Clifton High School - Rotunda Yearbook (Clifton, NJ)

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY 192(4 SAD LITTLE LAKE Sad little lake, let us be friends! I too am desolate; I too would fain around thy bends, In silence meditate. Why are thy waters calm and still. Admiring the blue sky. Where shining cloudlets, like thy rill, Are drifting softly by? Thou art my friend, O little mere, To help me in my woes; At sight of your deep rill so clear, With it my trouble goes. Henry Eoarian, June ’28. IF WINTER COMES What will you do, little bird, If winter comes unseen, unheard? Cold and bleak the frost tries best To kill your fledglings in their nest? What will you do, trees so tall, If winter comes along with fall? Will you stand and sadly weep While fiercely round you cold winds sweep? What will you do pretty flower, If winter comes, so mean and dour? Will you droop and die away Or will you live until next May? Howard Kelley, June ’28. THE LONE LEAF A lone leaf now remains At the crest of the poplar. Forsaken by its comrades. It quivers with the winds And is bowed by the rains; But yet it is unconquered. Martha Scacciaferro, Feb. ’28. THE NANCY LEE Proudly rode the gallant clipper, O’er the raging main. Winds were howling round about her. Thru the storm she came. Great white sheet of canvas spreading. Caught the furious gale, .Sailors working with the rigging. Tried to save the sail. So the tempest in its fierceness Capped the billows white, Lightning flashing thru the darkness Showed the furious night. Oft the turbulent heavens echoed With the thunders’ peal And the storm tossed vessel shuddered Righting to her keel. All night long she battled onward, Plunging thru the sea. Till at length she turned her homeward Stalwart ship was she! Verna Smith, June ’28. NATURES MUSIC A crash and roar of waves at night Sounds like earth’s mightiest chords A bird on high with song so bright Sweet melody affords. The wind that whispers in the trees, The swiftly running brooks. These add such lovely harmonies, In all earth’s shady nooks. E. Gemeinhardt, June ’28. PAGE TWENTY-ONE

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY 1928 covered. Therefore we have decided to take counsel this night as to what must be done. George, (and he turned slightly toward his companion, a large man with florid features), and 1 have decided to rest upon your judgment. Speak, gentlemen.” No one, however, had a practical suggestion, and at last he turned impatiently to the minis- ter, who had remained quiet. “And you?” he cried. The minister shook his head. “We may be able to conceal you in our houses, but still if we were betrayed—” he paused, and then his face brightened. “At least you are safe for the moment,” he cried. “Tomorrow is Sunday. We are forbidden by the law of the colony to per- form menial work on the Sabbath, and therefore no one can row in from the ship. We have one more day.” Next morning Mr. Davenport mounted the pulpit, and after sweeping his stern glance over the congregation he gave out the text for the morning: Isaiah XVI. 3-4: “Hide the outcast; betray not the fugitives. Let mine outcasts dwell with thee—” The congregation sat stiff-backed throughout the sermon. They understood just whom the min- ister meant loosely hidden in the guise of Satan, and they knew who were “the avenging swords of Jehovah.” As Deacon Fairlea left the church he lifted his eyes up to the massive cliff called West Rock that loomed over the town. A sudden thought struck him and turning back, to the astonish- ment of both wife and daughter, he committed the unpardonable sin of running on the Sabbath. The Reverend Davenport, leaving the church, beheld with amazement and anger the approach of his deacon. “Deacon Fairlea,” he said in the iciest of tones, “what means this unseemly—” “Oh,” cried the puffing deacon, “the—cave, the cave—on the rock—the judges—I—” He pulled himself up before the preacher, who looked at him with dawning apprehension. “The cave—the judges. I understand. Come, let us make haste,” and he hurried to his home. Meanwhile, in the ship’s cabin, around a table sat the king’s commissioners. “You know,” said one, as he filled his glass with Madeira vintage '49, “I don’t like the idea of waiting here. Why not go ashore? This is the reign of King Charles, not “Old Noll.” “Well,” said the other, “rest assured. What could they do for those regicides, anyway? If they hid them in their homes, we would find them easily. If they went back into the woods they’d get scalped, and if they went to some other colony they’d get arrested, because all the colonies are being watched just to make sure. To go on Sunday would only make more ill will. Besides it’s comfortable here. If we landed they’d make us listen to a couple of those four- hour sermons.” And Lee allowed his glance to wander around the cozy cabin and then back to his glass half full of sparkling Madeira. “Here we stay,” he decided. “You are my supe- rior, but—” At dusk while the people were gathered in church, before Deacon Fairlea’s house appeared a group of four persons. The two judges, a young man, and a girl. The last two bore several large bundles. “There is but one path up the rock, Reverend Sirs,” said the girl, and few know of it. It is covered by bushes and trees the whole way. There is no danger of being seen even in day- light.” “Then let us start at once,” said Whalley, “a misstep on the rock, and—” he shuddered. Within the cave on top of the rock the two young people lingered to kindle a fire and to make the gloomy pile of rocks as comfortable as possible. “One of us will return as soon as we may,” said the girl. The two nodded and went outside with them. They stood there in the entrance of a cave and watched ’til darkness enveloped the others. The next day the king’s officers landed on the pier. There stood Deacon Fairlea. “In the King’s Name,” said the officer, drawing forth a paper from his pocket and approaching the Deacon. “The way to the home of Mr. Daven- port.” “I will bring you thither.” Before the minister’s house the man broke the seals of the paper and read the proclama- tion to the effect that the men, namely William Goffe and Edward Whalley, who did pass sen- tence on the fate of Charles I, King of England, Scotland and Wales, were traitors, and as such should and must be delivered up to justice, and whosoever gave them food or shelter was a traitor. The reader looked up into the calm face of the minister. “Can you tell me the whereabouts of these traitors?” he finally said. “You may search the houses of the town,” said the minister. “But those men are not therein.” The officer smiled to himself and gave his or- ders. But when, after careful search, nothing was found he began to bluster and threaten. “I do not choose to listen to such words,” said the minister. “Deacon, escort this man out.” And somehow or other he found himself in the street. Eleanor Pedersen, June ’28. PAGE TWENTY

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THE REFLECTOR CLIFTON HIGH SCHOOL FEBRUARY 1928 A LITTLE CHIPPY Little chippy in that tree, What’s your thought of me? Don’t you think the folk down here Act so very queer? People get so sad and blue And forget to grin. Don’t they know that all to do Is buck up and win? Betty Voolar, June ’28. SUNSET AND MOON RISE A brilliant sun In the gaudy sky, A brilliant sun Knowing its end is nigh, A brilliant sun Sinking slowly down Glares with a tiery frown. For a full white moon With a ghastly face, A full white moon With a sly grimace, A full white moon In the shadowy sky Will conquer, by and by. The brilliant sun. Nearly vanished quite, (For the brilliant sun Cannot rule at night,) The brilliant sun In its beaten dread Turns the heavens to vivid red. The white moon jeers At the furious sun. The white moon jeers And enjoys the fun. The white moon rises now more high In the shadowy, buried sky. The sun dies out In a vast cloud spray. The sun dies out With the dying day The sun dies out in an angry glow. For it hates to have to go. The full white moon Victorious The full white moon In the darkness clear Shedding a soft and silvery light. Starts its journey thru the night. Dorothy Kkouse, June '29. THE RIVER AT NIGHT The sky though overcast with clouds That hide the silv’rv moon like shrouds. With shadowed moonlight is a-glow; Each wavelet of the river shines. And through the branches of the pines, And birches, breezes gently blow. The waters smoothly onward flow. And mong the reeds that in them grow. They ripple tones of music clear; From o’er the hills and fields of wheat. Comes flowers’ fragrance, soft and sweet. Some silent night bird hovers near. Above the stream and nearby hill A lonely star gleams, bright and still. And gazes on its own reflection; Man fails to note this spot of joys. So far is it from cities noise. For Nature’s folk, ’tis God’s selection. Dorothy Smith, June ’28. AUTUMN LEAVES Swirling fantastically to the ground Like dryads clad in bright hues, The autumn leaves fall. Dancing merrily to their death. To their resting places on the earth The autumn leaves fall. Soon the trees, once laden with Color, will be barren; as The autumn leaves fall. Soon the spirits of Indian summer Will fade and as the wind blows The autumn leaves fall. Martha Scacciaeerro, Feb. ’28. PAGE TWENTY-TWO