will in addition always be the means of giving to words and language a positive clarity; wherever men desire to leave no doubts as to their meaning and their intentions, they will face one another and speak. Speaking will always be the more informing, the more revealing, the more transparent. Lastly, it must be the means of bringing decisions and forcing issues to a head. With speaking man began his first essays at communication, and to it he returns in his times of greatest need.

APPENDIX C

SELECTIONS FOR PRACTICE
AND PUBLIC READING

I. POETRY FOR INTERPRETATION

THE WOLF CRY 1

LEW SARETT

The Arctic moon hangs overhead;

The wide white silence lies below.
A starveling pine stands lone and gaunt,
Black-penciled on the snow.

Weird as the moan of sobbing winds,

A long, lone call floats up from the trail,
And the naked soul of the frozen North
Trembles in that wail.

1

THE LOON 1

LEW SARETT

A lonely lake, a lonely shore,

A lone pine leaning on the moon;
All night long the water-beating wings
Of a solitary loon.

With mournful wail from dusk to dawn
He gibbered at the taunting stars-

A hermit-soul gone raving mad,

And beating at his bars.

1By permission of the author and the publishers, Henry Holt & Co.

COMO 1

JOAQUIN MILLER

The red-clad fishers row and creep
Below the crags, as half asleep,

Nor even make a single sound.

The walls are steep,

The waves are deep;

And if the dead man should be found

By these fishers in their round,

Why, who shall say but he was drowned?

The lake lay bright, as bits of broken moon
Just newly set within the newly cloven earth;
The ripened fields drew round a golden girth
Far up the steeps, and glittered in the noon.
And when the sun fell down, from leafy shore
Fond lovers stole in pairs to ply the oar.

The stars, as large as lilies, flecked the blue;
From out the Alps the moon came wheeling through
This rocky pass the great Napoleon knew.

A gala night it was the season's prime;
We rode from castled lake to festal town,
To fair Milan-my friend and I; rode down
By night, where grasses waved in rippled rhyme;
And so what theme but love in such a time?

His proud lip curved the while in silent scorn
At thought of love; and then, as one forlorn,
He sighed, then bared his temples, dashed with gray,
Then mocked, as one outworn and well blasé.

A gorgeous tiger-lily, flaming red,

So full of battle, of the trumpet's blare, Of old-time passion, upreared its head.

I galloped past, I leaned, I clutched it there.

From out the long strong grass I held it high,

And cried: "Lo! this to-night shall deck her hair Through all the dance. And mark! the man shall die Who dares assault, for good or ill design,

The citadel where I shall set this sign."

1By permission of the publishers, Harr Wagner Company.

He spoke no spare word all the after while,

That scornful, cold, contemptuous smile of his.
Why, better men have died for less than this.
Then in the hall the same old hateful smile.
Then marvel not that when she graced the floor,
With all the beauties gathered from the four
Far quarters of the world, and she, my fair,
The fairest, wore within her midnight hair
My tiger-lily-marvel not, I say,

That he glared like some wild beast well at bay.

Oh, she shone fairer than the summer star,
Or curled sweet moon in middle destiny.
More fair than sunrise climbing the sea,
Where all the loves of Ariadne are.

Who loves, who truly loves, will stand aloof,
The noisy tongue makes most unholy proof

Of shallow waters,-all the while afar

From out the dance I stood, and watched my star,
My tiger-lily, borne an oriflamme of war.

A thousand beauties flashed at love's advance;
Like bright white mice at moonlight in their play,
Or sunfish shooting in the shining bay,

The swift feet shot and glittered in the dance.
Oh, have you loved, and truly loved, and seen
Aught else the while than your own stately queen?

Her presence, it was majesty-so tall;

Her proud envelopment encompassed-all.

She filled all space. I sought, I saw, but her.
I followed as some fervid worshiper.

Adown the dance she moved with matchless pace.
The world-my world-moved with her. Suddenly
I questioned who her cavalier might be.

'Twas he. His face was leaning to her face.

I clutched my blade; I sprang; I caught my breath,

And so stood leaning still as death.

And they stood still. She blushed, then reached and tore

The lily as she passed, and down the floor

She strewed its heart like bits of gushing gore.

'Twas he said heads, not hearts, were made to break. He taught me this that night in splendid scorn.

I learned too well. The dance was done. Ere morn We mounted-he and I-but no more spake.

And this for woman's love. My lily worn

In her dark hair in pride to be thus torn
And trampled on for this bold stranger's sake.
Two men rode silent back toward the lake.

Two men rode silent down, but only one
Rode up at morn to greet the rising sun.

The walls are steep,

The waves are deep;

And if the dead man should be found

By red-clad fishers in their round,

Why, who shall say but he was drowned?

:

OH, MY LUVE IS LIKE A RED, RED ROSE

ROBERT BURNS

Oh, my luve is like a red, red rose
That's newly sprung in June;
Oh, my luve is like a melodie

That's sweetly played in tune.

As fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;

And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a' the seas gang dry.

Till a' the seas gang dry, my dear,
And the rocks melt wi' the sun;

I will luve thee still, my dear,

While the sands o' life shall run.
And fare thee weel, my only luve!
And far thee weel awhile!

And I will come again, my luve,

Tho' it were ten thousand mile.