reak of day,
With never a thought of fears;
We'll die or we'll fight
For Spain and the right;
Sing ho, for the cavaliers!

_Literary Monthly_, 1897.

RECOMPENSE

CHARLES P. PARKHURST '98

At dawn he toils the steep to gain the flower,
The lure that beckons from the height afar;
Noon wanes to eve, the bloom has fled, but lo!
High in the purple night there gleams a star.

_Literary Monthly_, 1897.

CERVERA AT ANNAPOLIS

HENRY R. CONGER '99

They crowded round to see him, great and small,
The conquered admiral of a conquered fleet,
Shorn of his glories, thrown from his high seat,
Great by the very greatness of his fall.
Hope, honor, fortune, lost beyond recall,
Greyhaired and bitter-hearted; doomed to meet
His country's censure, sharper than defeat;
His foeman's pity--that was worst of all.

He heard them faintly, as one hears, amuse,
Amid his vision voices far away
That call him from sad dreams to sadder day;
For he was where he would be could he choose,
At peace beneath the waters of the bay,
Where all his ships lay silent with their crews.

_Literary Monthly_, 1898.

THE ANSWER

DWIGHT W. MARVIN '01

I wondered why the western hills were always smiling so,
Until one evening when the heavens were like a fiery sea;
For, as the Sun crept down the sky amid the sunset-glow,
He paused upon the western hills, and kissed them tenderly.

_Literary Monthly_, 1900.

ONE OF THE PLODDERS

HARRY JAMES SMITH '02

Through the gathering gloom of a summer evening a young man walked
wearily up the dusty road toward the Waring farmhouse. In each hand he
carried a brimming pail and as he stepped along the milk in them
flopped softly against their tin sides. Out from the white streak of
sky behind his figure stood strongly relieved in silhouette, large,
stooping, dispirited. The whole attitude was one of extreme fatigue,
though for the silence and automatic movement of him you might almost
think him a piece of ambulatory mechanism. Once or twice, to be sure,
he turned his head, perhaps to look off over the cultivated fields and
to calculate the labor still to be put on them, or possibly to draw a
sort of unconscious, tired satisfaction from these encouraging results
of so many weary hours. At any rate his pace never altered. Overhead
the large maple trees reached their glooming branches in a mysterious,