Mezzotints in Modern Music: Brahms, Tchaïkowsky, Chopin, Richard Strauss, Liszt and Wagner

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Charles Scribner, 1899 - 318 Seiten
 

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Seite 197 - TO HELEN. Helen, thy beauty is to me Like those Nicean barks of yore, That gently, o'er a perfumed sea, The weary, way-worn wanderer bore To his own native shore. On desperate seas long wont to roam, Thy hyacinth hair, thy classic face, Thy Naiad airs have brought me home To the glory that was Greece And the grandeur that was Rome.
Seite 199 - But Psyche, uplifting her finger, Said - 'Sadly this star I mistrust Her pallor I strangely mistrust: Oh, hasten! - oh, let us not linger! Oh, fly! - let us fly! - for we must.' In terror she spoke, letting sink her Wings until they trailed in the dust In agony sobbed, letting sink her Plumes till they trailed in the dust Till they sorrowfully trailed in the dust.
Seite 220 - IT is the mistake of much popular criticism to regard poetry, music, and painting — all the various products of art — as but translations into different languages of one and the same fixed quantity of imaginative thought, supplemented by certain technical qualities of colour, in painting; of sound, in music; of rhythmical words, in poetry.
Seite 208 - ... song, In search of Eldorado. But he grew old — This knight so bold — And o'er his heart a shadow Fell, as he found No spot of ground That looked like Eldorado. And, as his strength Failed him at length He met a pilgrim shadow — "Shadow," said he, "Where can it be — This land of Eldorado?" "Over the Mountains Of the Moon, Down the Valley of the Shadow, Ride, boldly ride," The shade replied, — "If you seek for Eldorado!
Seite 230 - Car nous voulons la nuance encore, Pas la couleur, rien que la nuance Et tout le reste est littérature.
Seite 206 - In Heaven a spirit doth dwell "Whose heart-strings are a lute;" None sing so wildly well As the angel Israfel, And the giddy stars (so legends tell) Ceasing their hymns, attend the spell Of his voice, all mute. Tottering above In her highest noon, The...
Seite 100 - The beggar stared at me with his bloodshot eyes; his blue lips smiled; and he in his turn gripped my chilly fingers. "What of it, brother?" he mumbled; "thanks for this, too. That is a gift too, brother.
Seite 202 - ... declared that America was materialistic beyond hope of redemption. Talleyrand knew better. However, it was better for the artistic development of the Polish composer that he remained in the Old World. Think of Chopin giving piano lessons to the daughters of the New-Rich at the fashionable Battery, and Poe encountering him at some conversazione — they had conversaziones then— and propounding to him Heinelike questions: Are the roses at home still in their flame-hued pride?
Seite 99 - I was walking along the street. ... I was stopped by a decrepit old beggar. Bloodshot, tearful eyes, blue lips, coarse rags, festering wounds. . . . Oh, how hideously poverty had eaten into this miserable creature ! He held out to me a red, swollen, filthy hand. He groaned, he mumbled of help. I began feeling in all my pockets. ... No purse, no watch, not even a handkerchief. ... I had taken nothing with me. And the beggar was still waiting. . . . And his outstretched hand feebly shook and trembled....
Seite 145 - I meant to convey by means of music an idea of the development of the human race from its origin, through the various phases of its development, religious and scientific, up to Nietzsche's idea of the Superman. The whole symphonic poem is intended as my homage to Nietzsche's genius, which found its greatest exemplification in his book, 'Thus spake Zarathustra.

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