Read Ebook: The Universal Reciter 81 Choice Pieces of Rare Poetical Gems by Various

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Ebook has 459 lines and 32346 words, and 10 pages

On to Freedom! On to Freedom! Gospel cry of laboring Time: Uttering still, through seers and sages, Words of hope and faith sublime! From our Sidneys, and our Hampdens, And our Washingtons they come: And we cannot, and we dare not Make them dumb! Out of all the shames of Egypt-- Out of all the snares of Edom; Out of darkness--out of bondage-- On to Freedom! On to Freedom!

THE MURDERED TRAVELLER.

WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.

When spring, to woods and wastes around, Brought bloom and joy again, The murdered traveller's bones were found, Far down a narrow glen.

The fragrant birch, above him, hung Her tassels in the sky; And many a vernal blossom sprung, And nodded, careless, by.

The red-bird warbled, as he wrought His hanging nest o'erhead; And, fearless, near the fatal spot, Her young the partridge led.

But there was weeping far away, And gentle eyes, for him, With watching many an anxious day, Grew sorrowful and dim.

They little knew, who loved him so, The fearful death he met, When shouting o'er the desert snow, Unarmed, and hard beset.

Nor how, when round the frosty pole, The northern dawn was red, The mountain-wolf and wild-cat stole, To banquet on the dead;

Nor how, when strangers found his bones, They dressed the hasty bier, And marked his grave with nameless stones, Unmoistened by a tear.

But long they looked, and feared and wept, Within his distant home; And dreamt and started as they slept, For joy that he was come.

So long they looked--but never spied His welcome step again, Nor knew the fearful death he died, Far down that narrow glen.

DAVID'S LAMENT OVER ABSALOM.

N.P. WILLIS.

This admirable composition gives ample scope for gentle, mournful, tear-stricken recitation. The thoughts prompt the speaker to natural expression:

The king stood still Till the last echo died: then throwing off The sackcloth from his brow, and laying back The pall from the still features of his child, He bowed his head upon him and broke forth In the resistless eloquence of woe:--

"The grave hath won thee. I shall hear the gush Of music, and the voices of the young; And life will pass me in the mantling blush, And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung; But thou no more, with thy sweet voice, shall come To meet me, Absalom!

"And, oh! when I am stricken, and my heart, Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken, How will its love for thee, as I depart, Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token! It were so sweet, amid death's gathering gloom, To see thee, Absalom!

"And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up, With death so like a gentle slumber on thee:-- And thy dark sin!--Oh! I could drink the cup, If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home, My erring Absalom!"

He covered up his face, and bowed himself A moment on his child: then, giving him A look of melting tenderness, he clasped His hands convulsively, as if in prayer; And, as a strength were given him of God, He rose up calmly, and composed the pall Firmly and decently, and left him there, As if his rest had been a breathing sleep.

THE BOY ARCHER.

SHERIDAN KNOWLES.

The fire and energy of Tell contrasts nobly with the youthful ambition of his son's young and noble heart. It is a charming exercise, and exceedingly effective when well delivered:

MY MOTHER'S BIBLE.

MORRIS.

After once reading this sweet little poem, the student will need no prompting to teach him that it is not possible for him to deliver it with too much genuine emotion:

This book is all that's left me now! Tears will unbidden start,-- With faltering lip and throbbing brow, I press it to my heart. For many generations past, Here is our family tree; My mother's hand this Bible clasped; She, dying, gave it me.

Ah! well do I remember those Whose names those records bear, Who round the hearthstone used to close After the evening prayer, And speak of what these pages said, In tones my heart would thrill! Though they are with the silent dead, Here are they living still!

My father read this holy book To brothers, sisters dear; How calm was my poor mother's look, Who learned God's word to hear. Her angel-face--I see it yet! What thronging memories come! Again that little group is met Within the halls of home!

Thou truest friend man ever knew, Thy constancy I've tried; Where all were false I found thee true, My counsellor and guide. The mines of earth no treasure give That could this volume buy: In teaching me the way to live, It taught me how to die.

ENLISTING AS ARMY NURSE.

LOUISA M. ALCOTT.

"I want something to do."--This remark being addressed to the world in general, no one in particular felt it his duty to reply; so I repeated it to the smaller world about me, received the following suggestions, and settled the matter by answering my own inquiry, as people are apt to do when very much in earnest.

"Write a book," quoth my father.

"Don't know enough, sir. First live, then write."

"Try teaching again," suggested my mother.

"No, thank you, ma'am; ten years of that is enough."

"Take a husband like my Darby, and fulfil your mission," said Sister Jane, home on a visit.

"Can't afford expensive luxuries, Mrs. Coobiddy."

"Turn actress, and immortalize your name," said Sister Vashti, striking an attitude.

"I won't."

"Go nurse the soldiers," said my young neighbor, Tom, panting for "the tented field."

"I will!"

Arriving at this satisfactory conclusion, the meeting adjourned; and the fact that Miss Tribulation was available as army nurse went abroad on the wings of the wind.

In a few days a townswoman heard of my desire, approved of it, and brought about an interview with one of the sisterhood I wished to join, who was at home on a furlough, and able and willing to satisfy inquiries.

A morning chat with Miss General S.--we hear no end of Mrs. Generals, why not a Miss?--produced three results: I felt that I could do the work, was offered a place, and accepted it; promising not to desert, but to stand ready to march on Washington at an hour's notice.

A few days were necessary for the letter containing my request and recommendation to reach head-quarters, and another, containing my commission, to return; therefore no time was to be lost; and, heartily thanking my pair of friends, I hurried home through the December slush, as if the Rebels were after me, and, like many another recruit, burst in upon my family with the announcement,--"I've enlisted!"

An impressive silence followed. Tom, the irrepressible, broke it with a slap on the shoulder and the grateful compliment,--"Old Trib, you're a trump!"

As boys going to sea immediately become nautical in speech, walk as if they already had their sea-legs on, and shiver their timbers on all possible occasions, so I turned military at once, called my dinner my rations, saluted all new-comers, and ordered a dress-parade that very afternoon.

Having reviewed every rag I possessed, I detailed some pieces for picket duty while airing on the fence; some to the sanitary influences of the wash-tub; others to mount guard in the trunk; while the weak and wounded went to the Work-basket Hospital, to be made ready for active service again.

To this squad I devoted myself for a week; but all was done, and I had time to get powerfully impatient before the letter came. It did arrive, however, and brought a disappointment along with its good-will and friendliness; for it told me that the place in the Armory Hospital that I supposed I was to take was already filled, and a much less desirable one at Hurly-burly House was offered instead.

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