OH, what's become of all those good old elocution days, We had before they introduced these dratted problem plays? Remember how we used to sit with slowly welling tears, A-listening 'bout the boy that lay a-dying in Algiers? Remember how they used to tell in low and saddened tone, About the world that shared your joy but let you weep alone? Remember how we used to wait in apprehensive fright Lest curfew might not, after all, omit to ring to-night? The story of the "Polish Boy," I seem to hear it yet As plain as when I heard it first, the while my cheeks were wet. Recall that tale beginning thus (it made us boys boo-hoo): "Down in the Lehigh Valley, sir, me and my people grew"? "The Village Blacksmith" was a piece I thought was mighty good; Do you recall the bridge on which we once at midnight stood? Remember how the May Queen said, in accents soft, yet clear, "You must wake, and call me early; call me early, mother dear"? The recollection makes me gulp and fills my eyes with haze — Oh, what's become of all those good old elocution days? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET PREFIXED TO 'THE COMMONWEALTH & GOVERNMENT OF VENICE' by EDMUND SPENSER THE IVORY CRADLE by AUGUSTE ANGELLIER ELEGY ON A LADY, WHOM GRIEF FOR THE DEATH OF HER BETHROTHED KILLED by ROBERT SEYMOUR BRIDGES ALTERNATIVE by CHARLES TORY BRUCE THE WANDERER: 2. IN FRANCE: COMPENSATION by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |