ODE TO A CLAM.
Oh! clam at high-water,
Here's somebody's daughter
A sighing and crying your measure to take;
She cares for you only,
Poor bivalve so lonely,
Because you are good in a Yankee clambake.
Perhaps she'll shout louder
To see you in chowder.
Poor clam, for your sake
I've a dreadful heart-ache.
Charlotte. Capital. We wouldn't miss that for anything. Who else is ready?
Ida. I have a little poem about a shell. [Reads.]
What is the song you are singing forever,
Sad as the sound of a knell,
Deep as the tone of a bell,
Oh! sorrowful, murmuring shell,
Singing and singing forever?
Grace. Mine is about sweet charity. [Reads.]
Of all things touched with heavenly clarity,
There's nothing can compare with sweet, sweet charity!
Charlotte. Girls, we ought to have some singing. Do you know that old tune, "Home Again"? Why not sing that? It will please the older ones, and seem a compliment to them. It might do for the last thing on the programme.
Ida. That's beautiful.
Madge. Sing the tune, Charlotte, and let me catch the rhythm.