Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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CORYEDERON Given : An elegy by Milton — ' Lycidas ' To prove: Anyone can write like Milton. Proof: Written for a friend who failed an Algebra test. 0 weep, ye nymphites of the road and hiW And bow your heads, ye flours of the mill. For Jeanitheep was laid full low today And rains are falling over Mandalay Like to the tears that greatest Helyon shed When Symalon, the keeper of the dead. Claimed Menidee, the loveliest of her daughters, And from his chariot, o ' er the churning waters Spread the dry bones of lovis, her son. That the will of Adahortus might be done So all shall be brought low. What boots it, say . To struggle in a race day after day? A man will win but one — must lose the rest. Why run, because all honour is but dust After the race is past. Life is but short And joy still shorter. Hark! the loud report Of Hickok ' s gun recalls now to my mind, Unfortimately, Jeanitheep. Like Lind 1 wandered far in memory 0 weep Ye members of the race, for Jeanitheep, Who used to gambol gaily in the gym And in the locker room made such a din, Is down and out. But this is of the past. Hope is the future — as the goddess Crasst May help her, let us bring her incense rare, Such as Diutius offered Lea fair When his strong son became at last a man And from our hopeful Boarders madly ran ' . Thus sang the bebop artist, then the coin Dropped down, and all was silent once again . Q.E.D. Anne Begor, Form Vb, Gumming House. NOTES 1 reference to rival schools 5 popular Greek(?) hero 2 reference lo Montreal 6 apology for digression 3 old Greek legend 7 old Greek legend 4 digression 8 epilogue [21]

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LEFT BEHIND DURING MY LIFE I have been lost several times. The first time was when I was a little girl of about five or six. We had gone to pick raspberries for supper. After picking my cupful of berries, I took them to the jeep and put them in a container on the seat. Going back to the spot where I had been picking, I saw my cousin, who was cramming berries into his mouth. I decided to follow his example. I stepped into a thicket of raspberry bushes and ate my fill. When I stepped out, the jeep (in reality a land-rover which could go over sand and snow because of a special four-wheel drive) was gone. I looked everywhere for it. I called, but it was not there. They had gone and left me. With tears streaming down my cheeks I started to follow the road home. I remembered Daddy talking of bear tracks which had been seen around where we ' d been picking berries. I also remembered the bulls that were out on the road farther on, which I had to pass. Then I saw a green car, and almost went to it for a drive home, but I had been warned never to get into a strange car with strange people. I walked miserably on, when suddenly I heard a honking. I looked up and saw our jeep speeding across the sand to me, and honking all the time. To me our battered jeep was the most beautiful thing on earth. Daddy dried my tears and explained that there were so many children that at first I hadn ' t been missed, and they were half-way home before they realized that I was not with them. As I got into the jeep I decided always to stay close to it and keep it in sight. Janet Beattie, Form IIIa, Gumming House. IN SUMMER YING ON THE silver-white sands of the Island of Eigg one hot sunny I afternoon in the middle of August, I watched nature ' s beauty spellbound. It was as though I had closed my eyes to this world and opened them seconds later in new and beautiful surroundings. The previous day had been wet and misty, and now the grass was a richer green than before, contrasting with the deep blue of the sea, which by now was glittering under the rays of the afternoon sun, her calm broken only by the occasional ripple slipping silently onto the hot sand. Beyond, I could see the majestic purple peaks of the Coolin hills silhouetted against the cloudless blue sky. The grey and black- backed gulls dipped and dived along the shore in search of food, calling loudly and clearly as if in distress. I sat up slowly, just in time to see the pointed bow of a little sailboat appearing round the headland, her sails, full-rigged and white, bending in the breeze. The scent of the wild flowers seemed stronger and the drone of the bees louder in the stillness. This tranquil picture veiled in beauty slowly faded, and I slept peacefully. Alice Craib, Arts VI, Ross House. [20]

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A BOOK It may be just a little book, To take that book, and open it, A little book, but then To find those worlds anew. There suddenly appears in me When seamen sailed the seven seas, A long forgotten yen And fairies swam in dew. My poem is not finished yet. My faithful reader, friend, A bad book ends where it begins, A good book has no end. RoNNE Heming, Form IIIa, Fairley House. WINTER SCENE THE SUN had been shining brightly over White Bear Lake. Now the day had faded to twilight, and the sun was sinking slowly behind a snow-covered mountain peak. The old fisherman stood silently on the ice, staring at the pale sunset, streaked with grey. Evening was approaching, and he realized that it would soon be too dark to fish. He sighed deeply, and shifted his stare to his fishing lines, trailing through the hole he had cut in the ice of the lake. Although he had fished since noon, his efforts were unrewarded. He stood motionless, and gazed at the bleak country around him. The mountains were covered with a thick blanket of snow, and the black, charred trunks of trees stood out sharply against the whiteness, a grim reminder of the forest fire which had swept through the mountains the previous year. Every- thing was silent and desolate. Animals no longer scampered through the forest, the birds no longer sang. Only the fish remained, unaffected by the fire. Today the old man had been unlucky. Tonight there would be nothing to eat. He sighed again as he thought of his wife, so thin and weak. A shadow seemed to pass across his face. Suddenly one of the slack lines tightened. His thin, drawn face became radiant with joy. He was now completely satisfied with the efforts he had made. He had received a great enough reward. Soon a sound of sleigh bells was heard, and a sleigh drawn by two strong horses came into sight. The fisherman ' s laughing grand-children ran down to help him. He climbed in thoughtfully, still silent. The children piled in happily, laughing and chattering excitedly, and drove the sleigh on. The sleigh was soon a small speck in the distance, and no trace of happiness and laughter remained around White Bear Lake. Diana Ardagh, Arts VI, Ross House. [22]