Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

Page 21 text:

ALL THROUGH THE TERM French and ' ' Caesar I ' ve been cramming, All through the term. ' ' Pilgrim ' s Progress I ' ve been slamming, All through the term. Euclid through my brain was boring, And Shakespeare, was quite deploring, To vacation thoughts were soaring. All through the term. Bad marks I ' ve dodged by lessons done, All through the term. For Saturday ' s our time for fun. All through the term. When at last this session ' s ended, Joy will with my life be blended, If I ' ve to my work attended, All through the term. B.B. V. (Tune: All Through the Night.) SPRING As the buds awaken. After sleepy winter dreams; Off their leaves the dews are shaken, And trickle down in little streams. There ' s a sweetness in the air Which lasts throughout the day, It tells that spring is really here. And ' tis the month of May. The daffodils are very fair. Standing in straight array; The sky above is blue and clear. And all the world is gay. E.E. II. ♦ 19

Page 20 text:

Pen in hand at my desk I sit, Before me a paper white, But not one stroke has stained that sheet. For I don ' t know what to write. The worthy editor of this scroll Gives me a sleepless night. When she asks for an Effort for our Magazine, Since I don ' t know what to write. As I rack my brain, I hear a song, And I listen with all my might. For, though faint and far, the refrain I hear Is, don ' t know what to write. Letters and cards in heaps have I — I am in a woeful plight, For to answer these reams is difficult When I don ' t know what to write. A zealous friend my autograph wants. With some sentences sweet and polite. But all I can mutter, in hopeless despair. Is, I don ' t know what to write. The morn for exams has dawned at last. The sun o ' er the world shines bright. But none of its brilliance has entered my brain. For I don ' t know what to write. The song dies away, and I ' m left alone With that paper so spotlessly white, And the last thing I moan, as I tumble to bed. Is, I don ' t know what to write. C.R. VI. 18

Page 22 text:

TO TRAFALGAR We Trafites scatter round the Seven Seas When we have learned the things thou hast to teach, We differ much in thought and word, but each Is true to thee and dear old used-to-be ' s So all are joined in one to wish thee well. And may the Trafites yet to come Uphold thy blue and white unstained, and from Thy name all shade of doubt and ill dispel. I ' ve been to many lands since I left you — To England, Ireland and the U.S.A. And made new friends in each, but still I ' m true To those at Traf with whom I used to play; And so the wish I always have for you Is Luck to Traf forever and for aye . M.G.— An Old Girl. TO THE VIOLET I love thee modest little flower, Among thy woodsy bed. The spring hath come, the sun doth shine. Why hang thy pretty head? No flower there is, so dainty, From here to the sky above, Not one who hath thy modest charms, Knowest thou this, my love? Why not show thy lovely face? Parade thy fragrance, line and grace, To the bees and butterflies on wing. And make thyself known as Queen of Spring. — E.T. II. 20