[Calibre fifty-four, in] Standard Recitations by best authors A choice collection of Beautiful Compositions Carefully Compiled for school, lyceum, parlor, and other entertainments |
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20
CALIBRE FIFTY-FOUR.
“Say, General, say!” the courier said
(A boy of thirteen years),
“Our regiment's scant of powder and lead;
Most out, the Colonel fears.
The men, they have held the ground, while I
This message swiftly bore,
Be quick, and send 'em a fresh supply!
It's calibre fifty-four.”
(A boy of thirteen years),
“Our regiment's scant of powder and lead;
Most out, the Colonel fears.
The men, they have held the ground, while I
This message swiftly bore,
Be quick, and send 'em a fresh supply!
It's calibre fifty-four.”
“Now you are young,” the General said,
“To run so stern a race;
Some older man night come instead,
Through such a dangerous place.”
“They couldn't be spared,” the boy began,
“I'm youngest of the corps;
And so—but, say, be quick old man!
It's calibre fifty-four.”
“To run so stern a race;
Some older man night come instead,
Through such a dangerous place.”
“They couldn't be spared,” the boy began,
“I'm youngest of the corps;
And so—but, say, be quick old man!
It's calibre fifty-four.”
“Now you are hurt,” the General said,
“There's blood here on your breast.
Go back to the rear and take my bed,
And have some needful rest.”
“Not much!” said the boy, with half-hid sneer;
“I can't be spared no more;
My regiment's nowhere nigh the rear—
It's calibre fifty-four.”
“There's blood here on your breast.
Go back to the rear and take my bed,
And have some needful rest.”
“Not much!” said the boy, with half-hid sneer;
“I can't be spared no more;
My regiment's nowhere nigh the rear—
It's calibre fifty-four.”
“But where's your horse?” the General said,
“A-foot you cannot be?”
“Oh, a cannon ball tore off his head,
And didn't come far from me;
And bullets warbled around, you bet
(One through my right arm tore);
But I'm a horse, and a colt to let!
I'm calibre fifty-hour.”
“A-foot you cannot be?”
“Oh, a cannon ball tore off his head,
And didn't come far from me;
And bullets warbled around, you bet
(One through my right arm tore);
But I'm a horse, and a colt to let!
I'm calibre fifty-hour.”
“Your parents, boy?” the General said,
“Where are they?—dead, it seems.”
“Oh, they are what the world calls dead,
But come to me in dreams;
They tell me to be brave alway,
As father was before;
Then mother kisses me—but say!
It's calibre fifty-four.”
“Where are they?—dead, it seems.”
“Oh, they are what the world calls dead,
But come to me in dreams;
They tell me to be brave alway,
As father was before;
Then mother kisses me—but say!
It's calibre fifty-four.”
“They'll soon be there,” the General said,
“Those cartridges you claim;
My staff's best horse you'll ride, instead
Of that on which you came.”
Away the boy, his spurs sharp set,
Across the field of gore,
Still shouting back, “Now don't forget!
It's calibre fifty-four.”
“Those cartridges you claim;
My staff's best horse you'll ride, instead
Of that on which you came.”
Away the boy, his spurs sharp set,
Across the field of gore,
Still shouting back, “Now don't forget!
It's calibre fifty-four.”
21
LIFE.
An angel from the dazzling walls of light
And æons of celestial calm and grace,
Swept down the starry distance of space
To this gray earth of shadow and of night.
And æons of celestial calm and grace,
Swept down the starry distance of space
To this gray earth of shadow and of night.
A woman taught him human love's great might;
Hot tears for scarlet sins left their sad trace;
He felt earth's wrongs, its purple passions base,
And joined the shock of battle for the right.
Hot tears for scarlet sins left their sad trace;
He felt earth's wrongs, its purple passions base,
And joined the shock of battle for the right.
His seraph soul, shot through with carnal stain,
Deep, varied, a warm gem with color rife,
Denied the heaven he cared not to regain.
And, drifting toward the dark, where ends all strife,
In sickness, and in poverty, and pain,
He sighed, yet smiling whispered: This was life!
Deep, varied, a warm gem with color rife,
Denied the heaven he cared not to regain.
And, drifting toward the dark, where ends all strife,
In sickness, and in poverty, and pain,
He sighed, yet smiling whispered: This was life!
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