Wellesley College - Legenda Yearbook (Wellesley, MA)

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WELLESLEY COLLEGE LEGENDA. 13 and ferns and mosses at their feet. There is a mysterious rus- tling high among the branches of oaks and alders, and a stone, rolling from the narrow, winding path and falling into the hollow below, sends a little shiver of dread through the hearer. Fairies may dance on June nights beneath the oaks near Long- fellow Pond, but ghosts wander under the sister oaks in the West Woods. Fifty, one hundred, one hundred and fifty, it maybe — for what beholder dares stop to count the white-robed visitants? Enough to know that they are there, wandering in long Une, their flickering tapers throwing a weird light among the trees and along the lake side. Only on dark nights do they venture out, when the rain comes down in great drops and the black sky makes a fitting canopy for the mysterious mission which calls them forth. Like the Brownies and Elves of ear- lier days, these spirits of the West Woods give no kindly wel- come to curious prying, but there are rumors of a sepulchral dirge which they chant, and it is whispered that their English is perfect. From the mysterious shades of the woods to the open of the meadow, with its myriads of daisies and all heaven around us. Have you ever stood knee-deep in the grasses, in the midst of clover, buttercups, and daisies, a sea of daisies, which the wind ruffles and tosses into waves? White and gold, as far as the eye can reach ; clover, deep, rich red and pink and white; grasses strung with emeralds and amethysts. Ah! life is worth the living in the daisy meadow ! The sighing of the wind in the pine trees, the swaying of grasses and daisies, the flood of sunshine, are like the freedom and buoyancy of the sea, from which at sunset one sees far off in the western sky a city of towers, each pinnacle and dome tipped with crimson, violet, and gold. A vesper service is held at this sunset hour. The path lead- ing from the new chapel the arching trees form into a cathedral nave, dim aisles stretch away through the woods, in which the light flickers and fades, the birds are the choir invisible and all around is the hush of worship. The perfect day at Welles- ley has given place to the perfect night.