Poems Teachers Ask For. Various

"Oh, we sadly mourn for thee, And regret we ne'er shall see Our friend Bobby, true and free, Dearest Bobby Shaftoe." "Bobby Shaftoe's lost at sea. And can ne'er come back to me, But I'll ever faithful be, True to Bobby Shaftoe." "Darling, I've come home from sea, I've come back to marry thee, For I know you're true to me, True to Bobby Shaftoe." "Yes, I always cared for thee, And now you've come back to me, And we will always happy be, Dearest Bobby Shaftoe." "Bobby Shaftoe's come from sea, And we will united be, Heart and hand in unity, Mr. and Mrs. Shaftoe."

The Overworked Elocutionist

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      (Or "ROBERT REESE")

Once there was a little boy

Whose name was Robert Reese,

And every Friday afternoon

He had to speak a piece.

So many poems thus he learned

That soon he had a store

Of recitations in his head

And still kept learning more.

Now this it is what happened:

He was called upon one week

And totally forgot the piece

He was about to speak.

His brain he vainly cudgeled

But no word was in his head,

And so he spoke at random,

And this is what he said;

My beautiful, my beautiful,

Who standest proudly by,

It was the schooner Hesperus

The breaking waves dashed high.

Why is the Forum crowded?

What means this stir in Rome?

Under a spreading chestnut tree

There is no place like home.

When Freedom from her mountain height

Cried, "Twinkle, little star,"

Shoot if you must this old gray head,

King Henry of Navarre.

If you're waking, call me early

To be or not to be,

Curfew must not ring to-night,

Oh, woodman, spare that tree.

Charge, Chester, Charge! On, Stanley, on!

And let who will be clever,

The boy stood on the burning deck

But I go on for ever.

The Kid Has Gone to the Colors

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The Kid has gone to the Colors

And we don't know what to say;

The Kid we have loved and cuddled

Stepped out for the Flag to-day.

We thought him a child, a baby

With never a care at all,

But his country called him man-size

And the Kid has heard the call.

He paused to watch the recruiting,

Where, fired by the fife and drum,

He bowed his head to Old Glory

And thought that it whispered: "Come!"

The Kid, not being a slacker,

Stood forth with patriot-joy

To add his name to the roster—

And God, we're proud of the boy!

The Kid has gone to the Colors;