Virgil Junior High School - Forum Yearbook (Los Angeles, CA)

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, ,. Zig . ...M---..,.,.,,,,, .- f Li T Nw 4 xii--Y R xx I r CQ, ,,,. -' ALT ,... ls. f, . .- Q 1, 1 . gg, L,- 'Q X A AFTER TWENTY CENTURIES By JAMES SMITH, June, 1931 How the heart thrills at the mention of that magic name--Virgil! His gifts to the world are some of the greatest works of literature eyer known. Yet, in spite of the shining honor and fame which were his, he remained quiet, seclusive, and, as far as possible, shun- ning all publicity. Publius Virgilius Maro was born in a little village near Mantua, called Andes, in 70 B. C. His father, a humble farmer, sought to give his son the highest education possible. Accordingly, Virgil was sent in turn to Cremona, where he studied until he was sixteen years of age then to Mediolanum, and then to Neopolis. At N eo- polis he studied under Syro, a celebrated teacher. He returned to his father's farm, only to be bereft of it after a few weeks, due to the war of the triumvirates. However, through the assistance of Augustus, it was restored to him. This extensive study to which the poet was devoting the first part of his life was destined to make of him, together with his natural poetic genius, a man who is hon- ored and studied even up to the present day. Some of his great works are the Eclogues, or Bucolics, a series of pastorals, the Georgics, four books dealing with husbandry, and, last and greatest, the Aeneid, one of the greatest poetical works of literature ever created. Through a pulmonary disease, however, Virgil was unable to finish the Aeneid. At Athens he began to have 'hemorrhages of the lungs, and when he embarked for Mantua, the motion of the vessel seeped out his last remaining bit of vitality, and he died soon after landing, on September ZZ, 19 B. C. A . We say that Virgil died, but in reality did he? He died in material form, yes, but his works have given him a place in history that will never be corrupted. Virgil, the greatest Roman poet that ever lived, will never die! ,mei K, ,,,, ---. , ., 1 . -A

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U l IF VIRGIL VVERE LIVING TODAY! By AGNES JANE WVEIR, January, 1931 If Publius Virgil Maro were living today, his name might pos- sibly be Thomas Smith. He would be a rival of Longfellow and a schoolmate of President Hoover, instead of Caesar. In one of his poems the last lines were: Hail! land of Saturn, mighty mother thou Of Fruits and Heroes. These lines written today would be: Haill land of a republic, mighty mistress thou Of Skyscrapers and Mussolini. Virgil's background would be today a great metropolitan city instead of a simple country village. His farm in these days would not have been lost during a war, but it probably would have been sold for some interest in the stock market. Virgil, we know, wrote the Aeneid, Eclogues, and Georgics, which made him the best known writer of the age. He wrote of the country life of Italy. In our time the Georgics would be pub- lished as a small pamphlet by some agricultural institute. If the Aeneid had been written recently, Aeneas would have made a world tour in the Graf Zeppelin, or he might have been a rival of our hero, Lindberg. But Virgil's name is not Smith, nor is he a stockbroker, and he is not a rival of Longfellow. Yet he does live today! He was two thousand years old on October fifteenth, nineteen hundred and thirty. Virgil still lives and will live forever in the hearts of the people. If Virgil were only twenty years old instead of two thousand years old, do you think he would be as great a man as he is today? No matter when he was born, nor in what country he lived, nor in what circumstances he was placed, Virgil would still be the greatest poet of all time. He is indeed the greatest poet of all the ages! l65l . -,Y ,Lug-AV, A in 7.. ,M ...L . . -- if and

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f A .BEEKEEPER'S BOY By PAT FAIR, January, 1931 Two centuries ago, on an early summer morning, a boy was lying on the end of a fallen tree that hung out over a stream. He was peering down into its clear undimmed waters, where a huge orange- spotted trout lay hidden. In the boy's eagerness to see more clearly a lock of his thick black hair split the top of the quiet pool, which sent the frightened trout quickly out of sight. With a start he jumped to his feet, sprang into the brook, and waded across to the opposite shore. The delicate slenderness of this tall boy with his black hair gave him a faun-like appearance. The premature wisdom in his gray eyes was difficult to understand, while his mouth showed a keen sense of feeling, acutely alive to impressions. His nose was the only feature characteristicof his Roman forefathers. This youth was Virgil. Destiny was to make him the greatest of Roman poets! VValking along the stream's edge through the birch and poplar trees or spying on the bright-eyed squirrels or resting happily on some fallen log was his never-tiring satisfaction. It was not his father's delight by far to see his son dreaming when he should be helping him, a beekeeper and a busy farmer. So the lad, suddenly remembering he should be home, pruning the olive trees, left his fairy land and started on a run down a lane which led over to the hills and home. As he ran, the cold morning wind tipped his nose and chin with pink, while two crows overhead cawed in derision at him. Soon he came to the cornfield back of his house and then stopped at the well to drink. His mother's voice carried his name across the meadows. Answering, he ran to the arbor where she sat. Virgil, my son, said his mother, smiling, word has come from Rome that the school has accepted you. Andronicus, the potter, i671 ,adam Y Y... ,