4. To get a natural effect, where would you use slow and where fast tempo in the following?
FOOL'S GOLD
See him there, cold and gray, Watch him as he tries to play; No, he doesn't know the way-- He began to learn too late. She's a grim old hag, is Fate, For she let him have his pile, Smiling to herself the while, Knowing what the cost would be, When he'd found the Golden Key. Multimillionaire is he, Many times more rich than we; But at that I wouldn't trade With the bargain that he made. Came here many years ago, Not a person did he know; Had the money-hunger bad-- Mad for money, piggish mad; Didn't let a joy divert him, Didn't let a sorrow hurt him, Let his friends and kin desert him, While he planned and plugged and hurried On his quest for gold and power. Every single wakeful hour With a money thought he'd dower; All the while as he grew older, And grew bolder, he grew colder. And he thought that some day He would take the time to play; But, say--he was wrong. Life's a song; In the spring Youth can sing and can fling; But joys wing When we're older, Like birds when it's colder. The roses were red as he went rushing by, And glorious tapestries hung in the sky, And the clover was waving 'Neath honey-bees' slaving; A bird over there Roundelayed a soft air; But the man couldn't spare Time for gathering flowers, Or resting in bowers, Or gazing at skies That gladdened the eyes. So he kept on and swept on Through mean, sordid years. Now he's up to his ears In the choicest of stocks. He owns endless blocks Of houses and shops, And the stream never stops Pouring into his banks. I suppose that he ranks Pretty near to the top. What I have wouldn't sop His ambition one tittle; And yet with my little I don't care to trade With the bargain he made. Just watch him to-day-- See him trying to play. He's come back for blue skies. But they're in a new guise-- Winter's here, all is gray, The birds are away, The meadows are brown, The leaves lie aground, And the gay brook that wound With a swirling and whirling Of waters, is furling Its bosom in ice. And he hasn't the price, With all of his gold, To buy what he sold. He knows now the cost Of the spring-time he lost, Of the flowers he tossed From his way, And, say, He'd pay Any price if the day Could be made not so gray. He can't play.
--HERBERT KAUFMAN. Used by permission of Everybody's Magazine.
Change of Tempo Prevents Monotony
The canary in the cage before the window is adding to the beauty and charm of his singing by a continual change of tempo. If King Solomon had been an orator he undoubtedly would have gathered wisdom from the song of the wild birds as well as from the bees. Imagine a song written with but quarter notes. Imagine an auto with only one speed.
EXERCISES
1. Note the change of tempo indicated in the following, and how it gives a pleasing variety. Read it aloud. (Fast tempo is indicated by italics, slow by small capitals.)
And he thought that some day he would take the time to play; but, say--HE WAS WRONG. LIFE'S A SONG; in the SPRING YOUTH can SING and can FLING; BUT JOYS WING WHEN WE'RE OLDER, LIKE THE BIRDS when it's COLDER. The roses were red as he went rushing by, and glorious tapestries hung in the sky.
2. Turn to "Fools Gold," on Page 42, and deliver it in an unvaried tempo: note how monotonous is the result. This poem requires a great many changes of tempo, and is an excellent one for practise.
3. Use the changes of tempo indicated in the following, noting how they prevent monotony. Where no change of tempo is indicated, use a moderate speed. Too much of variety would really be a return to monotony.
THE MOB
"A MOB KILLS THE WRONG MAN" was flashed in a newspaper headline lately. The mob is an IRRESPONSIBLE, UNTHINKING MASS. It always destroys BUT NEVER CONSTRUCTS. It criticises BUT NEVER CREATES.
Utter a great truth AND THE MOB WILL HATE YOU. See how it condemned DANTE to EXILE. Encounter the dangers of the unknown world for its benefit, AND THE MOB WILL DECLARE YOU CRAZY. It ridiculed COLUMBUS, and for discovering a new world GAVE HIM PRISON AND CHAINS.
