Milton Academy - Yearbook (Milton, MA)

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The moon rises high o'er the ocean, Her moonbeams gleam calm and cool. The Big Dipper waits in grim silence, For the Gods are using their tool. Their tool is the power of nature That conquers the power of man, For man with his knowledge is vanquished With all his mechanical sham. The tolling bell in the chapel, Faithful through many a year, No longer summons the children But suffers the tread of the deer. For the deer with no man to harm them Steal forth to hunt for their food, And then with much joy and contentment Lie down with their young in the wood. The gnarled trees now loom up darkly To swallow the light of the moon, And to their nests in the pine trees The hawks will sweep down soon. On the ground near the patient ruins Dejected corner stones lie, Their moss-covered dates revealing The glory of Milton gone by. Why challenge the cosmic courage? Why struggle rnan's will to impose? The eternal triumph of nature Dwarfs all that mortal mind knows. Men fell the trees of the forest, They change the course of the stream, They steal the bounty of nature But nature her own will redeem. Barbara Gates '39 WAS IT THE PUNCH? How did I like the dance last night? Oh, it was swell. But honestly, wait till I tell you about the silly dream I had last night-oh I know people don't like to listen to dreams, but this was good, well, it Was A regular satire-you know-one of those things. I must be growing cynical in my old age, or was it too much of that Milton punch? page sixteen FTIGQUS l

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although the thought in the exposition is usually of excellent quality. E. D. '35 sugges'ts that We study and try to imitate Hazlitt's prose style. There are indications that the girls who Write poetry have studied with keen interest the forms of modern poetry. I suspect that the same is true of the authors of stories and descriptions. But in the expository writing one feels that the interest has centered in develop- ment of the thought at the expense of the prose style, although the excellence of the thought deserves more distinguished expression. This lack of perfection of prose style as compared With English School magazines may be due to the fact that American prose, With some marked exceptions, lacks the distinction and elegance of English prose. In reading present day periodicals I often feel that I can tell in the first few' paragraphs whether the author is an American or an Eng- lishman. The English are master craftsmen, using their tool, the English language, with ease, skill, and power. They can make it serve their will. Their prose is clear, forcible, flexible. distinguished. The British feel that a mastery of prose style can best, or perhaps only, be achieved through the long exacting discipline in the classics which the English boys and girls receive in their schools. This may well be true, it surely produces masters of English prose style. But I like to think that there are other ways, and one may be a Willingness to study with an equally exacting discipline the best English prose. and to strive to learn the secrets of its excellence. I have regretted all my life that I was not trained when young in a skilful use of this beauti- ful tool, instead of using it clumsily and with pain, as at this moment. It has occurred to me that it might be interesting to try to ar- range through E. D. '35 an exchange of magazines with one of the English Public Schools, and compare their achievement with ours. We might have the satisfaction of finding our creative talent superior, and could at the same time see the evolutionary stages of their prose style. We might even detect some Hazlitt in the making. What do ' -7 the Magus editors for 1937-38 think of this suggestion. Sarah Storer Goodwin NATURE TRIUMPHANT The buildings are standing in ruin, Slowly decaying with time, While the ivy gently but firmly Chokes them in their prime. In the prime of their sleeping they're strangled F-or all is in silence Without, Except for the Wind in the forests Sweeping around and about. the megus eeee fefeeee i 1i1 i. - i.l.

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Well, anyway, it was at a dance, at a place like the club, only it Wasn't. It was smaller and there were about twice as many people. There were rows and rows of gilded chairs in the middle, So the poor boys can sit down- one of the patronesses Ca dignified lionessl explained to me. I agreed that this was a good idea and wondered why we hadn't thought of it before. And then I noticed that everyone else around me was an animal, and it didn't surprise me in the least. In fact it seemed perfectly natural, and I seemed to know everyone. In the dressing room there was a tiny little mirror which all the girls were clawing, scratching, and pushing to reach. The more powerful ones got to the front and stayed there the whole time, while some poor sly mice squeaked around in back, trying to find a place. In one corner was a group of cats, purring, rubbing each other's fur, and talking in subdued voices about a slim young weasel wlho, in her mag- nificent winter coat, was looking in the mirror over the heads of the others. We were dancing. Lion-like ushers dragged protesting mice and chipmunks over to large bovine girls sitting against the wall. Miss Weasel was enjoying herself thoroughly, shrieking and tittering in her shrill voice. I danced with everything from bellowing elephants who stepped all over my feet and then honked an apology, to little lambs who did nothing but bleat and look sheepish. Then we had a grapefruit-dance. That is, all the boys stood at one end of the room and all the girls at the other. Then the boys threw grapefruits and tried to hit the girls they wanted to dance with. It was really lots of fun, but when it was over, everyone said how silly it was, and why did they have such a thing, anyway? My partner in this was a hyenag at least I think he must have been, because he laughed, long and loud, all the time, at anything and everything-especially his own jokes. So I was very glad when I was cut in on by a giraffe, who said absolutely nothing and was therefore quite a relief. When the supper-dance was announced, everyone made a mad dash for the door, and somehow the pigs reached it first, though they where by no means the quickest on their feet. We had to wait a long time for food because the whole stag-line had gotten there before us and was helping itself. After the supper-dance, the stags got up and pushed their chairs out of the way and things began to warm up. The orchestra warmed up too, and a flop-eared dog began howling into the mike about how he had his love to keep him warm, while Miss Weasel shrilled ecsftatically to anyone who could hear- Oh, isn't he divine! But of course, when everyone began to enjoy himself, the music stopped. I overheard one patroness say to another, with a business-like twitch of her whis- IJQH9 S6U6'I'Lt66TL -1- .l - l-li