Brandon Collegiate Institute - New Era Yearbook (Brandon, Manitoba Canada)

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14 THE NEW ERA LITERARY CONTEST 1st PRIZE POEM THE BATTLE OF HASTINGS — 1066 An iron-clad knight with shield and spear, I live in an age of valour and fear, On errands I travel far and near. At our king’s command. I ride by night ard 1 ride by day On fleet-limbed steed in battle array, In bands or alone whatever the way, To honor’s pledge I stand. About the time of Alfred the Great, Rolf claimed in Northern France a state, He reared his banners, legends narrate, To a nation’s heraldy. To the Frenchman’s custom soon did they yield But their Norman heritage they kept sealed In their loyal hearts. They deeply revealed Their pride for Normandy. With William I sailed to claim a land. Where Julius Caesar had once his stand; A matchless scene, to an eye that scanned Us rowing through the bay! Duke William was a warrior brave To his dauntless deed the Normans gave; Their royal veins did they enslave. Their spirits did not sway. Entrenched near Hastings we repelled King Harold’s men from the hill that swelled With the sound of battle fierce. They held The Normans checked below. “Charge! Charge Again ' ” the order came, But the Englsh troops were hard to tame; We fought for honoir, pride and fame, And boldly charged the foe. Their defense was strong with spear and axe, No chance for Normans to relax. We advanced again to the attack, But the English guard was stout. We rallied our men and feigned retreat. Then faced about the foe to meet. The kingdom of England was at our feet As we circled them about. The sun’s red streamers mourned the day; In William’s command gay gallantry lay; “Shoot high Ibrave archers, that the arrows may Fall upon the head”. The descending shafts flew fierce and fast, One through the eye of Harold passed; Without their leader they gazed aghast At their numbers dead.

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THE NEW ERA 18 MESSAGE FROM THE PRINCIPAL Two passages from Literature come to my mind as I think of a message to give you at this time. The first is from Browning: “You’ve seen the world— The beauty and the wonder and the power, The shapes of things, their colors, lights and shades, Changes, surprises—and God made it all.” The other is from Shakespeare: “What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form, in moving, how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god! The beauty of the world! The paragon of animals!” In a world so disturbed as we have today, there is danger that we lose the faith of Browning and of Shakespeare. In fact, it would seem that we have already lost it. We must recover it. As students and through the study of the arts and sciences we must often lift our hearts in gratitude for the beauty and the wonder and the power of the uni¬ verse. And as we read the pages of biography we realize the truth of Shakespeare’s words. The world is infinitely beautiful and wonderful. Man is infinitely capable of appreciating his world; hut we are selfish. Let us go out into life determined to unfold to others the vision of a world of love and peace, possible only as we practise the Golden Rule. J. R. REID

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THE NEW ERA 15 The Royal Standard from the English gone The Battle of Hastings completely won The Norman Duke’s eyes with victory shone In a fierce and glorious way. His resolute forces in battle undowned Followed their leader to London ground Marched forth thro’ vict’ry and William Crowned The following Christmas Day. —MARY DOBUSH “HUSH OF THE WILDERNESS” In the deep-wooded heart of the northland, free, The smoky mountain caresses the cloud. That sleepily rests, in soft furrows plowed By a gentle breeze from the slumbering sea. Oh, the hush of the wilderness, the memory Of Indian summers! The berry-bush bowed With fruit unpicked! Of your heritage proud O soil of faith, 0 stilly north are we! Country of solitude profound! The silence at night Is broken only by the far, dismal hoot Of the great horned owl, and the muskrat’s splash On the shore of a lake. And from the forest of trembling might Comes the mournful serenade of a lone coyote. To the sentinel moon; while the auroral rays flash. MARY DOBUSH. FIRST PRIZE PROSE INTERLUDE I was wandering about waiting for the others to return from sas¬ katoon picking. In my wanderings I happened upon an untidy look¬ ing field where some farmer in the years past had planted roots of strawberry-rhubarb. The roots were equally spaced about ten feet each way. Some showed their broad, green leaves and some their seed stalks through the wild oats and barley which had been allowed to grow up since. On the far side of the field was an old gravel pit which had evidently served its pur¬ pose at one time, for a side track from a near-by railway ran into it, but now it was over-run with weeds, clumps of willows and yel¬ low clover. Soon tiring of looking at this abandoned scene and of trying to step on elusive grasshoppers, I struck off through a small clump of poplars finding greenish-brown unripe wild raspberries, hearing crickets chirp, and catching my battered straw hat continually on the low branches. Crossing a nar¬ row stretch of plowed field where immature corn plants showed up every hundred feet or so, I came upon a stretch of trees bordering the rim of the Assiniboine River valley. Half way down a hay-wagon trail that opened through the trees, I stopped to view the scene before me. Stretched out below were lush haylands, rows of red willow, clumps of elm and maple with here and there glimpses of the Assiniboine sparkling in the sum¬ mer sun. In the distance, the hills appeared a smoky-blue, while towering over it all was the Hydro line, the massive steel towers carrying electricity.