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Show Genius Is Shown in Beautiful Songs Whose Haunting Music Is Composed by Local Man ! The linger ef gentaa touched the pen of Tracy Y. Cannon when he wrote the beautiful music, for the aong cycle which was sang by Mlaa Florence Jopporaon at the reeltal erven at the First Congregational Con-gregational church last Tuesday night. Five songs ware sung by Mlaa Jep-paraon, Jep-paraon, the music for each of which was composed by Mr. Cannon. ' Tha music of each la distinctive and bear the mark of originality of conception and power of treatment. They bear the mark of Individuality In-dividuality and have th duality that appeals. Tha sonars themselves ere eimpte and sweet, the kind that And lodgment In one's mind almost unconsciously and that recur at odd Intervals. The mualo Is adapted to each of the songs and la ao wedded to the worde that It will be Impoaalble, whan the mualo la a little better known, to think of the words without with-out the music coming to- the mind at the same Instant. The most powerful of the eertaa. and that conveying tha deepest eentlment, la tha musks written for the little German Ger-man verae. "Hente. nnr Heule." Thla music came aa a flash of genuine Inspiration In-spiration to tha composer and It waa played and than written Immediately. But few minor alterations have been made. The worde are ae follows: "Haute, nur heute Bin Irh ao shoen. Morgan, ach morgan - Muaa allee ver-geh'n. Nur dleae Stunde Blst du noeh main.' ' Sterben. ach aterben Soil leb all eln!" In "An Indian Lullaby" the true spirit of the weatern Indian life has bean taken by Mr. Cannon and Incorporated and Instilled In-stilled Into the mualc. There le the sighing of the wind through the trees, the enmrtrar of the red mother over her little one and the smoke of the tepee curling up In the duek. The worda ara by Mise Bessie O Byrne and appeared In Muneey'a maamalne about two years ago. The worda are: "Rest! Reetl Rest! The eouth wind sighs In thevpine tree's crest; rhe daw drop sleeps In the roee'a breast; The curtains of night are over the weet i The beautiful wast. "We have won our way from the fiery east From denser and toll we stand released: 1 rield we now to the charm possessed By dwellers within the dreamy weet ' 1 rhe beautiful weet. . 1 'Sleep! Sleep! Sleep! Bee, to our feet the moonbeamo creep; By the waves of that silver tide caressed. We shell float through tba gataa of the .'- mystic weet The beautiful west. . t Joel Chandler Harris, beloved story teller tel-ler of the southland, wrote the worda for "The Sea Wind." The melody of thle composition earrleg the Idee, of . the wind blowing through the tulles on the seashore. There ie the Itching and the sobbing of the wind, and the prayer of the lover can be heard rising like a aong of long ago. The accompaniment Is a development of the wind motif. The Harris words, from "Uncle Remus" are as foiiowa: "Oh, aweet eouth wind! Oh, soft eouth wind! Oh, wind from off the eea! . Whan you blow to the Inland porta of home. Kiss my love for me. ' "And when you have kissed her, aweet eouth wind. Tell her I never forget, ' For the pale white mlata of parting tear Are floating around me yet. "Tell her I alt all day and dream Of the joys that time may bring, Till the old love poems ail oat la my heart Meet together end alng.. "And the tune, oh wind, that they alng and ring. (With a burst of passionate rhyme) la the "Lover's Prayer," a aweet, aad sir A aong of the olden time. "Touch her line lightly, aweet south wind, Aa I ehould were I there; ' And dry up the teera In her violet eyea, Aad play with her purple hair." The other, also taken from "Sonne In Vagabondla." , la "A Hill 8ong." The music of this suggest the revisiting of old scenes that are hallowed In memory. An. undertone of aadneas runs through ' the whole, though the motif Is not so well defined aa In "The Sea Wind." The worda are aa follows: "Hills where once my love and I Let the hours go laughing by! All your woode and dalea are aed- Tou have loat your Oread. 1 Falling leaves! Silent woodlands! Half your lovellneee la fled. . Golden rod, wither now! Winter winds, come hither now! All the eummer Joy la dead. ) "There's a sense of eomatblng gone ! In the graae I linger on. : There'e an under voice' that grieves In the rustling of the leavea. Plna-rlad peaks! Rushing watera! , Olens where we were once eo glad! There's a light reeeed ram you. ' i There'e a Joy outcast from you I , Tou havelost your Oread." - , |