Glebe Collegiate Institute - Lux Glebana Yearbook (Ottawa, Ontario Canada)

Page 38 text:

A Fire in the Forest b Keitlfliraser HE GLOWING sun dropped, inch by inch, behind the smoky hills. Purple and gold banners stretched across the daiikening sky, heralding the approach of nig it. Soon only a red glow Hooded the sky in the west, as evening dropped quietly over the woods. A cool breeze crept among the trees, rustling a dry leaf or ruffiing the downy feathers of tiny birds huddled on a branch with little round heads tucked beneath soft wings. High in the indigo heavens, a hundred million sparkling stars shone tiny lamps upon the sleeping world. The moon sailed out from its refuge behind a cloud, and flooded the quiet glades with a silver glow. Deep, mysterious shadows lay in the bushes and trees, and night fell upon the forest. A gaunt moss-covered rock lay deep in rank grass in the middle of a clearing. A shadow cast by a stately spruce fell across part of it, the rest lay bathed in the moon- g ow. A snake-like flash of brown appeared on the rock. It paused for a moment, peering about with quick jerks of its head, blood- red eyes darting fiercely in all directions. It seemed uneasy. Then, in a moment, the rock lay bare again, and the hunting weasel leaped away in search of prey. His place was soon occupied by another animal, his near-cousin, the sable marten. Larger, but not a whit more blood-thirsty, the beautiful creature poised on the rock in the moon- light. His rich smooth coat blended with his surroundings as he, too, tested the air uneasily. Then, like a Wraith, he silently followed the weasel in a graceful bound. A sharp-faced red fox slipped into the clearing, looked back a moment in the direction from whence he had come, then hurried on into the woods. Unrest pervaded the forest. A rabbit dashed from cover, and a great owl swooped and missed. Voicing a scream of rage, the great bird soared away through the trees. Another rabbit paused by the rock, then fled with long bounds as a ghostly form landed upon the rock above. The Canada lynx paid no attention. His fierce yellow eyes contin- ually glanced toward the darkness in the east-a darkness tinged with a strange red Page 36 glow. The lynx's tufted ears quivered, his sensitive nose rose high while he tested the breeze. As he bounded off on big, noiseless pads, a lordly buck leaped into the clearing. Not pausing in his stride, the buck gave a startled snort as the scent of the lynx struck him. then he rose again as if on coiled springs, and cleared the bushes on the other side of the glade. A carelessly dropped match had turned the bush to the east into a raging inferno. Fanned by a stiff breeze, the crackling flames were swept through the panic- stricken forest. The air grew hot and sultry, sparks rose in the black night and were whisked 'before the fiames into dry, inflammable timber. Flaming twigs drop- ped into the clearing and soon the dry grass, having felt no rain for a fortnight, was ablaze. Flames rushed up a dead cedar with a crackling rush, attacked the neigh- bouring trees and grimly drove the animals and birds toward the lake. Above this primeval tragedy, the moon cast a pale light through the heavy pall of smoke. From the shore of the lake, a long sand bar stretched into the deep water. Stumps and half-submerged logs lay across it, and on these were already perched countless squirrels, chipmunks, groundhogs and other small denizens of the forest who had been driven to this place of refuge by the fire. A dozen deer stood up to their Withers in the water, surveying the larger occupants of the sand bar anxiously. A bull moose plunged out of the crackling timber and splashed clumsily into the water. His great hoofs wrought unintentional havoc among the swimming rabbits. There was a splash as a fat black bear, his fur smoking in several places, reached the water. The deer, hud- dled together, watched his progress nervously but Bruin paid no attention to them. A long, sleek, gray form bounded from the shore and landed on a bobbing log. The log promptly submerged and the puma snarled angrily as he swam to a big stump and crawled out of the water. A hissing lynx held the top of the stump valiantly till the bigger cat had almost reached him, then the lynx hurriedly vacated the perch. The puma paid no attention to his neigh- bours but set to work licking himself dry. Every now and then, as a burning branch hissed when it struck the water, he lifted his head, ears laid back, and snarled. The killer's natural instincts were deadened by this common enemy. As morning came, and the fire along the shore burned itself out, the fear of the carnivora abated somewhat. The lesser LUX GLEBANA

Page 37 text:

The Forge at Night At noon The Forge is dusty in the sun's warm light A grimy darkness lowering in the field. At night When in the West the blood-red clouds have healed And only stars are left to stab the sky The forge's fiery mouth roars lustily Its song of heat and clang of beaten steel. Men's shadows flit like bats before its flame, These are slaves, who serve the fire with zeal, Respect its ire yet see it grows not tame. But darkness leads proportion far astray. Already in the East the stars grow dim. The Forge, that loomed so savage and so grim l Will shrink to slight significance with day. F. NAYLOR. Ik Pk if Gentlemen: The King In Maytime when the snow has gone and melted all away 5 When people feel all bright and new, when birds have come to stay, Across the broad Atlantic, the King and Queen will start, To see the great new western land, of which , we are a part. When he has reached this shore, the King, will have much work to do, Opening this, unveiling that, and being put on VIBW. But, let us hope with all the pomp, that is on every hand, That he will see behind it all, the pepole of the land. The French, who speak a different tongue, but still are loyal too, - The hardy seamen of the east, with noses we call blue, The British stock right from the isles, the farmers of the west, Who though through storm and drought have come, are loyal with the rest. Here's to the health of good King George, and may his visit bring New loyalty within our hearts to him who is our King, And may our empire e'er unite, and grow from day to day, To form Man's Parliament on earth, forever to hold sway. DOUG. CREIGHTON-10A LUX GLEBANA What Shall l Write I must write some poetry, CMy soul I can't abuse For inspiration fills itj What subject shall I choose? Every poet writes of spring, Original I must be. Summer? Winter? Pussy-cats? What is left for me? Love and hate and pastured cows? Green and leafy trees? Every other poet Must have touched on these. Storms and seas and sweet songs sung? Tales of deeds and daring? Birds and beasts and cherry pie? How I am despairing? Alas, what can I write about That no one yet has written. For now, with the desire To write I find I'm badly smitten. Ah! now the light begins to dawn, An idea comes to me. All other topics have been used, Not this one as you see. fkvkiif To a Garbage Can Dear garbage can, unpraised, unsung, Rudely outside the door you're flung, Without complaint your work you do While wind and storm do buffet you, O patient garbage can! RUTH AGULNIK-4H Bk Pk at at 7' me X059 x' , 5. I. V. ' r 2 .T Z 'Wiz' .1'- KF -.En .fomf GLEBITET '-Uffc, lkgrdnnxgfzfp . rf-0 U ro sc: jnrfl- Urfi'-'51 'A KifwLy 47'1'5,vDED auf 7lM : Q,.onf::,L-Av, Peay N6 K 73A'ffCf7'3'? '- Parc THPE' GLEBQ- GPJPDS' '--' Page 35

Page 39 text:

ones, such as the stoats and weasels, satis- fied their hunger on the numerous rabbits among them. The lynx, hunched, be- draggled, on astump in the water, spat fear and hate at a bull moose, who swung his shovel-like antlers as he lifted his heavy head from searching for succulent grasses on the floor of the lake. Later in the day, clouds gathered in the West. Rain poured in torrents upon the smoking landscape. The occupants of the sand bar began to disperse into the charred forest. The danger was over: the fire was out. Pklkvk A Story From the Old Folks by Harold Willis AVE YOU ever been present at a gathering of the old folks? Have you ever listened to their tales of, when I was young or, I can remember when? Sometimes these stories are so very fantastic, they carry you away with mirth, but sometimes they leave you puz- zled, wondering. Those that involve mys- tery and superstitition, the same that make you peer closely into the dark before going upstairs to bed, are perhaps the most inter- esting. Ant it is one of these latter that I wish to relate to you. Decide for yourself whether it was merely an hallucination, or a fiesh-and-blood truth. Pkvlfvk Marybelle sat with her parents before the fire-place in which glowed faintly the last embers of what had been a great roaring fire. There were no electric lights in those days, and as no one had bothered to light a lamp, the large room was almost in dark- ness. A silence had descended on the room just as had the shadows when the flames withdrew. No one stirred, no one spoke. Even the wind outside had paused for the moment, breathless. Suddenly, out of the night rang a piercing scream, that sent shivers up and down the spines of each of that quiet group of three, and chilled them to the marrow of the bone. What was that? The question flashed across their minds though they knew it was the cry of some terrified human being. The fiames lept up again as they caught LUX GLEBANA on one last piece of wood that had somehow gone untouched. The darkness lifted from the room, and the wind began to blow, whistle, and roar. Mary-belle reached the window long be- fore her parents and was gazing out with wide fear-filled eyes trying to pierce the gloom. Nothing was there, the river close by seemed to be going on as before. The bridge was desertedg no sign of life could be seen. That night, the poor frightened girl was unable to sleep. She tossed restlessly from side to side while in her mind were conjured hideous phantoms, spectres, spirits, and screaming people. v The next morning, word was brought that her uncle had been found in the river,- drowned. A few weeks passed and the rather my- sterious death of Mary-belle's uncle ceased to be a topic among the superstitious towns-people. They had reasoned it out step by step-all except the answer. The deceased had, been in the habit of crossing the bridge going to and from work. He had been happy at home with a wife and children. It was unlikely that he had com- mitted suicide, and yet, how else could the question of his death be explained? Surely no one had pushed him off? Although mourning was still observed among the friends and relatives of the un- fortunate man, everyone went about their respective business. Life was marching on in spite of death! In the mind of Mary- belle, however, that dark night and that one awful scream had made a vivid impres- sion. Being little more than a child, her imagination served to increase her fear and suspicion. Then, one night when every one was sound asleep and the house in. darkness, Mary- belle awoke to hear a voice calling, Mary. . .Mary ...... come here. Without the power 'to resist, she arose and with slow hesitant steps, went in the direction of that strange voice. As she reached the hall, there before her stood her uncle-returned from the grave. Terrified, she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came forth. Fear had rendered her speechless. With cold staring eyes and expressionless face, the spirit came forward and in that same strange voice that she had heard moaned, I was pushed from the bridge, Mary. I was pushed from the bridge, Mary. continued on page 77 PageQ37'