Spencer High School - Spencerian Yearbook (Spencer, IN)

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McCORMICK'S FALL-Continued. - 1 to picture a water-fairy holdinglher court on the throne, with a rainbow for a crown, and the water for her robes of state 3 with her mermaids languidly splashing in the pool, or lounging gracefully on the steps of the throne. Perhaps on a still moon-light night a water-nymph comes out from her home under the rocks and for a few brief hours reigns supreme, dressed in silvery robes. with moon-beams for jewels. But the sudden whistle of a red-bird in a neighboring tree brings me back to my surroundings: and again the water flows over dull gray rock, where a few moments ago it rippled through the golden hair of a mermaid. I Leaving the fall, I watch the little stream as it moves almost imper- ceptibly toward the rocks. The water is shallow and very calm, but it is as the calm before the storm, for soon striking the rough bed, it battles its way around, between, and even over the resisting rocks. Beyond these I can only imagine its course. Perhaps after its tussle with the rocks, it flows between meadows and fields, with only the memory of its former power, or, perhaps, it continues its wild course until it joins a larger river and finally reaches the sea. Faustus' Prayer. TRANSLATED BY RUTH ALVERSON, '14. The following prayer to evil powers, translated from Latin is taken from The Tragical History of Doctor Faustusf' written about 1588, by Christopher Marlowe: ' May the gods of Acheron be gracious unto me! Farewell, three-fold divinity of Jehovah! Hail, spirits of fire, air and water! Prince of the orient, Belzebub, monarch of burning Hell and Demogorgon, I propitiate you that Mephistophilis may become visible and arise. By Gehenna, and by the consecratedgwater which now I sprinkle, and by the sign of the cross which now I make, and by my vows, let Mephistophilis himself arise devoted to mef The May Morning. LORNA OOLEY, '15, The sun rose bright o'er hills of gray, And early iiowers sprang upg A little brook beside the way Gladdened the buttercup. The violets and the daisies bright, Were lovely, sweet and gay: The fields were flooded with delight, On this most gladsome day. 29

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McCormick's Fall. MARIAN BIXLER, '15, 1 After the heat and glare of the summer day, what a relief it is to slip from my wheel and run through the woods in the direction of the low rumbling, which I recognize as that of the fall! Opposite, the perpendicular wall of stone, rough and jagged, suggests strength and durability. On top, the low-hanging limbs of the trees and shrubs droop gracefully over the edge, mosses and vines clamber over the face of the cliff, lending their soft colors as a contrast to the dull leaden- gray of the stone. From where I stand, the polished rock reaches down to the water and stretches across, making a floor worn smooth by the uninterrupted washing of centuries. A few feet from the water is a shelf in the wall, forming a miniature cave, which is the object of much scrambling and sliding on my part, but which, finally attained, is hastily vacated at the sight of a small, squirming, black lizard, which no doubt, is much more alarmed at the strange creature, which has invaded its privacy, than I by its wriggling. A But again the fall clamors for attentiong so to gain a better view, I go around through the wood. By means of vines I swing down onto a level with the foot of the fall,and step out on one of the boulders with which the pool is strewn. The fall is small, hardly deserving the name, but what it lacks in volume it makes up in picturesqueness. The water tumbles over a rough wall of solid stone, similar to that of the cliff above, only not nearly so high. At the base is a semi-circle of steplike rock, over which the water ripples after its merry dash, and these steps complete the vague resem- blance to a throne, which the cliff indefinitely suggests. How simple it is 28 Q L gg H

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The Awakener. JUNE IVICKEE, '15. As I stood on the White River bridge one morning last May, I felt that surely before me was as beautiful a picture as one could find in miles around. The strokes of the town clock told me it was the early hour of five. Always I had longed to be near the river when the sun arose--how amply repaid I was for my early rising! Looking south, I saw the outlines of the distant hills, nestled against the sky and wrapt in mist. To the top of one of the hills stretched a ribbon- like roadg here and there old rail fences straggled down to meet it. Sud- denly I glanced at the bank where I had caught a glimpse of something moving. A water-snake was just sliding into the water, where it disap- peared like ea flash. Farther down the river toward the west, the banks were covered with willow and syeamore trees. Closing my eyes to think of this picture, I found myself listening to the rippling of the water, as it tumbled over the rocksg the twittering of the birds, as they called the sun to riseg and the soft air rustling among the leaves. Presently I heard a train whistle. Far-off a watch-dog barkedg chanticleer answered chanti- cleer with lusty Growing. The world seemed to be awakening. Turning, I found the sun had tricked me-it was up, and its rosy face was growing brighter every moment. Its reflection in the water dazzled my eyes, contrasting beautifully with the trees and hills, which now had taken on a green tint. Looking to my right, I saw smoke rolling from the chimney of a farm- house, and heard the master calling the stock. A wagon and a rambling old horse, driven by a healthy-looking country boy, rattled over the bridge. In the back of the wagon was a coop of chickens, little did they know of the fate which awaited them in the neighboring town. Soon a lady and a boy passed. She was evidently going away on the train, for the boy lugged a suit-case, and I heard her warn him not to forget to feed the ducks and turkeys before going to school. The whistles now began to blow, calling the ment to their work. I turned for a last view from the bridge. The mist, which a little before had veiled the hills, was gone. Both nature and man were ready for the dayg the Awakener had not worked in vain. A Rogue. BLANCHE BROWN, '14. The wind blows o'er the meadowsfbleak And plays all kind of airy freaks, But when we ask for what it sneaks It creeps along the meadow creeks. 30