Branksome Hall - Slogan Yearbook (Toronto, Ontario Canada)

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20 The; Branksome: Si ogan Lugn Huilar Sjon (The Lake Lay Calm — from the Swedish.) O ' er the lake the sun is dying On the ear there steals a murmur, Still the waters, blue and deep, Oer the lake the sun-rays flare, And the birds no longer crying To the mountain the sound rises From the boughs their vigils keep, Through the calm, cool evening air. Effort and the vain world ' s sighing Listen! now! it is the flowers Shackled lie by strength of sleep. Offering up their evening prayer. Darkness falls, the moon-beams stream- ing, On the lake, reflect and shine, From the sky, so hope is beaming On the hearts that grieve and pine, Promised rest is brightly gleaming To such hearts, O men as thine! Translation— HELEN ANDERSON. Versification — ORA M. FORSTER. Form IV B. H. PFEIL. Life ' s Plan Deep down within the heart of man There is in every one, a plan, To seek, to gain, to find; The constant thought in every mind. What thoughts are those within the car- dinal ' s breast. That sings so merrily above yon nestT To live, to love, to fly? Is that the meaning of the bird ' s bright eye? And happy childhood, what of it? What name that we could give would fit! To play, to laugh, to cry; Dreaming dreams of bye and bye. CHARLOTTE BISHOP.

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The Branksome; Slogan 19 My Trip to the Belgian Battlefields Two years ago I motored through Belgium with the object of visiting the battlefields for which, more than any other country, Belgium is famous. Various wars in different periods of history have left their marks on this brave little country. It was in Belgium on the field of Waterloo that Napoleon fought and lost his great battle against the Duke of Wel- lington. From the summit of the hand- made mountain which marks this historic spot, one can view the sites of many battlefields scattered over the country for miles around. Everywhere one sees the desolation re- maining from the Great War — ruins of strongholds, villages, towns and cities, where, as at Ypres, hardly a brick re- mains in its former place. Even the beautiful cathedrals have been battered to the ground by merciless enemies. Driving through Belgium we would come, every two or three miles, upon a lonely little grave-yard, with its rows of wooden crosses between which bloomed numberless red poppies dancing mournfully in the breeze. These grave-yards told more of the sad story of the war than any of the battlefields. Some of the most interesting places we visited were the battlefields near Bruges. Here one could walk for some miles in the trenches, which twisted and turned, sometimes covered in and some- times open. Occasionally jone would come to one of the little square rooms which were occupied by the oflicers. Nearby these trenches stood small stone huts, with walls and roofs made of solid stone, but even these could not withstand the deadly cannon-balls of the Germans, and huge gaping apertures in the masonry are still visible. Stand- ing in one of these, even though all was still and quiet outside, one could feel some of the dread which must have lurked in the hearts of the brave soldiers awaiting death there, years before, from the roaring guns around them. The villages near were in a similar condition of ruin, only the bare and crumbling walls standing amid desola- tion and over-grown shrubbery, to tell us where many happy homes once stood. Not far from Bruges, but on the coast at Zeebruges, the famous Mole, a gigan- tic structure, built by the Germans, juts out over the sea. This was taken by the British in 1915, by an ingenious plan, but at the cost of many lives. Some distance from Zeebruges stands Little Bertha, a German gun, cap- tured by the Allies in 1918. It is so huge that it would barely fit inside a large theatre, and is built in a deep pit. It is concealed by a hillock covered with trees and shrubbery, but its great can- non-balls can play havoc with a target thirty miles distant. The city of Ypres, situated on the river Yzer, suffered many sieges during the four years from 1914 to 1918; it was all battered down then, although much has since been restored. In this city is to be seen a panorama which illustrates vividly the battle of the Yzer. One particularly interesting thing we saw, was the statue of Canada. This is a tall, stone monument in memory of the brave and patriotic Canadian sol- diers who fell in the World War. On a high pedestal stands a Canadian war- rior in his army overcoat, uniform and cap, he leans on his rifle, with his head bowed in prayer; a simple, but beauti- ful memorial of gallant Canadian deeds. CAROLINE BULL.

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The Branksome Slogan 21 Hoof-Beats The bridge spanning the moat was lowered with a clang! A tall, handsome youth, clad in black armour and mount- ed on a black horse, rode forth, as the blare of trumpets sounded his departure. He was in a retrospective mood, this Georges Savary, as he rode away between the smiling fields and stately woodlands. His journey led him to the castle of an uncle, in whose service he had won much favour. The morning breeze tossing the golden curls which fell from under his black helmet, also stirred the poplar leaves to merriment, and carressed the nodding daisies by the wayside. The broad lands of sunny Normandy lay peacefully sleeping under the azure skies of an early May, and upon the blue dis- tances, which always inspired in Georges a vague longing, he set his eyes and fell into a muse. While riding along through a dense forest, Georges ' attention was arrested by a man lying near the road and moan- ing as if in great pain. Thinking that the unfortunate man had been the victim of robbers, and desiring to render aid, Georges dismounted and led his horse over to where the wounded man lay