Recitations for the Social Circle Part 16

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

Fie, you little creature, fie!

Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

Is no poppy-syrup nigh?

Give him some, or give him all, I am nodding to his fall!

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

Two such nights and I shall die!

Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

He'll be bruised, and so shall I-- How can I from bedposts keep, When I'm walking in my sleep?

"Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

Sleep his very looks deny; Lullaby, oh, lullaby!

Nature soon will stupefy-- My nerves relax--my eyes grow dim-- Who's that fallen, me or him?"

FOOTNOTES:

[1] This poem can be made very effective as a humorous recitation by the performer imitating a sleepy father vainly endeavoring to quiet a restless child. A doll, or something to represent one, should be held in the arms.

QUEEN VASHTI.

BY T. DEWITT TALMAGE.

We stand amid the palaces of Shushan. The pinnacles are aflame with the morning light. The columns rise festooned and wreathed, the wealth of empires flashing from the grooves; the ceilings adorned with images of bird and beast, and scenes of prowess and conquest. The walls are hung with shields, and emblazoned until it seems that the whole round of splendors is exhausted. Each arch is a mighty leap of architectural achievement,--golden stars, shining down on glowing arabesque; hangings of embroidered work, in which mingle the blueness of the sky, the greenness of the gra.s.s and the whiteness of the sea foam; tapestries hung on silver rings, wedding together the pillars of marble. Pavilions reach out in every direction,--these for repose, filled with luxuriant couches, in which weary limbs sink until all fatigue is submerged; these for carousal, where kings drink down a kingdom at one swallow.

Amazing spectacle! Light of silver dripping down over stairs of ivory on shields of gold; floors of stained marble, sunset red and night black, and inlaid with gleaming pearl. Why, it seems as if a heavenly vision of amethyst, and jacinth, and topaz, and chrysoprasus had descended and alighted upon Shushan. It seems as if a billow of celestial glory had dashed clear over heaven's battlements upon this metropolis of Persia.

In connection with this palace there is a garden, where the mighty men of foreign lands are seated at a banquet. Under the spread of oak, and linden, and acacia, the tables are arranged. The breath of honey-suckle and frankincense fills the air. Fountains leap up into the light, the spray struck through with rainbows falling in crystalline baptism upon flowering shrubs--then rolling down through channels of marble, and widening out here and there into pools swirling with the finny tribes of foreign aquariums, bordered with scarlet anemones, hyperic.u.ms, and many colored ranunculus; meats of rarest bird and beast smoking up amid wreaths of aromatics; the vases filled with apricots and almonds; the basket piled up with apricots, and dates, and figs, and oranges, and pomegranates; melons tastefully twined with leaves of acacia; the bright waters of Eulaeus filling the urns, and sweating outside the rim in flashing beads amid the traceries; wine from the royal vats of Ispahan and Shiraz, in bottles of tinged sh.e.l.l, and lily-shaped cups of silver, and flagons and tankards of solid gold.

The music rises higher, and the revelry breaks out into wilder transport, and the wine has flushed the cheek and touched the brain, and louder than all other voices are the hiccough of the inebriates, the gabble of fools, and the song of the drunkards.

In another part of the palace Queen Vashti is entertaining the princesses of Persia at a banquet. Drunken Ahasuerus says to his servants: "Go out and fetch Vashti from that banquet with the women, and bring her to this banquet with the men, and let me display her beauty." The servants immediately start to obey the king's command, but there was a rule in Oriental society that no woman might appear in public without having her face veiled. Yet here was a mandate that no one dare dispute, demanding that Vashti come in unveiled before the mult.i.tude. However, there was in Vashti's soul a principle more regal than Ahasuerus, more brilliant than the gold of Shushan, of more wealth than the revenue of Persia, which commanded her to disobey the order of the King; and so all the righteousness and holiness and modesty of her nature rises up into one sublime refusal. She says: "I will not go into the banquet unveiled." Of course, Ahasuerus was infuriated; and Vashti, robbed of her position and her estate, is driven forth in poverty and ruin to suffer the scorn of a nation, and yet to receive the applause of after generations, who shall rise up to admire this martyr to kingly insolence.

The last vestige of that feast is gone; the last garland has faded; the last arch has fallen; the last tankard has been destroyed, and Shushan is a ruin; but as long as the world stands there will be mult.i.tudes of men and women, familiar with the Bible, who will come into this picture-gallery of G.o.d and admire the divine portrait of Vashti, the Queen; Vashti, the veiled; Vashti, the sacrifice; Vashti, the silent.

W'EN DE DARKY AM A-WHIS'LIN' IN DE CO'N.

BY S. Q. LAPIUS.

W'en de jewdraps 'gins to glisten, An' de east am growin' red, An' de catbird am a-singin' in de trees; W'en de swallers an' de martins Am a-quar'lin' in de shed, An' de hollyhocks am callin' to de bees; W'en de gray mule 'gins to whinny An' de porker 'gins to squeal, Den it's time to be a-wo'kin' in de mo'n, Kase de sun am climbin' higher An' de han's am in de field-- An' de darky am a whis'lin' in de c'on.

W'en de fog hab lef' de valley, An' de blue am in de sky, An' de bees am wo'kin' in de medder lot; W'en de hollyhocks am drowsin', An' de sun am ridin' high, An' de dusty country road am blazin' hot; Den de darky 'gins to listen--

As de catbird quits his song-- Fo' de soundin' ob de welcome dinner-ho'n, Kase his knees am growin' wabbly, An' de rows am growin' long-- An' he's hoin' an' a-whis'lin' in de co'n!

W'en de fiery sun am smilin'

An' a-sinkin' in de wes', An' de shadders creep along de dusty road; W'en de martins am a-chatter'n'

An' dey hurry home to res', An' de longes' row ob all am nea'ly hoed; W'en de bullfrog 'gins to holler, An' de cowbell down de lane 'Gins to tinkle in a way dat's mos' fo'lo'n, Den amid de gloomy echoes Comes dat soul-refreshin' strain-- Ob de darky as he whis'les in de co'n!

THE PILOT.

BY JOHN B. GOUGH.

John Maynard was well known in the lake district as a G.o.d-fearing, honest, and intelligent man. He was pilot on a steamboat from Detroit to Buffalo.

One summer afternoon--at that time those steamers seldom carried boats--smoke was seen ascending from below; and the captain called out, "Simpson, go below and see what the matter is down there."

Simpson came up with his face as pale as ashes, and said, "Captain, the ship is on fire!"

Then "Fire! fire! fire!" on shipboard.

All hands were called up; buckets of water were dashed on the fire, but in vain. There were large quant.i.ties of rosin and tar on board, and it was found useless to attempt to save the ship. The pa.s.sengers rushed forward and inquired of the pilot, "How far are we from Buffalo?"

"Seven miles."

"How long before we can reach there?"

"Three-quarters of an hour at our present rate of steam."

"Is there any danger?"

"Danger! Here, see the smoke bursting out!--go forward, if you would save your lives!"

Pa.s.sengers and crew--men, women and children--crowded the forward part of the ship. John Maynard stood at the helm. The flames burst forth in a sheet of fire; clouds of smoke arose.

The captain cried out through his trumpet, "John Maynard!"

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"Are you at the helm?"

"Ay, ay, sir!"

"How does she head?"

"Southeast by east, sir."

"Head her southeast and run her on sh.o.r.e," said the captain. Nearer, nearer, yet nearer she approached the sh.o.r.e. Again the captain cried out, "John Maynard!"