London South Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (London, Ontario Canada)

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The Brook It rippled o'er' the pebbles smooth, Among the tiny stones did play, It glistened 'neath the sun's bright beams, 4 1 X 1 W As, through the woods, it made its way. It laughed and gurgled with delight And, as it ran along, it played A simple, merry little tune- w A soft, sweet murmiring sound it made. The graceful ferns which gently swayed, The blue bells small with heads low bent, The great, tall trees far overhead- All watched the brook as on it went. But soon this joyous life must end, The waters must no longer be A little brook so wild and gay, So full of life and joy, and free, For it must join the briny sea, And reach its destination wide To mingle with the Waters, and Be lost forever in the tide. Helen Gilmour, II A. Freedom What greedy fools are men That think of nought But gold: Cold misers in their den Men's lives have bought And sold. They think not of the joy That they might bring To all, Of vice they could destroy. Each noble thing, Tho' small, Is marked down for your life In someone's mind. So we Should end this anxious strife For gold, and find I Men free. -Bob Calvert, VA. In Memoriam To My Boots Oh, dilapidated trotter cases! Oh, horribly mutilated footwear! I pity you the thousand traces Of the cruel treatment which you bear. I ground on country roads, your soul to dust, As, plodding on some Weary hike, I kicked At every stone I passed. Your old toe may Detest me, for the mud holes which it licked To break the ice on many a wintry day. But still you brought it on yourself As you sat so shiny on the shelf. So, without remorse, I let your ruined style Reign supreme atop the rubbish pile. ' -Bill Nichols, III C. 23

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The Outcast By Gordon Kidd E did not start when he heard his sentence pro- nounced. He only stood, staring in front of him out of unseeing eyes. He did not see the elders slowly file out past him through the pillared porch. His senses were numb. He only knew that he was no longer a Spartan, but only a workman, a serf, an outcast. Outside the east wall of the city, that evening the pale new moon found him in the same be- numbed state. He had wandered about for hours, paying no attention to what he saw, heeding not the jeering cries of the city children and the con- temptuous glances of his fellow Spartans. lt was growing dark and he began to wonder where he would spend the night. He couldn't return to the barracks again. What would he do? He would find work on some farm, he supposed, and each morning the sun would find him labouring- labouring to provide food for the soldiers who were fighting-the thing he longed to be doing. He was aroused from his stupour by the sound of voices. He would have paid no attention to them, but he heard his name mentioned. Yes, there they were over behind that clump of bushes, three of them. ln the shadow he could not recog- nize the faces of two, but the third! Whv it was Demetrius, his boyhood friend, who had grown so strange and distant of late. He hadn't been able to understand. Yes, Demetrius was saying. He's the only man that could ever have suspected a thing. And now he's out of the way, the plan can't fail to work. Oh! A plot against the state! His best friend guilty of treason to Sparta-his best friend! He couldn't betray him. But, as he was a true Spar- tan, the state came first in his estimation. He must prevent it somehow. A strange voice said, Tomorrow night, after the second watch goes on duty, you will open the west gate for us. Then leave the rest to me. All is arranged. Each man knows his orders. Fires can be started-hostages released-runners despatched to our army encamped not a day's march away. The soldiers who are not killed will be easily overcome. And Sparta will no longer be. No longer be! Sparta will no longer be! The words kept running over in his mind. Treason to 22 the state! Demetrius, his dearest friend! It could not be done! The following night, just after the second watch had gone on duty, a figure could have been seen stealing toward the west gate. Some paces from the gate, another figure advanced to meet it. There were a few whispered sentences, then the clash of steel. One man fell. A guard came running out of the shadows and, after a short struggle, smote the other man to the ground. On the morning of the third day the rising sun found the walls and battlements of the great city in their customary impregnable condition. The daily life of Sparta went on just the same, the strict military discipline, the rigorous training. But there was just a note of sadness. A soldier had died: one Demetrius, who had always conducted him- self nobly and honorably. He was given a fitting burial. There was another unpleasant duty to perform. A serf had been killed and had to be removed. He was flung by some of the servants on a level spot beyond the city walls-an outcast. 9 t

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