep
Down tired eyelids creep,
Balm of slumber deep.
Never hast thou dreamed, thou blessed tree,
Of the benediction thou shalt be. . . .
1 Used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Company.
NATURE SELECTIONS 165
He who plants a tree,
He plants love;
Tents of coolness spreading out above
Wayfarers he may not live to see.
Gifts that grow are best;
Hands that bless are blest.
Plant-life does the rest.
Heaven and earth help him who plants a tree,
And his work its own reward shall be.
APPLE BLOSSOMS
William Wesley Martin
Suggestions: This is a valuable little poem to the student both for the
pictures which the words give, and which he must paint for his audience,
and as an excellent voice-drill. The speaker should talk to the audience
only when the text demands it; at all other times he should seem to be
actually in the scene depicted, to catch the "subtle odors" and see the
"pink cascades falling." He must make the spirit of joy cumulative to the
end of the poem.
Have you seen an apple orchard in the spring?
In the spring?
An English apple orchard in the spring?
When the spreading trees are hoary
With their wealth of promised glory
And the mavis pipes his story
In the spring?
Have you plucked the apple blossoms in the spring?
In the spring?
And caught their subtle odors in the spring?
Pink buds pouting at the light;
Crumpled petals baby-white,
Just to touch them a delight —
In the spring!
166 PLATFORM PIECES
Have you walked beneath the blossoms in the spring?
In the spring?
Beneath the apple blossoms in the spring?
When the pink cascades are failing,
And the silver brooklets brawling;
And the cuckoo bird soft calling,
In the spring!
Have you seen a merry bridal in the spring?
In the spring?
In an English apple country in the spring?
When the bride and maidens wear
Apple blossoms in their hair:
Apple blossoms everywhere, —
In the spring!
If you have not, then you know not, in the spring,
In the spring,
Half the color, beauty, wonder of the spring.
No sweet sight can I remember
Half so precious, half so tender,
As the apple blossoms render
In the spring.
HOME THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD
Robert Browning
Suggestions: The speaker should seem to be alone as, yearning for
home, he recalls sights and sounds as if present.
Oh, to be in England
Now that April's there,
And whoever wakes in England
Sees some morning, unaware,
NATURE SELECTIONS 167
That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf
Round the elm tree bole are in tiny leaf,
While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough
In England — now!
And after April, when May follows,
And the white throat builds and all the swallows!
Hark, where my blossomed pear tree in the hedge
Leans to the field and scatters on the clover
Blossoms and dewdrops, at the bent spray's edge —
That's the wise thrush; he sings each song twice over,
Lest you should think he never could recapture
The first fine careless rapture!
And though the fields look rough with hoary dew,
All will be gay when noontide wakes anew
The buttercups, the little children's dower —
Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower!
OUR GOOD OLD WORLD
Wilbur D. Nesbit
Suggestions: This poem should be said with sparkling joy throughout.
The green world, the clean world —
It's mighty good, my boy!
And if we only look for it
The world is full of joy.
Sad enough — and glad enough
In almost every spot —
So let us make the best of this,
The good old world we've got.
The green world, the clean world —
The world we're living on,
Has every night a lucky star
And every day a dawn.
1 68 PLATFORM PIECES
Everywhere are smiles to spare
And everywhere a song —
Our good old world can run itself
And keep from going wrong.
The green world, the clean world,
It swings along its way,
The finest place that we have lived,
And better every day.
Smiles are here for every tear
So let us not be vext —
But let us build up happiness
To treasure in the next.
The clean world, the green world —
It's good to you and me.
It holds for us our heart's desire
If we can only see.
Sing and smile 'most all the while
And roll the griefs away —
The happy world, the friendly world,
The world we have to-day!
THE DAY IS DONE
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Suggestions: Say this, seated, as if talking to an intimate friend,
in purely conversational style.
The day is done, and the darkness
Falls from the wings of Night,
As a feather is wafted downward
From an eagle in his flight.
NATURE SELECTIONS 169
I see the lights of the village
Gleam through the rain and the mist,
And a feeling of sadness comes o'er me
That my soul cannot resist:
A feeling of sadness and longing,
That is not akin to pain,
And resembles sorrow only
As the mist resembles the rain.
Come, read to me some poem,
Some simple and heartfelt lay,
That shall soothe this restless feeling,
And banish the thoughts of day.
Not from the grand old masters,
Not from the bards sublime,
Whose distant footsteps echo
Through the corridors of Time.
For, like strains of martial music,
Their mighty thoughts suggest
Life's endless toil and endeavor;
And to-night I long for rest.
Read from some humbler poet,
Whose songs gushed from his heart,
As showers from the clouds of Summer,
Or tears from the eyelids start;
Who, through long days of labor,
And nights devoid of ease,
Still heard in his soul the music
Of wonderful melodies.
170 PLATFORM PIECES
Such songs have power to quiet
The restless pulse of care,
And come like the benediction
That follows after prayer.
Then read from the treasured volume
The poem of thy choice,
And lend to the rhyme of the poet
The beauty of thy voice.
And the night shall be filled with music,
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents, like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.
WHERE SHOULD THE SCHOLAR LIVE?
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Suggestions: This selection should be given as a simple address, directly
to the audience, with no touch of oratorical fervor.
Where should the scholar live? In solitude or in society?
In the green stillness of the country, where he can hear the
heart of Nature beat, or in the dark, gray town, where he can
hear and feel the throbbing heart of man? I will make answer
for him, and say in the dark, gray town. O, they do greatly
err who think that the stars are all the poetry which cities have;
and therefore that the poet's only dwelling should be in sylvan
solitudes, under the green roof of trees.
Beautiful, no doubt, are all the forms of Nature, when trans-
figured by the miraculous power of poetry; hamlets and harvest
fields, and nut-brown waters, flowing ever under the forest,
vast and shadowy, with all the sights and sounds of rural life.
But after all, what are these but the decorations and painted
NATURE SELECTIONS 171
scenery in the great theater of human life? What are they
but the coarse materials of the poet's song? Glorious, indeed,
is the world of God around us, but more glorious the world of
God within us. There lies the Land of Song; there lies the
poet's native land.
The river of life, that flows through streets tumultuous,
bearing along so many gallant hearts, so many wrecks of hu-
manity; the many homes and households, each a little world
in itself, revolving round its fireside, as a central sun; all forms
of human joy and suffering, brought into that narrow compass;
and to be in this, and be a part of this; acting, thinking, re-
joicing, sorrowing, with his fellowmen; such, such should be
the poet's life. If he would describe the world, he should live
in the world.
The mind of the scholar, if you would have it large and
liberal, should come in contact with other minds. It is better
that his armor should be somewhat bruised by rude encounters
even, than hang forever rusting on the wall. Nor will his
themes be few or trivial, because apparently shut in between
the walls of houses, and having merely the decorations of street
scenery. A ruined character is as picturesque as a ruined
castle.
There are dark abysses and yawning gulfs in the human
heart, which can be rendered passable only by bridging them
over with iron nerves and sinews, as Chalky bridged the Sarine
in Switzerland, and Telford the sea between Anglesea and
England, with chain bridges. These are the great themes of
human thought; not green grass, and flowers, and moonlight.
Besides, the mere external forms of nature we make our own,
and carry with us everywhere, by the power of memory.
172 PLATFORM PIECES
SMALL BEGINNINGS
Charles Mackay
Suggestions: This poem should be given as a simple narrative from the
first to the middle of the last stanza. The last four lines should be distin-
guished from the rest of the poem by a quieter tone and slower tempo for
the apostrophe to the "germ," "fount," and "word of love."
A traveler on a dusty road
Strewed acorns on the lea;
And one took root and sprouted up,
And grew into a tree.
Love sought its shade at evening time,
To breathe its early vows;
And Age was pleased, in heights of noon,
To bask beneath its boughs.
The dormouse loved its dangling twigs,
The birds sweet music bore —
It stood a glory in its place,
A blessing evermore.
A little spring had lost its way
Amid the grass and fern;
A passing stranger scooped a well
Where weary men might turn.
He walled it in, and hung with care
A ladle on the brink;
He thought not of the deed he did,
But judged that Toil might drink.
He passed again; and lo! the well,
By summer never dried,
Had cooled ten thousand parched tongues,
And saved a life beside.
NATURE SELECTIONS 173
A nameless man, amid the crowd
That thronged the daily mart,
Let fall a word of hope and love,
Unstudied from the heart,
A whisper on the tumult thrown,
A transitory breath,
It raised a brother from the dust,
It saved a soul from death.
O germ! O fount! O word of love!
O thought at random cast!
Ye were but little at the first,
But mighty at the last.
THE FOUNTAIN 1
James Russell Lowell
Suggestions: The speaker should explain that this poem is an apostrophe
to a fountain. None of the poem should be said to the audience.
Into the sunshine,
Full of the light,
Leaping and flashing
From morn till night;
Into the moonlight,
Whiter than snow,
Waving so flower-like
When the winds blow;
Into the starlight,
Rushing in spray,
Happy at midnight,
Happy by day;
1 From the authorized edition of Lowell's poems, published by Houghton
Mifflin Company.
174 PLATFORM PIECES
Ever in motion,
Blithesome and cheery,
Still climbing heavenward,
Never aweary;
Glad of all weathers,
Still seeming best,
Upward or downward
Motion thy rest;
Full of a nature
Nothing can tame,
Changed every moment,
Ever the same;
Ceaseless aspiring,
Ceaseless content,
Darkness or sunshine
Thy element;
Glorious fountain!
Let my heart be
Fresh, changeful, constant,
Upward, like thee!
PURITY OF CHARACTER
Henry Ward Beecher
Suggestions: Give this selection with oratorical manner, directly to the
audience.
Over the plum and apricot there may be seen a bloom and
beauty more exquisite than the fruit itself, — a soft, delicate
flush that overspreads its blushing cheek. Now, if you strike
your hand over that, and it is once gone, it is gone forever;
NATURE SELECTIONS 175
for it never grows but once. The flower that hangs in the
morning, impearled with dew, arrayed with jewels, — once
shake it so that the beads roll off, and you may sprinkle water
over it as you please, yet it can never be made again what it
was when the dew fell lightly upon it from heaven.
On a frosty morning you may see the panes of glass cov-
ered with landscapes, mountains, lakes, and trees, blended in
a beautiful fantastic picture. Now, lay your hand upon the
glass, and by the scratch of your fingers, or by the warmth of
the palm, all the delicate tracery will be immediately oblit-
erated. So in youth there is a purity of character which, when
once touched and defiled, can never be restored, — a fringe
more delicate than frostwork, and which, when torn and broken,
will never be re-embroidered.
A man who has spotted and soiled his garments in youth,
though he may seek to make them white again, can never
wholly do it, even were he to wash them with his tears. When
a young man leaves his father's house, with the blessing of his
mother's tears still wet upon his forehead, if he once loses that
early purity of character, it is a loss he can never make whole
again. Such is the consequence of crime. Its effects cannot be
eradicated, they can only be forgiven.
VIII. — ETHICAL SELECTIONS
COLUMBUS *
Joaquin Miller
Suggestions: It is often said that to use impersonation with descrip-
tion is in bad taste. We, however, hold the contrary to be true: that,
if it is legitimate to tell what a person says or even what he thinks, it is
equally legitimate to show how he stood and acted meanwhile.
This poem presents a picture of Columbus standing in the prow of a ship
expressing in voice and action an unswerving determination. Before a
word of this selection is given, the speaker should assume an attitude of
sternness, looking straight ahead, the whole body tense. Indicate in the
first two lines that Columbus's thoughts are tending backward; in the
third line the speaker scans the horizon which he is facing. There should
be a complete change of attitude for the speeches of the mate, but Columbus
makes all of his replies in his original position of peering ahead. This
recitation requires few or no gestures.
A great point to be observed in the rendering of "Columbus" is the long
pause after the last "A light!" and before "It grew," for between these
two phrases nearly three centuries of time intervene. If this pause should
not be observed, it would seem as if Columbus saw an American flag on the
shores at the moment he discovered America.
Behind him lay the gray Azores,
Behind, the Gates of Hercules;
Before him, not the ghost of shores;
Before him, only shoreless seas.
The good mate said: "Now must we pray,
For lo! the very stars are gone.
Brave Adm'r'l, speak; what shall I say?"
"Why, say: 'Sail on! sail on! and on! :
? jj
1 Copyright, 1904, by Whitaker and Ray Company and used by
permission.
Li76
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 177
"My men grow mutinous day by day;
My men grow ghastly wan and weak."
The stout mate thought of home; a spray
Of salt wave washed his swarthy cheek.
"What shall I say, brave Adm'r'l, say,
If we sight naught but seas at dawn?"
"Why, you shall say at break of day:
'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"
They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,
Until at last the blanched mate said:
"Why, now not even God would know
Should I and all my men fall dead.
These very winds forget their way,
For God from these dread seas is gone.
Now speak, brave Adm'r'l; speak and say — "
He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"
They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:
"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.
He curls his lip, he lies in wait,
With lifted teeth, as if to bite!
Brave Adm'r'l, say but one good word:
What shall we do when hope is gone?"
The words leapt like a leaping sword:
"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"
Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,
And peered through darkness. Ah, that night
Of all dark nights! And then a speck —
A light! A light! A light! A light!
It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!
It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.
He gained a world; he gave that world
Its grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"
178 PLATFORM PIECES
THE HEAD AND THE HEART
John G. Saxe
Suggestions: This selection is really a little sermon in rhyme, calling for
contrasts in delivery between the "head" and the "heart." Let the former
delivery be deliberate and cool, the latter impulsive and warm.
The head is stately, calm and wise,
And bears a princely part;
And down below in secret lies
The warm, impulsive heart.
The lordly head that sits above,
The heart that beats below,
Their several office plainly prove,
Their true relation show.
The head, erect, serene and cool,
Endowed with Reason's art,
Was set aloft to guide and rule
The throbbing, wayward heart.
And from the head, as from the higher,
Comes every glorious thought;
And in the heart's transforming fire
All noble deeds are wrought.
Yet each is best when both unite
To make the man complete;
What were the heat without the light?
The light, without the heat?
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 179
IF I KNEW
Anonymous
Suggestions: This poem should be said as if the thought were the
speaker's own and with a joyous determination manifested in voice and
manner.
If I knew the box where the smiles were kept,
No matter how large the key
Or strong the bolt, I would try so hard
'Twould open, I know, for me.
Then, over the land and the sea, broadcast,
I'd scatter the smiles to play,
So that careworn people might hold them fast
For many and many a day.
If I knew a box that was large enough
To hold all the frowns I meet,
I would like to gather them every one,
From nursery, school and street;
Then, folding and holding, I'd pack them in,
And, turning the monster key,
I'd hire a giant to drop the box
To the depths of the deep, deep sea.
SO LITTLE 1
Anonymous
Suggestions: The speaker should deliver this poem so as to bring out
the contrast in the spirit of the two stanzas: the first slow in tempo
and deep in pitch; the second in higher key, in quicker tempo and
with greater animation.
It takes so little to make us sad:
Just a slighting word or a doubting sneer,
Just a scornful smile on some lips held dear;
1 From the "Sunshine Bulletin."
180 PLATFORM PIECES
And our footsteps lag, though the goal seemed near,
And we lose the courage and hope we had —
So little it takes to make us sad.
It takes so little to make us glad;
Just a cheering clasp of a friendly hand,
Just a word from one who can understand;
And we finish the task we long had planned,
And we lose the doubt and the fear we had —
So little it takes to make us glad.
HAVE YOU A SAND PILE? 1
Anonymous
Suggestions: Let the speaker begin this selection quietly, but soon
make of it an emphatic preachment that will strike home to each one in
the audience, finally ending the selection with great earnestness.
I observed a locomotive in the railroad yard one day;
It was waiting at the roundhouse, where the locomotives stay;
It was panting for the journey, it was coaled and fully manned,
And it had a box the fireman was filling full of sand.
It appears that locomotives cannot always get a grip
On their slender iron pavements, 'cause the wheels are apt to
slip;
So when they reach a slippery spot their tactics they command,
And to get a grip upon the rail, they sprinkle it with sand.
It's about this way with travel along life's slippery track —
If your load is rather heavy, and you're always sliding back;
If a common locomotive you completely understand,
You'll provide yourself in starting with a good supply of sand.
1 From the "Ben Franklin Monthly."
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 181
If your track is steep and hilly and you have a heavy grade,
And if those who've gone before you have the rails quite slippery
made,
If you'd ever reach the summit of the upper tableland,
You'll find you'll have to do it with a liberal use of sand.
If you strike some frigid weather and discover to your cost
That you're liable to slip upon a heavy coat of frost,
Then some prompt, decided action will be called into demand —
And you'll slip 'way to the bottom if you haven't any sand.
You can get to any station that is on life's schedule seen,
If there's fire beneath the boiler of ambition's strong machine;
And you'll reach a place called Flushtown at a rate of speed
that's grand,
If for all the slippery places you've a good supply of sand.
I CAN AND I CAN'T 1
Anonymous
Suggestions: This selection provides a fine opportunity for contrasts in
tone and manner. Let the body respond as a whole, assuming an attitude
of alertness and courage for "I can" and one of drooping depression for "I
can't."
As on through life's journey we go day by day,
There are two whom we meet each turn of the way,
To help or to hinder, to bless or to ban,
And the names of these two are, "I can't" and "I can."
11 1 canH" is a dwarf, a poor, pale, puny imp;
His eyes are half blind, and his walk is a limp;
He stumbles and falls, or lies writhing with fear,
Though danger is distant and succor is near.
1 From "Our Young Folks."
i82 PLATFORM PIECES
"/ can" is a giant; unbending he stands;
There is strength in his arm and skill in his hands;
He asks for no favors; he wants but a share
Where labor is honest and wages are fair.
"J can't" is a coward, half fainting with fright;
At the first thought of peril he sinks out of sight;
Slinks and hides till the noise of the battle is past,
Or sells his best friends and turns traitor at last.
"I can" is a hero, the first in the field:
Though others may falter, he never will yield;
He makes the long marches, he strikes the last blow,
His charge is the whirlwind that scatters the foe.
How grandly and nobly he stands to his trust
When roused at the call of a cause that is just!
He weds his strong will to the valor of youth,
And writes on his banner the watchword of Truth!
Then up and be doing! the day is not long;
Throw fear to the winds: be patient and strong!
Stand fast in your place, act your part like a man,
And, when duty calls, answer promptly, U I can!"
"IT COULDN'T BE DONE" 1
Anonymous
Suggestions: Let the speaker say this poem to the audience as if talking
about some concrete case. In the last stanza he should include everyone
before him, in giving a piece of wholesome advice. This whole poem must
be said with a fervor amounting to ruggedness.
Somebody said that it couldn't be done,
But he with a chuckle replied,
That maybe it couldn't, but he would be one
Who wouldn't say so till he tried.
1 From "Do We Care?"
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 183
So he buckled right in, with a trace of a grin
On his face. If he worried he hid it,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, — and he did it.
Somebody scoffed: "Oh, you'll never do that;
At least, no one ever has done it."
But he took off his coat and he took off his hat,
And the first thing we knew he'd begun it;
With the lift of his chin, and a bit of a grin,
Without any doubting or quiddit,
He started to sing as he tackled the thing
That couldn't be done, — and he did it.
There are thousands to tell you it cannot be done.
There are thousands to prophesy failure;
There are thousands to point out to you, one by one,
The dangers that wait to assail you;
But just buckle in with a bit of a grin,
Then take off your coat and go to it;
Just start in to sing as you tackle the thing
That cannot be done, and you'll do it.
OPPORTUNITY SPEAKS 1
William J. Lampton
Suggestions: The speaker should say this poem with a manner half seri-
ous and half jocular, his eyes laughing except when he gives the advice.
Yes, I am Opportunity;
But say, young man,
Don't wait for me
To come to you;
1 From "Success Magazine"; used by permission of the Thwing Com-
pany, owners of the copyright.
184 PLATFORM PIECES
You buckle down
To win your crown,
And work with head
And heart and hands,
As does the man
Who understands
That those who wait,
Expecting some reward from fate,
Or luck, to call it so, —
Sit always in the 'way-back row.
And yet
You must not let
Me get away when I show up.
The golden cup
Is not for him who stands,
With folded hands,
Expecting me
To serve his inactivity.
I serve the active mind,
The seeing eye,
The ready hand
That grasps me passing by,
And takes from me
The good I hold
For every spirit
Strong and bold.
He does not wait
On fate
Who seizes me,
For I am fortune,
Luck and fate,
The corner stone
Of what is great
In man's accomplishment.
But I am none of these
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 185
To him who does not seize;
I must be caught
If any good is wrought
Out of the treasures I possess.
Oh, yes,
I'm Opportunity;
I'm great;
I'm sometimes late,
But do not wait
For me;
Work on;
Watch on,
Good hands, good heart,
And some day you will see
Out of your effort rising, —
Opportunity.
DON'T GIVE UP 1
Phoebe Cary
Suggestions: This poem should be said to the audience with marked
emphasis and in a persuasive tone.
If you've tried and have not won,
Never stop for crying;
All that's great and good is done
Just by patient trying.
Though young birds, in flying, fall,
Still their wings grow stronger;
And the next time they can keep
Up a little longer.
1 From the authorized edition of Phcebe Cary's poems, published by
Houghton Mifflin Company.
186 PLATFORM PIECES
Though the sturdy oak has known
Many a blast that bowed her,
She has risen again and grown
Loftier and prouder.
If by easy work you beat,
Who the more will prize you?
Gaining victory from defeat,
That's the test that tries you!
THE MILLER OF THE DEE
Charles Mackay
Suggestions: Let the speaker tell this poem like a simple story, with
impersonation of both the miller and the king.
There dwelt a miller, hale and bold,
Beside the River Dee;
He wrought and sang from morn till night,
No lark more blithe than he;
And this the burden of his song
Forever used to be,
"I envy no man, no, not I,
And no one envies me!"
"Thou'rt wrong, my friend," said old King Hal,
"As wrong as wrong can be;
For could my heart be light as thine,
I'd gladly change with thee.
And tell me now what makes thee sing
With voice so loud and free,
While I am sad, though I'm the King,
Beside the River Dee?"
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 187
The miller smiled and doffed his cap:
"I earn my bread," quoth he;
"I love my wife, I love my friend,
I love my children three.
I owe no one I cannot pay,
I thank the River Dee,
That turns the mill that grinds the corn
To feed my babes and me."
"Good friend," said Hal, and sighed the while,
"Farewell, and happy be;
But say no more, if thou'dst be true,
That no one envies thee.
Thy mealy cap is worth my crown;
Thy mill my kingdom's fee,
Such men as thou are England's boast,
Oh, Miller of the Dee!"
THE SPUR OF FAILURE 1
Anonymous
tions: This poem should be said directly to the audience with
firm and rather marked emphasis.
Failure shouldn't be a brake;
Make of it a spur.
Mend your pace and keep awake
When its stings occur.
Make of it a call to fight,
Not a cry to quit;
When your plans aren't going right
Rouse yourself a bit.
1 From the Detroit "Free Press."
188 PLATFORM PIECES
Failure's not a stopping place;
It's a starting line,
Just the first lap of a race,
Do not pause to whine.
When its rowels come to you
Take them like a man;
They are urging you to do
Something that you can.
If by failure you are spurred
You can win again;
Many a time has this occurred
To your fellow men.
There are ways that you can take
When you're trouble tossed.
It's when failure is a brake
That a fellow's lost.
GRADATIM
J. G. Holland
Suggestions: The speaker should give a word of preface to this selection
by saying something like the following: " Whenever we are discouraged and
our tasks seem hard, it is good to recall these words from J. G. Holland,
who says:"
Heaven is not reached at a single bound,
But we build the ladder by which we rise
From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies,
And we mount to its summit round by round.
I count this thing to be grandly true:
That a noble deed is a step toward God, —
Lifting the soul from the common clod
To a purer air and a broader view.
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 189
We rise by the things that are under feet;
By what we have mastered of good and gain;
By the pride deposed and the passion slain,
And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet.
A HAPPY WORLD
Anonymous
Suggestions: This stanza should be said to the audience in such a way
that each one feels individually addressed. The speaker must make the
poem a happy thought throughout.
If you and I, just you and I,
Would laugh, instead of worry;
If you and I, just you and I,
Would smile 'mid all the hurry;
If we should grow, just you and I,
Kinder and sweeter hearted;
Perhaps in some near by and by
A good time might get started.
Then what a happy world 'twould be
For you and me, for you and me!
A PRAYER
Anonymous
Suggestions: Let the speaker seem to say this poem to himself, in slow
tempo and reflective mood.
If any little word of mine
May make a life the brighter,
If any little song of mine
May make a heart the lighter,
God help me speak the little word,
And take my bit of singing,
iqo PLATFORM PIECES
And drop it in some lonely vale
To set the echoes ringing.
If any little love of mine
May make a life the sweeter,
If any little care of mine
May make a friend's the fleeter,
If any lift of mine may ease
The burden of another,
God give me love and care and strength
To help my toiling brother.
SMILE l
Anonymous
Suggestions: This recitation should be said gaily and directly to the
audience, from the first word to the last.
Smile, and the world smiles with you,
" Knock," and you go alone;
For the cheerful grin
Will let you in
Where the kicker is never known.
Growl, and the way looks dreary,
Laugh, and the path is bright,
For the welcome smile
Brings sunshine, while
A frown shuts out the light.
Sing, and the world's harmonious.
Grumble, and things go wrong,
And all the time
You are out of rhyme
With the busy, bustling throng.
1 From "Tengwall Talk."
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 191
Kick, and there's trouble brewing,
Whistle, and life is gay.
And the world's in tune
Like a day in June
And the clouds all melt away.
THE CURRENT OF LIFE
Anonymous
Suggestions: The speaker should say this selection to the audience with
great earnestness, trying to make each one feel as if personally addressed.
Don't look for the flaws as you go through life;
And even when you find them
It is wise and kind to be somewhat blind
And look for the virtue behind them.
For the cloudiest night has a hint of light
Somewhere in its shadows hiding;
It is better by far to hunt for a star
Than the spots on the sun abiding.
The current of life runs ever away
To the bosom of God's great ocean.
Don't set your force 'gainst the river's course
And think to alter its motion.
Don't waste a curse on the universe —
Remember it lived before you.
Don't butt at the storm with your puny form —
But bend and let it go o'er you.
The world will never adjust itself
To suit your whim to the letter,
Some things must go wrong your whole life long,
And the sooner you know it the better.
IQ2 PLATFORM PIECES
It is folly to fight with the Infinite,
And go under at last in the wrestle,
The wiser man shapes into God's plan
As the water shapes into a vessel.
THE PSALM OF LIFE
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Suggestions: This poem is too often given as if it were a lyric to be chanted
in a legato manner; on the contrary, it should be oratorical in attack and
fervor, the speaker making use of a marked emphasis and full tone through-
out and closing with great firmness.
Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.
Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.
Art is long, and Time is fleeting,
And our hearts, though stout and brave,
Still, like muffled drums, are beating
Funeral marches to the grave.
In the world's broad field of battle,
In the bivouac of Life,
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 193
Be not like dumb, driven cattle!
Be a hero in the strife!
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant!
Let the dead Past bury its dead!
Act, — act in the living Present !
Heart within, and God o'erhead!
Lives of great men all remind us
We can make our lives sublime,
And, departing, leave behind us
Footprints on the sands of time; -
Footprints, that perhaps another,
Sailing o'er life's solemn main,
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother,
Seeing, shall take heart again.
Let us, then, be up and doing,
With a heart for any fate;
Still achieving, still pursuing,
Learn to labor and to wait.
THE SMALLER THINGS 1
Reynale Smith Pickering
Suggestions: Let the speaker give this poem as a prayerful soliloquy.
We may not own a hero's crown,
Our coffers may be scant of gold,
And we may never know renown
Nor clasp the hand success may hold.
1 From "The Designer," New York City; used by permission of the
author and of "The Designer."
194 PLATFORM PIECES
But though these treasures be denied,
With all the joy their presence brings,
Dear Lord, we will be satisfied
To take thy gifts of smaller things.
A helping hand to him who feels
A burden that is hard to bear,
A willing heart that gladly steals
Some portion of another's care;
The art of making gracefully
Some sacrifice; nor count the gain
Of that which in attaining we
Have caused another pain.
To make a little child rejoice,
To bring a smile to sorrow's face,
Restore the laughter to some voice
Or put a broken heart in place.
So lay the tinsel crown aside;
We do not ask the fame it brings,
For we, dear Lord, are satisfied
To take thy gifts of smaller things.
TEMPERANCE
Yates
Suggestions: Assuming deep personal concern, the speaker should address
those immediately in front of him, trying to make the words seem his own.
The man who is to legislate for a great country, to help
make laws and constitutions involving the destinies of millions
of human beings, ought to be a man of reflection, moral prin-
ciple, integrity, and, above all, a sober man. Go into your
legislative halls, State and national, and behold the drunkard
staggering to his seat, or sleeping at his post, and ask yourself
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 195
the question whether he is not more fit to be called a monu-
ment to his country's shame than the representative of
freemen.
Would it not be most fearful to contemplate that ill-fated
epoch in the history of our country, when the demon of In-
temperance shall come into our legislative halls without shame,
remorse, or rebuke, — when he shall sit upon juries, upon the
bench, and drunkenness run riot among the people? Who then
will protect the Ship of State upon this maddening tide? Who
will steer her onward course amid the dashing billows? Who
spread her starry flag to the free, fresh, wild winds of heaven?
And now shall this nation pause in her efforts when there is an
enemy in our land more destructive than war, pestilence, and
famine combined, which sends annually one hundred thousand
men to untimely graves, makes fifty thousand widows, and
three hundred thousand worse than widows; filling our prisons,
our poorhouses, our lunatic asylums, and swelling to an un-
told extent the great ocean of human misery, wretchedness,
and woe?
AN AIM
Anonymous
Suggestions: The speaker should let the rhyme and meter in this selec-
tion take care of themselves, delivering the poem with the same earnest-
ness and manner he would employ for a piece of prose oratory.
Give me a man with an aim,
Whatever that aim may be,
Whether it's wealth or whether it's fame,
It matters not to me.
Let him walk in the path of right
And keep his aim in sight,
And work and pray in faith always
With his eye on the glittering height.
196 PLATFORM PIECES
Give me a man who says
"I will do something well,
And make the fleeting day
A story of labor tell."
Though the aim he has be small,
It is better than none at all;
With something to do all the year through,
He will not stumble or fall.
But Satan weaves a snare
For the feet of those who stray
With never a thought or care
Where the path may lead them astray.
A man who has no aim
Not only leaves no name,
When this life is done, but ten to one,
He leaves a record of shame.
Give me a man whose heart
Is filled with ambition's fire;
Who sets his mark in the start,
And keeps moving it higher and higher.
Better to die in the strife,
The hands with labor rife,
Than to glide with the tide in an idle dream,
And live a purposeless life.
Better to strive and climb
And never reach the goal,
Than to drift along with time —
An aimless, worthless soul.
Ay, better to climb and fall,
Or sow though the yield be small,
Than to throw away day after day,
And never strive at all.
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 197
SELF-CULTURE
Anonymous
Suggestions: This selection should be spoken directly to those in front of
the speaker, with great earnestness and firmness.
Make the best of yourself. Watch, and plant, and sow.
Cultivate! Cultivate! Falter not, faint not! Press onward!
Persevere! Perhaps you cannot bear such lordly fruit, nor
yet such rare, rich flowers as others; but what of that? Bear
the best you can. 'Tis all God asks.
Your flowers may only be the daisies and buttercups of life
— the little words and smiles and handshakes and helpful
looks; but we love these flowers full well. We may stop to
look at a tulip's gorgeous colors, and admire the creamy white-
ness of a noble lily; but it is to the little flowers we turn with
tenderest thought. We watch for snowdrops with longing
eyes, and scent the fragrance of the violet with a keen delight.
So let your life grow sweet scented with all pleasant thoughts
and gentle words and kindly deeds.
WHAT IS YOUR NICHE?
Anonymous
Suggestions: This poem should be spoken as if to one young man just
in front of the speaker.
Now, what is your niche in the mind of the man who met you
yesterday?
He figured you and labeled you, then carefully filed you away.
Are you on his list as one to respect, or as one to be ignored?
Does he think you're the sort that's sure to win, or the kind
that's easily floored?
The things you said — were they those that stick, or the kind
that fade and die?
198 PLATFORM PIECES
The story you told — did you tell it your best? If not, in all
conscience, why?
Your notion of things in the world of trade — did you make
that notion clear?
Did you make it sound to the listener as though it were good
to hear?
Did you mean, right down in your heart of hearts, the things
that you then expressed,
Or was it the talk of a better man in clumsier language dressed?
Did you think while you talked? or but glibly recite what you
had heard or read?
Had you made it your own — this saying of yours — or quoted
what others said?
Think — what is your niche in the mind of the man who met you
yesterday?
And figured you out and labeled you, then carefully filed you
away.
THE CAMEL'S NOSE
L. H. SlGOURNEY
Suggestions: The speaker should tell the first three stanzas simply and
quietly. He should pause and change his position before the last stanza,
to give to the explanation of the fable a wholly different air from the telling
of it.
Once in his shop a workman wrought,
With languid hand and listless thought,
When through the open window's space,
Behold! a camel thrust his face:
"My nose is cold," he meekly cried;
"O, let me warm it by thy side!"
Since no denial word was said,
In came the nose, in came the head;
As sure as sermon follows text,
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 199
The long and scraggy neck came next;
And then, as falls the threatening storm,
In leaped the whole ungainly form.
Aghast the owner gazed around,
And on the rude invader frowned,
Convinced, as closer still he pressed
There was no room for such a guest;
Yet more astonished heard him say,
"If thou art troubled, go away,
For in this place I choose to stay."
O youthful hearts, to gladness born,
Treat not this Arab lore with scorn!
To evil habit's earliest wile
Lend neither ear, nor glance, nor smile, —
Choke the dark fountain ere it flows,
Nor e'en admit the camel's nose!
THE FOX AND THE CAT
Anonymous
Suggestions: This little fable calls for the employment of four different
voices for the four animals, not imitative voices, but those which suggest
differences in size and character.
The Fox and the Cat, as they traveled one day,
With moral discourses cut shorter the way:
" 'Tis good," said the Fox, "to make justice our guide!"
"How godlike is mercy!" Grimalkin replied.
As thus they proceeded, a Wolf from the wood,
Impatient from hunger and thirsting for blood,
Rushed forth, as he saw the dull shepherd asleep,
And seized for his breakfast an innocent sheep.
200 PLATFORM PIECES
"'Tis in vain," cried the Wolf, "Mistress Sheep, that you bleat.
When mutton's at hand, you know well I must eat."
The Cat was astounded, the Fox stood aghast,
To see the fierce beast at his cruel repast.
"What a wretch!" said the Cat; "what a bloodthirsty brute,
To seize a poor sheep when there's herbage and fruit!"
Cried the Fox, "With the acorns so sweet and so good,
What a tyrant this is to spill innocent blood!"
Then onward they went and discoursed by the way,
And with still more wise maxims enlivened the day,
And on as they traveled they moralized still,
Till they came where some poultry pecked chaff by a mill.
Then the Fox, without ceasing his sayings so wise,
Now snapped up a chicken by way of a prize;
And a mouse, which then chanced from her covert to stray,
The thoughtful Grimalkin secured as her prey.
A Spider who sat in her web on the wall
Perceived the poor victims and pitied their fall;
She cried, "Of such murders how guiltless am I!"
Then ran to regale on a new-taken fly.
BE TRUE
Anonymous
Suggestions: This poem must be said to the audience, very slowly, with
rich tone and marked emphasis.
Thou must be true thyself,
If thou the truth wouldst teach;
Thy soul must overflow, if thou
Another's soul wouldst reach;
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 201
It needs the overflow of hearts
To give the lips full speech.
Think truly, and thy thoughts
Shall the world's famine feed;
Speak truly, and each word of thine
Shall be a fruitful seed;
Live truly, and thy life shall be
A great and noble creed.
UNNOTICED AND UNHONORED HEROES
William Ellery Channing
Suggestions: This selection should be given with quiet dignity and sus-
tained force.
When I see a man holding faster his uprightness in propor-
tion as it is assailed; fortifying his religious trust as Providence
is obscure; hoping in the ultimate triumphs of virtue more
surely in proportion to its present afflictions; cherishing philan-
thropy amid the discouraging experience of men's unkindness
and unthankfulness; extending to others a sympathy which
his own sufferings need but cannot obtain; growing milder and
gentler amid what tends to exasperate and harden, and, through
inward principle, converting the very incitements to evil into
the occasions of a victorious virtue, I see an explanation, and
a noble explanation, of the present state.
I see a good produced, so transcendent in its nature as to
justify all the evil and suffering under which it grows up. I
should think the formation of a few such minds worth all the
apparatus of the present world. I should say that this earth,
with its continents and oceans, its seasons and harvests, and its
successive generations, was a work worthy of God, even were
it to accomplish no other end than the training and manifesta-
202 PLATFORM PIECES
tion of the illustrious characters which are scattered through
history.
When I consider how small a portion of human virtue is re-
corded by history; how superior in dignity, as well as in number,
are the unnoticed, unhonored saints and heroes of domestic
and humble life, I see a light thrown over the present state
which more than reconciles me to all its evils.
THE UNNOTED HEROES 1
S. E. Kiser
Suggestions: Let the speaker give this poem semi-reflectively, except in
the four closing lines, which must be said directly to the audience.
There are heroes who have never
Heard the fearful din of battle,
Heroes who, unknown forever,
Labor where no sabers rattle;
There are heroes who are giving
Joy to others day by day
Who are making life worth living
Just by earning honest pay.
There are heroes who are wearing
No bright medals for their merit;
Heroes who may not be sharing
Splendor that the proud inherit;
There are heroes who prefer the
Task of righting wrongful things,
And thus make themselves more worthy
Than the pampered sons of kings.
There are heroes, uncomplaining,
Who are striving daily, yearly,
1 Copyright; used by permission of the author.
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 203
So the goals we would be gaining
May each morning shine more clearly;
There are heroes, unrewarded,
Who, by toiling late and long
In surroundings that are sordid,
Help the luckless to be strong.
There are heroes with wan faces,
Who uplift their fallen brothers;
Heroes who, in lowly places,
Labor for the love of others.
Why not pause sometimes to cheer them
For the courage they reveal?
Why not willingly revere them
For their patience and their zeal?
RISE ABOVE IT
Anonymous
Suggestions: This selection requires to be said in an earnest, sermonizing
way, directly to the audience.
Whatsoever mars your life,
Rise above it.
Whatsoever brings you strife,
Rise above it.
Whatsoever gives you fear,
Whatsoever makes you veer
From the path of duty clear,
Rise above it.
Whatsoever checks your growth,
Rise above it —
Be it selfishness or sloth,
Rise above it.
204 PLATFORM PIECES
Whatsoever bars your soul
From its kingdom of control
Keeps you from the final goal,
Rise above it.
In your past has error been?
Rise above it.
Be not slave unto your sin.
Rise above it.
Set your face unto the dawn,
Cry your motto, " Onward! On!"
Never mind the thing that's gone.
Rise above it.
Do you meet the knocking crew?
Rise above it.
Prove it false by what you do.
Rise above it.
Give out love and strength and light,
And the carper's petty spite
All will vanish out of sight.
Rise above it.
Be the master; quell the beast, —
Rise above it.
Till the voice of Self has ceased,
Rise above it.
This is truth the sages taught,
From the soul of Being caught;
Evil rests within your thought.
Rise above it.
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 205
ULTIMA VERITAS
Washington Gladden
Suggestions: The speaker should give the first two stanzas of this poem
conversationally. Beginning with the third stanza, however, he should
introduce earnestness and emphasis, increasing steadily to the end.
In the bitter waves of woe,
Beaten and tossed about
By the sullen winds that blow
From the desolate shores of doubt, —
When the anchors that faith had cast
Are dragging in the gale,
I am quietly holding fast
To the things that cannot fail:
I know that right is right;
That it is not good to lie;
That love is better than spite,
And a neighbor than a spy;
I know that passion needs
The leash of a sober mind;
I know that generous deeds
Some sure reward will find;
That the rulers must obey;
That the givers shall increase;
That duty lights the way
For the beautiful feet of Peace; —
In the darkest night of the year,
When the stars have all gone out,
That courage is better than fear,
That faith is truer than doubt;
206 PLATFORM PIECES
And fierce though the fiends may fight,
And long though the angels hide,
I know that Truth and Right
Have the universe on their side. . . .
THREE WORDS OF STRENGTH
Johann C. F. von Schiller
Suggestions: In giving this classic, the speaker should aim to say it with
so much force, directly to his audience, that each one may feel as if the
message were meant for him. He must try to make the poem cumulatively
effective.
There are three lessons I would write, —
Three words, as with a burning pen,
In tracings of eternal light,
Upon the hearts of men.
Have Hope. Though clouds environ round,
And gladness hides her face in scorn,
Put off the shadow from thy brow, —
No night but hath its morn.
Have Faith. Where'er thy bark is driven, —
The calm's disport, the tempest's mirth, —
Know this: God rules the hosts of heaven,
The inhabitants of earth.
Have Love. Not love alone for one,
But man, as man, thy brother call;
And scatter, like the circling sun,
Thy charities on all.
Thus grave these lessons on thy soul —
Hope, Faith, and Love — and thou shalt find
Strength when life's surges rudest roll,
Light when thou else wert blind.
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 207
WE'VE ALL OUR ANGEL SIDE
Anonymous
Suggestions: Let the speaker give this poem in the form of an address
to the audience, trying not to make the rhyme and meter too apparent.
The huge rough stones, from out the ruins, unsightly and unfair
Have veins of purest metal hid beneath the surface there.
Few rocks so bare but to their heights some tiny moss plant
clings,
And round the peaks so desolate the sea bird sits and sings —
Believe me, too, that rugged souls beneath their roughness hide
Much that is beautiful and good, — we've all our angel side.
In all there is an inner depth, a far off secret way —
When thro' the windows of the soul God sends His smiling ray.
In every human heart there is a faithful, sounding chord
That may be struck, unknown to us, by some sweet, loving word.
The wayward will in man may try its softer thoughts to hide;
Some unexpected tone reveals it has an angel side.
Despised and lone and trodden down, dark with the shades of
sin,
Deciphering not those halo lights which God has lit within,
Poor poisoned souls they are who know not what life's meaning is
Nor dream of heaven afar —
Oh, that some gentle hand of love their stumbling steps would
guide
And show them that amidst it all, life has its angel side.
Brutal and mean and dark enough God knows some natures are,
But He, compassionate, comes near and shall we stand afar?
Our cruse of oil will not grow less if shared with hearty hand,
For words of peace and looks of love few natures can withstand.
Love is the mighty conqueror, Love is the beauteous guide,
Love with her beaming eyes can see we've all our angel side.
208 PLATFORM PIECES
UP HIGHER
Joseph Bert Smiley
Suggestions: The speaker should say this poem directly to his audience
as to an individual, employing marked emphasis and great earnestness.
Every time you miss, or fail,
Start in on a higher scale.
Let each tear, and sigh, and moan,
Only be a stepping-stone;
Let each dark experience
Point you to an eminence
Up higher.
Every stab that racks your heart
Fits you for a stronger part.
Every stunning blow of pain
Lifts you to a broader plain.
Every foe that can appear
Trains you for a larger sphere
Up higher.
Never pause, and ne'er look back
O'er the fast-receding track.
There's a ghost there, grim and gaunt —
What's ahead is what you want.
Turn, and you will stand aghast.
Never search the bitter past,
Look higher!
From each crushing blow of pain
Rise and go ahead again.
Though your days fly swiftly past,
Push to conquer to the last.
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 209
Upward yet, and upward ever;
Onward still, and backward never!
Even when you hear the sound
Of Death's whisper, look beyond, —
Up higher.
THERE'S A GOOD TIME COMING
Charles Mackay
Suggestions: This poem is best said by a boy with a strong voice and
much " personality." He must be careful not to make the refrain monoto-
nous, — perhaps by saying the words with increased fervor upon each
repetition. No introduction is necessary.
There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;
The pen shall supersede the sword,
And Right, not Might, shall be the lord
In the good time coming.
Worth, not Birth, shall rule mankind,
And be acknowledged stronger;
The proper impulse has been given:
Just wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;
War in all men's eyes shall be
A monster of iniquity,
In the good time coming.
Nations shall not quarrel then,
To prove which is the stronger,
Nor slaughter man for glory's sake;
Just wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;
210 PLATFORM PIECES
The people shall be temperate,
And shall love instead of hate,
In the good time coming.
They shall use, and not abuse,
And make all virtue stronger;
The reformation has begun;
Just wait a little longer.
There's a good time coming, boys,
A good time coming;
Let us aid it all we can,
Every woman, every man,
The good time coming.
Smallest helps, if rightly given,
Make the impulse stronger;
'Twill be strong enough one day;
Just wait a little longer.
THE WHIRLING WHEEL 1
Tudor Jenks
Suggestions: The speaker should give this poem with conversational
simplicity, adding a little fervor with each repetition of the refrain, how-
ever. In this poem, as in all interpretation, when the word "Master" is
used and is capitalized, the eye must glance upward to indicate that the
Supreme Being is meant.
Oh! the regular round is a kind of grind!
We rise in the morning only to find
That Monday's but Tuesday, and Wednesday's the same,
And Thursday's a change in nothing but name;
A Friday and Saturday wind up the week;
On Sunday we rest, and attempt to look meek.
So set a firm shoulder
And push on the wheel!
1 From "The Outlook," New York City; used by permission.
ETHICAL SELECTIONS 211
The mill that we're grinding
Works for our weal.
And although the dull round is a kind of grind,
It has compensations that we may find.
Famine and slaughter and sieges no more
Are likely to leave their cards at the door.
Let others delight in adventurous lives —
We read their sore trials at home to our wives.
So set a firm shoulder
And push on the wheel!
The mill that we're grinding
Works for our weal.
The regular round, though a kind of grind,
Brings thoughts of contentment to quiet the mind:
The babies sleep soundly in snug little beds;
There's a tight little roof o'er the ringleted heads;
The wife's welcome comes with the set of the sun,
And the worker may rest, for the day's work is done.
So set a firm shoulder
And push on the wheel!
The mill that we're grinding
Works for our weal.
Oh! the regular round is a kind of grind,
But the world's scenes are shifted by workmen behind.
The star who struts central may show no more art
Than the sturdy "first citizen" rilling his part.
When the king to our plaudits has graciously bowed
The crowd sees the king, while the king sees the crowd.
So set a firm shoulder
And push on the wheel!
The mill that we're grinding
Works for our weal.
212 PLATFORM PIECES
When the great mill has stopped, and the work is complete,
And the workers receive the reward that is meet,
Who can tell what the Master shall say is the best?
We but know that the worker who's aided the rest,
Who has kept his wheel turning from morning to night,
Who has not wronged his fellow, is not far from right.
So set a firm shoulder
And push on the wheel!
The mill that we're grinding
Shall work out our weal.
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION
INTRODUCTORY
Thought + Emotion = Meaning. — The Meaning of any se-
lection is obviously what we aim to convey when we face an
audience. This meaning is always Thought plus your own
Feeling or Emotion about that thought or, in impersonation,
the feeling or emotion of the character impersonated.
Example: As they neared the second goal, Ben Hur turned in behind
the Roman's car.
If the speaker is in sympathy with Ben Hur, he should speak
the sentence above with regret; if he favors the Roman, with
joy.
The Feeling or Emotion must be right in kind and adequate
in degree. That is to say, if the thought produces joy, we
should not make it produce sorrow; and, in making it joyful,
we must determine beforehand what degree of joy should be
indicated.
THE SCIENCE OF SPEECH
Elements. — The Science of Speech includes five elements
which, when correctly used, will convey the Thought. These
five elements are as follows:
Enunciation Emphasis
Pronunciation Inflection
Pause
Enunciation. — Enunciation means giving the correct value
to every sound in a word; and by value we mean both quality
(sound) and quantity (duration).
213
214 PLATFORM PIECES
Pronunciation. — Pronunciation means giving the correct
values to a word as a whole.
Example: M-a-d spells mad; m-a-n spells man; but madman is pro-
nounced madmun.
The Pause. — The uses of the Pause are many and varied.
Rhetorical Pause. — The Rhetorical Pause is used to divide
and subdivide the written or spoken expression of thought.
Example: The past rises before me like a dream.
No matter how rapidly the careful speaker talks, you will
catch the following grouping:
"The past — rises — before me — like a dream."
Emotional Pause. — The Pause is used between all changes
of emotion. If a conjunction connects the changes, the Pause
comes after it and the conjunction must partake of the emo-
tional trend of the thought which follows it; never that of the
thought preceding it.
This comes from the deepest psychological truth in human
nature, that we cannot experience happiness and unhappiness
at the same moment. An appreciable time is required to
adjust the soul to the change from one to the other. This
is so in life, hence true in art.
Example: I placed it, one summer's evening,
On a cloudlet's fleecy breast;
But — it faded in golden splendor,
And died in the crimson west.
The first two lines are happy, expressing not only the thought
that I entrusted my message to the cloud, but did so in hope-
fulness and expectancy that it would be carried to her in heaven.
The word "but" introduces the change of emotion and must
contain the thought of the impending failure and consequent
sorrow.
Pause indicative of silence. — The Pause is used after any
expression calling for silence.
Example: Sh! Hark! Listen!
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 215
This Pause is not only employed when the imperative mode
of the verb is used, but also to give pictorial value even in nar-
rative.
Example: And there was silence —
Pause of dramatic suspense. — This Pause must be used
whether indicated by punctuation marks or not.
Example: He falls down — dead.
This Pause is also very effective in a comic story, since it
leaves the "point" in suspense a moment, in this way doub-
ling its value when finally uttered.
The Pause of indecision, or spontaneity. — This is a wonder-
ful Pause, making the delivery sound not premeditated, conned,
nor memorized, but spontaneous. It is particularly effective
in impersonations of children, where the child supposedly
lacks an extensive vocabulary, or is timid and uncertain in
speech.
Example: Sometimes — when — I got to do — errands at — at — night,
And the moon — is — is — is — all dark, etc.
The Pause is also properly used when, in the most formal
of interpretations, you wish to seem spontaneous. Many of
our famous orators write and commit their speeches, and yet by
the use of this Pause give the effect of talking extempore.
The Pause of reflection. — This Pause has no connection
with the Pause of indecision; is never occasioned by lack of
words, by timidity, or by lack of spontaneous thought, nor is it
the same in effect. It is, as its name implies, a pondering over,
a "weighing" of the thought.
Example: To be, or not to be (Hamlet's Soliloquy.)
The Pause of reflection is used most artistically in serious
reminiscence
Example: I have had other losses, since I lost my little lover.
216 PLATFORM PIECES
To pause after "losses" seems to make the assertion true,
and of moment; not to pause and reflect makes the " losses"
but trivial.
Pause denoting lapse of time or change of scene. — This is
a use of the Pause too obvious to need illustration, but never-
theless often disregarded.
The Pause indicating an interruption. — The interruption
may come from without or from within; as when, in the middle
of a sentence, we abruptly change the thought as if at a sudden
recollection; as, " You and I were — why, see here, you remem-
ber that"; or, "Let us be — there's the bell!"
The metrical Pause. — The Pause is used to preserve the
meter in poetry.
Pause indicating grammatical elision. — The use of this
Pause is obvious.
Pause indicating dramatic climax. — The Pause is used
when the emotion is so intense as to choke the utterance.
Pause indicating emphasis. — See Methods of Securing
Emphasis on page 219.
Exclamatory Pause. — The Pause is used after certain in-
terjections only; principally those of pain, anger, and the baser
emotions. The interjections of tenderness and joy are fre-
quently, and most artistically, slurred into the word following.
Pause indicating suspended inquiry. — This Pause is most
important in interpretation, in that it allows the character to
whom the speaker is supposedly talking time to say the things
to which the speaker replies.
Example: That cousin here again? He waits outside?
The Pause between these two questions indicates that the
other character has said something.
Differential Pause. — The Pause is necessary to distinguish
the application or explanation of a story from the story itself.
Pause between characterizations. — In interpreting two or
more characters, the speaker must pause between the speeches
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 217
in order that he may have time to assume the attitude appro-
priate to each character.
Emphasis. — The uses of Emphasis are as follows :
Emphasize thoughts and not words. — This may seem a mere
paradox, or at best a quibble, but it is neither. You may ask:
"How can you emphasize a thought if you do not emphasize
a word?" Easily enough. Suppose you, having misunder-
stood me, should ask: "Did you say it was a decent song?"
My reply might be: "No, I said it was a most mdecent song."
Here my whole emphasis would be upon the syllable "in,"
because it contained the thought of "not." Yet "in" is not a
word here, only a syllable.
As we have just seen, the emphasis may fall upon part of a
word containing the thought, although it falls more frequently
upon some whole word which at first glance may seem of only
slight importance.
Examples: I didn't ask you for roses, but for a rose
No offerings of my own I have,
Nor works my faith to prove:
I can but give the gifts He gave
And plead his love for love.
Here the poet's rhythm demands "and plead his love for love"
but if you wish to bring out the idea of "in exchange for," the
"for" must take the primary emphasis.
Emphasize all contrasted thoughts. — Contrast is the cause of
Emphasis. To emphasize a thought is to place it in antithesis
to its opposite.
Example: This wall is white; that wall is black.
Here "this" is in direct contrast with "that," "white" with
"black."
Every change of emphasis produces a change in meaning.
Example: Are you going up town to-day?
218 PLATFORM PIECES
To emphasize "are" makes your query mean "are you or
are you not?" To emphasize "you" means "are you going,
or is some one else?" Emphasize "up" and you clearly mean
" are you going up " instead of " down " town. And so through-
out the sentence.
Every sentence has as many meanings as there are words in
it multiplied by three, plus three. Considering "to-day" as one
word, the sentence given above has six words in it, and is there-
fore susceptible of twenty-one interpretations. With each
change of emphasis a new thought is given; this gives six, but
each of these is susceptible of being given on the "thought
plane," on the "unhappy emotional plane," and on the "happy
emotional plane," giving, in the one case, the emotional value of
"I am sorry you are going," in the other, "I am glad you are
going." As to the three additional meanings, these are given
by uttering the thought as a whole — with no differentiating
emphasis — first on the " thought plane," then on each of
the "emotional planes" in turn.
So much as to the importance of Emphasis.
Emphasize the new thought, except where repetition is intentional,
— This should be obvious, but evidently is not. Let us con-
sider an ordinary conversation to see how naturally we transfer
the emphasis to the new thought.
Example: "Did you ever write poetry?"
"Yes, I used to write poetry."
"Was it good poetry?"
"I thought so," etc.
The same thought is often repeated intentionally and with
meaning, and should then receive reiterated emphasis. Mac-
beth, just before the murder of Duncan, ruminates upon the
chance of punishment for his contemplated crime, "here."
Example: That but this blow might be
The be-all and end-all here,
But here, upon this bank and shoal of time,
. . . But in these cases
We still have judgment here.
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 219
Emphasize all thoughts expressed which are contrasted with
thoughts unexpressed. — This may be called anticipatory em-
phasis, and is rarely used correctly. When correctly employed,
however, the deepest meanings in life and literature are brought
to the surface.
Example: They laugh by day! They sleep by night!
By emphasizing "they" in each case the thought is brought
out that "I (the speaker) do not laugh by day nor sleep by
night." Whereas if you emphasize "laugh" or "sleep" you
utter the merest commonplaces, and give no meaning, other
than a grammatical one, to your text.
Another example of the fine employment of this anticipatory
emphasis is in the following lines from Mrs. Browning's " Sleep ":
Aye, men may wonder when they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man,
Confirmed in such a rest to keep.
The little auxiliary verb "may" receives the emphasis and
contrasts it with "do" — understood, not expressed.
Emphasize all unusual thoughts. — This use of Emphasis is
necessary in order to preserve the sense.
Example: I think their happy smile is heard!
This is from the same poem as the last quotation, Mrs.
Browning's " Sleep," and describes the happiness of the angels
over the death of a mortal. To speak of hearing a smile is
ridiculous, but to emphasize the unusual thought, conscious that
it is used with extravagance, is to interpret the hyperbole and
make it beautiful.
Methods of Securing Emphasis. — We must next consider
how Emphasis may be secured. In speech, Emphasis may
be secured by at least seven mechanical means.
1. By elevation in pitch. — This means is too seldom recog-
nized even by good speakers and readers: for, upon asking
220 PLATFORM PIECES
them what is the simplest and most ordinary way of employing
Emphasis, the reply invariably given is, "To make the emphatic
word louder."
This is not so in polite usage. Repeat the sentence we used
above, "Are you going," etc., quietly emphasizing each word
in turn, and you will find it is done by a slight raising of the
voice in pitch.
2. By increasing or decreasing the volume of tone.
3. By increasing or diminishing the stress.
4. By a pause.
This pause may occur before a thought-word, after a thought-
word, or both before and after.
5. By changing the quality of tone.
6. By prolongation of the vowel quantity. — A child says
"There's a g-r-e-a-t big black b-e-a-r down the street." This
expansion of the vowel quantity gives fine descriptive effect;
as, "The walls are st-e-e-e-p."
7. By any two or more of the above in combination.
Inflection. — By Inflection let us agree to mean the rising
or falling, in pitch, at the end of phrase, clause, or sentence.
Loosely speaking, any change in pitch of voice while speaking
is an inflection; but in learning or imparting an art we must
fix a terminology with concise and limited application. Thus
when we make prominent one syllable of a word we emphasize
that syllable, although we do not call it emphasis, but accent.
So, accent means syllable prominence, and emphasis means word
— or, better still, thought — prominence.
So, let us call all other changes in the pitch of the voice mod-
ulations or cadences, and confine inflections to changes at the
end of a phrase, clause or sentence.
The necessity for this is easily explained. Modulations or
cadences are the results of emphasis by change of pitch, of
changes in emotion, of accent, etc., whereas inflections are,
of themselves, meanings, which are common to all people.
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 221
The laws of Inflection are derived from the laws governing
the sequence of tones in the musical scale. In singing or playing
a musical scale, the use of the lower basic note of the key in which
one is singing or playing is the only tone which will complete
the musical sequence. The same holds true, of course, in the
use of a musical chord.
If asked why the employment of the upper basic note does
not complete the musical sequence as does the lower, we should
say " because the law of gravitation, underlying all physical
existence, makes that which ascends seem less stable, less at
rest, than that which descends." The higher the basic note,
the more it seems to soar, — to lack completion.
Thus, in the speaking voice, the falling inflection is nothing
but the completing downward of the musical key in which we
are talking.
The laws of Inflection, then, are: Use the falling inflection
\ to denote completion of thought, as in making a statement
or a demand.
Use the rising inflection / when there is a reaching for a
meaning, an inquiry implying no knowledge of the reply on
the part of the speaker.
Example: Are you going to Boston?/
Here the speaker knows nothing about the fact inquired for,
and the rising inflection is demanded.
Are you going to New York or to Boston? \
Here the failing inflection is required if the speaker implies
that he knows you are going to one or the other. If the speaker
means to ask, "Are you going to either?" implying no knowl-
edge on his part of your destination, the rising inflection is
brought into play twice.
What a splendid thing to discover, that the inflections in the
human voice are controlled by mentality, and are not in thrall
to grammar or punctuation I Some text-books make the asser-
222 PLATFORM PIECES
tion that the rising inflection is used for direct questions only,
and proceed to define a direct question as being one which may
be answered by yes or no. Can you conceive of a more bluntly
direct question than "What is your name?" You certainly
cannot answer yes or no to this; yet it must take the rising
inflection if you have the need of an answer in mind.
If, however, your thought is, "I know you have a name;
tell me what it is," your question is a demand, and requires
the falling inflection. Either is correct.
Then we have the double inflections, V the rising circumflex
and the A falling circumflex. These inflections are employed
to convey double meanings, and their use should not be con-
sidered mysterious or difficult. V makes a statement, and then
opens it for further inquiry.
Example: Brutus will start a spirit as soon as Caesar. V
It will; will it not? This is the argumentative inflection.
So, A asks a reaching question and then answers it.
Example: Who would stoop to blame such trifling? Who would?
No one. A
Examples of all four inflections:
Is that so?/ This is an inquiry, reaching for an answer.
Is that so?\ Here there is no inquiry at all, except in gram-
matical form and the use of the interrogation mark, but rather
a mental acceptance of the fact as true.
Is that so? V The recognition of the truth of the fact, but
a further wondering at it; as much as to say, "I know it; but
how did it happen?"
Is that so? A This implies " I wonder whether it is possible;
but I know it is."
Though not an inflection, the sustained voice (absence of
inflection) well indicated by this character — is properly dis-
cussed here. Its correct use is wonderfully artistic.
Example: This little purple pansy brings,
Thoughts of the sweetest, saddest, things —
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 223
To end this with the falling inflection makes a bald statement,
but to sustain the voice leaves the thought unfinished, and
makes it seem an actual fact that the "thoughts" are being,
now, brought to you.
THE ART OF SPEECH
Elements. — The Art of Speech includes five elements which,
when correctly used, will convey the Emotion. These five
elements are as follows:
Time
Volume
Pitch
Stress
Quality
Use of the Elements. — In the use of these art elements of
speech — apart from following the fundamental law of Like
unto like — personal taste and judgment come into play, in
direct contrast to the use of the five elements of the science of
speech — Enunciation, Pronunciation, Pause, Emphasis, and
Inflection — which is practically exact.
The student must first note well the application of the funda-
mental law, Like unto like. As applied to speaking, it means
that actions and emotions which are rapid in life should be made
so in the tempo of delivery and that those which are slow are
to be delivered in slow tempo {Time) ; that descriptions of things
which are loud are to be delivered loudly and of things which
are soft and quiet, softly and quietly (Volume); that a harsh
sentiment requires a harsh voice (Quality of tone); that light
emotions and trivial things naturally employ the fighter tones
of the voice (Pitch).
The most difficult element of the art of speech to employ
effectively is Stress. The author uses the word in its literal
meaning, i.e., pressure and explosive force.
224
PLATFORM PIECES
Example: Say, "How dare you?" with very weak stress on the initial
letter in the word " dare," and note how meaningless the
word remains, as if one were saying, " How dare you come
out without your rubbers to-day?" Now say with per-
sonal defiance, "How dare you?" The strength of this
defiance is intensified as the d is more heavily stressed.
In all impassioned discourse, marked Stress must be employed.
PHONETICS OF SPEECH
The Sounds of English Speech. —
Vowels
Semi- Vowels
Consonants
(Shaped Tone)
(Shaped Tone
(Shaped Breath)
6° Breath)
i — a as in fate
b
f
2 — a '
< " fat
d
h
3— a '
' " fast
g
k
4 — a '
< " far
1
P
5— a '
' " fair
m
s
6 — a '
1 " fall
n
t
7— a '
1 " friar
ng
th
8— e '
' " feel
r
w in wh
9— e '
' " fed
V
io — i '
1 " find
w
ii — i '
' " fin
y
12 — o '
1 " fold
z
13—00 '
' " fool
th
14 — u '
( " full
IS— u '
' " fun
16 — u '
' " fur
Combinations
u = y -
f 13
ch = tsh (incomplete t)
oi = 6 -
f 11
j = dzh
ou (oro
w) = 4 + 13
q = kw
x = ks or gz or z
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 225
No apology is offered for presenting this simplified Table of
English Phonetics; on the contrary we claim for it that it will
bear scientific investigation and do away with much of the diffi-
culty experienced in comprehending and uttering English speech.
For centuries we have taught that the English language has
five vowels, when the fact is that we have sixteen vowel sounds,
distinct one from the other, with little or no relationship. We
should teach our children in the schools that there are but five
characters to represent these sixteen vowel sounds — quite a
different thing from the statement that we have but five vowels.
It will be noticed that we call vowels " Shaped Tone"; this
is a literally true name, for in good vowel utterance no breath
is audible or perceptible in any way. A good tone is one in
which all the breath is vocalized. There are several tests of
this purity of tone. We all know that nothing records the
existence of a draught or breath so quickly as a flame. Sing
a tone with the candle or burning match held close to the lips,
and if the tone is a perfect one, the flame will continue to burn
perpendicularly, indicating that no breath is fanning it. An-
other test would be to hold a mirror close to the lips while
emitting tone. If the tone is good, no moisture will be depos-
ited upon the glass. What has become of the breath? It is
•vocalized, we say; but how does that explain the absence of
breath, as shown by these tests? Let the scientists answer.
All that we are interested in is to show that a tone giving no
evidence of escaping breath is a good tone. Out of this good
tone we mold the different shapes, which give different qual-
ities to the vowels in human speech. So, when we say vowels
are shaped tone, we make an assertion which is demonstrable.
Of course, the shaping must be in accordance with the language
we are at the moment using.
In the right-hand column of our Table, we find the word
Consonants." This is a poor word to describe the sounds
meant thereby, for the dictionaries tell us that consonants are
ordinarily sounded only in connection with a vowel, hence the
226 PLATFORM PIECES
name. So the word consonant means sounded with, and al-
though this is true when the sounds are used in the formation
of words, these characters have sounds of their own, without
the aid of any vocality. When we speak of the letters by name,
we do employ vowel utterance, as ess or tee. A moment's
experiment, however, will show even the merest tyro that the
sounds of each and all of these characters are properly produced
without the least vocalization and that the larynx is in no way
employed in their production. Hence, despite the contradictory
term consonants, you must realize that the consonants are
shaped breath, as they are called in the Table.
The middle column — Semi- Vowels — is headed by the
statement that the characters indicated therein represent the
sounds of our language which contain both shaped audible-
breath, and shaped tone. Sound is an inclusive term, meaning
anything to which the ear is sensitive. Hence, all tone is sound,
but not all sound is tone. And what is tone? Tone is sound
which has resonance; and resonance means re-sounding — or,
if you choose, continued vibration. A language is considered
beautiful (musical) in proportion to the prevalence of its vowel
quantities, and our analysis shows that the so-called consonantal
sounds having only audible breath and no tone — since they are
rather interrupters of tone — are only seven in number! This
analysis proves conclusively that the great majority of the
phonetic elements in English consist wholly or in part of
tone.
For many years the author of this volume has been called
upon to teach the English tongue to foreigners of a great many
nationalities, and, as was to be expected, the greatest difficulty
has always been to teach the untruth in the statement that
we employ five vowels only, and to substitute for this false
statement the sixteen vowel tones, as found in the Table. The
second difficulty has been to do away with the confusion result-
ing from the use of our ponderous and puzzling diacritical
markings.
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 227
Diacritical marks are the characters used to designate the
various sounds of vowels and consonants.
Vowel Marks. Consonant Marks.
— macron — bar
^ breve ^ cedilla
' * diaeresis " semidiaeresis
* semidiaeresis _L suspended bar
~ tilde ( brace
A caret
J_ dotted bar
These markings are difficult and confusing enough as employed
by any one lexicographer, but when the mind is doubly con-
founded by finding differing systems in different dictionaries
the case seems almost hopeless. To find the breve and other
vowel markings placed over a, e, i, 0, 00, u, and y, is to make
our tongue seem to have no less than 34 vowel qualities by some
authorities, and 37 by others I Even to the native born this is
" confusion worse confounded."
The method indicated in the Table, which has been found
most efficacious, is to discard all of these diacritical marks, and
to employ an invariable numeral to indicate an invariable vowel
sound, irrespective of the combination of letters presented to
the eye. This allusion to spelling leads us to say that, although
we have a well-established analogy in the spelling of English,
the fact remains that, in view of the exceptions, it almost seems
as if we could indicate any one of our vowel qualities by the
employment of any other of the vowel characters granted that
the corresponding change in diacritical marking be made. Yet
investigation will show that there is one great principle — cus-
tom if you will — underlying the whole of oral English and
governing even the so-called exceptions. For instance, it is
against the usage of English-speaking peoples to utter two
vowels in one syllable. Hence, in words (frequently of foreign
extraction) retaining more or less of their original spelling, we
228 PLATFORM PIECES
pronounce one vowel only in a syllable, leaving the other mute.
A recognition of this one fact will at once do away with the
visual confusion caused by two or more vowels occurring in
one syllable. Foreigners find this disagreement between the
written and spoken word one of the greatest stumbling blocks
in acquiring our speech.
Examples: "people" is pe-ple (the o is silent),
'great" becomes grate,
'gauge" becomes gage,
'receive" becomes receve,
' sleight" becomes slight, —
illustrations sufficient to show the process of dropping one
vowel.
A diphthong is defined as "a coalition or union of two vowels
pronounced in one syllable; in uttering a diphthong both vowels
are pronounced; the resulting sound is not simple, but the two
sounds are so blended as to be considered as one." If this be
true, we have no diphthongs in the English language, with the
possible exceptions of oi, ou or ow, and even these disappear,
because no stretch of the imagination can conceive of their
being sounded with one impulse.
In the combination of vowels ei as in sleigh, or ey as in they,
the vowels together may be considered diphthongal, because
they are sounded in combination like the simple vowel a (No. i)
— a sound not belonging properly to either vowel. Words
of this class are so few as to be almost negligible, however,
and may easily be learned. One feels almost inclined to call
this combination, ei pronounced as a (No. i), an exception to
the rulings of English usage. We are told that in Shakespeare's
time the letter e was often pronounced with the long sound of
a, a custom surviving to-day among the Irish peasantry in such
pronunciations as belave for believe. If this be true, the words
containing ei (No. i) are remnants of this early English usage.
The uneducated are really following this fundamental Anglo-
Saxon impulse when they say He for oil, brile for broil, and,
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 229
strange to say, this pronunciation has become legitimate in
the word roil, which is invariably pronounced rile.
One can see at a glance how simple it is, in teaching English
to a foreigner, to run a pen through vowels which are not to
be sounded, and to put a numeral from the Table we employ
over the vowel remaining in each syllable after this elimination.
In the word again, — pronounced agen according to the best
American usage, — we would seem to have a diphthong, but
since there is no authority for pronouncing ai short e (No. 9),
we have to admit that this pronunciation is a distortion. We
do not suggest again (No. 1), as usage here is otherwise, but we
want to show that agen is not according to the analogy of the
English tongue. Even in this country we pronounce again
properly when used in verse to rhyme with pain, stain, etc.
Thus at once we rid the tongue of the great burden of diph-
thongal qualities, by showing that there are none.
The consonants seldom give trouble to aliens, with the ex-
ception of the ttis and r. Many continental peoples do not
employ the former sounds at all, and most sound the r from the
base of the tongue.
In this discussion, we have disregarded diacritical marks,
using instead numerals to indicate the vowel sounds. In con-
sidering the consonantal sounds, instead of using any kind of
symbols to indicate correct utterance, we show the student
what the sound should be in a particular case by substituting
another consonant or combination of consonants which will
correctly convey the exact sound; as,
ph equals /,
gh in laugh equals /,
ch in church equals tsh, etc.
We have two distinct r 's in English — one trilled, or rolled; the
other — simple r — made with one impact of the tongue against
the upper hard palate. The first is exactly like the second
only that the rolling means successive repetitions of the impact.
230 PLATFORM PIECES
A peculiar thing in English, not sufficiently dealt with in
either song or speech, is that one sound is often made to serve
two offices in the same word; for instance, in hunger, the ng
is used as a semi- vowel, the g having a double function: first,
to give the ng sound in conjunction with the n, and second,
to start the syllable ger with a hard g. Likewise, in royal the
y serves partly as a vowel, at the end of the first syllable, and
also as a consonant, in starting the second syllable, giving
roy-yal.
The h sound is not necessarily a tone interrupter, for it can
be aspirated throughout the delivery of a tone as well as at the
beginning. This leaves our language with only six (toneless)
consonants.
In opposition to much authority we state that wh is not hw,
but a combination of w and h in the sequence indicated.
This may be tested by inserting an almost imperceptible vowel
quality between the sounds, as we-hen; then try, he-wen. The
first will glide into a proper when. This w, in the combination
wh, is not the semi-vowel as in we, but is toneless and must be
classed as a pure consonant.
Some attention must be given to the varying degree of close-
ness of combination of the consonants. For instance, the tl in
Atlas is quite different from the t and I in the expression at last.
There should be no difficulty in determining where a final s
becomes z; i.e., when preceded by a vowel or semi- vowel the
tone of which combines with it in such a way as to make it z;
as in plays, sings, ribs, etc. There are only a few exceptions.
The sixteen vowel sounds must be taught by oral illustration,
as we can neither picture nor diagram them, nor indicate them
by any kind of marking. The semi- vowels are easily acquired,
being approximately alike in all languages. Even good speak-
ers, however, are apt to give the vocalization in them only sec-
ondary attention. The musical quality of most speaking
voices is improved in proportion as more vocalization is ac-
corded to the semi-vowels.
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 231
A table of the Phonetics of any speech must contain elemental
sounds only and no combinations, and the Table here pre-
sented is no exception to this rule.
It should be noted that it contains no so-called short 0, since
in neither American nor British English is this an elemental
sound. In the United States short has the sound of a in far
(No. 4) produced staccato, and in England, the sound of a in
fall (No. 6) produced staccato, but not to the same degree
as in the United States.
(4) (4)
Examples: American usage, "I have not got"
(6) (6)
British usage, "I have not got"
The test of a vowel quality is to prolong it in a singing tone,
and by this to detect its inherent sound. With American
usage in mind, sing, "I will arise and go to my Father." Note
the sound (4) in Father. Then sing, 'I have lost my watch
fob" and note the same sound (4) in fob.
We do not presume to dictate what individual usage shall
be in this matter of the short 0. Personally, we prefer the
distinctly American, but among elegant speakers such words
as oft, soft, not, are often given a sound between the two which
is very effective. All this is said to show that we may eliminate
the short from our Table of Phonetics.
Likewise notice that there is no so-called long u in the Table,
this sound being clearly a combination, best indicated by the
picture y-00 and not e-00, as found in many lexicons. You
may employ these two sounds in quick succession, until you
approximate the long u, but it is never fully attained without
the emphatic insertion of the semi-vowel y, as in the word year,
preceding the 00. Say aloud the personal pronouns J, thou,
he, you, followed immediately by r, s, t, u, and you will find that
long u is the same as the word y-o-u. Hence, if you would use
this rich tone in your speech or song (and American speech
needs nothing so much) this word sound y-o-u must be em-
232 PLATFORM PIECES
ployed. This you is often the backbone of a word. You would
laugh to hear some one say, " I shall play some moo-sic for you,"
and yet moosic is no more offensive or spineless than dook,
institoot, gratitood, etc.
It is also to be noted that there is no y to be found in the
vowel column. Y is never a distinct vowel, since it is simply
interchangeable with i, of which it is only another form. Its
three sounds are to be found in my (No. 10), syntax (No. u),
and myrrh (No. 16).
Some dictionaries indicate final y (as in the adverbs) as a
form of e. This is a grievous wrong to our English speech, dis-
torting such words as army into armee, navy into navee, which
is often carried into the plurals, giving -us armees, navees. Web-
ster, however, gives as corresponding terms the i in ill and the
y in pity, both being No. n in our Table. The speaker should
so use it, except in cases where poetic license makes it rhyme
with long e (8).
Example: I shall love thee, love thee
For all eternity, (e, 8)
Just one word as to the alphabetical or long i (No. io) : The
philologists still insist that i (No. io) is only ah (4), closing
on an e (8) as a "vanish." If we believed this, we should not
have inserted the phonetic No. 10 in our Table. Rather would
we have put it down as a combination. But, just as e-00 (8 + 13),
no matter how rapidly said, will only approximate, never quite
give y-00, so ah-e (4 -f- 8) can never quite give the i. Any singer
may test this by singing, " Good-bye, sweet day."
Dwell upon the syllable bye, and note how distinct from ah
(4) the opening is.
The word "vanish," of itself, as applied to phonetics, could
fittingly call forth a volume of discussion. Let it be understood
at once that these "vanishes," which are the sounds unavoid-
ably given by "closing" while in the act of vocal delivery, are
not inherent parts of the vowel qualities, but are rather mani-
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 233
festations common to all speech, through the sagging of the force,
— something that is inevitable in leaving the vowel. Thus a
(1) has the vanish ee (8) as we depart from it; i (10) likewise
has the vanish ee (8), and long (12) weakens into 00 (13), but
we need give " vanishes" only scant attention. There are
cases, however, where the " vanish" is lacking in the vowel
qualities which ordinarily characterize it, as in the word aerial.
One of the great difficulties in delivery is the degree to which
the vowels in unaccented syllables should be prolonged: The
a in senate is distinct a (No. 1) when pronounced separately,
but is only accorded one-half or less value, because of its un-
accented position in the word. To clearly pronounce this
syllable ate would be inelegant, but sung on a note more or less
sustained, the long a (No. 1) would perforce have more distinct-
ness and hence a greater a (No. 1) value. In the same way,
other vowels accorded only part value when spoken are restored
to full value when sung. The degree to which the vowels in
unaccented syllables should be prolonged is largely a matter
of taste or judgment.
We might rid our Table of the ai sound in fair (No. 5), were
it possible to get all students to see that the attack on this sound
is the a in fat (No. 2), and that the close is the unavoidable sound
which the final letter r always steals for itself from the vowel
immediately preceding or following it. More really equals
mo-er, so closely tied as to sound like one syllable. The case is
similar in air, fair, there, etc., but such difficulties have arisen
that it seems best to teach the latter as a phonetic element.
It will be noticed that no distinction is made between the
vowel qualities in fir and fur. Those who choose to do so may
make the former a little more initial, that is, form it further
forward, — on the lips and teeth. Since the fur sound is
richer, the singer prefers it, but the speaker need not attempt
to differentiate.
Just as the test of a vowel is to sing it, so the test of the com-
binations is to drop one of the sounds and test what is left.
234 PLATFORM PIECES
By this test, ng is found not to be a combination at all. Drop-
ping the n you will not find the g sound remaining; dropping
the g you surely will not have the n left. The foreigner, seeing
the letters in combination, says either, "I sing you a song,"
(hard g) or, "I sinj you a sonj," neither of which is correct. So
ng must appear in a table of English sounds as an element and
not as a combination. The same reasoning applies to the two
th's, in neither of which is the / a t, in either position of vocal
organs or in sound.
As for combinations, oi is only 6 + 1.1, closely slurred together,
and ou or ow, 4 + 13, still more closely tied together; ch, as
in church, is a very close combination of t-sh; j is clearly d-zh
and x, ks, as in luxury, or gz, as in exactly.
As soon as the elemental phonetics of a language are carefully
mastered, the combinations become easily pronounceable.
We have classified the elements of English speech with refer-
ence only to their composition, as being made of tone or of
audible breath, or a combination of the two, paying no atten-
tion whatever to their classification as labials, dentals, etc.
This disregard is intentional, as it is the author's firm convic-
tion, born of long experience, that the vocal and speech functions
should be taught and acquired synthetically, so far as it is
possible.
Where corrective work is demanded, because of malformation
or derangement of the vocal apparatus, producing lisping,
stammering, etc., some help may be given by calling attention
to the proper positions of the vocal organs. This is also true
where a foreigner in some way forms a sound alien to English
speech. But in all cases vocal utterance, so far as muscular
movement is concerned, should be made subconscious or
involuntary as quickly as possible. Physiological training for
either singing or speaking is to be discountenanced, except
in the rare cases mentioned above. To the author, the physi-
ological training in phonetics has always seemed not merely
inefficacious but positively harmful.
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 235
SOME MATTERS OF BASIC IMPORTANCE
IN INTERPRETATION
Interpretation. — The speaker should decide to his own satis-
faction upon the answers to certain questions before attempting
to interpret any recitation, reading, or declamation before an
audience. Among such questions are the following:
Who is speaking? Of which sex and of what age? Of
what nationality? Of what education? Of what environ-
ment?
Of what temperament is the speaker? What relationship
does the speaker bear to the text? What relationship does
the speaker bear to the other characters in the selection?
Where is the text spoken? To whom and for what purpose
is it spoken? What language is the speaker using?
What and how intense is the mood of the selection? In what
literary or dramatic form is the selection?
Position. — Before saying a word the speaker must assume
a position in keeping with the spirit of his selection. In telling
something which occurred in the past it is well to place the body
in the position which best suggests the past experience.
For example: The interpreter of T. B. Aldrich's "The Trag-
edy" should be seated, not only because the recitation is con-
versational (as if talking to an intimate friend), but because
the original experience is actually pictured, since the action
in this poem took place while the narrator was seated in the
theater.
Oratorical Position. — In dignified address, the whole body
should be held erect, not with stiffness but with poise, the feet
being planted firmly on the floor and the weight sustained equally
on both legs. This is quite contrary to the instruction, given
by many teachers and text-books, to throw the weight rather
on one leg and to "lift the heel of the weaker side slightly"
236 PLATFORM PIECES
from the floor. This suggests an affectation of pose quite out
of keeping with earnest speech. Moreover, to stand with
the weight on one side lowers one shoulder and hence gives
a suggestion of lounging. The shoulders can be held almost
rigid, to suggest a military bearing, but there must be no
muscular constraint in any other part of the body.
Gesture. — Any bodily movement during the act of inter-
pretation means something, and is therefore Gesture. For
instance, a nod of the head is a gesture of emphasis, quite as
much as a stroke of the hand.
Gestures may be considered as being of two kinds, Personal
and Interpretative. The former are movements having no
connection with what the speaker is saying, but denoting merely
personal habit or trait; such as a girl's adjusting her hair or
a boy's running his hands into his pockets. Such gestures
should not be used except with the full intent to express indif-
ference toward your selection or toward the imaginary person
to whom the speaker is supposedly talking.
Of Interpretative Gesture there are four kinds:
1. Gesture of Direction in which the hands are idealized;
that is, the first finger is kept quite straight, the second
and third are slightly bent from the middle knuckle,
the thumb and little ringer are held off from the hand,
palm down — always, unless the gesture is also to sug-
gest appeal; either hand, or both. If the distance is
determinate, the eye follows the finger, and locates
the object; if indeterminate, the eye takes no part in
the gesture. If two or more directions are implied,
the eye follows the principal one only.
2. Gesture of Interrogation in which the hands are idealized,
the palm being turned up; either hand, or both.
3. Gesture of Emphasis in which the hands are idealized;
palms up, (sometimes clenched) ; either hand, or both.
This gesture consists of a blow or stroke; and its only
THE LAWS OF EXPRESSION 237
law is that the force of the blow be in direct propor-
tion to the strength of the thought.
4. Gesture of Imitation which may include Dramatic Gesture.
The only law governing this gesture is that it must follow
human custom, i.e. in the imitation of sewing, shaking
the fist, Hf ting the hat, or performing any other natural,
daily action.
These gestures become more than imitative when they
are made to portray mood. For instance, to say
"Edith takes off her hat" may be accompanied by a
gesture which portrays merely the perfunctory action;
but if, in taking off the hat, she portrays weariness,
anger, or any other mood, the gesture becomes inter-
pretative and dramatic.
Direction of Thought. — In life we show two directions of
thought, the whence and the where. We look at the moon
before we say, "Oh, what a beautiful moon!" and then we speak
our thought to a person or persons. In interpretation nothing
will give a text more actuality than to manifest these two things,
the source and the destination of the thought. Indicate both
whenever possible but the destination without exception.
Expansion of Thought. — All thought has expansion or con-
traction. The delivery of any selection must be made in
sympathy with the basic intention of expanding or contracting
the thought it expresses.
Example: I am here to perfect the plan.
If these words are said merely as words, ' plan" may mean
something only an inch square, but when expanded by gesture
or tone it can include God's universe.
A good example of the contraction of thought is in an accusa-
tion, "That is the man," where the directions of hand, eye,
and voice converge to a focus.
Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process.
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide
Treatment Date: Nov. 2007
PreservationTechnologies
A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIONS PRESERVATION
111 Thomson Park Drive
Cranberry Township, PA 16066
(724)779-2111
L'BRARY OF CONGRESS •■
021 958 627 91