Maturalna zabava XII. generacije

Dana 23. svibnja 2008, u hotelu "Girandella" u rapcu, održana je maturalna zabava XII. generacije maturanata Pazinskog kolegija - klasične gimnazije. 

U 20 sati, prigodne riječi ravnatelja pozdravile su učenike i njihove uzvanike, koji su predivnim defileom prošli pokraj bazena. Prigodnim nastupom, klapa, zbor i plesna skupina pozdravile su maturante, koji su uživali u svojoj "posljednjoj večeri".

Trećaši, koji su primili "štafetu", oprostili su se od maturanata, koji sada, kao "mladi odrasli ljudi", kreću u neistražene prostorije fakulteta, prema novim pobjedama.

S naše strane (uredništvo), srdačno pozdravljamo XII. generaciju i želimo im svu sreću u budućem životu.

I evo popisa "sretnika" koji su zauvijek napustili kolegijske zgrade:

IV a (razrednica prof. Sandra Zohil): Aleks Berneš, Jasmin Bešić, Nenad Dobrila, Tomislav Erman, Rudi Ferenac, Ivana Filipović, Ana Grbac, Kristijan Grubiša, Lea Hek, Mišel Kitić, Eni Kuterovac, Valentina Lakošeljac, Anamarija Marenić, Danijel Marić, Josipa Marić, Romina Maurović, Sandra Nežić, Anita Pavičić, Marina Rabak, Anita Rubil, Branka Stjepanović, Ivana Ujčić, Tihana Zajc, Valentina Zović

IV b (razrednica prof. Vesna Banovac - Kuča): Matea Aščić, Ines Blažanović, Damjan Denona, Marin Ferenčić, Antun Ferenčić, Šimun Gašpar, Katarina Gligora, Anđela Ivić, Jelena Jelinić, Matea Mažuran, Ivana Modrić, David Mosettich, Antonio Mrzlić, Dajana Mujakić, Danijela Muratović, Barbara Oštarić, Ivana Palčić, Andrija Peteh, Karla Radošević, Tomislav Ricov, Jelena Rukavina, Ivan Sinković, Maja Vrtodušić, Katarina Žumbar

Zaključujemo s pjesmom Lorda Georgea Gordona Byrona iz djela "Hodočašće Childea Harolda":

Adieu, adieu! my native shore
   Fades o'er the waters blue;
The night-winds sigh, the breakers roar,
   And shrieks the wild sea-mew.
Yon sun that sets upon the sea
   We follow in his flight;
Farewell awhile to him and thee,
   My Native Land - Good Night!

A few short hours, and he will rise
   To give the morrow birth;
And I shall hail the main and skies,
   But not my mother earth.
Deserted is my own good hall,
   Its hearth is desolate;
Wild weeds are gathering on the wall,
   My dog howls at the gate.

‘Come hither, hither, my little page:
   Why dost thou weep and wail?
Or dost thou dread the billow's rage,
   Or tremble at the gale?
But dash the tear-drop from thine eye,
   Our ship is swift and strong;
Our fleetest falcon scarce can fly
   More merrily along.'

‘Let winds be shrill, let waves roll high,
   I fear not wave nor wind;
Yet marvel not, Sir Childe, that I
   Am sorrowful in mind;
For I have from my father gone,
   A mother whom I love,
And have no friend, save these alone,
   But thee - and One above.

‘My father blessed me fervently,
   Yet did not much complain;
But sorely will my mother sigh
   Till I come back again.' -
‘Enough, enough, my little lad!
   Such tears become thine eye;
If I thy guileless bosom had,
   Mine own would not be dry.

‘Come hither, hither, my staunch yeoman,
   Why dost thou look so pale?
Or dost thou dread a French foeman,
   Or shiver at the gale?' -
‘Deem'st thou I tremble for my life?
   Sir Childe, I'm not so weak;
But thinking on an absent wife
   Will blanch a faithful cheek.

‘My spouse and boys dwell near thy hall,
   Along the bordering lake;
And when they on their father call,
   What answer shall she make?' -
‘Enough, enough, my yeoman good,
   Thy grief let none gainsay;
But I, who am of lighter mood,
   Will laugh to flee away.'

For who would trust the seeming sighs
   Of wife or paramour?
Fresh feeres will dry the bright blue eyes
   We late saw streaming o'er.
For pleasures past I do not grieve,
   Nor perils gathering near;
My greatest grief is that I leave
   No thing that claims a tear.

And now I'm in the world alone,
   Upon the wide, wide sea;
But why should I for others groan,
   When none will sigh for me?
Perchance my dog will whine in vain
   Till fed by stranger hands;
But long ere I come back again
   He'd tear me where he stands.

With thee, my bark, I'll swiftly go
   Athwart the foaming brine;
Nor care what land thou bear'st me to,
   So not again to mine.
Welcome, welcome, ye dark blue waves!
   And when you fail my sight,
Welcome, ye deserts, and ye caves!
   My Native Land - Good Night!