Woonsocket High School - Quiver Yearbook (Woonsocket, RI)

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THE QUIVER A STORM AT SEA 11 I. A Young Lady's Account of It. On our fourth day at sea, I came on deck, feeling rather cross and uncomfortable, without any apparent reason. I soon found cause enough for being uncomfortable. The air became so chill and the wind so strong that I drew my steamer-rug more closely about me. The gulls out on the water seemed to be screaming right into my ear. The sky grew gradually blacker and blacker. The ocean beat against the vessel with a great roar. The white crests of the waves glared out of the blackness of the surrounding sky and water. It seemed to me as if some unseen being were closing a great black sheet about my head to muffle my screams; and then, when it had almost enveloped me, a great peal of thunder, followed by a terrible flash of lightning, awoke me from my stupor. Mingling my cries with the noise of the elements, I fled to my cabin. II. Her Brother's Account You wish me to tell you about that storm we had? There really isn't very much to tell. It was rather a bad storm, but that made it the more interesting. It seemed to me as if the thunder and lightning and sea were having a family quarrel. They certainly did fight well! I cheered for old Mother Ocean, but she was making so much noise that I don’t believe she heard me. If you wish a clear account of what happened, I should advise you to ask the captain. As you see, my strong point is not talking. III. Extract from Captain Smith's Diary November 24, 1914. Bad storm at two o’clock. The lightning seemed to run from the sky into the water, burning its path through the air. I have never seen it do that before. We had no trouble with the ship. Think I shall arrange for Tekon’s promotion. He does good, faithful work. IV. The Sea-gull's Story My mate had to fly about with the other gulls to warn everyone of the coming storm. I stayed under a little rock to wait for him. The good ocean is very kind to us, and I was sorry to see it in such an excited state, with the angry thunder rumbling at it, and the lightning flashing its hateful tongue at it.

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10 THE QUIVER “Thou friend of an ill fashion Thou common friend that’s without faith or love—’’ Nevertheless, he was for twelve years a slave to Mary Fitton, for we find such evidence as this of his continued love for her: “Let me not to the marriage of true minds Admit impediments. Love is not love, Which alters when it alteration finds.” Such were the women who influenced Shakespeare’s life most strongly. He was bound to one by a filial bond, to the next by a legal tie, and to the last by the strongest tie that his heart could devise. He loved and served them all, and without them his works could not have reached their high standard of excellence. LILLIAN STARR, ’16. TO A BROOK Oh, little, bubbling, singing brook, How happy you seem to be, While winding your way to the river, Which leads to the deep, blue sea! Sometimes you go through meadows, Where the grass on your banks is green, Where the flowers are brightly blooming, Still wet with the dewdrops’ sheen. Sometimes you go through forests, Cooling the heated earth With your clear and sparkling water, While you dream of the land of your birth. Onward your shining waters rush, Till at last with scarcely a quiver, . Still merrily singing and dancing, You give yourself up to the river. % VERA NORDENSTIERNA, '18.

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12 THE QUIVER V. The Storm’s Story For a certain number of days each year I rule the ocean, the thunder, the lightning, and the winds; and a very jolly reign I have, too. I like excitement and contests of strength. To please me, therefore, the wind, the ocean, the lightning, and the thunder matched their strength against one another. You sea-men do not enjoy it as much as I, do you? You are afraid for your worthless old vessels, for the people on board, and, some of you, even for yourselves. What weak creatures you mortal men are! RUTH SCHLIVEK. T8. ; ♦ NIGHTFALL The sun is setting in the west; The tiny birds are in their nest; The world begins to think of rest. i The gentle breeze whispers a song, With accent soft, but feeling strong, Which makes the heart for home-folks long. The leaves a hushed conference take; Scarcely a rustle do they make, Lest they the soothing silence break. On us the twilight soft doth steal; The nearest objects seem unreal; A restful peace we now do feel, For hushed the sounds of joyous day. On speeds the night without delay, While purple shadows pave its way. In the trees o’erhead the soft wind dies. In slumber wrapt the old world lies, Thus to remain until sunrise. O countless days! O nights untold! Still ever as you do unfold, For us enchantment weird you hold. HELEN THAYER. ’18.