This Nation Can Be Great Again by Ferdinand E.

Marcos
Each generation writes his own history. Our forbears have written theirs. With fortitude and excellence
we must write ours.
We must renew the vision of greatness for our country. This is a vision of our people rising above the
routine to face formidable challenges and overcome them. It means the rigorous pursuit of excellence.
It is a government that acts as the guardian of the laws majesty, the source of justice to the weak and
solace to the underprivileged a ready friend and protector of the common man and a sensitive
instrument of his advancement and not captivity.
This vision rejects and discards the inertia of centuries.
It is a vision of the jungles opening up to the farmers tractor and plow, and the wilderness claimed for
agriculture and the support of human life; the mountains yielding their boundless treasure, rows of
factories turning the harvests of our fields into a thousand products.
It is the transformation of the Philippines into a hub of progress of trade and commerce in Southeast
Asia.
It is our people bravely determining our own future. For to make the future is the supreme act of the
free.
This is a vision that all of you share for our countrys future. It is a vision which can and should, engage
the energies of the nation. This vision must touch the deeper layers of national vitality and energy.
We must awake the hero inherent in every man.
We must harness the wills and the hearts of all our people. We must find the secret chords which turn
ordinary men into heroes, mediocre fighters into champions.
Not one hero alone do I ask from you but many; nay all. I ask all of you to be the heroes of our nation.
Offering all our efforts to our Creator, we must drive ourselves to greatness.
This is your dream and mine. By your choice you have committed yourselves to it. Come then, let us
march together towards the dream of greatness.


Vacation days at last are here,
And we have time for fun so dear,
All boys and girls do gladly cheer,
This welcomed season of the year.
In early June in school well meet;
A harder task shall we complete
And if we fail we must repeat
That self same task without retreat.
We simply rest to come again
To school where boys and girls obtain
The Creators gift to men
Whose sanguine hopes in us remain.
Vacation means a time for play
For young and old in night and day
My wish for all is to be gay,
And evil none lead you astray
- Juan F. Salazar Philippines Free Press, May 9, 1909

ANG MAGANDANG PAROL

Isang papel itong ginawa ng lolo
may pula, may asul, may buntot sa dulo;
sa tuwing darating ang masayang Pasko
ang parol na itoy makikita ninyo.

Sa aming bintana doon nakasabit
kung hipan ng hangiy tatagi-tagilid,
at parang tao ring bago na ang bihis
at sinasalubong ang Paskong malamig.

Kung kamiy tutungo doon sa simbahan
ang parol ang aming siyang tagatanglaw,
at kung gabi namang malabo ang buwan
sa tapat ng parol doon ang laruan.

Kung aking hudyatin tanang kalaguyo,
mga kapwa bata ng pahat kong kuro,
ang aming hudyatan ay mapaghuhulo:
Sa tapat ng lolo tayo maglalaro.

Kaya nang mamatay ang lolo kong yaon,
sa bawat paghihip ng amihang simoy,
iyang nakasabit na naiwang parol
nariyan ang diwa noong aming ingkong.

Nasa kanyang kulay ang magandang nasa,
nasa kanyang ilaw ang dakilang diwa,
parang sinasabi ng isang matanda:
Kung wala man akoy tanglawan ang bata.

This poem was published 81 years ago in Taliba. December 20, 1928.












ANG TREN

Tila ahas na nagmula
sa himpilang kanyang lungga,
ang galamay at palikpik, pawang bakal, tanso, tingga,
ang kaliskis, lapitan mot mga bukas na bintana.

Ang rail na lalakaray
nakabalatay sa daan,
umaaso ang bunganga at maingay na maingay,
sa Tutuban magmumulat patutungo sa Dagupan.

O, kung gabit masalubong
ang mata ay nag-aapoy,
ang silbato sa malayoy dinig mo pang sumisipol
at hila-hila ang kanyang kabit-kabit namang bagon.

Walang pagod ang makina,
may baras na nasa rweda,
sumisingaw, sumisibad, humuhuni ang pitada,
tumetelenteng ang kanyang kainpanada sa tuwina.

Kailan ka magbabalik?
Hanggang sa hapon ng Martes.
At tinangay na ng tren ang naglakbay na pag-ibig,
sa bentanilyay may panyot may naiwang nananangis.


















BAYAN KO


Ang bayan kong Pilipinas
Lupain ng ginto't bulaklak
Pag-ibig na sa kanyang palad
Nag-alay ng ganda't dilag.


At sa kanyang yumi at ganda
Dayuhan ay nahalina
Bayan ko, binihag ka
Nasadlak sa dusa.


Ibon mang may layang lumipad
kulungin mo at umiiyak
Bayan pa kayang sakdal dilag
Ang di magnasang makaalpas!


Pilipinas kong minumutya
Pugad ng luha ko't dalita
Aking adhika,
Makita kang sakdal laya.

ENGLISH TRANSLATION

Ang bayan kong Pilipinas
My country that is the Philippines

Lupain ng ginto't bulaklak
Land of gold and flowers

Ibon mang may layang lumipad
Even a bird with the freedom to fly

kulungin mo at umiiyak
cage it and it cries

Pugad ng luha ko
Nest of my tears

Bayan ba kayang sakdal dilag
What more a country totally exquisite

Aking adhika
My desire

Makita kang sakdal laya
To see you completely free



















KAHIT SAAN

Kung sa mga daang nilalakaran mo,
may puting bulaklak ang nagyukong damo
na nang dumaan ka ay biglang tumungo
tila nahihiyang tumunghay sa iyo. . .
Irog, iyay ako!

Kung may isang ibong tuwing takipsilim,
nilalapitan ka at titingin-tingin,
kung sa iyong silid masok na magiliw
at ikay awitan sa gabing malalim. . .
Ako iyan, Giliw!

Kung tumingala ka sa gabing payapa
at sa langit namay may ulilang tala
na sinasabugan ikaw sa bintana
ng kanyang malungkot na sinag ng luha
Iyay ako, Mutya!

Kung ikawy magising sa dapit-umaga,
isang paruparo ang iyong nakita
na sa masetas mong didiligin sana
ang pakpak ay wasak at nanlalamig na. . .
Iyay ako, Sinta!

Kung nagdarasal kat sa matang luhaan
ng Kristoy may isang luhang nakasungaw,
kundi mo mapahid sa panghihinayang
at nalulungkot ka sa kapighatian. . .
Yaoy ako, Hirang!

Ngunit kung ibig mong makita pa ako,
akong totohanang nagmahal sa iyo;
hindi kalayuan, ikaw ay tumungo
sa lumang libingat doon, asahan mong. . .
magkikita tayo!



Philippine Literature


The Rebirth of Freedom (1946-1970)


Historical Background



The Americans returned in 1945. Filipinos rejoiced and guerillas who fled to the
mountain joined the liberating American Army.
On July 4, 1946, the Philippines regained is freedom and the Filipino flag waved
joyously alone. The chains were broken.

A. THE STATE OF LITERATURE DURING THIS PERIOD


The early post-liberation period was marked by a kind of struggle of mind and
spiritposed by the sudden emancipation from the enemy, and the wild desire to see
print.

Filipinos had, by this time, learned to express themselves more confidently but post-
war problems beyond language and print-like economic stability, the threat of new
ideas and mortality had to be grappled with side by side.
There was a proliferation of newspapers like the FREE PRESS, MORNING SUN, of Sergio
Osmea Sr., DAILY MIRROR of Joaquin Roces, EVENING NEWS of Ramon Lopezes and the
BULLETIN of Menzi. This only proved that there were more readers in English than in
any ocher vernaculars like Tagalog, Ilocano or Hiligaynon.

Journalists had their day. They indulged in more militant attitude in their reporting
which bordered on the libelous. Gradually, as normality was restored, the tones and
themes of the writings turned to the less pressing problems of economic survival.
Some Filipino writers who had gone abroad and had written during the interims came
back to publish their works.
Not all the books published during the period reflected the war year; some were
compilations or second editions of what have been written before.

Some of the writers and their works of the periods are:
THE VOICE OF THE VETERAN a compilation of the best works of some Ex-USAFFE men like
Amante Bigornia, Roman de la Cruz, Ramon de Jesus and J.F. Rodriguez.
TWILIGHT IN TOKYO andPASSION and DEATH OF THE USAFFE by Leon Ma. Guerrero
FOR FREEDOM AND DEMOCRACYby S.P. Lopez
BETRAYAL IN THE PHILIPPINESby Hernando Abaya

SEVEN HILLS AWAYby NVM Gonzales
POETRY IN ENGLISH DURING THIS PERIOD
For the first twenty years, many books were publishedboth in Filipino and in English.
Among the writers during this time were: Fred Ruiz Castro, Dominador I. Ilio, and C.B.
Rigor.
Some notable works of the period include the following:
1. HEART OF THE ISLANDS (1947) a collection of poems by Manuel Viray

2. PHILIPPINES CROSS SECTION (1950) a collection of prose and poetry by Maximo Ramos
and Florentino Valeros
3. PROSE AND POEMS (1952) by Nick Joaquin
4. PHILIPPINE WRITING (1953) by T.D. Agcaoili
5. PHILIPPINE HAVEST by Amador Daguio
6. HORIZONS LEAST (1967) a collection of works by the professors of UE, mostly in
English (short stories, essays, research papers, poem and drama) by Artemio Patacsil
and Silverio Baltazar

The themes of most poems dealt with the usual love of nature, and of social and
political problems. Toribia Maos poems showed deep emotional intensity.
7. WHO SPOKE OF COURAGE IN HIS SLEEP by NVM Gonzales
8. SPEAK NOT, SPEAK ALSO by Conrado V. Pedroche
9. Other poets were Toribia Mao and Edith L. Tiempo
Jose Garcia Villas HAVE COME, AM HEREwon acclaim both here and abroad.


NOVELS AND SHORT STORIES IN ENGLISH


Longer and longer pieces were being written by writers of the period. Stevan
Javellanas WITHOUT SEEING THE DAWN tells of the grim experiences of war during the
Japanese Occupation.
In 1946, the Barangay Writers Project whose aim was to publish works in English by
Filipinos was established.
In 1958, the PEN Center of the Philippines (Poets, essayists, novelists) was
inaugurated. In the same year, Francisco Arcellana published his PEN ANTHOLOGY OF
SHORT STORIES.

In 1961, Kerima Polotans novel THE HAND OF THE ENEMY won the Stonehill Award for the
Filipino novel in English.
In 1968, Luis V. Teodoro Jr.s short story THE ADVERSARY won the Philippines Free
Press short story award; in 1969, his story THE TRAIL OF PROFESSOR RIEGO won second
prize in the Palanca Memorial Awards for Literature and in 1970, his short story THE
DISTANT CITY won the GRAPHIC short story award.



THE NEW FILIPINO LITERATURE DURING THIS PERIOD


Philippines literature in Tagalog was revived during this period. Most themes in the
writings dealt with Japanese brutalities, of the poverty of life under the Japanese
government and the brave guerilla exploits.
Newspapers and magazine publications were re-opened like the Bulaklak, Liwayway, Ilang
Ilangand Sinag Tala. Tagalog poetry acquired not only rhyme but substance and meaning.
Short stories had better characters and events based on facts and realities and themes
were more meaningful. Novels became common but were still read by the people for
recreation.

The peoples love for listening to poetic jousts increased more than before and people
started to flock to places to hear poetic debates.
Many books were published during this time, among which were:
1. Mga Piling Katha (1947-48) by Alejandro Abadilla
2. Ang Maikling Kuwentong Tagalog (1886-1948) by Teodoro Agoncillo

3. Akoy Isang Tinig (1952) collection of poems and stories by Genoveva Edroza Matute
4. Mga Piling Sanaysay (1952) by Alejandro Abadilla
5. Maikling Katha ng Dalawampung Pangunahing Autor (1962) by A.G. Abadilla and
Ponciano E.P. Pineda
6. Parnasong Tagalog (1964) collection of selected poems by Huseng Sisiw and Balagtas,
collected by A.G. Abadilla
7. Sining at Pamamaraan ng Pag-aaral ng Panitikan (1965) by Rufino Alejandro.

He prepared this book for teaching in reading and appreciation of poems, dramas, short
stories and novels
8. Manlilikha, Mga Piling Tula (1961-1967) by Rogelio G. Mangahas
9. Mga Piling Akda ng Kadipan (Kapisanang Aklat ng Diwa at Panitik) 1965 by Efren
Abueg
10. Makata (1967) first cooperative effort to publish the poems of 16 poets in
Pilipino
11. Pitong Dula (1968) by Dionisio Salazar
12. Manunulat: Mga Piling Akdang Pilipino (1970) by Efren Abueg. In this book, Abueg
proved that it is possible to have a national integration of ethnic culture in our
country.

13. Mga Aklat ni Rizal: Many books about Rizal came out during this period. The law
ordering the additional study of the life of Rizal helped a lot in activating our
writers to write books about Rizal.
The Judge
Rabindranath Tagore
Translated from the original Bengali by
Saurav Bhattacharya



First episode

Even the partner that middle-aged Khiroda had found at long last after passing
through many circumstances abandoned her like a piece of torn cloth. She detested
with all her heart the prospect of attempting to search for food and shelter for a second
time.
At the end of youth, comes like the clear autumn, a profound and beautiful age, when
it is time for the fruits and grains of life to ripen. At that age, the agility of the wild
youth no longer seems appropriate. By that time, we have had already built our
homes; many good and evil, happiness and sorrow have been cooked in the cauldron
of life, making the inner-self matured; we have, by then, put our stray ambitions on
leash and have established them within the four walls of our modest abilities, dragging
them back from the dreamland of the unachievable; at that time it is no longer
possible to attract the charmed look of a new found love; but people tend to become
more dearer to the long-known and familiar. Youthful charm, by then, has slowly
started giving way; but by long association with the body the fit inner-self expresses
itself more prominently on the face and eyes - through the smiles, the looks, the voice.
Leaving hope for things we didnt get, ending bereavement for the departed, forgiving
those that deceived, we seek solace among those who have been near, who have
loved, who have remained close withstanding the vagaries of life; we build safe nests
in the loving embrace of those few close, time-tested and familiar beings and see
therein the culmination of all our efforts and the fulfilment, of all our longings. In that
dusk of youth, in the peace of that stage of life, he who has to start again in the false
hope of new gains, new acquaintances and new relationships for whose rest the bed
has yet to be spread for whom no light has been lit to welcome him home at day end
cursed indeed is he.
At the brink of her youth, one morning, when Khiroda woke up to find that her fianc
had run off the last night with all her ornaments and money, to leave her with not
enough even to pay the rent or to get some milk to feed her three-year old child she
reminisced that in her life of thirty-eight years she could not lay claim over a single
man, she had not acquired the right to live or die in the corner of any room. She
realised she would again have to wipe off tears to deck up her eyes with black kajol
and put on red make-up on her lips and cheeks in a curious attempt to cover up the
worn-out youth and devise new schemes cheerfully and with infinite patience to
capture new hearts. She locked herself up in her room and started repeatedly banging
her head against the hard floor she remained there throughout the day without
touching any food. Outside it grew dark. Inside the room, with no lamp lit, the
darkness concentrated. As chance would have it, an old fianc came over and started
knocking at her door, calling Khiro, Khiro. Roaring like a tigress, Khiroda
suddenly sprang up and started for the man with a broom in her hand; the love-thirsty
youth had to look for escape without wasting any time. The child, bitten by the pangs
of hunger, had fallen asleep under the bed after crying for some time. He woke up in
the commotion and started crying in a broken voice , Ma! Ma!
At that juncture Khiroda picked up her child, held him fast against her breast and
running at lightning speed jumped into a nearby well. Alerted by the sound,
neighbours came up with lamps and gathered around the well. It did not take long to
fish up Khiroda and her child. Khiroda was unconscious and the child had died.
Khiroda recovered in the hospital. The magistrate transferred her case to the session
court on charge of murder.


Second episode

Judge Mohitmohun Dutt, Statutory Civilian. In his ruthless judgment Khiroda was
sentenced to death by hanging. Lawyers, moved by her wretched condition, tried their
best to save her but without success. The judge could not consider her to be worthy of
even a bit of mercy.
There was reason enough for that. Though the judge attributed Godly characteristics
to Hindu women, his lack of trust on women as a class was straight from his heart. He
was of the view that women are ever eager to sever all ties with their families; even a
slight relaxation in governing them would result in not a single chaste woman being
left in the society.
This belief of the judge also had a basis. To appreciate that, it is necessary to throw
light upon a part of the history of Mohits early life.
In the second year of his college, Mohit had been an entirely different person in
appearance and manners. Mohit is now bald in the front-head, sports a tuft at the back,
and his face is smooth with the thorough shave that he has every morning; but then
with gold-rimmed glasses, beard and moustache and hair dressed in true European
style, Mohit was like a new version of Kartik of the Nineteeenth-century.
He was quite conscious of his dress, did not detest drinking and dining and also had a
few concomitant vices.
A family stayed nearby. They had a widowed daughter called Hemshoshi. She was
young aged fourteen going on fifteen.
The tree-lined shore does not seem as picturesque and soothing from the land as it
seems from the sea. Widowhood created a distance between family life and
Hemshoshi. That distance made Hemshoshi view family life as a house of
entertainment, full of deep mystery, on the distant other shore. She did not know that
the nuts and bolts of this world are extremely complicated and iron-hard a mixture
of happiness and sorrow, wealth and poverty, uncertainty, danger, frustration and
repentance. She used to think that family life was as easy as the crystal clear flow of
the murmuring stream; that every road in the beautiful world is wide and straight; that
happiness lies just outside her window while all unfulfilled desires reside deep within
her soft warm heart, throbbing in her breast. Specially, at that time, a whiff of fresh air
carrying the scent of youth would arise from the distant horizon of her mind and blow
over the entire world giving it a touch of spring. The vibration of her heart would
travel the entire stretch of the blue sky and the earth would bloom around her fragrant
heart in layers like the soft petals of a red lotus.
At home, she had nobody except her parents and two younger brothers. The brothers
would leave early for school after breakfast and would again go after supper to the
nearby night school to practise lessons. The father used to earn a pittance and could
not afford to pay for tuitions at home.
In the intervals from work Hem would come and rest in her empty room. She would
watch intently people move up and down the main road; she would listen to the
hawker crying out entreating people to purchase his wares; and she would think that
people on the street were all content, that even beggars were all free and that the
hawkers were not really engaged in a fight for survival they were just actors, happily
enacting on a stage a play of simple movements..
And every morning and evening she would see the immaculately dressed, haughty and
broad-breasted Mohitmohun. It seemed to her that he was like Mahendra the King,
who had all the good luck on earth. She imagined that the well-dressed, good-looking
young man with his head held high possessed everything and was also worth being
bestowed with everything that one possessed. In her mind the widow would endow
Mohit with all heavenly qualities and make him the God, like a little girl playing with
a doll, thinking it to be a real being.
On some of the evenings she could see Mohits brightly lit room, brimming with the
sound of dancers footsteps and voice of female singers. Those days she would sit up
late, sleepless, staring thirstily at the silhouettes of the dancing figures. Her tormented
heart would, like a caged bird, repeatedly pound upon the ribs in enormous emotion.
Did she in her mind chide and speak ill about her make-belief God for his
extravagance? Not really. As fire entices insects with the illusion of stars, Mohits
bright, music filled chamber overflowing with amusement and wine would attract
Hemshoshi as an oasis of Heaven. Deep at night she would sit awakened, alone,
building up a world with the shadow and light on the window nearby, mingling with it
her own desires and imaginations. She would place her human-doll at the centre of
this world. In the deserted and silent temple of her mind, she would worship him by
offering like incense in the slow fire of her desire all she hadher youth, her
happiness and sorrows, her life in this earth and beyond. She did not know that on the
other side of the bright window, amidst waves of entertainment lay extreme
weariness, filth, terrible hunger and a fire that eats away life. The widow could not see
from distance the game of devastation being played behind the lights by the heartless
cruelty of a sleepless demon with a crooked smile. Hem could have spent her entire
life dreaming at her own window with her imagined heaven and God, but
unfortunately, the God became merciful and the heaven started getting closer to the
earth. When heaven touched upon earth, the heaven crumbled as did the person who
had been building it all these days on her own.
When Mohits lustful eyes fell on this mesmerised girl of the opposite window, when
one day he got an emotion laden, misspelled letter written in nervous trepidation in
response to his many missives sent under the pseudo name Binodchandro, when
thereafter for some eventful days a storm started blowing over many ups and
downs, jubilation, hesitation, suspicion, reverence, hopes and fear, thereafter how the
entire world maddened by pleasure started revolving around the widow and how after
such continuous revolution the world completely vanished like a shadow and how at
last one day all of a sudden, from that revolving world the lady got detached and was
thrown faraway off at great speed, it is not necessary to give a detailed description of
all that.
One day late at night Hemshoshi left her parents, brothers and her home behind and
started off in the same carriage with the holder of the pseudo name Binodchandro.
When the human-God with all its clay, hay and false golden ornaments came and sat
close to her she almost died of embarrassment and repentance.
When the carriage started she fell crying on the feet of Mohit and pleaded, Oh God
please! I beg you to leave me at my home. Mohit hurriedly muzzled her. The
carriage started moving fast.
As a drowning man on the verge of his death momentarily remembers all the incidents
of his life, Hemshoshi recollected in the deep darkness of the carriage that never
would her father sit down to dine without having her in front of him; she remembered,
her youngest brother would love to be fed by her after returning from school; that she
would sit down with her mother in the morning to make betel leaves and in the
evenings her mother would tie her hair. Every little corner of her home and every little
incident started appearing before her in blazing prominence. All the daily chores:
making betel leaves, tying the hair, waving the fan at his father when he was dining,
plucking his grey hair when he would be asleep on a holiday afternoon, bearing with
the mischiefs of her brothers all those appeared to be things of immense satisfaction
and rare pleasure; she failed to understand what else one required in the world to be
happy!
She thought; all girls in the world would be in deep slumber at the moment. How did
she fail to realise the pleasure of a quiet nights peaceful sleep in her own bed, in her
own room? The girls would wake up next day morning, unhesitatingly immerse
themselves in their daily duties; and this sleepless night of the renegade Hemshoshi
where would it dawn; and on such joyless morning when the familiar, soothing and
smiling rays of the sun would fall on their humble household what embarrassment
would be revealed all of a sudden what disgrace and wailing would ensue!
Heart rendering feat of sobbing befell Hem; she prayed repeatedly, The night is yet
to end. My mother, my two brothers have still not risen; you can still drop me back.
But her God would not listen; he continued to take her towards her much sought-after
heaven, accompanied by the clickety-clack band of a second class chariot.
It was not long when God and the heaven parted ways with her in another rickety
second class carriage the lady remained immersed in neck-deep muck.

Third episode

Only one the many incidents from Mohitmohuns past has been narrated above,
otherwise the piece would become repetitive.
Neither is it necessary to refer to such old incidents at this juncture. Today, it is
doubtful whether anyone exists in the world who remembers the name Binodchandro.
These days, Mohit observes all the prescribed rites of purity, worships God and is
always into discussion of the scriptures. He even makes his young sons
practiseYoga and vehemently guards the women folk deep inside his house from the
sun, the moon and the air. But since once upon a time he had wronged many women
today he makes sure that he levies the strictest of penalties on women for any social
crime committed by them.
A day or two after having sentenced Khiroda to death the gourmet Mohit went to the
garden adjoining the prison to collect his favourite vegetables. He felt curious to know
whether Khiroda was repenting for all the crimes she had committed in her life as a
fallen woman. He entered the prison chamber.
From a distance he could hear the noise of people quarrelling. Entering the room he
found Khiroda engaged in a verbal duel with the prison guard. Mohit was amused; he
felt, such is the habit of women! They would not let up on quarrelling even when
death is near. Perhaps, when they reach hell they quarrel with the guards there.
Mohit thought, it would be proper to invoke repentance in her even at this stage by
appropriately chiding and advising. As soon as he had approached Khiroda with the
aforesaid noble purpose, Khiroda implored with folded hands, I appeal on your
honour! Please tell him to return my ring.
Asking questions he came to know that a ring was kept concealed in Khirodas hair
as luck would have it, the prison guard confiscated it on noticing.
Mohit was again amused. A day or two to go before she would be hanged, yet she
cant forget her ring; ornaments are all to these womenfolk!
He called the guard, Where is the ring, let me see it the guard handed over the ring
to him.
Mohit was jolted, as if he had unexpectedly come to hold a piece of burning charcoal.
On one side of the ring in ivory curving was implanted a very small oil painted
portrait of a young man sporting beard and moustache, and on the other side was
inscribed in gold Binodchandra.
Mohit raised his eyes from the ring and looked intently on Khirodas face. He
remembered another tender, shy and nervous face with tears overflowing, which he
had seen twenty-four years back. This face had similarity with that one.
Mohit looked on the golden ring again and then when he gradually raised his eyes, the
fallen woman standing in front of him emerged like a golden idol resplendent in the
glow of the small golden ring.