- Born, Gunthard
Mozarts Musiksprache: Schlussel zu Leben und Werk
Kindler Verlag, , 1985, Cloth, , , Very Good /Good
423 pp. Wear to the extremities of the dj. With a forward by Wolfgang Plath editor of numerous volumes of the Neuen Mozart-Ausgabe. Contents: Vorwort; ERSTES BUCH: Die Szene: 1. O Engländer, seid ihr nicht Toren, 2. Viva la libertà!, 3. Königin der Nacht, 4. Ein Schloss vor den Mund, 5. Was von Mozart kommt, wird den Böhmen gewiss gefallen, Deutsch zu reden und gar deutsch zu singen, 7. Alla gloria militar!, 9. Die Zeit de guten Musik ist vorbei, 10. Moduliert so durch die Töne fort; ZWEITES BUCH: Die Sprache: 1. Ein grosser Meister der Modulation, 2. O wie ängstlich, o wie feurig, 3. Vorhang auf, 4. Doch niemand kommt, 5. Hast's verstanden? 6. Nur geschwinde!, 7. Wir andelten durch Feuergluten, 8. Ich will selbst den Herren machen, 9. Amore, 10. Sagt, ist es liebe?, Und ich soll dir Liebe meiden? 12. Tod und Verzweiflung, 13. Der listigen Schlange zum Opfer erkoren, 14. Dir Lippe lügt, falsch ist der Blick, 15. Den Weg der Tugend fortzuwandeln, 16. Auf Wiedersehn; LITERATURVERZEICHNIS; ANHANG, Nachwort. Second book illustrated with musical examples.
"Woman, the New Factor in Economics." by Rev. Augusta Cooper Bristol. from The Congress of Women: Held in the Woman's Building, World's Columbian Exposition, Chicago, U. S. A., 1893.. Chicago, ILL: Monarch Book Company, 1894. pp. pp. 80-86. at The Celebration of Women Writers, University of Pennsylvania Digital Library
"Rev. Augusta Cooper Bristol is a native of New Hampshire. She was born April 17,1835. Her parents were Otis Cooper and Hannah (Powers) Cooper. In 1866 she married Louis Bristol, a lawyer of Connecticut. She is a woman of big brain, well stored with valuable information, and one of the most graceful and profound writers and speakers of the present day. Her principal literary works are a volume of poems and various published lectures, some of which have been translated into French. She is a member of no special church at present, but in faith is Unitarian, and not infrequently speaks from the pulpit. Her postoffice address is Vineland, N. Y." Augusta Bristol [1835-1910]
THE PLANTING OF THE APPLE-TREE
Come, let us plant the apple-tree. Cleave the tough greensward with the spade; Wide let its hollow bed be made; There gently lay the roots, and there Sift the dark mould with kindly care, And press it o'er them tenderly, As, round the sleeping infant's feet, We softly fold the cradle-sheet; So plant we the apple-tree. What plant we in this apple-tree? Buds, which the breath of summer days Shall lengthen into leafy sprays; Boughs where the thrush, with crimson breast, Shall haunt, and sing, and hide her nest; We plant, upon the sunny lea, A shadow for the noontide hour, A shelter from the summer shower, When we plant the apple-tree. What plant we in this apple-tree? Sweets for a hundred flowery springs To load the May-winds restless wings, When, from the orchard-row, he pours Its fragrance through our open doors; A world of blossoms for the bee, Flowers for the sick girl's silent room, For the glad infant sprigs of bloom, We plant with the apple-tree. What plant we in this apple-tree? Fruits that shall swell in sunny June, And redden in the August noon, And drop, when gentle airs come by, That fan the blue September sky, While children come, with cries of glee, And seek them where the fragrant grass Betrays their bed to those who pass, At the foot of the apple-tree. And when, above this apple-tree, The winter stars are quivering bright, And winds go howling through the night, Girls, whose young eyes o'erflow with mirth, Shall peel its fruit by cottage-hearth, And guests in prouder homes shall see, Heaped with the grape of Cintra's vine And golden orange of the line, The fruit of the apple-tree. The fruitage of this apple-tree Winds and our flag of stripe and star Shall bear to coasts that lie afar, Where men shall wonder at the view, And ask in what fair groves they grew; And sojourners beyond the sea Shall think of childhood's careless day, And long, long hours of summer play, In the shade of the apple-tree. Each year shall give this apple-tree A broader flush of roseate bloom, A deeper maze of verdurous gloom, And loosen, when the frost-clouds lower, The crisp brown leaves in thicker shower. The years shall come and pass, but we Shall hear no longer, where we lie, The summer's songs, the autumn's sigh, In the boughs of the apple-tree. And time shall waste this apple-tree. Oh, when its aged branches throw Thin shadows on the ground below, Shall fraud and force and iron will Oppress the weak and helpless still? What shall the tasks of mercy be, Amid the toils, the strifes, the tears Of those who live when length of years Is wasting this little apple-tree? "Who planted this old apple-tree?" The children of that distant day Thus to some aged man shall say; And, gazing on its mossy stem, The gray-haired man shall answer them: "A poet of the land was he, Born in the rude but good old times; 'Tis said he made some quaint old rhymes, On planting the apple-tree."William Cullen Bryant [1794-1878]