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UNIVERSITY OF OREGON, EUGENE, SATURDAY, MAY 10,
1952
NUMBER 120
The Garland
By Pat Kitchic
Sophomore in Liberal iris
HI(,1I overhead a while cloud flouted in the
pirrriliK sapphire -k\. and the -lim leave-*
.>( olive tree- rustled [tenth in the breeze. I he
air wa- perfumed with the seen! of flowers;
scarlet, rose anil golden, growing in profusion
a|$pg the hanks of the river in the valley of
Soruk. Somewhere a dove cooed softly, and the
treble shout of a boatman drifted over the
water, dear and musical. Delilah twisted a
blade of grass between her finger- and sighed.
•'Samson." -he -aid. “Samson, cut your hair. ’
The hron/ed giant beside her blinked hi
eves, and the thick la-lie- east curving shadows
on his cheeks, “(.an I. he -aid.
She ran her fingers through the dark curls
and frowned. hy not •
“I like it this way. besides, I vc always worn
Il so.
“Cut jt just to please me." She placed u dow
er behind his ear, and studied the effect.
He laughed, and his laughter roared and
echoed, reaching for the hills. V hy t
“Hecause it's tangled so that no comb could
ever smooth it. and its seven locks look rprite
, like snakes, twining all together.
‘Tinmininph." Samson grunted. “Snakes or
tangles, still 1 like it.
“Hut it spoiled my finest piece of cloth, when
1 wove it in my web!"
"So." he said. “I'll buy you still another,
colored like the w ings of dragonflies.
"No." she said. “First cut your hair, and
■ then I'll weave a robe of golden thread for you
alone.”
"1 wouldn't cut it for a jewelled crown, or
for all the riches of a kingdom.
. “Please?" she said, her great dark eves
pleading, hi led with unskilled tears. “You'd be
so handsome and so strong that every man in
. Israel or IMiilistia would hold you up to envy."
“They do already.” said Samson, “because
, I have you. Delilah.
“Humph!" She turned uway. “You couldn't
• really love me. because you wont do anything
to-please me.”
“No.” he said, "I merely slay the I'hilistians
when thev annoy you. and slaughter lions with
in> hands lor your amusement."
She tossed her head, and the blue-black
waves of her hair glistened in the sunlight.
"l!ut that’s so very simple for you. You're the
strongest man in all the world, killing armies
with the jawbone of an ass. while others swat at
flies w ith much more effort.”
Samson sat up and gazed at her. unsmiling.
“My strength." he said, “was not my doing.
I’m innocent of it."
She clutched hi' hand, her finger* soft as
lib petals, and smiled at him. “Then tell me
why you have it! Why are you so strong, and
others weak ?"
He stared at the river, seeing its silver rip
ples curling in the sunlight, waving like De
lilah’s hair. “Three times," he said, “you’ve
H'kcd me. and three times I’ve told you lies.
This time 1 shall not answer."
She frowned, and her crimson lips twisted
sadlv, like the blossoms of some dying flower.
“I’ll never know." she said. “And I shall perish
from my curiosity ."
Samson smiled at her. “I truly doubt it, for
I shall do all in my power to please you.’
“You will?” She gazed at him. astonished.
“Then cut your hair. One tiny lock, then more
and more, until it stands about your head like
a halo made of ebony!
“Can’t." lie said. "It’s my one vanity."
“And my one despair. Some day I’ll cut it
for you. and you’ll never know I’m doing it at
all. I’ll braid it in a circle, and wear it on my
arm.
He sighed and pillowed his head on his arms,
stretching out upon the grass. "Until that
day,” he said. Til sleep in peace.”
DELILAH looked at him, her great eyes
wide, and listened to his steady breathing.
She smiled, and then laughed softly, pulling a
silver razor from the hand about her waist.
“Samson.” she whispered, “Samson, you
-hall he handsome as all the gods of Philistia.
She wound the seven locks about her fingers,
one by one. and rut them carefully and silently,
working with the shining little blade. 11c
stirred and sighed, and she filled her hands
with curls and tossed them in the sparkling
river where they floated, dark against the
golden ripples.
“You will be pleased with me. she mur
mured. “when you waken, for you shall have
a crown of flowers, and be the king to Queen
Delilah.”
She wove a garland of ldood-red blossoms
and placed it on his head, then stiffened sud
denly. A face was staring at her from among
the waxy olive leaves.
“Samson!” she CTied, “Samson, the Philis
tines arc upon you!”
He stumbled to his feet and stared around
him. “Where'.''”
She pointed, trembling. “There, among the
trees! ”
He ran towards them . . . and fell before he
reached them, clutching at his short black
curls. The soldiers laughed, and ringed him in
with spears and axes, fiery in the noon-high
sun.
His dark eyes scanned the crowd and found
Delilah, staring at him. “My hair.” he cried,
“did you ... ?”
She hacked away. “I cut it with my razor ...
while you slept.”
He bowed his head and turned, the crimson
flowers falling to the ground. “And with my
hair.” he said, “my strength is gone.” The
soldiers prodded him along the path, a^ some
where a boatman called on the river of Sorak,
plaintive, now, and searching.
ABOUT THIS ISSUE...
The University of Oregon has no literary magazine. Many have felt a need for some
media through which student writers could be read—in print.
The Oregon Daily Emerald agrees that such a magazine has a place on this campus.
So we are experimenting in the field with this literary supplement
The work is not professional. No one would be more ready to tell you that than 5. N.
Karchmer, instructor in English, whom we thank for providing us with some of the better
work from his short story classes and W. F. Feeney, instructor in English, to whom we arc
indebted for the poetry.
But it is student work.
We hope you will enjoy it.—EDITOR.