Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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30 The Branksome Slogan The Haunted Island A story-book isle in a sapphire sea Lies still, ' neath a tropical moon; With date-palms and cocoa-trees, slen- der and tall, O ' erlooking a lonely lagoon. The fabulous treasure hid deep ' neath its sands Is lying forgotten, ' tis said; The treasure-chests bulging with dia- monds and gold Of swash-buckling rogues, long since dead. Perhaps, even now, when the sun has gone dawn, A phantom-ship sails from the west. And moves like a dream o ' er the lumi- nous sea, Till, in the lagoon, comes to rest. Then shadowy forms flit along the dim beach. Beneath the moon ' s silvery rays; Revisiting haunts that they loved and knew well. In long ago pirating days. As soon as the dawn sends its light o ' er the world. The ghost-ship and phantoms are gone; And little waves lap on the glistening shore To comfort the sands left alone. The story-book isle in the sapphire sea, Lies sad ' neath the tropical sky; With date-palms a-quiver and bright- feathered birds. That in ' mongst the green leaves flash by. M. BOYD, Form III. Class Officers.

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The Branksome Slogan 29 (Zone Grey ' s Version.) With apologies. Out in the patio lay Nell, taking her customary afternoon siesta. Watching her with avaricious eyes stood Pete Halloway, his handsome, insolent jfigure slouching against a palm tree. He smoked idly but with a suggestion of uneasinesss. With a gesture of impatience he flung the cigarette away and strode toward the hammock .where the girl lay. Nell stirred and Pete drew back into the shadow. The girl opened her eyes, blue as sapphires, and glanced sleepily about the patio. Pete held himself back with an effort, but his slight movement caused Nell to glance around. Nell started violently and turned dead white. Pete Halloway, she said, with biting sarcasm, I told you I never wanted to see you again. What arc you doing here? You know perfectly well, .was the low answer. You know perfectly well that I ' m a man who does not take ' no ' for his answer. Nell started towards the house. No, you don ' t, said Halloway, striding forward and seizing her in a rough grasp. If you yell, I ' ll throttle you, he said, in a low, tense voice. The door onto the patio opened and Dick Strong stepped out, his usually good-natured face white with anger. Pete ' s hand .went to his hip. What are you doing here, Pete Halloway? Strong asked, sharply — Oh, it ' s no use telling a lie. I saw you insulting Miss Raymond. I should think you ' d be ashamed to show up around here after what happened last night! . Who stole Old Man Raymond ' s money? Pete asked, smoothly, an evil grin on his face. That ' s a lie and you know it, Dick flashed back, and anyway the money has been found on one of your men. Pete ' s face changed to a sickly yellow. He pulled out his revolver and fired. But the bullet buried itself deep in the wood above Dick ' s head, for Nell had sprung forward and knocked the weapon from Pete ' s hand as he fired. I ' ll give you ten to beat it, said Dick, and if your dirty face is not out of sight by then, I ' ll shoot! Pete turned and fled, tripping into the very arms of two mounted policemen who appeared around a corner. Well, thank heaven, I didn ' t have to kill the poor devil, Dick said, as his arm slipped around Nell ' s waist. M. BOYD, III A.

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The Branksome Slogan 31 Japanese Poetry T is far easier to describe what Japanese poetry is not than what it actually is. To begin with, there are no Japanese epics such as the Iliad and Odyssey, the Kalevala and the Mahabharata, and our phrase Naganta ( long poetry ) is to you a misnomer for we have no really long poems; Philosophy, religion, satire are not themes for poets, they sometimes even go so far as to consider war no fit subject for a song. Where, then, are the charm and wonder of Japan ' s poems? The real genius is to be found in the Tanka, a poem of five lines or phrases and thi-t7- one syllables. In many ways the Tanka shows far more limitations than an Eng- lish sonnet, and it is surprising what music and sentiment are expressed within these limits. The Tanka is brief in form, but it frequently suggests, with haunting insistence, that the poem really has no end, when imagination seizes it and turns it into a thousand thousand lines. Those who know the Hiyaku-nin- isshui ( Single verses by a hundred poets ), written before the time of the Norman Conquest, will understand that much of the old Japanese poetry de- pended upon the dexterous punning and of the use of pivot words. This was practised not with the idea of laughter, but rather with the idea of winning quiet admiration for a subtle and clever verbal ornament. No translation can do full justice to this phase of Japanese poetry; but the following Tanka by Yasuhide Bunya may give some idea of word play: The mountain wind in autumn time Is well called hurricane; It hurries canes and twigs along, And whirls them o ' er the plain To scatter them again. The cleverness of this verse lies in the fact that yama-kaze ( mountain wind ) is .written with two characters. When these characters are combined they form the word arashi ( hurricane ). But clever as the pivot words are, they are used but sparingly by the poets of the classical periods. Most distinguished are those describing some mood, some scene from nature, for our poets are essentially nature poets. Here, for instance, is the Japanese Na- tional Anthem, literally rendered in Eng- lish: May our lord ' s empire live through a thousand ages, till tiny pebbles grow into giant boulders covered with emerald mosses. It is based on an ancient song, Kokinshu, and, like all an- cient songs in praise of kingship, ex- presses a desire for an emperor whose very descent from the sun shall live to rule past mortal reckoning. There is a sym- bolic meaning attached to rocks and stones, closely associated to Buddhism. It is the nature poems of Japan that are exceedingly beautiful, those describ- ing plum and cherry blossoms, moon- light on a river, the flight of a heron, the murmuring song of the blue pine, or the white foam waves. The best of the poems are touched with pathos. Cold as the wind of early spring. Chilling the birds that lie sheathed In their brown armour with its sting; — And the bare branches .withering — So seems the human heart to me! Cold as March wind ' s bitterness: I am alone, none come to see Or cheer me in these days of stress. (Translation from Japanese) MOMIJI UBUKATA.