Morris High School - Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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A TALE OF LITTLE ITALY music in the boy's eyes, which gradually softened into dreamy con- tentment as the music flooded the room. A few questions served to bring out Paul's story. He lived across the way with his hard-working uncle, who, though he loved Paul, could not indulge his musical taste. Of an evening he would play to himself on the old battered violin, his one treasure, but oh, how Hat it sounded compared to that of the Signorel It was a tall womanly Lucia who leaned over the villa gate of her rose-trellised home as she looked on the fair city of Florence, whose famous tower gleamed white against the blue arch of heaven. Be- side her was Paul, now a young man of twenty-two. His eyes were upon her face, into which the balmy breezes had coaxed some of the wonted bloom. Softly they talked of the past,-how Paul, under her father's instruction, had progressed by strides until he could stand on his own feet, how she, Lucia, had returned to Italy, where her father was laid to rest in the bosom of his native land, how Paul had hastened over the Atlantic to join herg how a year later saw them in their own little home, he making his fame with his violin, she his companion in the truest sense of the word. Soon they walk up the little path and sit down on the loggia. As the glowing west fades into soft twilight and the stars shyly stud the skies, they are both wafted to their childhood home in the great metropolis of the New World, on the wings of the melody that streams from the old violin. CATHERINE Accuaso, 8-1. illernllntinn 5 Q ', VER to sigh for a past that is gone, kewl l Ever to dream of a dream that is flown, Q? ig Vainly to cherish aims long dead, Q Always to mourn the joys that are fled- ? V3 Keg mle wlaat fate is lthere so hard? w'X8 n W at espair so een. To hope, but merely to regret, To laugh, but merely to forget, To totter forward clinging to torn ties Only to see grey clouds upon blue skies: Tell me what fate is there so hard? And what despair so keen? MARIE SYRKIN, '16. 25

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A Earls nf Eittle Eltalg Merrily shone the sun upon the noisy street in the Little Italy of New York. The street resounded with the deafening roar of skates, the shouts of the children, and the thunder of automobiles and wagons which, dashing by, miraculously left them unharmed. Not even in sunny, Hower-decked Italy was such turbulent gladness to be found. In the shelter of the corner made where the stoop jutts out sat little eight-year-old Lucia, nursing a piteous pretence of a doll. Her raven curls were tumbled over her pale face, and the eyes that fondly looked at the rag doll rivaled the deep blue Italian skies. Unnoticed she sat, often turning her eyes toward the merry group near by. She thought of the time, but a year ago, when she too frolicked as they did. That was before the scarlet fever had racked her frame, leaving but a shadow of the former sturdy child. Then, too, her father had left their cosy home for this crowded place, and friendless but for her doll and a kind neighbour, she sat in her little corner. O, vedete l cried the scornful Rosina, pointing to the doll. How funny. Lucia started from her reverie to see five pairs of mis- chievous eyes upon her and to hear the jeers directed at herself and her doll, Ho, ho! What a doll! Did yer buy it on Fifth Avenue l Look at the clothes! The blue eyes widened with terror, and when one, bolder than the rest, tried to snatch the doll from her, she screamed and burst into tears. A silent but indignant spectator of this scene was Paul, the mer- riest boy on the block. Though superior to girls and their affairs, his warm heart championed the cause of the little stranger. Scatter- ing the girls like a flock of geese, he cried shame upon them, and they, powerless save in their tongues, hurled defiance at him in the spiteful manner of girls. Saved from her tormentors by this brown-eyed Achilles, Lucia dried her eyes and thanked him in her soft mother tongue. Then unceremoniously, she hurried the reluctant, bashful hero to her babbo, in whose arms she poured out her story. His heart-felt Li ringrazio, figlio mio brought the warm blood to his cheeks as he took the proffered chair. Lucia chattered on, but the father's eye dwelled upon the lad's gaze, which was riveted upon the violin resting upon the table. Gently setting his daughter on her feet, he rose, took the violin, and with a careless Can you play? laid the instrument in Paul's hands. Lovingly he laid his cheek on the polished wood, and with a few notes had transported his audience with him to the calm Venetian Bay where the sailors call upon Santa Lucia to grant them propitious Stars. Wonderingly the elder man noted that intense hunger for 24 '

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Afiirgenil nf the Svarn lllllllllunlll l 'llWI1!III 'l'l w as WM l 5 Mi ml 5 N the rocky cliffs that hem in That wild, stormy, seething river Which, to-day, men call the Saco, Dwelt a sachem, mighty warrior, And the Great Spirit the Good Father Gave to him a son, a fair youth, Blessed by all the Forest Children, Little Brothers of the Pine-woods, With the cunning of the red fox, With the bravery of the great moose, With the patience of the beaver, Graceful beauty of the salmon, But the host of evil spirits That made wild the streams and rivers Sought but ever to bring danger To the great, the wise young warrior, Till the voice of the Great Spirit Echoed through the hills and valleys, O, my son, seek ye a new land Where ye shall raise up a people Evermore to call ye blessedf, Hearing, then, the youth set forward, Sought to cross the roaring river, But the jealous goblins spreading For his feet a net of rapids Caught him in their arms and dashed him On the cruel rocks to perish. As the sachem, pacing lonely, On the cliffs beside the river, Thought upon his son, sped onward, High there rose a roar of triumph, lvlocking, scornful, ever vengeful, We have slain him! We have slain him' Then the father, roused, dashed blindly To the cliffs above the chasm. But the rock-wall knew no pathway, And the father, vainly searching, Cried aloud in deepest anguish For a road to lead him downward. Then the precious boon was granted, With the yawning of the earth-quake. Lo he stood beside the rapids, 26