Simpson College - Zenith Yearbook (Indianola, IA)

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t I Like the quickening warmth of Springtime Was a token of His favor From the Master of All Living. So, in marriage celebration Sang they chants to fair Simpsonia, Beat the tom-tom in their gladness. Loudly shouted through the night-time Till the prowling grey-wolf, hiding In the gloomy moonlight shadows. Slunk away in craven terror. Till the owlet, hooting dismal. In the alders by the brooklet Ceased his crying melancholy. Listened to the warriors shouting. But the oft-rejected suitor Dwelling in the northern valley. Where the shallow sluggish river Dully chafes against his mud-banks. Young Dcs Moines, the haughty chieftain. Rich in beads and belts of wampum. Owner of a thousand ponies, Still he loved the fair Simpsonia, Hated still her noble husband. So he called his braves about him. Spake in words of fire his purrose: “Let us bring the fair Simpsonia From the Southland to our wigvr-s. For with her will come the blessing Of the Manitou, Great Spirit.” With a shout they heard his project. With a shout of wild approval. In the night they crossed the prairies. Down the great trail of Rock Island, Rode in silence through the valleys Till they heard the wedding tumult. Till they saw the flickering torchlight Piercing arrow-like the shadows. Then with haughty stride their chieftain Stepped into the torchlight circle. Spoke in scornful tones his challenge. “Why this insolent rejoicing? I am come to claim Simpsonia. Rich am I in beads and wampum. Ponies have I without number; She shall lodge in deerskin wigwams Decked in beads of many colors As should dwell a chieftain’s daughter. What have such as you to offer, You, a people without wampum?

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 mtors. COLORS: Green and White. FLOWER: While Carnation. OFFICERS. President—H. W. WHITE. Secretary—Bess Baird. Treasurer—J. F. Garnes. Historian—Vera Ingram. yells. Brek-ke-kcx, Co-ax-co-ax Brek-ke-kcx, Co-ax-co-ax Parabaloo—Parabaloo We’re ’07—Who are you? CLASS SONG. (Air: Michigan’s March Triumphant). Loyal are we, Naught-Seven, Proud shalt thou be, Naught-Seven, Hail, Hail, to thee, Naught-Seven, Pride of the west. Juniors so proud and stately, Sophomores who romp sedately, Freshmen arrived so lately. Seniors are best.

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You, a poor and cowardly people?” With a bound the noble warrior, Champion of the fair Simpsonia, Sprang to meet his proud assailant. Grappled with him on the hill side. While the warriors of both nations Stood about in silence circle. Looked with wonder at the fury Of the strife between the chieftains. Long they wrestled, panting, writhing, ■t Mighty limbs in splendid motion; Furious and hot the conflict, Till at last young Indianola Hurled his conquered focman from him. Heavily the great Des Moines fell. Motionless and still he lay there. And his people raised him quickly. Bore him northward through the darkness O’er the blazed trail of Rock Island, While the shouts of joy pursued them, Songs of triumph in the night-time Glory to the conquering chieftain. And the maiden, fair Simpsonia, Ministered to Indianola Till, refreshed, he joined the war-song. And resumed the merry making. And full many noble warriors Offered gifts unto the maiden; Said, “Oh, beautiful Simpsonia, In your loveliness we greet you. Take our gifts of beads and wampum. May they be of some good service For the raising of your wigwam And the comfort of your people.” So they offered to Simpsonia All the best of their possessions; Many good and noble warriors Ever honored by Simpsonia And revered as benefactors. Acres broad they gave her freely. Hunting lands and verdant meadows; With good w ill they worked together. Built the spacious wigwam “Bluebird”, Blue in color, like the heavens. Thus with joy and merry making Was begun the happy union Of the warrior Indianola And the maiden, fair Simpsonia. THE END.