Trafalgar School - Echoes Yearbook (Montreal, Quebec Canada)

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fire burst forth, leaping madly into the black sky. A convulsion seemed to rack the mountain; the top burst off; and a stream of burning lava hurled itself down the mountain side, sweeping all before it; straight for the temple it rushed. Amidst the thunderous roaring, Siro sat calmly and unmoved. Yet his eyes glowed madly and triumphantly as the temple began to quiver; for Mount Siro had come to claim his namesake! Soon, where once a flourishing town had stood, there was only a field of red hot lava. Many years rolled by. A traveller attracted by the island ventured to explore it. There he found a green stone which blazed at him like an eye. The people of that island had believed that Siro would never die; and perhaps they were right, for the eye of their god still lives and glows in an English mansion! Dorothy Brooks, Form IVa. Richard (Ehgy on the Death of a Favourite Turtle) 0 come, ye muses, haste ye to my aid; For I must write upon the passing of My dear friend, Richard, of the noble heart. Fair to look upon, noble, brave and strong; More daring than Ulysses who took Troy; Thou ' st faced as many dangers in thy time As Theseus and the ten young men in Crete, As Perseus who conquered the Gorgons And saved the fair Andromeda from death. But now thouVt gone, alas, and left My life forever. How can I live without Thee, thou most loving playmate of my youth? We used to sit before the crystal lake And dream of nymphs, of Neptune and the sea. We wandered o ' er the lee and in the wood. And fancied we saw fawn and elf and dryad; Then over hills and vales we rambled on — Ah, then was life the flow V of childhood ' s joys : But now thouVt gone and I am left to mourn. Though mayhap on that dreary night (for so It was for me) thou found ' st a better home. 1 picture thee in sweet Elysian fields; Mid yellow cowslips, ox ' eyed daisies gay, A crown of crimson roses on thy head. And resting on a bank of moss and thyme. If thou art happy Til not wish thee back. For ' tis thy pleasure I would ever seek Because while with me thou wast ever true; Was e ' er a turtle lovelier than you? Nancy Murray, Form Upper V2. [ 14 ]

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LITERARy The Forgotten Kingdom ' HE last rays of the setting sun shone through the stained glass windows of a spacious room and fell directly on a glass case. A girl was examining its contents. At last her searching iingers found a deep green stone. Turning around, she held it up for her friend to examine. The sunbeams seemed to strike the stone, sending out a myriad sparkling diamonds. This gem, said its owner, is one of our most prized possessions. It was found by my brother on an island near Greece. This island is quite small, and is covered with thick vegetation. No one lives there or knows anything about it. Yet my brother found this beautiful gem. Perhaps some rich traveller exploring the island lost the stone out of a ring. No, it had never been in a ring. Many centuries ago it had looked down upon a race of people dwelling on the island. It had glowed upon many generations. To some it seemed cold and cruel, to others warm and bright; but always mysterious and fascinating — for it was one of the eyes of their great god Sirol At the height of its prosperity, the town had been a very beautiful one. The forested Mount Siro, with its lower slopes covered with grape vines and olive trees, served as an excellent back ' ground. In the foreground the bright blue sea curled into white wavelets on the beach. The houses were large and built of white stone. Each house had a spacious lawn, sometimes a fountain, but always flowerbeds. The people were very fond of flowers. The cool, moist woods and shady trees relieved the dazzling white of the streets. Built on the slopes of Mount Siro stood the temple. Its walls were of white marble carved in intricate designs. Its garden was the most beautiful in the town. Fountains threw their sparkling waters into the sunshine; flowers grew in profusion, filling the air with their fragrance. The inside of the temple was even more beautiful. It was dark and hushed. The very silence could be felt. The roof and floor were of mosaic work. Faint tapers flickered in the gloom. At the end of the room, on a black marble throne, sat the god Siro; he was made of pure silver. On his head he wore a cap of jewels; his face was that of a man; his expression was both sinister and fascinating; his thin lips curled in a mocking smile; his eyes glittered; his body was clothed in a garment consisting of precious jewels; in his hands he held a bowl in which incense burned. Thus sat Siro, watching his people from generation to generation. It was the night of a festival. The moon, a silver disc in the sky, accompanied by a host of stars, shone down on the gay scene below. The dark waters lapped gently on the white sand. The sound of laughter and music floated on the breeze. Coloured lights glowed amongst the foliage of the trees. Suddenly great volumes of smoke issued from Mount Siro. Then flames of [ 13 ]

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Fairyland A story, please! The children stand, Expectant eyes to niine uplitted. And, in a trice, we all have drifted Down Fancy ' s stream to Fairyland. There tlow ' rs ne ' er fade, nor chill winds blow. And magic wands wave care away; In this tair land we long to stay, That all its secrets we might know. O children with the eager eyes. And parted lips so sweet to kiss. What can I tell you more than this? Youth ' s Fairyland about you lies. As coming years unfold their tale. And, all intent, you turn the page, May Fairyland attend your age, Tho ' , like the morning star, waxed pale! Gr.ace M.ather, Form IVb. Jce-Caves in the Laurentians NE hot August day last year, nine of us set out by canoe from our camp in the Laurentians to explore some ice caves about ten miles away. In the early afternoon we beached our three canoes at the base of an exceptionally high moun ' tain, where we were to meet a guide. When he failed to arrive, we decided to proceed alone. As we were unable to find the trail, we used a compass and blazed our own trail through the dense undergrowth, thus ensuring our safe return to the canoes. As we climbed higher our progress became more and more ditficult, and we grew steadily hotter. Finally we reached the summit of the mountain, from which vantage point we could see the rivers, lakes and mountains for miles around, and could even locate our camp ten miles away. After a short rest, five of us set out again and presently w ere overtaken by our anxious guide, who immediately led us to the object of our journey — the ice-caves. These were located in a large and comparatively level stretch of rock, in which we found a crevice about three feet wide, across which lay a tree trunk. Much to our astonishment, this proved to be the entrance to the caves. Our preconceived idea of caves had been entirely different from this. The guide tied a long, heavy rope to the tree trunk and, with a flashlight at his belt, descended it. Two of the more adventurous followed him into the depths, one of whom soon called up that it seemed miles going down, but was delightfully cold. I mustered up my courage and started down, chiefly to get shelter from the blazing sun. During the first part of the descent rock ledges provided footing and assistance, but I soon came to a huge boulder wedged between the sides of the crevice. I sat on it for a minute and, looking down, could see the guide ' s light; so I grasped the rope again and at a perilous rate slid dow-n, down, to the bottom, where I found the others eager to explore. My first impression was that of intense cold, which seemed the more severe because of the heat at the surface. Since the two still left on the top would not attempt the climb down, we set off with our guide. It was very dark, but with the aid of the flashlight we could easily see. The floor of the caves was covered with ice and we found it hard to keep on our feet. The sides of the caves were covered with a cold, wet, slimy substance. In many of the caves we found piles of snow; and we made snowballs [ 15 ]