Great Falls High School - Roundup Yearbook (Great Falls, MT)

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ROUNDUP 13 A BOTTLE OF INK. A man once bought a bottle of ink To write the thoughts that he might think. A marble table then he bought XVhereon to write the thoughts he thought. He bought a farm, fringed round with wood. lincompassed round with solitude, That he, where none molest. might sink And write the thoughts he thought he'd think. And then around his bottle of ink He built a house wherein to think: And in the house he built a room, Retired in dim scholastic gloom, A room made up of alcoved nooks. And furnished with ten thousand books! For from such lakes of lore to drink He thought would aid his brain to think. His hair was thick and richly brown XVhen at his desk he sat him down. And long he gazed within the brink Uf that potential bottle of ink: Ah, long before it did he stay Until his hair was thin and gray! And dreamed before that bottle of ink Of thoughts he thought he ought to think. Ah, long he tried to be a bard- But found his rooster crowed too 6 hard. And with loud cock-a-doodle-doos. lt frightened off the bashful Muse. He meditated sounding lines- But the lound winds among the pines Disturbed him, blowing from the west. And kept his fine lines unexpressed. .-Xnd so he died,-old, lame. and blind. And left his bottle of ink behind: And some one wrote with it a very Pathetic. sweet obituary. A man who suffers from the strain of unwrit epics on the brain Can ease the pressure of his grief XX'ith a stub pencil and a leaf. Uld Homer owned no inch of ground. liut sang, and passed his hat around: No farm, no house. no hooks. no ink, But still had divers thoughts to think. If nothing in the skull abide. Then nothing helps a man outside: And what avails a sea uf ink To him who has no thoughts lu think? -Selected. THE RAIN. Dripping down in the smnmer night. Touching the leaves with lingers light. Making them whisper soft and low. Dripping, dripping. gentle and slow- l am the rain. Tipping with diamond drops the grass, Caressing sweet flowers as I pass. Murmuring secrets to them ztll. Hear' me whispering as l fall. Summer night's rain. XX'ashing the dust from the murky air Leaving it clean. and pure, and fair. Dripping softly the long night through. Iieereating a world anew. l.ife-giving rain. l R.XXL'liS liL'RI.I X4 LXNI lf. A CHAPTER ON EYES. I have no eyes. f ilu not misunderstand me when l say l have no eyes. lt is true they are not very large. but they are there. two nf them: natrrow slits. sind. when l laugh they can seatreely be seen. just two lines that show where eyes ought to lie. xx-lll'll l sity llll'll. lltltl l haue no eyes, l wish to impress up-

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14 ROUNDUP on you that I mean, I have no eyes that see anything. ln spite of this, I know that I have a faculty of sight. for, when I am told to find cake or pie in the pantry, or when asked to pick out a new dress for myself, I am always able to find them, but not so when I am looking for words in a dictionary of for waists that need buttons. lt is hard. in an age like this when almost everyone knows at least a lit- tle something of some foreign lan- guage, not to be able to even see to read and spell the English language correctly. I am constitutionally impressible or sensitive to seeing good things. I have sat through two whole periods in school, till, when dismissed, I have rushed down the street toward home, only to come to a bakery with a win- dow full of candy and cakes. I can see them all right. I have sat trying to study English but I have imagined myself in some French institution in France instead of reading an English dissertation on a roast pig, or an essay on old China. Above all, those dresses. and silks. do plague my apprehension when told that I cannot have them until I learn to sew a straight hem. to gaze at a piece of pie, and be told that I can have all the pie I can eat when I learn how to make it myself. But when those things, such as the words receive and believe, appear in almost every spelling lesson, and I have not yet been able to see in which word the e or i comes first, I am afraid the stores may keep their dresses, and the baker his pies, until I have eyes that see something. MARIE HOULIE. THE FALL OF ALEXANDER. It was the last month of the year 1913 and the thirteenth day at that, when our modern Alexander seeking new worlds to conquer, hied himself to Gibson Lake, where the youth and beauty of the town were circling by on skates. Now our A. had left his skates at home. but that did not seem to matter, for grabbing a club he ran into the crowd and raced with anyone that would run, hitting right and left till he had a clear path all to himself. Then having vanquished all his friends and foes, he made one grand run for the upper end of the lake. But alas, the ice was thin and began to crack, and down went our Alexander to the bottom of the lake. For a moment not a sound was heard, then all at once we saw him crawling out towards the bank. Wfas this our modern Alexander. this dripping, watery youth? XYas this our new chinchilla coat. so shrunken that it would not belt? But where were his friends, to let him go home alone and unattended? Look at those prostrate forms along the shore. doubled up with laughter, they could not move, could not even take a last look as our modern Alexander sadly wended his way home.-a wiser and sadder man. HARPER JONES.