Public Speaking: Principles and Practice Part 33

Harvard Cla.s.s Poem, 1907, Houghton Mifflin Company, Boston, publishers, Reprinted with permission.

BY HERMANN HAGEDORN, JR.

There's a trampling of hoofs in the busy street, There's a clanking of sabers on floor and stair, There's a sound of restless, hurrying feet, Of voices that whisper, of lips that entreat,-- Will they live, will they die, will they strive, will they dare?-- The houses are garlanded, flags flutter gay, For a troop of the Guard rides forth to-day.

Oh, the troopers will ride and their hearts will leap, When it's shoulder to shoulder and friend to friend-- But it's some to the pinnacle, some to the deep, And some in the glow of their strength to sleep, And for all it's a fight to the tale's far end, And it's each to his goal, nor turn nor sway, When the troop of the Guard rides forth to-day.

The dawn is upon us, the pale light speeds To the zenith with glamour and golden dart.

On, up! Boot and saddle! Give spurs to your steeds!

There's a city beleaguered that cries for men's deeds, With the pain of the world in its cavernous heart.

Ours be the triumph! Humanity calls!

Life's not a dream in the clover!

On to the walls, on to the walls, On to the walls, and over!

The wine is spent, the tale is spun, The revelry of youth is done.

The horses prance, the bridles clink, While maidens fair in bright array With us the last sweet goblet drink, Then bid us, "Mount and away!"

Into the dawn, we ride, we ride, Fellow and fellow, side by side; Galloping over the field and hill, Over the marshland, stalwart still, Into the forest's shadowy hush, Where specters walk in sunless day, And in dark pool and branch and bush The treacherous will-o'-the-wisp lights play.

Out of the wood 'neath the risen sun, Weary we gallop, one and one, To a richer hope and a stronger foe And a hotter fight in the fields below-- Each man his own slave, each his lord, For the golden spurs and the victor's sword!

An anxious generation sends us forth On the far conquest of the thrones of might.

From west to east, from south to north, Earth's children, weary-eyed from too much light, Cry from their dream-forsaken vales of pain, "Give us our G.o.ds, give us our G.o.ds again!"

A lofty and relentless century, Gazing with Argus eyes, Has pierced the very inmost halls of faith; And left no shelter whither man may flee From the cold storms of night and lovelessness and death.

Old G.o.ds have fallen and the new must rise!

Out of the dust of doubt and broken creeds, The sons of those who cast men's idols low Must build up for a hungry people's needs New G.o.ds, new hopes, new strength to toil and grow; Knowing that nought that ever lived can die,-- No act, no dream but spreads its sails, sublime, Sweeping across the visible seas of time Into the treasure-haven of eternity.

The portals are open, the white road leads Through thicket and garden, o'er stone and sod.

On, up! Boot and saddle! Give spurs to your steeds!

There's a city beleaguered that cries for men's deeds, For the faith that is strength and the love that is G.o.d!

On, through the dawning! Humanity calls!

Life's not a dream in the clover!

On to the walls, on to the walls, On to the walls, and over!

THE BOYS

At a cla.s.s reunion. By permission of, and by special arrangement with, Houghton Mifflin Company, authorized publishers of this author's works.

BY OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

Has there any old fellow got mixed with the boys?

If there has, take him out, without making a noise.

Hang the Almanac's cheat and the Catalogue's spite!

Old Time is a liar! We're twenty to-night!

We're twenty! We're twenty! Who says we are more?

He's tipsy, young jackanapes!--show him the door!

'Gray temples at twenty?'--Yes! _white_ if we please; Where the snowflakes fall thickest there's nothing can freeze!

Was it snowing I spoke of? Excuse the mistake!

Look close,--you will see not a sign of a flake!

We want some new garlands for those we have shed,-- And these are white roses in place of the red.

We've a trick, we young fellows, you may have been told, Of talking (in public) as if we were old:-- That boy we call 'Doctor,' and this we call 'Judge'; It's a neat little fiction,--of course it's all fudge.

That fellow's the 'Speaker,'--the one on the right: 'Mr. Mayor,' my young one, how are you to-night?

That's our 'Member of Congress,' we say when we chaff; There's the 'Reverend' What's his name?--don't make me laugh.

That boy with the grave mathematical look Made believe he had written a wonderful book, And the ROYAL SOCIETY thought it was _true_!

So they chose him right in; a good joke it was, too!

There's a boy, we pretend, with a three-decker brain, That could harness a team with a logical chain; When he spoke for our manhood in syllabled fire, We called him 'The Justice,' but now he's 'The Squire.'

And there's a nice youngster of excellent pith,-- Fate tried to conceal him by naming him Smith; But he shouted a song for the brave and the free,-- Just read on his medal, 'My country,' 'of thee!'

You hear that boy laughing?--You think he's all fun; But the angels laugh, too, at the good he has done; The children laugh loud as they troop to his call, And the poor man that knows him laughs loudest of all!

Yes, we're boys,--always playing with tongue or with pen,-- And I sometimes have asked,--Shall we ever be men?

Shall we always be youthful, and laughing, and gay, Till the last dear companion drops smiling away?

Then here's to our boyhood, its gold and its gray!

The stars of its winter, the dews of its May!

And when we have done with our life-lasting toys, Dear Father, take care of thy children, the BOYS!

THE ANECDOTE

THE MOB CONQUERED

From "The Orations and Addresses of George William Curtis," Vol. 1 Copyright 1893, by Harper and Brothers. Reprinted with permission.

BY GEORGE WILLIAM CURTIS

It is especially necessary for us to perceive the vital relation of individual courage and character to the common welfare, because ours is a government of public opinion, and public opinion is but the aggregate of individual thought. We have the awful responsibility as a community of doing what we choose; and it is of the last importance that we choose to do what is wise and right. In the early days of the antislavery agitation a meeting was called at Faneuil Hall, in Boston, which a good-natured mob of sailors was hired to suppress. They took possession of the floor and danced breakdowns and shouted choruses and refused to hear any of the orators upon the platform. The most eloquent pleaded with them in vain. They were urged by the memories of the Cradle of Liberty, for the honor of Ma.s.sachusetts, for their own honor as Boston boys, to respect liberty of speech. But they still laughed and sang and danced, and were proof against every appeal. At last a man suddenly arose from among themselves, and began to speak. Struck by his tone and quaint appearance, and with the thought that he might be one of themselves, the mob became suddenly still, "Well, fellow-citizens,"

he said, "I wouldn't be quiet if I didn't want to." The words were greeted with a roar of delight from the mob, which supposed it had found its champion, and the applause was unceasing for five minutes, during which the strange orator tranquilly awaited his chance to continue. The wish to hear more hushed the tumult, and when the hall was still he resumed: "No, I certainly wouldn't stop if I hadn't a mind to; but then, if I were you, I _would_ have a mind to!" The oddity of the remark and the earnestness of the tone, held the crowd silent, and the speaker continued, "not because this is Faneuil Hall, nor for the honor of Ma.s.sachusetts, nor because you are Boston boys, but because you are men, and because honorable and generous men always love fair play." The mob was conquered. Free speech and fair play were secured. Public opinion can do what it has a mind to in this country.

If it be debased and demoralized, it is the most odious of tyrants. It is Nero and Caligula multiplied by millions. Can there then be a more stringent public duty for every man--and the greater the intelligence the greater the duty--than to take care, by all the influence he can command, that the country, the majority, public opinion, shall have a mind to do only what is just and pure and humane?

AN EXAMPLE OF FAITH

From "The New South." Reprinted with permission

BY HENRY W. GRADY

Permitted, through your kindness, to catch my second wind, let me say that I appreciate the significance of being the first Southerner to speak at this board, which bears the substance, if it surpa.s.ses the semblance, of original New England hospitality--and honors the sentiment that in turn honors you, but in which my personality is lost, and the compliment to my people made plain.