PROGRAM
| Amy BEACH (1867–1944) | “The Year’s at the Spring” from
Three Browning Songs, Op. 44 (1899–1900) |
| Johannes BRAHMS (1833–1897) | Vier Ernste Gesänge, Op. 121 (1896) (On texts from the Luther Bible) Denn es gehet dem Menschen |
| Franz SCHUBERT (1797–1828) | An Sylvia, D. 891 (1826) “Das Fischermädchen” from Schwanengesang, D. 957, No. 10 Nacht und Träume, D. 827 (1823) |
INTERMISSION
| Modest MUSSORGSKY (1839–1881) | Pesni i pljaski smerti (Songs and Dances of Death)
Kolybel’naya (Lullaby) (1875) |
| Traditional Irish folk song arr. Gordon Getty (b. 1933) |
Danny Boy |
| Traditional American folk song arr. Getty |
Shenandoah |
| Traditional Negro spiritual arr. Dr. Uzee Brown, Jr. (b. 1950) |
Sweet Home |
| Traditional Negro spiritual arr. V. Simonson (b. 1974)/L. Lynch (b. 1968) |
Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho |
TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS
| Amy Beach “The Year’s at the Spring” from Three Browning Songs, Op. 44 [Robert Browning] The year’s at the spring And day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hillside’s dew-pearled; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn: God’s in His heaven— All’s right with the world! |
Johannes Brahms
| Vier Ernste Gesänge, Op. 121 | Four Serious Songs, Op. 121 (On texts from the Luther Bible) |
| Denn es gehet dem Menschen
Denn es gehet dem Menschen wie dem Vieh; Es fährt alles an einen Ort; Darum sahe ich, daß nichts bessers ist, |
For that which befalleth the sons of men [Luther –Ecclesiastes 3]
For that which befalleth the sons of men befalleth beasts; All go unto one place; Wherefore I perceive that there is nothing better, |
| Ich wandte mich
Ich wandte mich und sahe an alle, Da lobte ich die Toten, die schon gestorben waren |
So I returned [Luther –Ecclesiastes 4]
So I returned, and considered all Wherefore I praised the dead which are already dead |
| O Tod, wie bitter bist du Luther Ecc XLI
O Tod, wie bitter bist du, O Tod, wie wohl tust du dem Dürftigen, |
O death, how bitter you are [Luther –Ecclesiastes 41]
O death, how bitter is the remembrance O death, acceptable is thy sentence unto the needy |
| Wenn ich mit Menschen und mit Engelszungen redete
Wenn ich mit Menschen – und mit Engelzungen redete, Und wenn ich weissagen könnte und wüßte alle Geheimnisse und alle Erkenntnis, Und wenn ich alle meine Habe den Armen gäbe, Wir sehen jetzt durch einen Spiegel in einem dunklen Wort, Nun aber bleibet Glaube, Hoffnung, Liebe, diese drei; —© Richard Stokes, |
Though I speak with the tongues of men [Luther –1 Corinthians 13]
Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, And though I have the gift of prophecy, And though I bestow all my goods to feed the poor, For now we see through glass, darkly; And now abideth faith, hope, charity, these three; |
Franz Schubert
| An Sylvia [Eduard von Bauernfeld]
Was ist Sylvia, saget an, Ist sie schön und gut dazu? Darum Sylvia tön’, o Sang, |
Who is Sylvia?
Who is Silvia? What is she, Is she kind as she is fair? Then to Silvia let us sing, |
| Das Fischermädchen [Heinrich Heine]
Du schönes Fischermädchen, Leg an mein Herz dein Köpfchen, Herz gleicht ganz dem Meere, —English translation © Richard Wigmore; first published by Gollancz and reprinted in the Hyperion Schubert Song Edition. Used with permission. |
The Fisher Maiden
Lovely fisher maiden, Lay your little head on my heart My heart is just like the sea. |
| Nacht und Träume [Matthäus von Collin]
Heil’ge Nacht, du sinkest nieder! —Translation by Malcolm Wren, schubertsong.uk, source. Used with permission. |
Night and Dreams
Holy night, you are sinking down; |
| Erlkönig [Johann Wolfgang von Goethe]
Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind? “Mein Sohn, was birgst du so scheu dein Gesicht?” “Du liebes Kind, komm, geh mit mir! “Mein Vater, mein Vater, und hörest du nicht, “Willst, feiner Knabe, du mit mir gehn? “Mein Vater, mein Vater, und siehst du nicht dort “Ich liebe dich, mich reizt deine schöne Gestalt; Dem Vater grausets, er reitet geschwind, —English translation © Richard Wigmore, 2005. Used with permission. |
The Erlking
Who rides so late through the night and wind? “My son, why do you shyly hide your face?” “Sweet child, come with me. “Father, father, do you not hear “Won’t you come with me, my fine lad? “Father, father, can you not see “I love you, your fair form allures me, The father shudders, he rides swiftly, |
Modest Mussorgsky
| Pesni i pljaski smerti [Arseny Golenishchev-Kutuzov] | Songs and Dances of Death |
| Kolybel’naya Stonet rebjonok… Svecha, nagoraja, Tusklo mercajet krugom. Celuju noch’ kolybel’ku kachaja, Mat’ ne zabylasja snom. Ranym-ranjokhon’ko v dver’ ostorozhno Smert’ serdobol’naja stuk! Vzdrognula mat’, ogljanulas’ trevozhno… “Polno pugat’sja, moj drug! Blednoje utro uzh smotrit v okoshko… Placha, toskuja, ljublja, Ty utomilas’, vzdremni-ka nemnozhko, Ja posizhu za tebja. Ugomonit’ ty ditja ne sumela. Slashche tebja ja spoju.” “Tishe! rebjonok moj mechetsja, b’jotsja, Dushu terzaja moju!” “Nu, da so mnoju on skoro ujmjotsja. Bajushki, baju, baju.” “Shchjochki blednejut, slabejet dykhan’e… Da zamolchi-zhe, molju!” “Dobroje znamen’e, stikhnet stradan’e, Bajushki, baju, baju.” “Proch’ ty, prokljataja! Laskoj svojeju sgubish’ ty radost’ moju!” “Net, mirnyj son ja mladencu naveju. Bajushki, baju, baju.” “Szhal’sja, pozhdi dopevat’ khot’ mgnoven’e, Strashnuju pesnju tvoju!” “Vidish’, usnul on pod tikhoje pen’e. Bajushki, baju, baju.” |
Lullaby A child moans… A candle, burning low, Casts its dull flicker all around. All through the night, as she rocks the cradle, A mother has not slept. Early in the morning comes the gentle knock Of Death, the compassionate one, at the door! The mother shudders, anxiously looking around her… “There’s no need to be afraid, my friend! The pale morning is peeping through the window… You have worn yourself out with crying, longing, loving, so rest a while, my dear, And I will take your place at his side. You couldn’t soothe the little child, But I can sing more sweetly than you.” “Shhh! The child is tossing and turning, My heart grieves to see him thus!” “Come now, with me he will soon calm down, Hushaby, hushaby-hush.” “His cheeks are so pale, his breathing so shallow… Please be quiet, I beg you!” “That’s a good sign, his suffering will soon be over, Hushaby, hushaby-hush.” “Be away with you, accursed woman! You will destroy my joy with your caresses!’ ‘No, I will waft the sleep of peace over the infant, Hushaby, hushaby-hush.” “Have pity! Cease your singing for just a moment, Cease your terrible song!” “See now, my quiet song has sung him to sleep, Hushaby, hushaby-hush.” |
| Serenada Nega volshebnaja, noch’ golubaja, Trepetnyj sumrak vesny. Vnemlet, poniknuv golovkoj, bol’naja Shopot nochnoj tishiny. Son ne smykajet blestjashchije ochi, Zhizn’ k naslazhden’ju zovjot, A pod okoshkom v molchan’i polnochi Smert’ serenadu pojot: “V mrake nevoli surovoj i tesnoj Molodost’ vjanet tvoja; Rycar’ nevedomyj, siloj chudesnoj Osvobozhu ja tebja. Vstan’, posmotri na sebja: krasotoju Lik tvoj prozrachnyj blestit, Shchjoki rumjany, volnistoj kosoju Stan tvoj, kak tuchej obvit. Pristal’nykh glaz goluboje sijan’e, Jarche nebes i ognja; Znojem poludennym vejet dykhan’e… Ty obol’stila menja. Slukh tvoj plenilsja mojej serenadoj, Rycarja shopot tvoj zval, Rycar’ prishjol za poslednej nagradoj: Chas upojen’ja nastal. Nezhen tvoj stan, upoitelen trepet… O, zadushu ja tebja v krepkikh ob”jat’jakh: ljubovnyj moj lepet Slushaj!… molchi!… Ty moja!” |
Serenade Languid enchantment, the blue of the night, The quivering half-light of spring. Ailing, her head hung low, the young woman Listens to the whisper of night’s stillness. Sleep cannot close her shining eyes, Life’s pleasures summon her still, But under her window, in the silence of midnight, Death sings this soft serenade: “In the gloom of confinement, severe and narrow, Your youth is fading; But I, a mysterious knight, Will free you with my wondrous power. Rise and look on yourself: your countenance Shines with limpid beauty, Your cheeks are flushed, and your rippling tresses Encircle your waist like clouds. The radiant blue of your eager eyes Is brighter than heaven or flame; Your breath is as the midday heat… You have bewitched me. Your hearing is captivated by my serenade, Your whispering summoned this knight, Who has come for his final reward: The hour of rapture is nigh. Your form is fair and your trembling—enchanting… Ah, I shall smother you in my strong embrace: Listen to my words of love! Be silent!…. You are mine!” |
| Trepak Les da poljany, bezljud’e krugom. V’juga i plachet i stonet, Chujetsja, budto vo mrake nochnom, Zlaja, kogo-to khoronit; Gljad’, tak i jest’! V temnote muzhika Smert’ obnimajet, laskajet, S p’janen’kim pljashet vdvojom trepaka, Na ukho pesn’ napevajet: Oj, muzhichok, starichok ubogoj, P’jan napilsja, popljolsja dorogoj, A mjatel’-to, ved’ma, podnjalas’, vzygrala. S polja v les dremuchij nevznachaj zagnala. Gorem, toskoj da nuzhdoj tomimyj, Ljag, prikorni, da usni, rodimyj! Ja tebja, golubchik moj, snezhkom sogreju, Vkrug tebja velikuju igru zateju. Vzbej-ka postel’, ty mjatel’-lebjodka! Gej, nachinaj, zapevaj pogodka! Skazku, da takuju, chtob vsju noch’ tjanulas’, Chtob p’janchuge krepko pod nejo zasnulos’! Oj, vy lesa, nebesa, da tuchi, Tem’, veterok, da snezhok letuchij! Svejtes’ pelenoju, snezhnoj, pukhovoju; Jeju, kak mladenca, starichka prikroju… Spi, moj druzhok, muzhichok schastlivyj, Leto prishlo, rascvelo! Nad nivoj solnyshko smejotsja da serpy gljajut, Pesenka nesjotsja, golubki letajut… |
Russian Dance Forests and glades, not a soul in sight. A blizzard wails and howls. In the darkness of night, It is as if someone is being buried by some evil force: Just look—it is so! In the darkness, Death tenderly embraces a peasant, Leading the drunken man in a lively dance, And singing this song in his ear: ‘Oh, poor peasant, pitiful old man, Drunk and stumbling on your way, And the blizzard, like a witch, rose up and raged, Driving you by chance from the field into the deep woods. Oppressed by grief and sadness and want, Lay down, rest and sleep, my dear! I will warm you, my friend, with a cover of snow, Weaving a great game around you. Whip up a bed, oh swan-like snowstorm! Hey, you elements, strike up a song, Spin a tale that will last all night, So that that old drunk might sleep soundly to its strains! Hey, you woods and heavens and storm clouds, Darkness and winds and driving snow! Spin him a shroud of downy snow, And I will swathe the old man, like a new-born child… Sleep, my friend, you fortunate peasant, Summer has come, all in bloom! The sun smiles down on the cornfield and the sickles glimmer, A song wafts across the air and the doves are flying…’ |
| Polkovodec Grokhochet bitva, bleshut broni, Orud’ja zhadnye revut, Begut polki, nesutsja koni I reki krasnye tekut. Pylajet polden’, ljudi b’jutsja; Sklonilos’ solnce, boj sil’nej; Zakat blednejet, no derutsja Vragi vse jarostnej i zlej. I pala noch’ na pole brani. Druzhiny v mrake razoshlis’… Vsjo stikhlo, i v nochnom tumane Stenan’ja k nebu podnjalis’. Togda, ozarena lunoju, Na bojevom svojom kone, Kostej sverkaja beliznoju, Javilas’ smert’; i v tishine, Vnimaja vopli i molitvy, Dovol’stva gordogo polna, Kak polkovodec mesto bitvy Krugom ob”ekhala ona. Na kholm podnjavshis’, ogljanulas’, Ostanovilas’, ulybnulas’… I nad ravninoj bojevoj Razdalsja golos rokovoj: “Konchena bitva! ja vsekh pobedila! Vse predo mnoj vy smirilis’, bojcy! Zhizn’ vas possorila, ja pomirila! Druzhno vstavajte na smotr, mertvecy! Marshem torzhestvennym mimo projdite, Vojsko mojo ja khochu soschitat’; V zemlju potom svoi kosti slozhite, Sladko ot zhizni v zemle otdykhat’! Gody nezrimo projdut za godami, V ljudjakh ischeznet i pamjat’ o vas. Ja ne zabudu i gromko nad vami Pir budu pravit’ v polunochnyj chas! Pljaskoj tjazhjoloju zemlju syruju Ja pritopchu, chtoby sen’ grobovuju Kosti pokinut’ vovek ne mogli, Chtob nikogda vam ne vstat’ iz zemli!”—English translations © Philip Ross Bullock. Used with permission. |
The Field Marshal The battle rages, the armour flashes, Bronze canons roar, Regiments charge, horses gallop by And red rivers flow. Midday burns and men still fight; The sun sinks low, yet the battle rages ever more; Twilight fades, yet enemies are locked More violently, more fiercely in conflict. Night falls on the field of battle. Legions disperse in the darkness… All is calm, and in the darkness of night Groans rise up to the sky. And then, in the moonlight, On her warhorse, Her white bones shining brightly, Death appears; and in the silence, Listening to the groans and prayers With pride and pleasure, She bestrides the field of battle Like a field marshal. From atop of a mound she looks around, Stops and smiles… And across the war-torn plain Rings the sound of her fateful voice: “The battle is over! I have vanquished you all! You have all surrendered before me, ye warriors! Life set you at odds, but I have reconciled you! Stand to attention for review, ye dead! March by in solemn procession, I wish to account for my troops; Then lay down your bones in the earth, And rest sweetly rest, life’s labors down! The years will pass by imperceptibly, And you will slip from the memory of the living. Yet I will not forget you and will host A banquet at midnight over your bones! The heavy tread of my dance will trample down The moist earth, so that your bones may never more Escape the fastness of the grave, So that you may never more rise from the grave!” |
| Traditional Danny Boy arr. Gordon Getty Oh, Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling From glen to glen and down the mountainside. The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling, It’s you, it’s you must go and I must bide. But come ye back when summer’s in the meadow, And when ye come, if all the flowers are dying, And I shall hear, though soft you tread above me, |
Traditional Shenandoah arr. Getty Oh Shenandoah, I long to see you, Away, you rolling river. Oh Shenandoah, I long to hear you, Away, I’m bound away across the wide Missouri. Missouri, she’s a mighty river, Oh Shenandoah, I love your daughter, For sev’n long years I’ve heard you calling, |
| Traditional Sweet Home arr. Dr. Uzee Brown, Jr. Sweet home, sweet home, sweet home, my Lord! Lord, I wonder if I’ll ever get home. I heard the voice of Jesus say, “Come unto me and rest; I came to Jesus as I was, weary and worn, and sad; Sweet home, sweet home, sweet home, my Lord! |
Traditional Joshua Fought the Battle of Jericho arr. V. Simonson and L. Lynch Joshua fought the battle of Jericho, Jericho, Jericho, Joshua fought the battle of Jericho, and the walls come tumbling down. Joshua fought the battle of Jericho… You may talk about your King of Gideon, Up to the walls of Jericho, Joshua fought the battle of Jericho… Then the lamb ram sheep horns begin to blow, Joshua fought the battle of Jericho… |