Rowland Hall Saint Mark's - Hallmark / Lantern Yearbook (Salt Lake City, UT)

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ff Her head from her body I look. Pluto, God of the under school. Fought like one from Hades; We wonder how she expects to teach The children to be ladies. Little black-haired, winsome Pan, Was the only one to score; The latest come to heavenly portals, And she the patron of the mortals. Yet she fought them on that day. But they should all be judged as cranks. If they grudged her their sincerest thanks. For her help in every way. Thus by the aid of the heavenly muse, I have sung of the heroes and slain; The mortals win, and the deities lose. But now as of old the deities reign; I ask, “Is there justice in this?” But we beat ’em once, and could do it again. And, “Sic Semper Tyrannis.” • — Jeannette Harris, Sixteen

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temper tKprannisi” Heavenly Muse attend me. Of a battle of hate 1 sing; Genius and judgment now lend me. License and pardon bring! The God’s were wont to be hateful, Haughty, severe, and proud; But after that famous battle. Their didatic spirits were bowed. Now haughty again we find thern. Even a little hit worse; And so I would remind them By the inditement of this verse. Of a battle in which they were crushed. Diana, the captain, led the way, Rudest and roughest in the fray. Behind her came in darkest tunic Phoebus Apollo, teacher of music. With gleaming eye and haughty mien, A high “g” sharp was every scream. Apollo’s disci|)le was next to arrive, Orpheus, hut lately dified. His latent genius submerged by hate. As he battles with those of his former state. And when Venus, the center, lay Prostrate, he resumed the fray. Venus, your glory in art is enough, (And now 1 beg you’ll excuse me), But when you are rough, and when you are tough, Venus, you really amuse me. Heavenly Jupiter refused to contend,. But in his place Juno did send, Juno (tailed Jane, whose sharp eagle ey(% Every absent or tardy mortal did s|)y. She does not fight with spear and lance, But stills with a look, and kills with a glance. Clio the muse of history, Battles with sweetest dignity. Two short years since her elevation, et well she requites her lofty station. Cer(‘s should guard the office door. Yet all alone it is left. Priscilla, in a flood of tears. Mourns her brave Mother’s death. Minerva, Latin Goddess, frowns, Too well I know ' that look. Held in my hand by her silky blond hair. Fijtcc.u

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Seniors;