Daniel McIntyre Collegiate Institute - Breezes Yearbook (Winnipeg, Manitoba Canada)

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D.M.C. I. BREEZES 3 ? LOCHINVAR (Modernized Version) O 11 ’ young Loehinvar is come out of the West; Through all Manitoba his roadbug’s the best, And save fifty cents, he shekels had none. “I should worry,” quoth he, “payday will come.” With so lean a bank-book and but a Ford car, There ne’er was a sheik like young Loehinvar. He trod not the brakes, but he stepped on the gas; He saw not a car that he couldn’t pass; But ere he pulled up at the Fort Garry gate, Sweet Ellen said “yes” to a Yale graduate. For a mathematician with a Pierce Arrow car, Was to wed the fair Ellen of young Loehinvar. So boldly he entered the Fort Garry hall, Among ladies and gentlemen and waiters and all. Then spoke Ellen’s daddy, his hand on his gat, (W r hile the fellow from Yale on the Chesterfield sat), “If it’s Ellen you want, you won’t get very far, So will you clear out, my dear Loehinvar?” “I was engaged to your daughter,” young Loehinvar sighed ; “You told me to go, so I thought that I’d hide, And now I’ve come back and I’m sure feeling fine, To dance the Black Bottom, drink one cup of wine; There are co-eds in Winnipeg more pretty by far, W r ho would gladly hook up with the young Loehinvar.” The bride filled the glass, our sheik took it up; He gulped down the wine, and he let go the cup; She opened her compact and powdered her face, She tinted her cheeks and closed up the case, He turned on the radio ’ere her mother could bar; “We’ll dance the Black Bottom,” said young Loehinvar. So snappy her form and so handsome his face, They danced tip the hall at a terrible pace, While Mother did fret, and Pa tore his hair, And the College lad murmured, “that isn’t fair.” But none of them noticed the door stood ajar. And there lay the scheme of young Loehinvar. One touch of her hand, one word in her ear, When they reached the main door and Lizzie stood near, So light in the coupe the fair lady he swung, So light to the wheel beside her he sprung. “She’s mine! Let her go! To the States isn’t far. Just watch my dust,” said our young Loehinvar.

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36 D.M. C. I. BREEZES POETRY AT NOON HOUR IN ROOM 22 ' J ' RAMP, tramp, tramp! Mary has been pacing around the room now for half an hour, repeating her memorizing over and over again. Her feet keep time to the rhythm of the poetry, and she pays no attention to the comments and conversation of her fellow students. “Much have I travelled in the realms of gold—” “Say, Mary, what are you frying to do? Wear out shoe leather?” “And many goodly states and kingdoms seen. Round many western islands have I been—” “I can’t stand this any longer. I’m going down to the library.” “Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.” A moan, a stifled yawn, from one of the spectators. “Oft of one wide expanse have I been told, That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne, But did I never breathe its pure serene Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold.” “Mr.-was right when he said you’d make a good auctioneer, --—. Please be quiet.” “Then felt I like a-” “Fool! I said be quiet, didn’t I?” “When some new planet swims into his ken, Or like Cortez, when with eagle eyes He stared at the Pacific—-There! I knew I’d forgot it. But I must go on. Oh sleep, oh gentle sleep, how have I tempted thee, That thou so oft wilt weigh my eyelids down And steep my senses in forgetfulness.” Apparently thinking it was history period, Mary dozed off, and dreamed sweet dreams about the poetry of eating. The whole room was now busy memorizing. A peculiar wailing noise arose from one corner of the room. One particular gentleman seemed much depressed, his eyes gazing admir¬ ingly at the sufferer. However, he continued his task. “If music be the food of love, play on. Give me excess of it, that surfeiting The appetite may sicken, and so die. “That strain again?” The noise continued. ‘ ‘ It hath a dying fall. ” The singer rose from her seat and hurriedly left the room. The room gossips continued their discussion of poetry and poets. Had poets any inteligence? Alfred Noyes remarked that most sonnets should be destroyed at birth; should this not also apply to poets? A Poet’s Epitaph Under this crumbling heap of stones Lies a man who wrote some poems. ’Tis said his spirit often groans, For they buried his sonnets with his bones. —D. W., Room 22.

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38 D. M. C. I. BREEZES There was screeching of gears from the Net ' herby can, ’Twas an ancient ’bus, but somehow it ran. There was racing and chasing on the wide prairie, But no glimpse of Ellen did the Netherbys see. So lacking in cash and with but a Ford car, He sure was some sheik, this young Lochinvar. —R. A. Paul. THOUGHTS OF A FEMALE STUDENT WELL, here’s another day of slavery. I wish it were twelve o’clock instead of nine. I wonder what we have for the first period? Heavens, it’s algebra, and 1 haven’t got those questions done! Oh well, maybe he’ll forget to look at my answers. I hope so. Hurrah, he did forget! I wonder if my hair is alright ? I guess I ’ll comb it when he isn’t looking. Boy! There’s the bell. I wish all the periods would seem as short as that. I guess I can sleep through this period. I never did know anything about French, anyway, so it doesn’t matter. If she asks me to put any work on the board I’ll ask Dora to lend me her exercise book. Say, that’s a good looking boy over there. I wonder what his name is? I don’t remember him, he must be a new boy. He doesn’t seem to be in¬ terested in me, either. Maybe I need some more powder. Say, this is terrible lipstick. I’ll have to get some decent stuff this afternoon. There’s the bell. Well, only two more periods. It won’t be long now. And this a literature period. Why can’t they give us some snappy stories instead of this dry old book? There’s a boy in the room across the hall looking at me. I’ll pretend I don’t see him for awhile. He’s still looking at me. I must be attractive. I wonder how I look in this dress? It fits me real tight, but then that’s the way all the boys like to see them. Gee, I hope I have a good time at that party tonight. I wonder where the place is in this book? Oh I guess it doesn’t matter much because the bell will soon be ringing. There it is. Boy, but this history is dry stuff. I’ll bet it would be a sure cure for insomnia. Gee, but I feel tired. I guess it’s because I was out so late last night. But I think it was worth it, I had such a good time. I hope Bob asks me to the school dance. If Jim asks me first I’ll go with him, just to show Bob that he isn’t the only boy I know. Say, but school is hard this year. This work is killing me. I wish I could quit and go to work in an office. Maybe I could get a job as a private secretary or something. Say, I’m beginning to get hungry. I wish the bell would ring. Gee, five minutes more. I never noticed before just how good looking that history teacher is. Well, there’s the bell. Now I can eat. —L. B.