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Page 25 text:
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Retrospection Backward, turn backward, O Time, in your flight ! Make me a Normal girl, just for to-night. Classmates, come back to your place as of yore ; Honest, own up, isn ' t teaching a bore? See on my forehead these furrows of care; Soon silver threads will be touching my hair. Come, at the Normal once more let us meet — Our own Alma Mater, it cannot be beat. Backward, flow backward, to old Normal joys ; I ' m growing so weary of school-girls and boys, Boys who are stupid and girls who are vain — Take them and give me my school-days again. I have grown weary of le=son and test, Weary of saying, Now, do your best, Weary of gleaning the tares from the wheat — Take me to the Normal — it cannot be beat. Normal, dear Normal, the years have seemed long Since last T looked back on your full-numbered throng; Then, in the strength of my pride and my youth, Loudly I boasted what I ' d do, forsooth ; Now I know better — just try me again ; 1 ' 11 stand by the Normal from beginning to end. Friends, teachers, and pupils, once more let us meet At Louisiana State Normal — it cannot be beat. Backward, come backward, my old Normal beau. What if your manners were clumsy and slow? Your heart was all right and your promises true — How often now, Charlie, mv heart turns to you ! Let me feel once more the thrill as of old As I stole a quiet talk with my lover so bold; I ' d take mv due scolding; I Yl not like to cheat Mrs. Hawkins of scolding, for she can ' t be beat ! 23
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Page 24 text:
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g i)abotog of tfje $agt (HE SUN is behind the pines and the sifted gold of his last rays mingles in the dusky halls with the music that pervades the building. Who does not know the dreamy charm of that enchanted hour on the Hill? when pianos, violins, and horns are pouring fourth their wealth of golden-voiced melody — when the mind goes softly back into the past or soars falcon-winged into the future — the enchanted hour between the bells that shatter our aesthetic dreams. High up in the building a boy draws his bow across the strings of his violin one last time, and as the sweet, clear notes quiver into silence the musician, with his eye on the growing evening shades, drifts gently back into the dimly illumined past of the memory-haunted Hill. Back, back he v.: 7i goes by the beautif ul mystic dream-road, until out of the h 3t f shadows there grows a majestic figure. Arrow-straight, cop- iw. iLj per-hued, supple as a willow wand, and dignified with all the dignity of Nature, he stands, with eagle feathers gleaming in his raven hair and eyes like coals burning among the streaks ofwar-paint upon his proud countenance. A moment, and he is gone. After him there comes, with swarthy cheek and flowing periwig, treading lightly, with sheathed sword and swinging arms cased in soft brocade, a mannered cour- tier. He is but softly clad and gaily, yet the war-fire lives in the face that smiles above the fleur-de-lis that shows upon his breast. He goes, followed by a figure, gaily attired, who saunters after him, with heavy boots, glittering breastplate, and beneath his arm a harp that sang its first clear note in sunny Spain. He bows gaily — a model cavalier — and strolls away with jaunty air. And then, with stately tread, and nobly gentle face, comes the Southern gentleman. The dignity of culture is here, one with the primitive dignity of the Image. His lips are made to command, his brows to fight, his eyes for laughter and for love. The shadows fold about his noble figure, and from their depths, slowly, with down-cast eyes and sombre black robes, there comes a nun, awful in her consecrated virginity. White and pure burns the light of her holy sacrifice upon her humble brow. She passes, like a soft, dark shadow of mysterious holiness, into the gray shadows about her. . . . There is a gay flash of purple and white. A laughing girl, merry and wholesome as a south wind, yet with the solemn sense of the noble vocation before her, stands a moment, brightening the shadows ; she pauses an instant, then flits away at the ringing of the bell. 22
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