Peterborough Collegiate and Vocational School - Echoes Yearbook (Peterborough, Ontario Canada)

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Q6 ' Ebe 'Echoes TA -,Painting sracoxn PRIZE lf HE FISHING SCENE is a paint- again return with the spoils of hard and ing ofthe tranquil beauty of a small hay on the coast of Scotland. It is evening. The fishing smacks have re- turned and their sails. flaming red in the last rays of tl1e sun. reflect their colour on tl1e quiet surface of the rolling sea. A full mo011 has l'lSt'l1 in the background. Though scarcely noticed amid the blazing light of the sun. it casts a faint. silvery path across the waters. Near the shore by a sandy beach. is another group of boats. Stripped of their sails the masts. like skeletons. cast long wavering shadows. The fishermen are busy with their nets and the unloading of the day's catch. Though at a distance and in the uncer- tain haze of sunset. they all look to be wearing the simple attire of fishermen. and seem a part of their surroundings. Their day's work is ended. They have returned again to await the dawn of an- other day that they may once again invade the great expanse of sea and once patient labour. Though the weather has been sunny and quiet. the shoreline of the bay shows scars of rougher weather. with lashing waves and beating rains. The sturdy. dis- figured trees by the shore turn naked. twisted branches to the sea and bear their foliage on the more protected side. lest wind and storm should strip them of their wealth. In the foreground. half sitting, half re- clining. three men. most likely daily visit- ors. are watching the boats come in. and tl1e industrious fishermen working at their evening tasks. All three are clad in mean apparel. but one seems older than the others who are merely idle bystanders. willing to watch while others work. The elderly man may once have been a fisher- man himself. to whom such scenes as this recall fond memories of younger days. when he. like these me11. thrilled to the call of the sea with its beating winds and rolling waves. BIARG. LTLLICO, Va. Acad. 'Ghz South Wino FIRST PRIZE Oh. wind from the South where the palm trees grow And the moon looks down on a silver sea. Like a soft warm breath you silently flow. Caressing the Howers on field and lea. You whisper sweet stories to violet and rose And ripple the lake witl1 your playful breeze. You rock the birdlings to calm repose And flutter the leaves on the aspen trees, You stir the sails of a pleasure ship And bend the spume of a fountain spray Till it falls with a glimmering silvery drip Un thc marble wings of a dancinfr fav D Z3 . ' Then away up North in the ice and snow You free the streams from their winter chains .Xnd over thc sleeping flowers you blow. hvillilllg them up with your gray spring rains. OLGA Locrsrz TVESTBYE, Ulc Acad.

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Ebe .fcboes 25 torios on the organ. Handel passed to the Great Beyond o1I Easter Saturday, seven- teen hundred Elllll fifty-nine at the age of seventy-four. Handelys music is somewhat solemn and slow but it expresses the struggle which he had during his whole career. first against his cruel father and later against ill-health. I-Ie finally triumphed just as the Hallelujah Chorus I1'Oll1 the lIessiah expresses the triumph of Christ over Death. Other great works by Handel are the famous funeral march from the oratorio Saul and the immortal and beloved Largo BPITTY Disrci-nan. Va. Kc-ad. Tube lwakening FIRST PRIZE Long years have we dwelt with slumber, Lone kings of a valley land Where the days passed by like shadows And the slow years came to hand. And our eyes are dim with dreaming III the years wl1e1I time stood still, Vilhen the winds were hushed and gentle From the shelter of the hill. But now. when across tl1e meadow Where drowsy poppies grow, Comes at last the hour we longed for, Shall we not rise Hlltl go? LIL,-XDYS H. XVATSON, VA Acad. i..l.. i TAS SECOND OR many yeaI's the hill behind our house has been a constant source of entertainment for me. Not only have I skied and tobogganed on it but I have spent many hours enjoying the view from it. In an autumn evening the scene to my mind is the most beautiful. From the western sky the sinking sun sends its rays over the countryside, bathing it in the soft crimson glow of sunset. Ill the distance one can see that the trccs in the woods are just beginning to colour and their dark green and yellow make a striking contrast against the brilliant sky. Farther down i1I the valley I see the creek which winds snake-like through the fields. At present all that remains of it are a few pools here and there among the luxuriant grass that 1na1'ks its for- mer course. The water reflects the sun- set and they appear as bright flaming pools of fire. Finally, in the distance I see the course widen, and the green marsh that marks its entrance into the river. I look again into the valley and direct- ly below I see cattle being driven to the pasture, for the night milking-time is over and they contentedly follow one the well-worn path. The let dowII the bars and se- another along driver having CQI12 PRIZE curely replaced them, whistles a merry tuIIe as he turns towards his home. From my post I can see the lights be- gin to blink i1I the windows of the farm- houses. As I climb down from my vigilant post on the fence. scarcely a tI'ace of colour remains in the west. A low-sweeping bat XVHFIIS me that night is slowly stealing over the mysterious wo1'ld. As I start LIOXVII the hill I see the first evening star and I think of the beautiful lines of Gray in his second stanza of H11 Elegy written iII a country church-yard - Now fades the glimmering landscape on the sight And all the air a solemn stillness holds, Save where the beetle wheels his dron- ing flight, And drowsy tinklings lull the distant foldsf, RUTH ELLIS, Vb Acad. + + + I X N I ' 'XQX if ,su I - J ' -Ui If ,

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Ebe 'Echoes Q7 Gbe 'Tllace Tl 'ilove :Best T is a little secluded spot in Muskoka district far away from the noise of the city. and a quiet peacefulness seems to hover there. .X tiny cottage stands on the spot and from it all the attractions of the place can be seen. Ill the background is a hush where stately pines tower high above the other t1'ees. Here and there among the maples and oaks are a few brightly coloured leaves of crimson and gold like the plum- age of some beautiful bird. The bush seems to hold some mysterious sway over one who has never explored its intricate paths. On one side stretches a small field of waving golden grain ready for harvest. Beside it is another field of pink and crimson clover with a few clumps of daisies. These fields in themselves make a very pretty picture and one can imagine tl16ll1 the scene of many a midnight frolie of the fairies. Perhaps it was they who did the delicate tinting of the clover and even the grain. In front of the cottage is the lake which is sometimes a shiny. silvery sur- face with a few bright-coloured canoes gliding leisurely or swiftly over the water according to the whims of their occupants At other times it is a mass of angry tumbling in white foam. The rain pours down and waves dashing high and then meets the white-caps, obscuring our vision of the opposite shore. There is something fearful about a storm on the water. and yet it is an awe-inspiring sight. On the other side of the lake is a tall cliff with silver birehes standing out against the background of the other trees. The shore of the lake is beautifully curved and has many calm little bays. One of the reasons that I love the spot is. perhaps. because I have seen some of the beautiful sunsets over the water. On one occasion the sun sank slowly to rest leaving behind it first a path of gold. re- flected in the water, and then blended into various delicate hues. leaving us speechless and motionless. But the beauty of the sunsets is rivalled by the beauty of the moon. One evening a bright light seemed to ilhnnine the whole countryside. Gazing skyward we saw the moon unusually large and radiant. Instead of its usual pale silvery glow it cast a path of brilliant light on the tranquil water. VVhat could be lovelier than a paddle across the lake in the path of the moon? Little yellow beams of light like so many tiny threads seemed to be leading up to the moon. Une could imagine them as little ladders on which the fairies could ascend to their homes or descend from them to do their mysterious works on earth. The little rustic cottage which is our home for a few short months becomes a part of us and it is there we enjoy the peace and beauty of one of God's masterpieces. JEAN FL!-JTT, IVB Acad. f -ht, al.. .l-