Morris High School - Yearbook (Bronx, NY)

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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

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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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THE LEGEND OF THE SACD But within the cloven hillside All the goblin spell abated, And the waters rested calmly, Coolly, darkly, in the shadow. Swift the sorrovving Warrior caught him Who had been his one, his great joyg Safe from out the net of rapids And the dark, still waters, claimed him. In their arms they bore him smiling As in sleep, to the far borders Of the Land of Happy Hunters, And above him rose the pine-trees, Breathing in each passing Whisper Of the Wind that stirs their branches, Lies here child of the Great Spiritg Here shall ages still to seek us Know by this lone darkling inlet All the story of our warrior. FREDRIKA VV. HERTEL, 7-8. Ghz ?K2111arh fWith apologies to Rudyard Kiplingj A F you can only keep your head when all about you only signs of lateness areg Wlien of all the people round about you, you're the only Morris person in the car: If you can Wait, and not be tired by waiting, to see a wagon rumble off the track: Or being vext, you don't give Way to hating the very horse Whose Wagon holds you back: ,N 0 , ,aes If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew S, 2 to reach the end-room of the hall,- uchbm lf you can make the little nerve that's in you to serve your feet at all: In short, if you can fill the agonizing minute with sixty seconds' worth of distance run, Your's is the class-room, and everything that's in it, and you're early-for the clark was fast, my son! GERTRUDE AIKEN, '15. 27