Milford High School - Oak Lily and Ivy Yearbook (Milford, MA)

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THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. 27 glided in and out among the dark murky clouds. Scintillating little stars peeped s ' hyly from the sky at intervals, resembling tiny forget-me-nots. In an overwhelming wave, the memory of the garden swept the slight frame of the lad and the eternal yearning tugged at his heart. Restlessly he turned and muttered incoherently, “Just one little rose or a lily.” When Cornelius entered the home of Lucius the next evening, he looked with dismay and pity at the thin figure and pale face of his friend. An over¬ whelming tenderness swept his strong frame and hastily brushing aside the gath¬ ering tears, he attempted to speak Cheerfully to the sick boy. “Alas, he grows weaker each day,” sadly whispered the mother as Cornelius turned to go. With an effort Cornelius spoke some comforting words and left. “I must do it and I will do it to-night,” said Cornelius to himself, a sudden determination shining in his eyes. Straight to the palace he went. Upon his asking to see the Emperor the guards laughed in his face and roughly pushed him out. A vision of Lucius’ haunting eyes rose before him. He would take a flower. Dear Lucius must be saved. He crept stealthily up to the garden wall. He listened. All was still. His lithe young body swung up over and in to the garden. He plucked a lovely White lily. “Hark! What was that!” “It is only my wildly beating heart,” he assured himself. He stooped to pick a forget-me-not. A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He was jerked to his feet and brought before the King. “Thou has willfully entered my garden and taken of the flowers. Thou knowest the penalty,” the King said grimly. Falling on his knees, poor Cornelius begged that he might bring the flowers to the poor dying Lucius. “Then I will return,” he said proudly. Finally the King agreed and under guard Cornelius arrived at the home of Lucius clasping tightly the fair prize, so dearly bought. The look of ethereal happiness that swept the worn face of Lucius was reward enough for the brave Cornelius. With a smile Cornelius turned and fol¬ lowed the guards. As the deep rose tinted the horizon at early morn, two souls fled from this gray earth and rose to heaven hand in hand. The one that of a flowerlike inno¬ cent youth, the other that of a brave true friend. Agnes Siipola, 1925.

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26 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. When these were constantly disregarded, light sentences became heavier until the taking of one flower was made punishable by death. Such was the king’s jealous love for his garden. Cornelius, a shoemaker’s son and Lucius, the son of a poor writer of lyric poetry, were born in Rome. The love of one for the other was remarkable. They were inseparable companions. As the two friends were walking down the narrow street one day, Lucius seemed in deep thought. “Bespeak thy mind, Lucius,” urged his chum. “Ah, Cornelius, I was just thinking of the Emperor’s garden behind yonder wall, thinking of the loveliness hidden from the world,” answered Lucius. From his father, the boy Lucius had inherited a great love of the beautiful and his passionate and poetic nature was stamped on his pale face. Cornelius glanced toward the wall and carelessly said, “They say it is a wonderful place.” As the tw r o neared the wall, Lucius stopped to tie the thong of his sandal. Glancing sidewise to reply to a casual remark by Cornelius, he saw in the wall, a tiny crack and a bit of brightness. With a slight cry, Lucius leaped past his friend and peered through the crevice. Amazement, wonder, delight and desire, each in turn passed over the youth’s face. He was filled with a burning longing to possess but one little flower from that glorious mass. “Cornelius ! Look !” Lucius cried. Cornelius knelt down and looked. He saw pale lilies very close to him, smelled the fragrant perfume, but arose little affected. “They are lovely, ’tis true. But let us make haste to dinner before it cools,” remarked the practical Cornelius. After one more look Lucius reluctantly followed his friend. The following day Cornelius found Lucius at the crack in the garden wall. It soon became a daily habit of Lucius to visit the key-hole to wonders. One day Cornelius found his friend in a sorrowful mood with hardly a word for him. “Why art thou so sad?” asked Cornelius sympathetically. “Alas,” said Lucius, “the crack has been discovered and repaired.” Only after much coaxing, Lucius promised to try to forget the haunting flowers. Lucius bravely tried to forget the flowers, but after a week again the in¬ tense longing for the flowers seized him. He grew silent and brooding. “For sooth, what ails the lad?” his father remarked on one occasion. “Indeed, he acts not as a normal boy,” his mother sighed, and then added, “but it may be only a petty quarrel that troubles him.” But gradually Lucius grew weaker until finally he was confined to his bed. His anxious parents were puzzled over his condition. Cornelius also was deeply moved. “He talks much of flowers,” said his mother turning to Cornelius who was tenderly watching Lucius. Of flowers! Then it was the want of the King’s flowers that was gradu¬ ally wasting and weakening his beloved companion. A half an hour later it was a thoughtful, serious boy that softly closed the door of Lucius’ home. Lucius lay staring out of the narrow window, gazing at the moon as she

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28 THE OAK, LILY AND IVY. THE PINE TREE. Upon the hill with other trees There stands a little pine. In summer it can scarce be seen Mid other trees more fine. But when the winter’s chilling winds Have stripped the others bare, That little pine that still is green To me seems very fair. So on life’s hill in summer time, Are many smiling faces. We scarce can tell in pleasure time Which ones possess most graces. But when the clouds of trouble roll, And we are bent by grief, Some friendly faces fade away As does the autumn leaf. So when I find a friend that’s true, Whose friendship’s always mine, That is the kind of friendship I liken to the pine. Mary Tyndall, 1925 . DREAMS OF YOUTH. A Ballad. I sit for hours beside the flames Where crackling fires dance, Once more to weave the happy dreams Of magic slumber lands. My dreams soar high in winged flight In brightest fantasy; I dream and dream of bygone days And youth with joy and glee. Through mem’ries old there comes to me, So ancient and so gray, A vision of those golden days When I was young and gay.