Greenwood School - Tree Yearbook (Ruxton, MD)

Page 47 text:

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

Page 46 text:

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

Page 48 text:

lllii Quill? QAccording to the old Breton legend, Dahut was the daughter of one of the early kings of Brittany. She was so beautiful that all the young men fell in lover with her. But she was as cruel as she was fair and treated them so heartlessly that in despair they threw themselves into the sea. At length the people of Brittany rose against her and stormed her father's palace, crying for her death. The town wherein Dahut dwelt was below the level of the sea and was protected by dykes. When Dahut saw that death was inevitable, she unlocked the Hoodgates of the dykes and the whole town was inundated and she, of course, was drowned with the rest. But the old Breton women still claim that Dahut is part of the sea and her beauty lures the young men of Brittany to their doomj Ye mob of curs that ery aloud F or the death of your king's sole child, Soon wafoes shall o'er your bodies roll, A nd the sea winds your dirge shall toll VV ith shrieking fuoices wild. Aye, howl, for that is the way of dogs EV hen death is coming fast, But though ye lie beneath the brine Yet ye shall hear this song of mine While wind and waters last. For I and the sea shall be one, .dnd the sea shall be one with me, Wfhen efoery wafve is dashing high, .ds it fain would drown the sky, A ll will my anger see. Mortals when they 'hear my wrath TV ill shake with anxious fright, The fishwife piteous prayers will make To all the saints for her losved one' s sake, To spare him from my might. Page Forty-four