College of William and Mary - Colonial Echo Yearbook (Williamsburg, VA)

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Senior Cla0S poem I ' was in tlie iiutiiiMii iUivn. wlicii suiuiiici ' s breeze lind |i:i-.l — Kaeli moriiiiig ' s tiew took on its jeweled sparkliiif; furiii. For Nature, then so weary with her wi ' ii;ht of ureen. Was iiently shifting oti ' her chaiijiinf; niU ' . when to tin- sacred spot I ' oiir years afjo we eanie. From many elimes ]ierelianee we ' ve wandered here. From liomes all tilled with joy, and peace, and love. Where fondest reeolleetion lingers as some ;ohh n dream. And thouglds of fair and dearer face.s make ns live once more ' I ' liose ne ' er for etfnl days of childhood ' s fnn and fame. But time Hows swiftly on: the hrook that wound its course too slow Xow sweeps a mighty current, bearing m its tosseil hosom Onr frail and fragile harks; and soon, ah! soon amid Time ' s unrelenting wa ie, adrift at life ' s stern helm we ' ll he. ' I ' o steer our conr.se in heavend)orn hreezes to some farther -hore. To steer our course! and wiiithcr is t Iutc found a iinlile guiile. Whose strength and valor. e nirage. hope. :iiid life iti-piriiii: love .Are large enough for all ' ; Within, andiitiin ' - niic I ai!- in. Humanity ' s call iloth echo at the dci r of every honest heirl. And Ihu- M ' part, in life ' s sweet mru ' ning stuiligld. for a nohlpr work. ' t to these sacred portals, sacred ivy-mantled walls. We turn to east a longing. lingering, last farewidl. l!ut ere no more these halls we tread, or sit heneatli these elms — When in the rush of life, let ' s steal a moment tree fnnn care. And look on mianories ' wall, and li i ' aijaiii in I hc-c- lair days, ( ' r,AS,s l ' (U-.r, 28

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liiiiv of mil- urij iiial iiniiilirr li;i(l ilisa|)|ic:ircil, (Hily a I ' cw ruiliaiiiiug to will ihc lidiiiirs that were yel liefovc lis. ' I ' liis decrease in mir luiiiibers (lid iiol, discdiiragc us, but we weiil toi-ward. led (Hi hy an insaiiaMe aiiihilimi to accomplish greater things. We have passed thrmigli the Idwer stages (d ' enllegt ' life. Each year some (d ' o ir mtiulier ha i ' h(dd pcisitimis (d ' trust and honor from instructors in the iiistitiitiiiu and editors of all college pnhlieations to leaders of Tammany Hall. When the year 190!) dawned upon iis, we again realized our long cherished aiiiliilioii, for it vas then llial we lieeaine nieiiihers of the Senior Class, which to the iiiidergradnale seems the acme oi ' all existence. JSow that we have reached that shining goal, w do not look lia(d upon the rounds of the ladder and scorn the liase degrees hy wliich we did ascend. IJut as we stand here to receive, at the hands (d ' oiir Alma Mater, our long c ' o -eted honor, we can liui look upon tlie lower classmates with a feeling of infinite compassion and sympathy, ' i ' here is nothing like being a Senior; all honors of the yophomore and Junior fade into insignificance when compared with the triumphs of the dignified Seniors. As We look lia(d o er the pa l I ' our years, we find that our paths ha ' e not 1)een without their thorns; we haxc had our pains, our sorrow.s and our nioineiits of despair. Yet, never faltering, we fought on, feeling that low aim, not fail- ure, is crime. That our aim was high is shown by the deterniination with which we have labored; that we lia ' e not failed is left for you to judge. The gate oi our Alma J later ni.iw stainls ajar! As we pass through, there c(jnies a feeling of joy mingled with sen-row. Our college career is ended; our class has graduated; to-morrow we shall eiiier ii|ioii the duties of life in reality, for— ■■ ' i ' litMi ' a oici. ynii (;uinnt liear. Wliich says we must nut stay, We see a liaiul you cannot see, Wliich beckons us away. Answering this call, Fellow Classmen, may we go forth realizing the great responsibility resting upon us, and in the words of the poet, l ook not niouriifuUy into The Past. H cuiiics not back again. Wisely iiii|inive the Present. It is thine. (Ic. forth 1 1 ' t Ihc Shadnwy t ' liluic williout fear, And with a in. inly lic.irl. Historian.

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I ml I In II Kitiil III! Ill hi III. ' 11 r liiin ilniiiiii il a iliriiiii. iiinl I Inn is iin mir In iiili riiril it. ' Ai;iSI. (i (iiiictlv, I slid iuid uiy cual. iind stole sdflly ilnwu llic stairs. icaxiiiL; my rduinnialc In his dreams. W ' iiilcr liad iinl yet fled, Imt it was an ideal s|iriiiii iiiiilil : the weallier was warm ami iln ' aii ' filled with I he eric ' kot ' s chir])iiii;s. itriaht rays from the iiiooii, stealiiiii throiiiih the hranrhes of the trees, riistlinii- softly ill the iiiii ' lit hreezp. illumined the (•ain])iis with a sih ' ery liiilit, and 1 eould see the faint ontliiie of the old statne. IJehind this, the eollei;c Imildiiii;, with its eo ' eriiii; ' of i y, loomed n|i massive ami dark. Soinethinii ' whispered that this was the ]ihi( ' e to find a solution of the knotty iiiv.Ailcm that confronted me. ivnottv in ' olilom, did T sav Vea, verily; for