Latin School of Chicago - Sigillum Yearbook (Chicago, IL)

Page 54 text:

SIGILLUM O pine of the valley, so tall, so high-rising, the temples to God, yes, the primitive temples that spoke to the spirit, the Great Indian Spirit, the primitive spirit, their God, And wild-cherry growing, and laurel in groves, the laurel, in spring- time, with rich clustered blossoms, the breath of the spring, And wild tiger lily, and daisies on hillocks, and white ladies' lace, And in the deep woods wild pigeons were nesting, and geese that, in wedge shape, cut open the sky. O beasts of the valley You ran unafraid. The gallant bucks fought, and the doe and young fawn, in the fresh, dappled sunshine that shot through the leaves, came shyly to water and timidly drank, There were bears in the valley, and beaver and otter, and wild- running moose. XIV . . . and, on the marge, the sea Makes thunder low and mist of rainbowed dew. -HERMAN MELVILLE New London: Bay estuary of the sound, yes, seamen from the first, Master Coit making trading ships to sail with cargoes far- To Boston with Wampum and peltries . . . there traded for powder and lead, To New Foundland, with country-cured pork, Virginia by stormy coasts, Out to the Menbadoes, in search of tobacco, and dry hides and buckskin. And later Coit's son and hugh Mould and John Stevens . . They made The Endeavour and with a large cargo Of cooper's stock, ponies, of cured pork and bacon It sailed around Fisher's and out to the sea- And to the West Indies, the sultry Barbadoes, the island of flowers, the island of fruits. And in the Atlantic, good fishing for mackerel, And huts soon sprang up on the shore, There were mussels and clams in the sand. CRemember the Indians who first taught the white man to pick up the clams with his toes.D

Page 53 text:

SIGILLUM Or the streaked and ruddy henna dyeing deep the once-green wood, And the lazy haze of autumn, and the deer at licks at Sundown, And the full and swelling orchards, heavy trees with fecund offering To the goddess of the harvest, and the crunch of fallen leaves, All in russet, scarlet autumn, all in tawny, yellow autumn, all in wine-soaked, glowing autumn, In a dead and dying blanket, rustling crisply under foot. Or the wilderness of whiteness-a small cabin bound by snow, Radiant fields with sunlight glistening, and a crowded mackerel sky, And a sawing wind cutting lightly the length of the lake, And drab trees that naked shiver, beside tall and blue-green pine, And the blood-red wound of the setting sun, soon to be healed by night, And a choked and desperate freshet gushing from out its tiara of ice, Or within doors fires cracking, or of hard birch logs, red embers, Dying embers forming fantasies one might conceive As little Indian villages and a great, gilt Hobbomocko ' stalking the streets, And then waffles on the griddle,and the smell of fried hung bacon Soon the cabin hushed in night. Yes, Connecticut has this feeling: White Georgian churches, passionate spires, austerely crying to God, Proportions good and just and true, restraint that sings of stern Hint souls, That speaks of fire, plainly prints conviction in the Green. That dates of seventeen-sixty-one and seventeen-sixty-two, That stare from placards over doors, evoke a thousand memories . . . Of pewter-like and burnished souls. I Quem virum aut heroa lyra vel acri Tibia sumis celebrare, Clio? -HORACE Put the history books down and seek out the towns Where all these things took place . . . let memory suffuse With the present's face the distant shades of the past. O Connecticut valley, Triumphantly telling of your rich resources, your bounty so endless, your wholeness and oneness, How great is your land! O valley and hills, Then so studded with maples, and oak trees and chestnuts, and walnuts, and cedars, and pine, - The Evil Spirit ofthe Indians.

Page 55 text:

SIGILLUM When New England slavers were bearing their cargoes, of black mumbo jumbo and terrified negroes, When, for trinkets and trifles, buying ebony gold mines, they sailed swiftly back from the Africa Gold Coast, If chance should have blown then, north up the Atlantic, They might have seen whales shooting spouts. And soon sturdy square-riggers, the functional whalers, drop anchors at port When we think of Melville's seamen, and the ghost of Moby Dick- Ambergris, a fading pipe-dream . . . it recalls those vivid days, just as does this sailor's diary: Comfort Davis hath hired My whale-boat, The Guidance, to go a-whaling out to Fisher's. . . Read these answers to queries proposed by officials Of George the Third's government, now in New London: '4The natural produce of this country is timber, and iron and copper ore, and the wax of the myrtle, The produce and stable commodities are . . . wheat, oats, rye, and maize, Beans, peas and potatoes, cheese, cider and apples? The streets . . . and the wharves . . . are a-hum with this com- merce: The produce heaped high in drays drawn by yoked oxen, Or teams of six horses, six sturdy black Percherons, Carts heavy with wheat, kiln-dried corn in fat barrels, Peas in bags, pots of butte, and savoury round cheese-M From the pastures of Sharon, or Lebanon's richness, And piles of pipe staves of the sweet-smelling spruce- Rumbling down from old Norwich, from Hebron or Putnam, Or from the Yantic banks. These, to Philadelphia, in small coasting vessels, and down the seaboard coast, And for lumber and live stock, the French and Dutch traders gave cocoa and cotton, And trading then prospered, gathering speed as a spinnaker picks up the wind, To England with pot-ash, with flax-seed for linen, The trade scope grew larger-Gibralter and Barbary, New London had trade with the world!