St Ignatius College - Ignatian Yearbook (San Francisco, CA)

Page 29 text:

1 THE WANDERLUST It tracks the pathway of monsoons O'er barbed sedge and drifting dunes VVhere sloping basins of lagoons, Through moss-grown cypress shine. It speeds from wood and splashing stream To where, like oriental dream, The cities of the Caliphs gleam Above the desert line. 'Neath Gizeh's hills the camel train Glides o'er Sahara's burning plain And fades adown the drifting lane, The blue horizon barg- A siren song the breezes light Call like some fabled desert sprite And whispering voices of the night Come from the desert, far. And just like that must ever be The hidden, longed-for Lorely Thatis always, always urging me To hit the road again And ever I have lonesome been For places I have never seen For fairy isles on seas serene Where Southern skies begin. Iive done a million miles around The sprawling path that knows no bound Vlfherever chance its course has wound Across the whole vast sphere. In summer seas 'way off somewhere, I'll find some day my island fair,- T guess though it's a land called There,' Thatis anywhere but Herein

Page 28 text:

Uhr manherluzt By VINCENT HALLINAN AY, can't you feel the distance call? It grips me in its restless thrall, I got to be away-that's all- just anywhere but here. The winter's coming, red and brown, The maple leaves are tumbling down, And every golden poppy crown Trernbles on hill and mere. I roamed today 'mid meadows green, With daffodil a golden sheen, And sorta scattered in between, Each pretty bluebell's mouth, And as I lay a-musing there, There came a shiver in the air, And every blade and blossom fair, Swung nodding to the South. And, Lord! 'twas just like fairy hands, Came stretching up from Southern lands, And bound my heart in magic bands From far-off Tropic belts. It's like some kind of nameless goad, A message in some mystic code, That drives me forth upon the road, The road to Somewhere-else! It leads to far-off coral strands, To palm-lined reefs and golden sands, And many dreamed-of distant lands, Adown the Southern Seas- It winds its way through purple haze, Of soft Hawaiian coves and bays, Warm with the South sun's slanting ray Kissed by the Southern breeze. S

Page 30 text:

Uhr netrg nf Hur By -IOSEPH MCINERNEY x 'N DK HE poetry of Poe is largely a reflection of his MK short life of misfortune and misery. When 'K he was two years old, his parents died leav- -. f- ing him to be tossed about on the sea of life S 2 with only a few friends to protect him. He EK d v EK was adopted when seven, and from that time there ensued a career of bitter disappointment. His constant struggle to keep the wolf from the door, the hard but losing battle he fought against his craving for drink, and the crowning sorrow of seeing the woman he loved suffering from want and his inability to aid her, all lent to his mind a sombre color which deepened as he poured forth his feelings in verse. The familiar picture of Poe's cottage at Fordham, wind-swept and dreary, holds the secret of his life and poetry. The themes of Poe's poetry are few-man's loneliness, the hopelessness of love, remorse for a life ill-spent. His poems bring no breath from the outer world. Theirs is a land of dreams, of cloudy skies, of tempests, of fantastic terrors. Through this land glide ghosts and birds of ill-omen-his immortal raven with its ominously sombre never more, and his ghouls depressing and chilling the human heart with their muffled monotone. When all this is united with his vivid imagery and well nigh faultless verse that flows in haunt- ing melody, we have that poetical temperament which has these many years gained for Poe ardent admirers on both sides of the Atlantic. The Raven, his masterpiece, is a grim foreshadowing of the sad death of his child-wife. It was the thought of this separation, a separation of death, that wrought on him to pour out in solemn verse this poem that seems to strain the VCYY Ch01'dS Of the heart. The mysteriousness brought out