Greenwood School - Tree Yearbook (Ruxton, MD)

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A DRAMATIC MON OLOGUE fThe scene is on a balcony of the castle of Hohenschvvanstein built high in the Bavarian Alps by King Ludwig II of Bavaria. Richard Wagiiei' is now With Ludwig on one of his frequent visits to the castle. Oh gaze, good Ludwig on that glorious view, The mountains high enclose us all around, That trickling fall runs silvery down the slope, .4 nd forests black do clothe the mountains' sides. Oh, freedom! That is what I crave o'er all- To act, to talk, to write, as one does feel. The solace of this castle high, and you, A way from strife and bitterness and hate. I feel you understand me more than most, My ideas wild, Amy fiery speech, my thoughts, If nd most of all my music, closest to my heart. Opera! My own libretti must I use, ff nd heroes, gods, and dwarfs must live, Each with his leitmotif in music clear, Enriched, alive, unbroken melody. Oh, no one understands nor comprehends! The world turns blindly from my whole life's work. But yet Pll make them love and worship it. They'll learn to cherish the immortal strains F or which Pvc sujered, starved, and lived in exile. Pll stick it out and gain my triumph yet! My music! What inspiration here I glean Hmong these forests black, these mountains high! Wagner speaksj My music must flow on like endless speech ff glow with color, strength, and jire and love. The words, the scenery, plot important too, The theatre dark, the orchestra not seen- A nd poetry will jill the hearts and souls of men The while they hark my operas. I t must be! Oh mad Ludwig you understand, you smile. You give vent to your feelings in your wild midnight rides In carriages pulled by eager prancing steedsg Your heart then pours out in the night, Your soul is lighter when you do return. ffnd so it is with me! I must compose, and this, the way I feel! The bitterness, the strife, the happiness It must jlow out of me into music So I can also breathe again. This is my task! I t must -be done! Perhaps someday my music VV ill, like these that hem us in, remain A solitary mountain peak to which men will Lift up their searching eyes. i What did you say? Forgive my spoken thoughts! You want some music? Miize? Come in-it's late. J.'HOLLAMAN, ,37 Page Forty-two

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THE VALUE OF TIME , .sv n ii it + I ,H -. . ' - .: X I - --. , , 1 i 'Wif - P Xl. Q j i the numerous gifts of life, you will find none to compare with the ?' golden gift of time. It is said that as Queen Elizabeth died she mur- Q mured, To whomever can give me one more moment 'I will leave my ... .. ingdom. But not even the wisest men in the country could do this. You and I have millions of these moments at our disposal, and per- haps have wasted thousands. There are many who are thrifty with money, but throw away time as if it had no value. You may look around and see two men, one has all the advantages of education, the happiness of prosperity, the knowledge of the world about him, the other is living in a humdrum manner without distinction of any kind, throwing away the precious moments of his life. You may see many such opposite pairs, their situations depending on the way they spend their time. An idle hour may be the best thing you can have now and then, but it is not this idle hour that counts. It is hour after hour, day after day, and week after week that is Spent idly. To such people the time will come when they will try in vain to have those last hours back, but they will be gone forever. Louis Pasteur, a man who spent his life in doing good for the world, is known and respected by everyone. Try to benefit by this fine example and spend your time in doing good for the world. Time's hand scatters treasures generously for us. We may pick them up or leave them according to our choice, and so our life is made. L. CLARK, Class I f' . X i 1 ' . E .Q +L, ' ,y 'fQg,5.1.,ga-ae:s1Q1.f:lftQgas .1 i l A 0 XV . .L fl ' A' --1 xv, f 1 7 gimp N W 1' .if UN. ' n f If 0 c if 1 J' :Ll T . 0 A Page Forty-one

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THIE U Till THE DEPARTURE ILD was the night, but something Wilder tugged Michael's heart. Sad was the wind, but something sadder forced its way into his throat. The gloomy crosses of St. Petersburg rose in the distance, while faint hoof I-- T- C . l beats were heard on the cobblestones of its empty streets.. He turned to the man beside him, and with an evergrowing emotion cried, 'cBolveskil He shook his comrade sharply. Do not sleep on guard, Peter. Wake quickly. The town is in silence and I like it not as a lone sentry. Bolveski stood up quickly, still dreaming. He's dead, Michael. I saw him. Little Marie had just kissed him goodbyef, A dream, comrade, but I beg you silence. He must not die. Michael laid his hand on his friend's shoulder. He cannot die, Peterl Little Father guards and protects his Russiaf' I hope you're right, my son. My dream seemed alive,,' answered Peter, shaking his head slowly. I pray you're right. They drew apart in silence. The town was quiet. Except for a distant figure on the ramparts, they seemed to be completely alone. A heavy tread was heard within the walls. The iron knocker clanged against steel. Michael,s head swam. Who Wanted to leave the city at this hour? Slowly he pulled open the massive gates. A tall man walked out. He hesitated, looked at Michael, and smiled sadly. A heavy gold chain fell around poor lWichael's neck, placed on by thin hands. A word of cheer was whispered. The figure paused again and looked at the stars. Michael heard such music as he had only once before heard- at the church of St. Carl at lVIoscow. Tears blinded his eyes and his sight departed from him for awhile. Then grey dawn was rising slowly in the east. There was a new freshness pouring from the cornfields. Excitedly he roused his comrade. He just went out, Peter. I opened the gate for him. He gave me this. About midday a noble man laughed. Some poor sentry had a dream last night, Mark. I told the captain to spare the ale. He swears he saw the Czar during the night, about the time of his death, leaving the city. He claims Nicholas gave him a gold chain and walked off in a cloud. His friend only shook his head. He thought he, too, had seen a tall man walking through the streets about dawn. I B. REQUARDT, '38 Page Forty-three