Towson University - Tower Echoes Yearbook (Towson, MD)

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THE TOWER LIGHT The Moldau wo springs start their courses in a shady Bohemian forest, one is warm and sparkling, the other cool and tranquil. Their clear ' waters, that run so gayly over stone and pebble, unite and sparkle in the morning sun. The rapid forest brook, rushing on, becomes the River Moldau, which, as it takes its course through the fields and val- leys of Bohemia, grows into a mighty river, flowing through thick forests wherein the joyous clanging sound of the hunter's horn seems to approach the listener. It pursues its way through meadows and farms. A rustic wedding is being joyfully celebrated with music and song and dance. The water nymphs disport themselves by moonlight in the river's glit- tering waters, in which are reflected towers and castles as reminders of the departed glory of chivalry and martial fame. At St. John's Rapids the stream winds its way through the foamy rapids of the cataract and through a deep and narrow, rocky cleft into the broad river-bed, along which it rolls majestically on to the Prague, welcomed on its way by the venerable Vysehrad, and disappears in the distance from the com- poser's vision. . If the author of this vivid word picture had been a painter, with his brush and oils, his skill in drawing and his faculty of pictorial inter- pretation he could have built on his canvas a series of scenes. These scenes would be clear, invoking in us appreciation and admiration. The clear, sparkling water would reflect light and shadow-dark green of bush, light green of grass. The scarlet of the hunter's coat, the glis- tening brown of his mount, darkness suggesting the dense forest-here would be color and form. Peasants would Vie with water nymphs, still quiet pools with foamy rapids. A poet would have employed a different medium. His would have been a glowing and vivid vocabulary, color words but also sound words. Words that sounded like the warm and sparkling brook, words that made the reader hear the music of the peasant wedding, words that echoed the march of feet and the clash of mail. We would have heard the sparkle of the first brook, the cool tranquillity of the second. The rapids of the cataract would have been a dull roar and the disporting of the water nymphs a mere Whisper. A poet would have added charm and beauty by the addition of a new element- rhythm. His words would have sung themselves into a song-now gay and lilting, now rapid. His poem would have had form. A definite meter and a correct rhyming scheme would have made the words a composition. A poet would have written a poem. 4

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Ee Ziowez' Llqit VOL. VII OCTOBER, 1933. No. 1 Victory in Defeat Defeat may serve as well as victory To shake the soul and let the glory out. When the great oak is straining in the wind, The boughs drink in new beauty, and the trunk Sends down a deeper root on the windward side. Only the soul that knows the mighty grief Can know the mighty rapture. Sorrows come To stretch our spaces in the heart for joy. EDWIN MARKHAM. A Minor Bird I have wished a bird would fly away, And not sing by my house all dayg Have clapped my hands at him from the door When it seemed as if I could bear no more. The fault must partly have been in me. The bird was not to blame for his key. And of course there must be something wrong In wanting to silence any song. ROBERT Fnosr. g 3 CE! ?t3J.35.i55

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I THE TOWER LIGHT The last sentence of the quotation introduces us to Smetana, the Bohemian composer. To be a musician who could see as well as hear was to be a painter. To be an artist who could think and feel in words was to be a poet. To make a composite picture of word and color and translate the picture into tones was to be a composer. His medium was a symphony orchestra, harps and strings ripple as a single flute suggests the tiny beginning-a single brook. The clarinets join just as a second brook enters the first. Violas announce the juncture with still another brook. Oboes take up the melody symbolizing the river itself, and as the river grows deeper and broader more instruments enter, more volume and tone are built. The hunter's horn is heard and as it re-echoes in the forest, re-echoes in the varied choirs of the orchestra. Procession music for the rustic wedding involves almost the entire orchestra. Muted strings and delicate airs played by the flute supply fairy music for the nymphs. Martial airs are taken up by the trumpet. Great chords and snatches of melody supply the confusion of the rapids. A swelling chorus depicts the grandeur of the river flowing through broad open meadows. An old chant supplies the motif of the hymn as the river flows by the castle walls of the Vysehrad. The Moldau disappears, the melody dies. Two chords-silence. Warm color and bright color rival warm tone and bright tone. The rhythm and the melody of a poem are present in the rhythm and melody of a symphonic poem. Instead of a palette on which to mix and blend the painter's colors, nature with color, forms rhythm and beauty. Beauty for the eye is for the painter, beauty for the ear signifies poetry, beauty for ear and eye, for mind and for the senses-that is Music. MARGUERITE ASHLEY. Summer Night A soft hush Smoothes the earth with silky fingers. Still trees stand Waiting for a breeze to tease their foliage. Quietly the water laps the banks Making a gentle swishy sound. And over all the moon watches- Lazily. DOROTHY BOTHE, Senior I. 5