Charlotte High School - Witan Yearbook (Rochester, NY)

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T H K V I T A N ISCARIOT Does earth hold any rest for me? No, tho I walk so furtively. Every blade of forest grass Would cry against me as I pass, And water shrinking from the base Would drive me from its cool embrace. In trees no friendliness I find. For 1 have murdered of their kind. The angry seas that roar and roll Would fain annihilate my soul. The very flowers within my path Shrink from my feet in futile wrath. A coil of rope-no, would a tree Be burdened with a wretch like me? And after I am laid in soil My soul will hurl itself toward God, Fearless at last. Infinity Must, even, hold a place for me. Elizabeth Donoghue, 32. CLAN DESTINE Her's was a frailty too delicate To break Between a sunset and a darkness; Her’s was a paleness Invulnerable To hidden craft, They said. Vet wisdom fails When a wiser one Looks within Blue eyes, And beyond Smiles. DEPART! RE She closed her eyes Sighing........ In the stillness of the morning, In the cool gray mist of dawn. Then, In the warm after-glow of sunset, When insects fly silently and birds sing softly, She stirred. And died again. H. R. I). THE HUNT The bay of hounds and hunters’ horn Is wafted abroad on a frosty morn; The riders gather from hill and dale To seek the prize—the fox’s tail. But sly Reynard with all his art Of cunning and wile will play his part; He’ll lead them all a merry chase, The hound at heel and riders apace. He’ll lead them all thru meadow and brook. Till he comes at last to a cosy nook Deep in tho woods and out of the way Of rider and steed and hounds of prey. The hunt is over and all are gay, The fox is safe till another day. The hunter and steed away to the board To eat and drink from some hunts- man’s hoard. Burtis Dougherty, '3d. H. R. D. 28

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THE W ITA N wood and lived for a great many years there. The young man was evidently her grandson. As she watched her old-time play- mate walk up the steps, a thousand memories surged thru her mind. Lavandar and she, playing, as chil- dren. The one golden-headed and graceful, the other brown and awk- ward. Lavandar and she at school. Lavandar walking home with other girls, forgetting her, then remorseful afterwards. Lavandar dancing every dance at the church sociahle, while she sat them out miserably. Lav- andar singing in church at Christmas. Then news had come less frequent- ly. Lavandar was studying abroad. Lavandar married an Italian prince. Lavandar’s daughter married an American millionaire. Lavandar’s husband died and she returned to singing. Lavandar was now about to retire. She felt bitterly envious, but some- how, remembering their former friendship and seeing her present suc- cess, Martha Cutts was inclined to forgive her her happiness. She prob- ably would have if she had not heard a young man’s voice floating through the window of the house next door. “Who’s the old dame on the porch?” And a woman’s mellow tone answer- ing, “I didn’t see her. It’s probably old Mis. Cutts. I used to play with her daughter, Martha. She’s probably a buxom matron now.” And two laughs, one old and one young, blending in the still night more dearly than the people knew. Martha got up and walked into her house. She went upstairs, closed the windows, said her prayers and gave the cat a vicious kick. Elizabeth Donoghue, 32. REVENGE Jackson stared, blinked and stared again, finally convinced. Sitting just a few feet from the orchestra stand was Jane Smith, whose ancestors had owned his ancestors, whose father had been his master, and, the girl who had struck him a smart blow across the face with her riding whip because her horse had been hurt while he was in Jackson’s care. Because of this he had lost his job at Smith’s mansion and had been driven from home. Jack- son had vowed that some clay he would get his revenge—at last his chance had come. Jackson was the orchestra leader of the Apollo Night Club and it was time for the next dance. He would have? his revenge now because Jane was rising to dance. He conducted the orchestra faster and Jane and the other dancers danced faster. Longer and faster the orchestra played. The dancers were beginning to sway craz- ily and Jane was beginning to look t rod and pale. Still the orchestra played. I here was a sudden commotion—a woman had fainted—Jane was being carried from the room. Jackson's arms fell exhausted to his sides and those who were not too weak ap- plauded. It had been a great dance, but greater still Jackson had had his revenge—Jane had been his slave for at least one dance! Helen Lanignn, ’32 THE AWAKENING Everything lay clothed in silence and in darkness. Not even a breath stirred the trees, or bowed the flowers, or bent the reeds. The stillness and the loneliness seemed to mock me. The oppressing quiet seemed to smother me like the intense calm be- fore a sudden summer storm. All nature held its breath awaiting the approach of dawn. As night withdrew her blankets of dark and the light crept slowly hack into the sky, so peace and understand- ing seemed to pass from the world above to the world below. The trees lifted their heads to the breeze; the flowers raised their faces to be kissed by the ardent morn; and the reeds bowed in salutation to the first faint glimmer of the dawn. Slowly, steadily, the light grew till only a grey veil covered the sky. Then, suddenly the veil was rent and the (Continued on Page 41) 27

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T H E W I T A N JEALOUSY A seething rush of feeling; Blotting out reason; A mist o'er mind; Blackness. An insatiable desire To rend, to tear, to rip The thing that caused it all: Restraint. A vision of blasted hopes, A slag pile of despair Rises, towers, topples: And covers light. O. Judd. 31. VISION “Friend 1 quoth Ammon, “thy gaze is mournful, Yet, on the world thy glance is scorn- ful And you sigh As if in longing For some unknown region lying Far beyond the eastern sky. Whence come you Pnat you seem so like the unrequited, lover, Who is wont to haunt and hover ’Bout the sources of his choler; Whose soul no drug can purge, But, directed by some elemental urge Only walks and vaguely shudders. Why does your eye so raptly turn On that which I discern To be but a lone bird wheeling ’Neath the fair aeolian ceiling Of the sky? (Thv raiment were not kingly. Were it taken singly. Yet, in its many folds It seems A newer grace to hold, Since it is worn by thee). The shadows soft are falling And the voice of eve is calling; Let us go Ere ebon night her sable curtain Draweth low. Why speak you not You silent figure? Are thy senses tightly bound That you perceive not, or vet, In silence nurse thy wound? What sayest thou......... Gone! (Sun-madness, this, Purveyor of Life And betraying by kiss). Kingly he seemed......... Diaphonous ....... vague, A vision.........hut then— What this? On the rock! “The Fisher of Men. G. N. W. We get to school at eight each morn, In Winter, Spring and Fall, And study hard, with a hope forlorn And wait for vacation call. We strive each day and do our best Our lessons for to’learn, And during our vacation For our classroom pals we yearn. As we go on another year, For knowledge we shall strive, So you had better keep an eye on The Class of 35. And as through life we go along, With a laugh, a tear, or sigh, The happiest days of all of them Were spent in Charlotte High. Robert Godfrey. T8A-2. REMINISCENCE The happiest hours we spend Are not those we regret. And yet, They fill us with discontent For’our present state. Memories of laughter and pale chiffon And the warmth of sunlight's gleam- ing .... How often they fill the train of thought— Giving rise to fruitless dreaming. (Actuality has its sublety To woo the vagrant mind. But, what is the efficacy Of a changing wind? I Ah to but find the median Twixt having and wanting to have. To know the happiness of the past And find it anew—today. G. N. W. 29