Polytechnic High School - Polytechnic Student Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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THE YEOMAN'S LILT Mildred L. Bradford, S'16 Oh, my home's far away, In a place bright and gay, A place where the flow'rs ever bloom. Though I now roam away, The woods call all day, And I hope to return to them soon. Oh! my heart's in my woodland, The glorious woodland, The woodland so filled with delight. And my soul does not rest And my heart's not its best, When away from my woodland so bright Comrades, grant me a boon, Pray let 's return soon, So that in my woods I may roam. For in sooth I'1n forlorn, In the crowds I e'cr mourn, Pray let me haste to my home. There the birds sing gay, Through all the day, And the brooklets sparkling run. And the whole world is green, Fairer place was ne'er seen, And over all smiles the sun. For my soul does burn To forever return To my home in the wood 's fair glade. And my heart will be gay Through the livelong day As I rest in the great trce's shade. Oh! my heart's in my woodland, The glorious woodland, The woodland so filled with delight. And my soul does not rest, And my heart's not its best, NVhen away from my woodland so bright i291 -

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flowed down gently to the town below as though to tell the people that winter draws near. Sometimes in the long wintry nights, I was awakened by the rushing sound of the stream, which seemed to appeal to the mountains of its mysterious source. It ran and sang everlastingly, and to my innocent heart it remained an inexplicable mystery. Whence and whither went the water of the stream, ever coursing downward, and ever renewed from above? I listened and imagined until 1ny boat of fancy was carried away through the darkness to the unknown world. Though I left this memorable place when I was but a boy, the sound of the stream is still heard ever clear and ever serene, and its crystalline water runs ever smooth and ever beautiful in my heart. I23l

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THE GIFT WITHOUT THE GIVERH Gertrude Peters, W'16. Anne, panting, reached the top of the hill just in time to hear the first bell ring, and to see her schoolmates file into the brown, weather-beaten schoolhouse that lay in the valley before her. If she had had any other teacher, she would have been afraid to be late, but Miss Maegregor always understood that Anne 's work was to prepare breakfast and wash dishes, and she could not make herself believe that she ought to scold the quaint orphan who lived with a childless uncle and aunt. Anne rushed into the school-room and hastily sat down just as the tardy bell rang ominously. She glanced up to smile good morning at her teacher, but the smile was lost in a look of dismay-Miss Macgregor was not there! ln her place behind the battered old desk sat a stately, attractive woman. But the horror of horrors-she frowned ! All of her charms were eclipsed for Anne, who had never been frowned upon in school before, and the child felt a sudden dislike and fear of the usurper. Roll was called, and the morning lessons began. Anne, usually the most brilliant of her class, failed utterly in the simplest questions. She could not study for that horrid new teacher, and where, oh where was Miss Maegregor? She heard nothing of the morning lessons, and the lump in her throat grew larger every second. At noon, miserable, she learned from Marjorie Mallond that Miss Mac- gregor had been injured by an automobile in town the night before, and was now in the hospital. Oh, gasped Anne, tears Welling into her eyes. But Marjorie was gone, and Anne, though eager to learn more of her teacher 's misfortune, had to hurry home for lunch. She stumbled along, moaning to herself, No, she can 't die. They won 't let her die. Oh, if she dies, l'll die, too. She choked over her lunch in a vain attempt to eat. What's the matter, Anne? You aren't eating any lunch, remarked her uncle, a stern old farmer. What 's that? Your schoolmarm's in the hospital? And you don 't like the new one? Well, don 't ery over that. I 'low it's a good thing to have a change now 'n' then. You can 't count on them pretty school marms, no how. I would like to stay home this afternoon, may I? pleaded Anne. I-I don't feel good. Eh, don 't feel good? That ain't no excuse. You jest run along. You eouldn't do nothin' around, no how. I think Anne might stay home if she doesn't wish to go, Eben, meekly put in his wife, who still had memories of the days when she had studied the three R's under a tyrannical master. E301