Speeches and Poetry for the class to memorize
Speeches Pearl of Wisdom
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Objective: Earn a Speeches Pearl of Wisdom for memorizing and reciting each
the following Speeches.
Parameters: Recite the speech with 100% accuracy. You may not reorder the
words or change the words. The speakers spent hours working on this speech.
Do not change their ideas!
Poetry Pearl
● Objective: Memorize and PERFORM the chosen poems for your class or teacher.
● Parameters: We are expecting 100% accuracy and excellent fluency, inflection,
and expression in your performance of this poem in order to earn the pearl. You
are required to perform the poem by yourself.
Level Up choices for the J.R.R. Tolkien Pearl.

Parameters: You must rehearse and perform TWO of the following thirteen
poems for a small group or the teacher, or you may choose Far Over the Misty
Mountains Cold, which counts as two. You don’t have to perform them on the
same day. You’ll receive your level-up when you are done with both
performances. Have fun with this - think about adding simple props, costumes,
etc!
Geography Pearl of Wisdom
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Objective: Earn a Geography Pearl of Wisdom for memorizing the location of the
fifty U.S. states and their capitals on a blank map outline.
Parameters: Accuracy (capitals and states) must be 100% to earn the pearl of
wisdom. If you don't get 100% the first time, you will get two more chances.
Level Up! Already earned your Geography Pearl? Level up by correctly
identifying the postal code of each state (i.e., AZ is Arizona). Level up again by
memorizing the anniversary of the day each state was admitted to the Union.
Earn the elusive triple level up - also known as the black pearl - by identifying the
state or territory, the date the flag was adopted, and a brief summary of the
symbolism or story behind the flag.
Speech: Gettysburg Address
The Gettysburg Address
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania
November 19, 1863
On June 1, 1865, Senator Charles Sumner
commented on what is now considered the most
famous speech by President Abraham Lincoln. In
his eulogy on the slain president, he called it a
"monumental act." He said Lincoln was mistaken
that "the world will little note, nor long remember
what we say here." Rather, the Bostonian
remarked, "The world noted at once what he said,
and will never cease to remember it. The battle
itself was less important than the speech."
Your task: Memorize and deliver the title, exact date, and exact body of President
Abraham Lincoln’s Gettysburg Address (shown below). Also, be prepared to explain
what the address was for and what particular parts of the speech mean (including, but
not limited to, unfamiliar vocabulary)
The Gettysburg Address
Gettysburg, Pennsylvania; November 19, 1863
Four score and seven years ago our fathers brought forth on this continent, a new nation,
conceived in Liberty, and dedicated to the proposition that all men are created equal.
Now we are engaged in a great civil war, testing whether that nation, or any nation so conceived
and so dedicated, can long endure. We are met on a great battle-field of that war. We have
come to dedicate a portion of that field, as a final resting place for those who here gave their
lives that that nation might live. It is altogether fitting and proper that we should do this.
But, in a larger sense, we can not dedicate -- we can not consecrate -- we can not hallow -- this
ground. The brave men, living and dead, who struggled here, have consecrated it, far above our
poor power to add or detract. The world will little note, nor long remember what we say here, but
it can never forget what they did here. It is for us the living, rather, to be dedicated here to the
unfinished work which they who fought here have thus far so nobly advanced. It is rather for us
to be here dedicated to the great task remaining before us -- that from these honored dead we
take increased devotion to that cause for which they gave the last full measure of devotion -that we here highly resolve that these dead shall not have died in vain -- that this nation, under
God, shall have a new birth of freedom -- and that government of the people, by the people, for
the people, shall not perish from the earth.
I Have a Dream
I have a dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its
creed: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal."
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the
sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat
of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression, will be transformed into an oasis of
freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not
be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character.
I have a dream today!
I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor
having his lips dripping with the words of "interposition" and "nullification" -- one day right
there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white
boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today!
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, and every hill and mountain shall
be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made
straight; "and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed and all flesh shall see it together."
This is our hope, and this is the faith that I go back to the South with.
With this faith, we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With
this faith, we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful
symphony of brotherhood. With this faith, we will be able to work together, to pray
together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together,
knowing that we will be free one day.
And this will be the day -- this will be the day when all of God's children will be able to sing
with new meaning:
My country 'tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing.
Land where my fathers died, land of the Pilgrim's pride,
From every mountainside, let freedom ring!
And if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.
And so let freedom ring from the prodigious hilltops of New Hampshire.
Let freedom ring from the mighty mountains of New York.
Let freedom ring from the heightening Alleghenies of Pennsylvania.
Let freedom ring from the snow-capped Rockies of Colorado.
Let freedom ring from the curvaceous slopes of California.
But not only that:
Let freedom ring from Stone Mountain of Georgia.
Let freedom ring from Lookout Mountain of Tennessee.
Let freedom ring from every hill and molehill of Mississippi.
From every mountainside, let freedom ring.
And when this happens, and when we allow freedom ring, when we let it ring from every
village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that
day when all of God's children, black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants
and Catholics, will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old Negro spiritual:
Free at last! Free at last!
Thank God Almighty, we are free at last!
Susan B. Anthony’s Speech on Women’s Rights (1873)
Friends and fellow citizens: I stand before you tonight under indictment for the alleged crime of
having voted at the last presidential election, without having a lawful right to vote. It shall be my
work this evening to prove to you that in thus voting, I not only committed no crime, but, instead,
simply exercised my citizen's rights, guaranteed to me and all United States citizens by the
National Constitution, beyond the power of any state to deny.
The preamble of the Federal Constitution says:
"We, the people of the United States, in order to form a more perfect union, establish justice,
insure domestic tranquillity, provide for the common defense, promote the general welfare, and
secure the blessings of liberty to ourselves and our posterity, do ordain and establish this
Constitution for the United States of America."
It was we, the people; not we, the white male citizens; nor yet we, the male citizens; but we, the
whole people, who formed the Union. And we formed it, not to give the blessings of liberty, but
to secure them; not to the half of ourselves and the half of our posterity, but to the whole people
- women as well as men. And it is a downright mockery to talk to women of their enjoyment of
the blessings of liberty while they are denied the use of the only means of securing them
provided by this democratic-republican government - the ballot.
For any state to make [gender] a qualification that must ever result in the disfranchisement of
one entire half of the people, is to pass a bill of attainder, or, an ex post facto law, and is
therefore a violation of the supreme law of the land. By it the blessings of liberty are forever
withheld from women and their female posterity.
To them this government has no just powers derived from the consent of the governed. To them
this government is not a democracy. It is not a republic. It is an odious aristocracy; a hateful
oligarchy of [gender]; the most hateful aristocracy ever established on the face of the globe; an
oligarchy of wealth, where the rich govern the poor. An oligarchy of learning, where the
educated govern the ignorant, or even an oligarchy of race, where the Saxon rules the African,
might be endured; but this oligarchy of [gender], which makes father, brothers, husband, sons,
the oligarchs over the mother and sisters, the wife and daughters, of every household - which
ordains all men sovereigns, all women subjects, carries dissension, discord, and rebellion into
every home of the nation.
Webster, Worcester, and Bouvier all define a citizen to be a person in the United States, entitled
to vote and hold office.
The only question left to be settled now is: Are women persons? And I hardly believe any of our
opponents will have the hardihood to say they are not. Being persons, then, women are citizens;
and no state has a right to make any law, or to enforce any old law, that shall abridge their
privileges or immunities. Hence, every discrimination against women in the constitutions and
laws of the several states is today null and void, precisely as is everyone against Negroes.
We Choose to Go to the Moon (JFK’s speech at Rice University - September
12, 1962)
If this capsule history of our progress teaches us anything, it is that man, in his quest for
knowledge and progress, is determined and cannot be deterred. The exploration of space will
go ahead, whether we join in it or not, and it is one of the great adventures of all time, and no
nation which expects to be the leader of other nations can expect to stay behind in the race for
space.
Those who came before us made certain that this country rode the first waves of the industrial
revolutions, the first waves of modern invention, and the first wave of nuclear power, and this
generation does not intend to founder in the backwash of the coming age of space. We mean to
be a part of it--we mean to lead it. For the eyes of the world now look into space, to the moon
and to the planets beyond, and we have vowed that we shall not see it governed by a hostile
flag of conquest, but by a banner of freedom and peace. We have vowed that we shall not see
space filled with weapons of mass destruction, but with instruments of knowledge and
understanding.
Yet the vows of this Nation can only be fulfilled if we in this Nation are first, and, therefore, we
intend to be first. In short, our leadership in science and in industry, our hopes for peace and
security, our obligations to ourselves as well as others, all require us to make this effort, to solve
these mysteries, to solve them for the good of all men, and to become the world's leading
space-faring nation.
We set sail on this new sea because there is new knowledge to be gained, and new rights to be
won, and they must be won and used for the progress of all people. For space science, like
nuclear science and all technology, has no conscience of its own. Whether it will become a
force for good or ill depends on man, and only if the United States occupies a position of preeminence can we help decide whether this new ocean will be a sea of peace or a new terrifying
theater of war. I do not say the we should or will go unprotected against the hostile misuse of
space any more than we go unprotected against the hostile use of land or sea, but I do say that
space can be explored and mastered without feeding the fires of war, without repeating the
mistakes that man has made in extending his writ around this globe of ours.
There is no strife, no prejudice, no national conflict in outer space as yet. Its hazards are hostile
to us all. Its conquest deserves the best of all mankind, and its opportunity for peaceful
cooperation many never come again. But why, some say, the moon? Why choose this as our
goal? And they may well ask why climb the highest mountain? Why, 35 years ago, fly the
Atlantic? Why does Rice play Texas?
We choose to go to the moon. We choose to go to the moon in this decade and do the other
things, not because they are easy, but because they are hard, because that goal will serve to
organize and measure the best of our energies and skills, because that challenge is one that we
are willing to accept, one we are unwilling to postpone, and one which we intend to win, and the
others, too.
Poetry Pearl
Friendships
There are many
important things
That make a great
friendship
Like faith in what
you can accomplish
Hope to see you
through hardships
Love which binds
you together
These are what makes
lasting friendships
But there's also
something else
Something special
and treasured
can't be named
Things that are deep
inside the heart
Like shared memories
and laughter
Like shared pains
and times of sorrow
The things that you
have in common
And the things that
are different
The little things that
you do each day
Just to see that
person's smile
These are what make a
truly unforgettable friendship
Haruhi Niwa
Something that
Paul Revere’s Ride
lay
The Somerset, British man-of-war:
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, 1807 -
A phantom ship, with each mast and spar
1882
Across the moon, like a prison-bar,
Listen, my children, and you shall hear
Of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,
On the eighteenth of April, in SeventyFive:
Hardly a man is now alive
Who remembers that famous day and
year.
He said to his friend, “If the British
march
By land or sea from the town to-night,
Hang a lantern aloft in the belfry-arch
Of the North-Church-tower, as a signallight,-One if by land, and two if by sea;
And I on the opposite shore will be,
Ready to ride and spread the alarm
Through every Middlesex village and
farm,
For the country-folk to be up and to
arm.”
Then he said “Good night!” and with
muffled oar
Silently rowed to the Charlestown shore,
Just as the moon rose over the bay,
Where swinging wide at her moorings
And a huge black hulk, that was
magnified
By its own reflection in the tide.
Meanwhile, his friend, through alley and
street
Wanders and watches with eager ears,
Till in the silence around him he hears
The muster of men at the barrack door,
The sound of arms, and the tramp of feet,
And the measured tread of the grenadiers
Marching down to their boats on the
shore.
Then he climbed to the tower of the
church,
Up the wooden stairs, with stealthy tread,
To the belfry-chamber overhead,
And startled the pigeons from their perch
On the sombre rafters, that round him
made
Masses and moving shapes of shade,-By the trembling ladder, steep and tall,
To the highest window in the wall,
Where he paused to listen and look down
A moment on the roofs of the town,
And the moonlight flowing over all.
The belfry-tower of the old North
Beneath, in the churchyard, lay the dead,
Church,
In their night-encampment on the hill,
As it rose above the graves on the hill,
Wrapped in silence so deep and still
Lonely and spectral and sombre and still.
That he could hear, like a sentinel’s
And lo! as he looks, on the belfry’s
tread,
height,
The watchful night-wind, as it went
A glimmer, and then a gleam of light!
Creeping along from tent to tent,
He springs to the saddle, the bridle he
And seeming to whisper, “All is well!”
turns,
A moment only he feels the spell
But lingers and gazes, till full on his
Of the place and the hour, and the secret
sight
dread
A second lamp in the belfry burns!
Of the lonely belfry and the dead;
For suddenly all his thoughts are bent
A hurry of hoofs in a village-street,
On a shadowy something far away,
A shape in the moonlight, a bulk in the
Where the river widens to meet the bay, -
dark,
-
And beneath from the pebbles, in
A line of black, that bends and floats
passing, a spark
On the rising tide, like a bridge of boats.
Struck out by a steed that flies fearless
and fleet:
Meanwhile, impatient to mount and ride,
That was all! And yet, through the gloom
Booted and spurred, with a heavy stride,
and the light,
On the opposite shore walked Paul
The fate of a nation was riding that night;
Revere.
And the spark struck out by that steed, in
Now he patted his horse’s side,
his flight,
Now gazed on the landscape far and
Kindled the land into flame with its heat.
near,
Then impetuous stamped the earth,
He has left the village and mounted the
And turned and tightened his saddle-
steep,
girth;
And beneath him, tranquil and broad and
But mostly he watched with eager search
deep,
Is the Mystic, meeting the ocean tides;
And felt the breath of the morning breeze
And under the alders, that skirt its edge,
Blowing over the meadows brown.
Now soft on the sand, now loud on the
And one was safe and asleep in his bed
ledge,
Who at the bridge would be first to fall,
Is heard the tramp of his steed as he
Who that day would be lying dead,
rides.
Pierced by a British musket-ball.
It was twelve by the village clock
You know the rest. In the books you
When he crossed the bridge into
have read,
Medford town.
How the British Regulars fired and fled,-
He heard the crowing of the cock,
-
And the barking of the farmer’s dog,
How the farmers gave them ball for ball,
And felt the damp of the river-fog,
From behind each fence and farmyard-
That rises when the sun goes down.
wall,
Chasing the red-coats down the lane,
It was one by the village clock,
Then crossing the fields to emerge again
When he galloped into Lexington.
Under the trees at the turn of the road,
He saw the gilded weathercock
And only pausing to fire and load.
Swim in the moonlight as he passed,
And the meeting-house windows, blank
So through the night rode Paul Revere;
and bare,
And so through the night went his cry of
Gaze at him with a spectral glare,
alarm
As if they already stood aghast
To every Middlesex village and farm,--
At the bloody work they would look
A cry of defiance, and not of fear,
upon.
A voice in the darkness, a knock at the
door,
It was two by the village clock,
And a word that shall echo forevermore!
When be came to the bridge in Concord
For, borne on the night-wind of the Past,
town.
Through all our history, to the last,
He heard the bleating of the flock,
In the hour of darkness and peril and
And the twitter of birds among the trees,
need,
The people will waken and listen to hear
And the midnight message of Paul
The hurrying hoof-beats of that steed,
Revere.
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS by Clement Clarke Moore
'Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse;
The stockings were hung by the chimney with care,
In hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there;
The children were nestled all snug in their beds,
While visions of sugar plums danced in their heads;
And mamma in her 'kerchief, and I in my cap,
Had just settled down for a long winter's nap,
When out on the lawn there arose such a clatter,
I sprang from the bed to see what was the matter.
Away to the window I flew like a flash,
Tore open the shutters and threw up the sash.
The moon on the breast of the new fallen snow
Gave the lustre of mid day to objects below,
When, what to my wondering eyes should appear,
But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer,
With a little old driver, so lively and quick,
I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick.
More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,
And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name;
"Now, Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer and Vixen!
On, Comet! on Cupid! on, Donder and Blitzen!
To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!
Now dash away! dash away! dash away all!"
As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,
When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky,
So up to the house top the coursers they flew,
With the sleigh full of toys, and St. Nicholas too.
And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof
The prancing and pawing of each little hoof.
As I drew in my hand, and was turning around,
Down the chimney St. Nicholas came with a bound.
He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,
And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot;
A bundle of toys he had flung on his back,
And he looked like a peddler just opening his pack.
His eyes how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!
His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!
His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,
And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow;
The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,
And the smoke it encircled his head like a wreath;
He had a broad face and a little round belly,
That shook when he laughed like a bowlful of jelly.
He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,
And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself;
A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,
Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread;
He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,
And filled all the stockings; then turned with a jerk,
And laying his finger aside of his nose,
And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose;
He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle,
And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.
But I heard him exclaim, ere he drove out of sight,
"Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night."
The Raven BY EDGAR ALLAN POE
Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore—
While I nodded, nearly napping, suddenly there came a tapping,
As of some one gently rapping, rapping at my chamber door.
“’Tis some visiter,” I muttered, “tapping at my chamber door—
Only this and nothing more.”
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the bleak December;
And each separate dying ember wrought its ghost upon the floor.
Eagerly I wished the morrow;—vainly I had sought to borrow
From my books surcease of sorrow—sorrow for the lost Lenore—
For the rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Nameless here for evermore.
And the silken, sad, uncertain rustling of each purple curtain
Thrilled me—filled me with fantastic terrors never felt before;
So that now, to still the beating of my heart, I stood repeating
“’Tis some visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door—
Some late visiter entreating entrance at my chamber door;—
This it is and nothing more.”
Presently my soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
“Sir,” said I, “or Madam, truly your forgiveness I implore;
But the fact is I was napping, and so gently you came rapping,
And so faintly you came tapping, tapping at my chamber door,
That I scarce was sure I heard you”—here I opened wide the door;—
Darkness there and nothing more.
Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before;
But the silence was unbroken, and the stillness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered word, “Lenore?”
This I whispered, and an echo murmured back the word, “Lenore!”—
Merely this and nothing more.
Back into the chamber turning, all my soul within me burning,
Soon again I heard a tapping somewhat louder than before.
“Surely,” said I, “surely that is something at my window lattice;
Let me see, then, what thereat is, and this mystery explore—
Let my heart be still a moment and this mystery explore;—
’Tis the wind and nothing more!”
Open here I flung the shutter, when, with many a flirt and flutter,
In there stepped a stately Raven of the saintly days of yore;
Not the least obeisance made he; not a minute stopped or stayed he;
But, with mien of lord or lady, perched above my chamber door—
Perched upon a bust of Pallas just above my chamber door—
Perched, and sat, and nothing more.
Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,
By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore,
“Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou,” I said, “art sure no craven,
Ghastly grim and ancient Raven wandering from the Nightly shore—
Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night’s Plutonian shore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
Much I marvelled this ungainly fowl to hear discourse so plainly,
Though its answer little meaning—little relevancy bore;
For we cannot help agreeing that no living human being
Ever yet was blessed with seeing bird above his chamber door—
Bird or beast upon the sculptured bust above his chamber door,
With such name as “Nevermore.”
But the Raven, sitting lonely on the placid bust, spoke only
That one word, as if his soul in that one word he did outpour.
Nothing farther then he uttered—not a feather then he fluttered—
Till I scarcely more than muttered “Other friends have flown before—
On the morrow he will leave me, as my Hopes have flown before.”
Then the bird said “Nevermore.”
Startled at the stillness broken by reply so aptly spoken,
“Doubtless,” said I, “what it utters is its only stock and store
Caught from some unhappy master whom unmerciful Disaster
Followed fast and followed faster till his songs one burden bore—
Till the dirges of his Hope that melancholy burden bore
Of ‘Never—nevermore’.”
But the Raven still beguiling all my fancy into smiling,
Straight I wheeled a cushioned seat in front of bird, and bust and door;
Then, upon the velvet sinking, I betook myself to linking
Fancy unto fancy, thinking what this ominous bird of yore—
What this grim, ungainly, ghastly, gaunt, and ominous bird of yore
Meant in croaking “Nevermore.”
This I sat engaged in guessing, but no syllable expressing
To the fowl whose fiery eyes now burned into my bosom’s core;
This and more I sat divining, with my head at ease reclining
On the cushion’s velvet lining that the lamp-light gloated o’er,
But whose velvet-violet lining with the lamp-light gloating o’er,
She shall press, ah, nevermore!
Then, methought, the air grew denser, perfumed from an unseen censer
Swung by Seraphim whose foot-falls tinkled on the tufted floor.
“Wretch,” I cried, “thy God hath lent thee—by these angels he hath sent thee
Respite—respite and nepenthe from thy memories of Lenore;
Quaff, oh quaff this kind nepenthe and forget this lost Lenore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!—
Whether Tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted—
On this home by Horror haunted—tell me truly, I implore—
Is there—is there balm in Gilead?—tell me—tell me, I implore!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Prophet!” said I, “thing of evil!—prophet still, if bird or devil!
By that Heaven that bends above us—by that God we both adore—
Tell this soul with sorrow laden if, within the distant Aidenn,
It shall clasp a sainted maiden whom the angels name Lenore—
Clasp a rare and radiant maiden whom the angels name Lenore.”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
“Be that word our sign of parting, bird or fiend!” I shrieked, upstarting—
“Get thee back into the tempest and the Night’s Plutonian shore!
Leave no black plume as a token of that lie thy soul hath spoken!
Leave my loneliness unbroken!—quit the bust above my door!
Take thy beak from out my heart, and take thy form from off my door!”
Quoth the Raven “Nevermore.”
And the Raven, never flitting, still is sitting, still is sitting
On the pallid bust of Pallas just above my chamber door;
And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming,
And the lamp-light o’er him streaming throws his shadow on the floor;
And my soul from out that shadow that lies floating on the floor
Shall be lifted—nevermore!
Level Up choices for the J.R.R. Tolkien Pearl.
I.
Chip the glasses and crack the plates!
Blunt the knives and bend the forks!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates-Smash the bottles and burn the corks!
Cut the cloth and tread on the fat!
Pour the milk on the pantry floor!
Leave the bones on the bedroom mat!
Splash the wine on every door!
Dump the crocks in a boiling bowl;
Pound them up with a thumping pole;
And when you've finished, if any are whole,
Send them down the hall to roll!
That's what Bilbo Baggins hates!
So, carefully! carefully with the plates!
II.
Clap! Snap! the black crack!
Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!
And down down to Goblin-town
You go, my lad!
Clash, crash! Crush, smash!
Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!
Pound, pound, far underground!
Ho, ho! my lad!
Swish, smack! Whip crack!
Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat!
Work, work! Nor dare to shirk,
While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh,
Round and round far underground
Below, my lad!
III.
O! What are you doing,
And where are you going?
Your ponies need shoeing!
The river is flowing!
O! tra-la-la-lally
here down in the valley!
O! What are you seeking,
And where are you making?
The faggots are reeking,
The bannocks are baking!
O! tril-lil-lil-lolly
the valley is jolly,
ha! ha!
O! Where are you going
With beards all a-wagging?
No knowing, no knowing
What brings Mister Baggins,
And Balin and Dwalin
down into the valley
in June
ha! ha!
O! Will you be staying,
Or will you be flying?
Your ponies are straying!
The daylight is dying!
To fly would be folly,
To stay would be jolly
And listen and hark
Till the end of the dark
to our tune
ha! ha!
IV.
Fifteen birds in five firtrees,
their feathers were fanned in a fiery breeze!
But, funny little birds, they had no wings!
O what shall we do with the funny little things?
Roast 'em alive, or stew them in a pot;
fry them, boil them and eat them hot?
Burn, burn tree and fern!
Shrivel and scorch! A fizzling torch
To light the night for our delight,
Ya hey!
Bake and toast 'em, fry and roast 'em!
till beards blaze, and eyes glaze;
till hair smells and skins crack,
fat melts, and bones black
in cinders lie
beneath the sky!
So dwarves shall die,
and light the night for our delight,
Ya hey!
Ya-harri-hey!
Ya hoy!
V.
The wind was on the withered heath,
but in the forest stirred no leaf:
there shadows lay by night and day,
and dark things silent crept beneath.
The wind came down from mountains cold,
and like a tide it roared and rolled;
the branches groaned, the forest moaned,
and leaves were laid upon the mould.
The wind went on from West to East;
all movement in the forest ceased,
but shrill and harsh across the marsh
its whistling voices were released.
The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,
the reeds were rattling--on it went
o'er shaken pool under heavens cool
where racing clouds were torn and rent.
It passed the lonely Mountain bare
and swept above the dragon's lair:
there black and dark lay boulders stark
and flying smoke was in the air.
It left the world and took its flight
over the wide seas of the night.
The moon set sail upon the gale,
and stars were fanned to leaping light.
VI.
Old fat spider spinning in a tree!
Old fat spider can't see me!
Attercop! Attercop!
Won't you stop,
Stop your spinning and look for me!
Old Tomnoddy, all big body,
Old Tomnoddy can't spy me!
Attercop! Attercop!
Down you drop!
You'll never catch me up your tree!
Lazy Lob and crazy Cob
are weaving webs to wind me.
I am far more sweet than other meat,
but still they cannot find me!
Here am I, naughty little fly;
you are fat and lazy.
You cannot trap me, though you try,
in your cobwebs crazy.
VII.
Roll--roll--roll--roll,
roll-roll-rolling down the hole!
Heave ho! Splash plump!
Down they go, down they bump!
Down the swift dark stream you go
Back to lands you once did know!
Leave the halls and caverns deep,
Leave the northern mountains steep,
Where the forest wide and dim
Stoops in shadow grey and grim!
Float beyond the world of trees
Out into the whispering breeze,
Past the rushes, past the reeds,
Past the marsh's waving weeds,
Through the mist that riseth white
Up from mere and pool at night!
Follow, follow stars that leap
Up the heavens cold and steep;
Turn when dawn comes over land,
Over rapid, over sand,
South away! and South away!
Seek the sunlight and the day,
Back to pasture, back to mead,
Where the kine and oxen feed!
Back to gardens on the hills
Where the berry swells and fills
Under sunlight, under day!
South away! and South away!
Down the swift dark stream you go
Back to lands you once did know!
VIII.
The King beneath the mountains,
The King of carven stone,
The lord of silver fountains
Shall come into his own!
His crown shall be upholden,
His harp shall be restrung,
His halls shall echo golden
To songs of yore re-sung.
The woods shall wave on mountains
And grass beneath the sun;
His wealth shall flow in fountains
And the rivers golden run.
The streams shall run in gladness,
The lakes shall shine and burn,
All sorrow fail and sadness
At the Mountain-king's return!
IX.
Under the Mountain dark and tall
The King has come unto his hall!
His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,
And ever so his foes shall fall.
The sword is sharp, the spear is long,
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong;
The heart is bold that looks on gold;
The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong.
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.
On silver necklaces they strung
The light of stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, from twisted wire
The melody of harps they wrung.
The mountain throne once more is freed!
O! wandering fold, the summons heed!
Come haste! Come haste! across the waste!
The king of friend and kin has need.
Now call we over mountains cold,
'Come back unto the caverns old'!
Here at the Gates the king awaits,
His hands are rich with gems and gold.
The king is come unto his hall
Under the Mountain dark and tall.
The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,
And ever so our foes shall fall!
X.
The dragon is withered,
His bones are now crumbled;
His armour is shivered,
His splendour is humbled!
Though sword shall be rusted,
And throne and crown perish
With strength that men trusted
And wealth that they cherish,
Here grass is still growing,
And leaves are yet swinging,
The white water flowing,
And elves are yet singing
Come! Tra-la-la-lally!
Come back to the valley!
The stars are far brighter
Than gems without measure,
The moon is far whiter
Than silver in treasure:
The fire is more shining
On hearth in the gloaming
Than gold won by mining,
So why go a-roaming?
O! Tra-la-la-lally
Come back to the Valley.
O! Where are you going,
So late in returning?
The river is flowing,
The stars are all burning!
O! Whither so laden,
So sad and so dreary?
Here elf and elf-maiden
Now welcome the weary
With Tra-la-la-lally
Come back to the Valley,
Tra-la-la-lally
Fa-la-la-lally
Fa-la!
XI.
Sing all ye joyful, now sing all together!
The wind's in the tree-top, the wind's in the
heather;
The stars are in blossom, the moon is in flower,
And bright are the windows of Night in her
tower.
Dance all ye joyful, now dance all together!
Soft is the grass, and let foot be like feather!
The river is silver, the shadows are fleeting;
Merry is May-time, and merry our meeting.
Sing we now softly, and dreams let us weave
him!
Wind him in slumber and there let us leave him!
The wanderer sleepeth. Now soft be his pillow!
Lullaby! Lullaby! Alder and Willow!
Sigh no more Pine, till the wind of the morn!
Fall Moon! Dark be the land!
Hush! Hush! Oak, Ash, and Thorn!
Hushed be all water, till dawn is at hand!
XII.
Roads go ever ever on,
Over rock and under tree,
By caves where never sun has shone,
By streams that never find the sea;
Over snow by winter sown,
And through the merry flowers of June,
Over grass and over stone,
And under mountains in the moon.
Roads go ever ever on
Under cloud and under star,
Yet feet that wandering have gone
Turn at last to home afar.
Eyes that fire and sword have seen
And horror in the halls of stone
Look at last on meadows green
And trees and hills they long have
known.
XIII. and XIV. (counts as two)
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away ere break of day
To seek the pale enchanted gold.
The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.
For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.
On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon fire, in twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.
Goblets they carved there for themselves
And harps of gold; where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.
The pines were roaring on the height,
The winds were moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread;
The trees like torches blazed with light.
The bells were ringing in the dale
And men looked up with faces pale;
The dragon's ire more fierce than fire
Laid low their towers and houses frail.
The mountain smoked beneath the moon;
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled their hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.
Far over the misty mountains grim
To dungeons deep and caverns dim
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!
Far over the misty mountains cold
To dungeons deep and caverns old
We must away, ere break of day,
To find our long-forgotten gold.
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