Berea High School - Prima Luce Yearbook (Berea, NC)

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PRIM A LUCE Golden Gems SOLITUDE To sit on rocks, to muse o’er flood and fell, To slowly trace the forest’s shady scene, Where things that own not man’s dominion dwell, And mortal foot hath ne’er or rarely been ; To climb the trackless mountain all unseen With the wild flock that never needs a fold ; Alone o’er steeps and foaming falls to lean ; This is not solitude ; ’tis but to hold Converse with Nature’s charms, and view her stores unroll’d. But ’midst the crowd, the hum, the shock of men, To hear, to see, to feel, and to possess, And roam along, the world’s tired denizen, With none who bless us, none whom we can bless, Minions of splendor shrinking from distress ! None that, with kindred consciousness endued, If we were not, would seem to smile the less Of all that flatter’d, follow’d, sought, and sued; This is to be alone ; this, this is solitude ! — Lord. Byron. THE LAKE OF THE DISMAL SWAMP “They tell of a young man who lost his mind upon the death of a girl he loved, and who, suddenly disappearing from his friends, was never afterwards heard of. As he had frequently said, in his ravings, that the girl was not dead, but gone to the Dismal Swamp, it is supposed he had wandered into that dreary wilderness, and had died of hunger, or been lost in some of its dreadful morasses.” — Anon. “They made her a grave too cold and damp, For a soul so warm and true; And she’s gone to the Lake of the Dismal Swamp, Where, all night long, by a firefly lamp, She paddles her white canoe. “And her firefly lamp I soon shall see, And her paddle I soon shall hear ; Long and loving our life shall be, And I’ll hide the maid in a cypress tree, When the footsteps of death is near.” [ Page 96 ]

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“Forbear, my friend, to cut down so precious a tree ; but rather give me a twig of it to plant by my house, and I will repay you with much money.” Pales assented, and thus, by selling each year many twigs, became the richest man in Greece. : 0 : Talking of Wills : Recently Charles Vance Miller, a Canadian lawyer, sportsman, and multi- millionaire, died. All doubt about his sense of humor was dissipated by the follow- ing provisions in his will which was recently probated : A bequest of seven hundred thousand dollars worth of O’Keefe Brewery Stock to seven prominent Methodist ministers on condition that they draw the divi- dends and participate in the management of the brewery for ten years. Miller said he desired to determine “whether their avarice for money is greater than their principles.” A bequest of twenty-five thousand dollars worth of Ontario Jockey Club Stock to three men bitterly opposed to racing — The Rev. Ben Spence, leader of the Prohibition Union ; W. E. Rayne, former Attorney-General ; and Newton Ros- well, former privy counsellor — also on condition that they draw the dividends. A third bequest of unusual interest was one of two million to the woman who became the mother of the most children in Ontario until October 31, 1935 — watch out for twins, PETE and REPEAT. : 0 : SALESMANSHIP IS RIGHT During the boom in Florida I wandered down there more for curiosity than for anything else. I thought I would see how land was selling and I mentioned about buying a house. I soon found that everything in town was for sale, even including the Post Office. Accidentally I ran across a real estate agent, a clever real estate agent, who was then connected with a land promotion company. He took me over the town in his car. In the course of our conversation, he said : “You know this is the healthiest place in the world, people here never get sick, nor do they ever die here.” A little farther down the street of the village I saw a sign hanging out, which read: “]. D. Mulligan, M. D.” “What’s that?” I said, “I thought you said people never get sick here.” “So I did,” my companion replied. “He’s a new comer ; he won’t last long. He doesn’t know what he is up against.” A moment later we met a long line of cars, and I uttered, “What’s this! A funeral procession?” The agent looked sad and solemn and did not speak for a full minute, and then in a low serious tone of voice as if speaking to himself he uttered, “Too bad, too bad, the poor old undertaker has starved to death.” [ Pace 95 ]

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P R T M A T I] f F I JTv 1 i V 1. v i La V I Away to the Dismal Swamp he speeds : — His path was rugged and sore, Through tangled juniper, beds of reeds, Through many a fen, where the serpent feeds, And man never trod before. And when on the earth he sunk to sleep, If slumber his eyelids knew, He lay where the deadly vine doth weep Its venomous tear and nightly steep The flesh with blistering dew ! And near him the she-wolf stirr’d the brake, And the copper-snake breathed in his ear, Till he starting cried, from his dream awake, “Oh, when shall I see the dusky lake, And the white canoe of my dear ?” He saw the lake, and a meteor bright Quick over its surface play’d. — “Welcome,” he said, “my dear one’s light !” And the dim shore echoed, for many a night, The name of the death-cold maid ; Till he hollow’d a boat of the birchen bark, Which carried him off from shore ; Far, far he follow’d the meteor spark ; The wind was high, and the clouds were dark, And the boat returned no more. But oft, from the Indian hunter’s camp, This lover and maid so true Are seen at the hour of midnight damp To cross the lake by a firefly lamp, And paddle their white canoe ! — Moore. INDIRECTION Fair are the flowers and the children, but their subtle suggestion is fairer; Rare is the rose-burst of dawn, hut the sceret that clasps it is rarer ; Sweet the exultance of song, but the strain that precedes it is sweeter ; And never was poem yet writ, but the meaning outmastered the meter. Never a daisy that grows, but a mystery guideth the growing; Never a river that flows, but a majesty scepter the flowing; Never a Shakespeare that soared, but a stronger than he did infold him; Nor ever a prophet foretells, but a mightier seer hath foretold him.