Santa Rosa High School - Echo Yearbook (Santa Rosa, CA)

Page 11 text:

THE PORCUPINE 9 Oliver’s Farewell Letter It has been the good fortune of the students of the San- ta Rosa High School to receive an object lesson of great value. Whether they will profit by it or not, is another question. For several days they had with them a young Japanese who was there for the purpose of increasing his familiarity with the English language, preparatory to entering Stanford. He departed suddenly in response to his country’s call, leaving behind him a letter. This letter not only shows the spirit which is largely responsible for the Japanese victories in the far East, but it also clearly indicates to the students that an associate may possess latent possibilities undreamed of by them. They receive at first hand the lesson that patriotism and devotion to duty know no race distinction, and that im- perfect English can express the loftiest of sentiments. The letter is here given in full: At the Midnight, Oct. 15, ’04. Mr. E. M. Cox, Dear Sir: I received the telegram at p. m., 5 this evening, from Japanese Government to come back for my military service. I teared, holding it in my hands under the twilight, for I could not keep down my deep feeling which had been disturbed the progress of my study, but not dread death on the battle ground. Had gone in vain! Holding the purpose to reservice an example of public virtue for the future of the land of rising suns— Japan—as the “Light of Asia,” I crossed the unharvested Pacific ocean this summer. But had gone in vain! Dear schoolmaster! My acquaintance with you at the school was a few days, as a little dream of summer night, but have become the close teacher as so has been long be- fore, yet it was a meeting, I must go, leaving you far be- hind. When the sun will break the eastern sky you never fell to see the beautiful scenery of the Santa Rosa’s na-

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THE PORCUPINE AAlone The poplar stretched up straight ani tall, In appearance king of trees. Its neighbors viewed it, great and small, Anl in their petty gossip all Said with insolent ease: “Tt’s alone, All alone.” “It’s love of self’s what keeps it up,” So said those little trees. “Tf it so wishes it may drain the cup Of bitter, and sorrow. if it will not stoop, But remains high in the breeze, Alone, All alone.” The poplar heard, and sadly smiled, For trees do smile sometimes. “How little they know why I am exiled, Why I cannot stoop and be defiled, But here remain and pine Alone, All alone.” “Nis little they know how I long and sigh, A foolish thing, I know, For a sincere friend as tall as I, But the laughing breeze as it passes by, Mocks my ery of woe, Alone, All alone.” “for they lack not a clinging vine Nor need they hush a moan, As a sense of loss of love divine Wrings from the suffering heart and minl This haunting cry, Alone, All alone.”

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10 THE PORCUPINE ture, but.my happyness has turned up to other way—to the battlefield, to sacrifice for the country’s honor. I have been called to stand up face of the dangerous enemy in Manchuria as a Lieutenant of Artillery, belong- ing to Fourth Army, picking away pen and books from by hand of peaceful study, for my honor to do the bril- liant work that will hid the thousands stars with my brightness. I have recalled the memory of the beautiful age that manhood went to the battlefield with the pur- pose of building a great justice upon the earth. To crush up a wrong ambition of the Slavs on Far East, I will never refuse to die, piling up the own corpse, one on other. My two intimate comrades—-officers who was killed at the battle of Liao Yang, before leave their fatherland they send me a letter—only three lines and nothing more —in which they say, “Now we must go to the battlefield. Do for us rest after our death. Waite you, dear friend, at the gate of Zion. ” They were hopeful young officers in the army, for they has held in their narrow breast a great ambition, to erect a statue of the justice with the foundation of the humanity. But now the gloomy vision is dispersing in my eyes rising upon wings to heaven from the bloody wilderness where they has fallen together with the recollection of the forest in which our childhood has wandred hand in hand, many and many years go. Silent- ly covered their faces and asleeping on the gate of Zion with the light of immortal beauty. “Waite you, dear friend, at the gate of Zion.” The bloody bosom of Manchuria’s prairie is Paradise for me! Yes, our Lardilist has lent only feet for my young life, but will give wings on my death. Lo! their freshes are resting from its carnal torment and surround- ing with the sweet chorus of the white dressed Angels, but no more tears, no more pains for them. The time is ripe to sacrifice the own upon the altar of the progress of civilization and humanity of human be- ing, that shows the history of the world has been marked