Mary Baldwin College - Bluestocking Yearbook (Staunton, VA)

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PRIZE POEM. A Song of the Mountains. Blow, ye mountain breezes, blow Through the pine trees softly sighing. Mystic music never dying, Lingering notes so weird and low. Blow, ye fairy zephyrs, blow, On your airy billows bringing Melody of birds ' sweet singing Down to men who toil below. Blow, oh Boreas, bravely blow, With the tree tops swaying, bending, Homage to Aurora s ending, Suu-kist in a rosy glow. Blow, ye mountain breezes, blow, Waft to all the happy message, Whispered by the trees in passage, Live on heights if ye would grow. Nora Branding Frasek. Notb— Mr. Arista Hoge, a Trustee of the Mary Baldwin Seminary, offered the prize referred to

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April (9. 27. 27. Soiree given by the pupils of .Miss Leeb. Also, a French Play, under the direction of Mile. Emmerich. The presentation of prizes for the best story and poem at the Literary Society meeting. An entertainment given by the P. P. C. Rev. V. V. Moore was a guest at the Seminary over Sunday. MAY- S ' 4- 2 5- 25- 26 27. 28. 28. Graduation Soiree. Reception to the Literary Society. Art Reception. Banquet given to the Editors of the Annual, Baccalaureate Sermon. Commencement Soiree. Commencement Exercises. Good-bye.

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A Martyred Maid. i. THE whole world is wrapped in slumber as the grey dawn breaks over a little town m the east of France. The cottages begin to show here and there through the dim light, and the spire of the parish church, which stands alone, glistens with the first beams of the morning sun. As the feeble rays struggle through the stained windows, they are caught as by molten gold and form a halo around the shining hair of a maiden, who kneels devoutly in front of the high altar. The church is otherwise entirely deserted, not even the pious priest has vet come to offer his morning prayer. The lone- liness and stillness of the old church are oppressive but the young girl heeds them not, as, with her crucifix clasped tightly before her, she repeats her Ave Maria with the greatest devotion Soon she stirs, and brushing back a loosened lock of hair, sighs — ah, such a sigh !— and a tear trickles slowly down each cheek. What burden of the soul can cause such Tears from the depth of divine de- spair to flow from the eyes of one so young ' ? Could we but see her inmost soul we would know that it was rent with anxiety for her country ; who will save it, she knows not, but it is enough, The Lord will provide. Even while she wonders a bright light fills the chancel, the vision of a shining angel appears ; he holds in one hand a sword and waves it toward the west, while with the other he points to herself. Can it be true? Does he mean that she shall lead the hosts to vic- tory ? Shall she, a mere girl, command men ? But before her thought is finished the angel vanishes and with a heavenly smile leaves in its place a wreath of laurel, which in its turn, slowly disappears as if consumed by fire ; and the maid is once more alone. She trembles, and bowing her head, begins once more to tell her beads, but this time with a calm expression of victory over the tempter of her soul. II. See the lines of soldiers ! The girl-captain is this morning reviewing her troops. Here she comes ! Her steel armor glisten-