Willard Middle School - Target Yearbook (Berkeley, CA)

Page 11 text:

T HE T A in a few hours he died, his heart broken. The maiden has never been seen since, and the rock is called “Bato in Dalaga,” or The Rock of the Maiden. ' ' ELLA BARROWS. “THE FAIRIES OF ERIN. To a sweet young maid, Of my dear green isle, With merry frank eyes And her bright happy smile. Out on the braes at midnight Mid surrounding shrubs and trees, The most wonderful, beatiful fairies Come up and dance in the breeze. The beautiful Irish fairies Still live and dance today, For the loving Irish people; Don’t scorn them and send them away. Away in this new young country. Fairies are merely a joke, But the’re emblems of poetry and beauty To the tender Irish folk. Oh England! harsh mistress, 1 pray thee, Come not to my fanciful land, Scorn not my beautiful faries. And banish them with thy hand. For if the fairies are banished, The spell of Erin is broke — • The nature of her children Will be just like other folk. They ' ll spend all their time in learning, They’ll find sin and crime in this life, They’ll crave money, oh curse among nations! Oh leader of sin and of strife! R G E T 7 The children of Erin grow weary. They look forward and long to see A time when they will be happy — A time when Erin is free. But the fairies still keep her charm, And dance and sway in the breeze, Out on the braes at midnight, Surrounded by shrubs and trees. Sometime we’ll go and surprise them — Silently hand in hand, And see the beautiful fairies Of our own dear Erin land. HAZEL GREENE. REWARDED Jack Carson was a lad of seven years, with red hair and blue eyes. His father was killed in a train ac- cident and his mother had just died leaving Jack homeless. He had an aunt and a grandfather, but his mother had never been able to find them after the close of the Civil War and therefore Jack knew of them only as described in story by his mother. It was the night before Christmas when Jack gazed at the brightly lighted shop windows. Suddenly he wheeled around and stood thinking where he should spend the night. He looked up just in time to see a very beautiful lady pass. O!, she was just like his mother. Tears sprang to his eyes and he lowered them, but as he did so they rested on a plump purse lying on the sidwalk. It belonged to the lady who had just passed. He gazed at the purse, then he looked around, nobody was looking; should he keep it or return it. He saw his mother on her death bed as she raised her head and said feebly, “Jack, my dying wish is that you always be honest.” He desired to fulfill the wish and throwing his shoulders resolutely

Page 10 text:

6 THE TARGE T AT SUNSET. I joy to watch the skies at e ' en, ' When the sun is sinking low; Living and breathing colors they seem, That softly melt and go. The sun just glides from out of sight, And leaves a path of gold; Then into this there blends a light, Most wondrous to behold. The shades cast over the Golden Gate, Are truly works divine; What mortal man can imitate, This work of art sublime? A perfect rest comes over me, When I gaze upon this all; My thoughts then turn, Oh Lord, to thee — From whom all blessings fall. LAURINNE MATTERX. “BATO N I DALAGA.” (A Philippine Legend. Long, long ago there lived in the “Convento adjoining the Church of San Juan, an old priest named Father Pedro, whom everyone loved, and whose counsel was sought on all oc- casions. One day he went away and was gone some time, and when he re- turned he had a beautiful native girl with him. No one ever knew whence he brought her. He named the child Luz,” which means light,” and called her The light of his life.” Years went by and each day she became more fascinating. Her hair was long, black and glossy, and her eyes so large and beautiful were the awe of the village. She lived in the Convento with the priest, and when she grew older many sought her hand. But the old father guarded her care- fully, training her for the convent and the veil. The lovely maiden knew noth- ing of her suitors, for her only out- ings were in the little garden behind the church and an occasional walk walk with Father Pedro. It was on one of these walks on a soft, sweet night, as they were wind ing their way along a path leading out of the village, that a young man stopped them and speaking courteous- ly to the priest, inquired the distance to the next town. As the way was long, the father, forgetting his caution for Luz and craving company of his own sex, invited the handsome youth to spend the night at the Convento. The stranger gladly accepted, and on the way home, while talking with the priest, gazed admiringly at the girl by his side. On arriving at the Convento. Luz brought wine, then bade them good night and went to her room. With the first streaks of dawn the village was awakened by the bell in the tower ringing! Ringing! Such a wild startling clanging! It was not the Sabbath. Why then should the bell ring? Only twice before had it rung out of its accustomed time, first when the former priest of the church had died and second when the village was warned of a forest tribe of Ibilao creep- ing up to sack the town. The people quickly gathered at the church, and the priest, stumbling down the old tower stairs, in broken phrases told of the stranger and how both he and the beautiful maiden, The light of his life, had disappeared. Men searched for days and weeks with no result. One day a traveler came into the town and told a strange tale — of how a day or two before, while riding a few miles westward, he had seen, sitting on a huge rock, the maiden Luz, spinning. He hurried to her, thinking to take her back to the old priest, but when within a few yards, the rock seemed to open, and she disappeared. The news being carried to the priest,

Page 12 text:

8 THE TARGET back, brushing his sleeve hastily over his eyes, he grabbed t he purse and running to the lady, returned it. She thanked him and offered him a five dollar bill and said, “Go and buy your mama and papa some pres- ents.” “I — haven’t — an — y — m — moth — er — or — f — fath — er,” he sobbed, “I — am — - an — or — phan”. “What is your name?” “Jack Carson and I was born in Richmond, Virginia,” he answered proudly. “What was your mother’s name? Did she give you anything when she died?” “Here are some things she gave me”, he said as he drew a large hand- kerchief from his pocket and carefully opening it he displayed a ring and a locket. The lady looked at the ring and found that it bore the inscription “To Rose from Joseph”. Examining the locket she found that it contained two pictures, one was of a man and lady and the other of two little girls. “Why”, she gasped, “this picture is my mother and father and that one my sister and I”. “No”, he said determinedly, “this one is my mother and her sister and that one, her mother and father”. “Look”, she said as she took from her purse, a locket. It was the same as Joseph’s. Opening it she disclosed two pictudes the same as in the locket Joseph held. She thought of her long- lost sister then she said aloud, “What is your aunt’s name?” “Blanche Marie Black. My grand- father’sname was Colonel John Black, of the Confederate Army.” “Why that is my name and my father’s,” she said, then she thought again of her sister. The mystery was solved. This was her sister’s child, for the lockets had been given to the sisters for Chrismas many years be- fore the war. Clasping her arms about his neck she kissed him and said proudly, “I am your aunt. Come home and see your grandfather”. The grandfather was bewildered when told the strange stox-y of the meeting of Blanche and Jack, but he remembered his daughter Rose, who at the commencement of war went to the enemy’s camp disguised as a negro wash-woman, but she had never re- turned and they had never heard of her since. Colonel Black rewarded Jack with an education and now he takes cai’e of his grandfather’s estate. GRACE RENNIE. GOLDEN GATE AT SUNSET. I. Oh, Golden Gate at nightfall, When the evening sun is low, How lovely, oh, how lovely. It makest thou to glow! II. See there on the horizon, A dainty touch of pink, Lighting the sky and waters, Until they seem to link. III. Then higher in the heavens, The palest violet hue, Is joined by bands of fleecy clouds, To sky of clearest blue. IV. Blow lovely is the coloring, Against the purple hills, Whose nobility and grandeur, My mind with rapture fills. V. Then see, just in a twinkling, All fades to dullest gray, And out of sight the great red sun, Has dropt and passed away. MARJORY TUTTLE.