Playbill - Thomas Hampson (Friday, October 29, 2004 - 8 p.m.)
Contents
Introduction
This performance supported by William and Marlene Stanford
Performers
- Thomas Hampson, Baritone
- Craig Rutenberg, Piano
Program
The audience is respectfully requested to withhold its applause until the conclusion of each group of songs.
- Lieder von Robert Schumann
- Lust der Sturmnacht (Justinus Kerner)
- Stirb, Lieb und Freud (Justinus Kerner)
- Wanderlied (Justinus Kerner)
- Muttertraum (Hans Christian Andersen)
- Der Soldat (Hans Christian Andersen)
- Der Spielmann (Hans Christian Andersen)
- Ciganské Melodie, Op. 55 (Antonín Dvorák)
- Má píseň zas mi láskou zní
- Aj! Kterak trojhranec můj přerozkošně zvoní
- A les je tichý kolem kol
- Když mne stará matka zpívat, zpívat učívala
- Struna naladěna, hochu, toč se v kole
- Široké rukávy a široké gatě
- Dejte klec jestřábu ze zlata ryzého
- Songs on Texts by Walt Whitman
- Ned Rorem - As Adam Early in the Morning
- Charles Naginski - Look Down Fair Moon
- Henry T. Burleigh - Ethiopia Saluting the Colors
- William Neidlinger - Memories of Lincoln
- Paul Hindemith - Sing on There in the Swamp
- Leonard Bernstein - To What You Said
- American Art and Folk Songs
- Edward MacDowell - The Sea (W. D. Howells after Goethe)
- William Grant Still - Grief (LeRoy Brant)
- Arr. Clifford Shaw - The Nightingale (Traditional)
- Arr. Stephen White - Shenandoah (Traditional)
- Aaron Copland - The Boatmen's Dance (Traditional)
Thomas Hampson appears through arrangement with: IMG Artists, Carnegie Hall Tower, 152 West 57th Street, 5th Floor, New York, NY 10019
About the Artists
Thomas Hampson
Thomas Hampson (baritone) possesses one of today's most beautiful voices, due to an extraordinary symbiosis of vocal and performing powers. To tell stories, to bring them to life, to move and touch us, this is what matters most to him when he appears on stage, and his performances at the world's major concert and opera stages are hailed by audiences and critics alike. Brought up in Spokane, Washington, Thomas Hampson studied with Sr. Marietta Coyle, Elisabeth Schwarzkopf, Martial Singher and Horst Günther. He is renowned for his versatility, performing in opera, operetta, musical, oratorio and recital, as well as his achievements in the fields of recording, research and pedagogy.
Thomas Hampson has sung the title roles in Rossini's Guillaume Tell, Tchaikovsky's Eugene Onegin, Massenet's Werther in the original baritone version, Busoni's Doktor Faustus, Ambroise Thomas' Hamlet, Verdi's Macbeth, Don Giovanni, Simon Boccanegra, as well as the world premiere of Cerha's Der Riese vom Steinfeld. Other roles include Germont in Verdi's La Traviata, Wolfram in Wagner's Tannhäuser, the Marquis de Posa in Verdi's Don Carlos, Orest in Gluck's Iphigenie en Tauride, Amfortas in Wagner's Parsifal and Mandryka in Strauss' Arabella (Paris). You can visit his diary at: www.hampsong.com/calendar.
In recital, Thomas Hampson has set new standards, especially with his interpretation of the Gustav Mahler and Hugo Wolf song repertoire. Apart from his teaching and research activities, he has designed multi-media projects like Voices from the Heart, a documentary on the music of Stephen Foster or I Hear America Singing, the outstanding anthology about the intricate cultural contexts of American song.
In autumn 2003 Thomas Hampson started the Hampsong-Foundation, which aims to promote research projects, symposia, master classes, debuts and lecture concerts around the world. Under the Hampson label, the foundation will release the key classical and romantic lied repertoire in the form of a multi-media guide.
Thomas Hampson holds honorary doctorates from both the Whitworth College, Spokane/Washington and the San Francisco Conservatory, as well as an honorary membership of London's Royal Academy of Music. He has been given the titles of Kammersänger by the Vienna State Opera and Chevalier de l´ordre des arts et des letters by the Republic of France. He has also received an award from the National Arts Club of America given for his achievements in the fields of music and education.
Almost all of his recordings have received awards, including six Grammy nominations, two Nederlands Edison Prizes, two Prix du Disque, three Gramophone Awards, the Grand Prix de la Nouvelle Academie du Disque, the Prize de Charles Cors Academie du Disque Lyrique, the Echo Deutscher Schallplattenpreis and the Cannes Classical Award. Thomas Hampson was EMI Artist of the Year 1997. His recording of Tannhäuser received the Grammy Award 2002 for Best Opera Recording. In addition to his long-time collaboration with EMI Thomas Hampson has recorded for all the major labels. You can find his extensive discography at: www.hampsong.com/discography
For further information please visit: www.hampsong.com.
Craig Rutenberg
Craig Rutenberg (piano), "whose playing ranged from sterling directness to expansive beauty," (San Francisco Chronicle) has collaborated with many of the world's greatest vocalists and is recognized as one of the most distinguished accompanists on the stage today.
Having studied with John Wustman, Geoffrey Parsons and Pierre Bernac, Mr. Rutenberg has appeared in recital with Denyce Graves, Sumi Jo, Harolyn Blackwell, Susanne Mentzer, Frederica von Stade, Angelika Kirchschlager and Dawn Upshaw, and frequently with Thomas Hampson, Ben Heppner and Jerry Hadley as well as Olaf Baer, Simon Keenlyside and Stanford Olsen. He has performed at the White House with Mr. Hampson.
Mr. Rutenberg, whose latest recording prompted Opera News to praise him for "(making) the piano sing with clean articulation and a palette of colors to coordinate with ... every mood," records for Deutsche Grammophon, EMI/Angel, BMG/RCA and Koch International. He has appeared repeatedly in concert on national and international television and radio, including numerous PBS specials.
Currently guest coach at the Opera School in Stockholm, Sweden, Mr. Rutenberg also coaches and gives master classes at the Chicago Lyric Opera Center for American Artists, the Pittsburgh Opera Center, Chicago Opera Theatre and the Vancouver Opera as well as the opera training programs at the Washington Opera and the Royal Opera House, Covent Garden and The Royal College of Music, London. Former Head of Music Staff at the Metropolitan Opera, Rutenberg has also worked for the Opera Studio de Paris, the Glyndebourne Festival Opera, the San Francisco Opera, the Houston Grand Opera, the Santa Fe Opera and the Glimmerglass Opera.
In addition to his teaching activities in the 2004-05 season, Mr. Rutenberg appears in recital and records with Christine Brewer, duo Harolyn Blackwell and Christophoren Nomoura, Susanne Mentzer, Vivica Genaux, Ben Heppner and Thomas Hampson in the United States and Europe.
Texts and Translations
Lieder von Robert Schumann (1810-1856)
Lust der Sturmnacht
Wenn durch Berg und Tale draußen
Regen schauert, Stürme brausen,
Schild und Fenster hell erklirren,
Und in Nacht die Wandrer irren,
Ruht es sich so süß hier innen,
Aufgelöst in sel'ges Minnen;
All der goldne Himmelsschimmer
Flieht herein ins stille Zimmer:
Reiches Leben, hab Erbarmen!
Halt mich fest in linden Armen!
Lenzesblumen aufwärts dringen,
Wölklein ziehn und Vöglein singen.
Ende nie, du Sturmnacht, wilde!
Klirrt, ihr Fenster, schwankt, ihr Schilde,
Bäumt euch, Wälder, braus, o Welle,
Mich umfängt des Himmels Helle!
- Justinus Kerner (1786-1862)
The Wild night's Joy
When, outside, over hill and vale Rain streams and tempests rage, House-emblem, window, rattle loud And in the darkness travelers stray, Here inside it is so sweet to rest And give oneself to blissful love; The whole of heaven's golden gleam Flees hither to this quiet room: Have compassion, O abundant life, Hold me fast with gentle arm. The flowers of spring thrust up, Clouds are scudding and birds sing. Never end, wild night of storm, Rattle, house-emblems and windows, Rear up, forests. Roar, O wave, Locked am I in heaven's bright embrace!
Stirb', Lieb' und Freud'
Zu Augsburg steht ein hohes Haus,
Nah bei dem alten Dom,
Da tritt am hellen Morgen aus
Ein Mägdelein gar fromm;
Gesang erschallt,
Zum Dome wallt
Die liebe Gestalt.
Dort vor Marias heilig' Bild
Sie betend niederkniet,
Der Himmel hat ihr Herz erfüllt,
Und alle Weltlust flieht:
"O Jungfrau rein!
Laß mich allein
Dein eigen sein!"
Alsbald der Glocke dumpfer Klang
Die Betenden erweckt,
Das Mägdlein wallt die Hall' entlang,
Es weiß nicht, was es trägt;
Am Haupte ganz
Von Himmelsglanz
Einen Lilienkranz.
Mit Staunen schauen all' die Leut'
Dies Kränzlein licht im Haar,
Das Mägdlein aber wallt nicht weit,
Tritt vor den Hochaltar:
"Zur Nonne weiht
Mich arme Maid!
Stirb, Lieb' und Freud'!"
Gott, gib, daß dieses Mägdelein
Ihr Kränzlein friedlich trag',
Es ist die Herzallerliebste mein,
Bleibt's bis zum jüngsten Tag.
Sie weiß es nicht,
Mein Herz zerbricht,
Stirb, Lieb' und Licht!
- Justinus Kerner
Die, Love and Joy
In Augsbrug stands a lofty house By the old cathedral, And out into the shining morn Comes a pious maid. Hymns ring out, To the cathedral goes That lovely one. By Mary's blessed image She kneels to pray, Her heart is filled with Heaven, All earthly joy flees: 'O Virgin pure, grant that I be yours alone.' And as muffled bells Call the worshippers, Down the aisle walks the maid, Not knowing what she wears: Upon her head, All Heavenly bright, A lily crown. All gaze and marvel At that bright crown in her hair. But the maid does not go far, To the high altar she steps: 'Make me a nun, poor maid that I am! Die, love and joy!' God grant that maid Wear her crown in peace; My true love she is, And shall be till Judgement Day. She does not know My heart breaks, Die, love and light!
Wanderlied
Wohlauf! noch getrunken den funkelnden Wein!
Ade nun, ihr Lieben! geschieden muß sein.
Ade nun, ihr Berge, du väterlich' Haus!
Es treibt in die Ferne mich mächtig hinaus.
Die Sonne, sie bleibet am Himmel nicht stehn,
Es treibt sie, durch Länder und Meere zu gehn.
Die Woge nicht haftet am einsamen Strand,
Die Stürme, sie brausen mit Macht durch das Land.
Mit eilenden Wolken der Vogel dort zieht
Und singt in der Ferne ein heimatlich' Lied,
So treibt es den Burschen durch Wälder und Feld,
Zu gleich der Mutter, der wandernden Welt.
Da grüßen ihn Vögel bekannt überm Meer,
Sie flogen von Fluren der Heimat hierher;
Da duften die Blumen vertraulich um ihn,
Sie trieben vom Lande die Lüfte dahin.
Die Vögel, die kennen sein väterlich' Haus,
Die Blumen, die pflanzt er der Liebe zum Strauß,
Und Liebe, die folgt ihm, sie geht ihm zur Hand:
So wird ihm zur Heimt das ferneste Land.
- Justinus Kerner
Travel-Song
Come, one more draught of sparking wine! Farewell, loved ones! It's time to part. Farewell, mountains, my father's house! I've a great urge to journey afar. The sun, it does not stand still in the sky, But is urged to go over land and sea. The wave does not cling to the lonely shore, Storms rage mightily over the land. With the racing clouds, there the bird flies, And in a distant land sings a homely song. So is the young man urged in forest and field To match his mother, the journey's earth. Birds greet him, over the sea, as friends, Flown from the fields of his native land; The scent of flowers around him he knows, Brought from that land they were, by the winds. Those birds, they know his father's house. Those flowers he grew once for his love's bouquets, And love, it follows him, is always to hand: Thus a home to him is the farthest land.
Muttertraum
Die Mutter betet herzig und schaut entzückt
Auf den schlummernden Kleinen.
Er ruht in der Wiege so sanft und traut.
Ein Engel muß er ihr scheinen.
Sie küßt ihn und herzt ihn, sie hält sich kaum.
Vergessen der irdischen Schmerzen,
Es schweift in die Zukunft ihr Hoffnungstraum.
So träumen Mütter im Herzen.
Der Rab indes mit der Sippschaft sein
Kreischt draußen am Fenster die Weise:
Dein Engel, dein Engel wird unser sein,
Der Räuber dient uns zur Speise.
- Hans Christian Andersen (1805-1875)
A mother's dream
The mother prays sweetly and gazes with delight upon her slumbering little one. He rests in his cradle, so tender and cosy. He must seem an angel to her. She kisses him and hugs him, she cannot restrain herself. Forgetting all earthly pain, her hopeful dreams wander into the future. Thus do mothers often dream. The raven meanwhile, with its clan, shrieks a tune outside the window: Your angel, your angel will be ours - the brigand shall serve us at supper.
Der Soldat
Es geht bei gedämpfter Trommel Klang;
Wie weit noch die Stätte! der Weg wie lang!
O wär er zur Ruh und alles vorbei!
Ich glaub', es bricht mir das Herz entzwei!
Ich hab' in der Welt nur ihn geliebt,
Nur ihn, dem jetzt man den Tod doch gibt!
Bei klingendem Spiele wird paradiert;
Dazu bin auch ich kommandiert.
Nun schaut er auf zum letzten Mal
In Gottes Sonne freudigen Strahl;
Nun binden sie ihm die Augen zu -
Dir schenke Gott die ewige Ruh!
Es haben die Neun wohl angelegt;
Acht Kugeln haben vorbeigefegt.
Sie zittern alle vor Jammer und Schmerz -
Ich aber, ich traf ihn mitten ins Herz.
- Hans Christian Andersen
The soldier
He walks to the sound of a muffled drum; how far the place! - how long the way! O if only he were at rest and everything past already! I think it will break my heart in two! I loved only him in the world - only him, whom they are now putting to death! To the band they parade; for this task I am also ordered. Now he gazes for the last time up at the joyous sunbeams of God's sun; now they blindfold his eyes - may God grant you eternal peace! The nine then took aim: eight bullets shot wide. They trembled, all full of misery and pain - but I - I shot him right through the heart.
Der Spielmann
Im Städtchen gibt es des Jubels viel,
Da halten sie Hochzeit mit Tanz und mit Spiel.
Dem Fröhlichen blinket der Wein so rot,
Die Braut nur gleicht dem getünchten Tod.
Ja tot für den, den nicht sie vergißt,
Der doch beim Fest nicht Bräutigam ist:
Da steht er immitten der Gäste im Krug,
Und streichelt die Geige lustig genug.
Er streichelt die Geige, sein Haar ergraut,
Es schwingen die Saiten gellend und laut,
Er drückt sie ans Herz und achtet es nicht,
Ob auch sie in tausend Stücke zerbricht.
Es ist gar grausig, wenn einer so stirbt,
Wenn jung sein Herz um Freude noch wirbt.
Ich mag und will nicht länger es sehn!
Das möchte den Kopf mir schwindelnd verdrehn!
Wer heißt euch mit Fingern zeigen auf mich?
O Gott - bewahr uns gnädiglich,
Daß keinen der Wahnsinn übermannt.
Bin selber ein armer Musikant.
- Hans Christian Andersen
The fiddler
In the little town there is much festivity: they are holding a wedding there with dance and play. To the happy man, the wine sparkles so red; but the bride looks like whitewashed death. Yes, dead she is to him whom she cannot forget; he is at the feast but not as the bridegroom. He stands among the guests at the inn, stroking his fiddle cheerily enough. He strokes his fiddle, his hair turning grey. The strings resound: shrill and loud; he presses it to his heart, paying no heed whether it breaks into a thousand pieces. It is quite hideous when one dies this way, his heart young and still striving for joy. I cannot and will not watch any longer! It will make my head spin. Who are you, with your fingers pointing at me? O God - graciously protect us from the madness that may overwhelm us. For I am myself a poor musician.
Ciganské Melodie, Op. 55 (Antonín Dvořák (1841-1904))
Má píseň zas mi láskou zní
Má píseň zas mi láskou zní,
když starý den umírá,
a chudý mech kdy na `sat svůj
si tajně perle sbírá.
Má píseň v kraj tak toužnĕ zní,
když světem noha bloudí;
jen rodné pusty dálinou
zpěv volně z ňader proudí.
Má píseň hlučnĕ láskou zní,
když bouře bĕží plání;
když têŝím se, že bídy prost
dlí bratr v umírání
My song again with love resounds
My song again with love resounds When the old day is dying, And when lowly moss for its garment Secretly gathers pearls of dew. My song so wistfully o’er the land resounds When through the world I wander; Only in the vastness of my native steppe Does my voice flow freely from my bosom. My song so strong with love resounds When storms race o’er the plains And I give praise when, freed from misery, A gypsy brother breathes his last.
Aj! Kterak trojhranec můj přerozkošně zvoní
Aj! Kterak trojhranec můj přerozkošně zvoní,
jak cigána píseň, když se k smrti kloní.
Když se k smrti kloní, trojhran mu vyzvání.
Konec písni, tanci, lásce, b`edování.
Ay! How sweetly my triangle rings
Ay! How sweetly my triangle rings, Like the song of a gypsy approaching death. When he approaches death, the triangle tolls for him. No more songs, dances, sorrows of love.
A les je tichý kolem kol
A les je tichý kolem kol,
jen srdce mír ten ruŝí,
a černý kouř, jenž spĕchá v dol,
mé slze v lících,
mé slze suší.
Však nemusí jich usušit,
necht' v jiné tváře bije.
Kdo v smutku může zazpívat’,
ten nezhynul, ten žije, ten žije!
And the woods are silent all around
And the woods are silent all around, Only my heart disturbs the peace, And the black smoke, hastening down, Dries the tears on my cheeks, Dries my tears. Still it does not have to dry them. Let it batter other faces. He who can sign in his sorrow Has not perished, but is alive, is alive!
Když mne stará matka zpívat, zpívat učívala
Když mne stará matka zpívat, zpívat učívala,
podivno, že často, často slzívala.
A ted' také pláčem snĕdé líce mučim,
když cigánské dĕti hrát’ a zpívat’ učim!
When my old mother taught me, taught me to sing
When my old mother taught me, taught me to sing, Strange that often, often, she was crying. And now I too am weeping, tormenting my dark cheeks, When I teach gypsy children to play music and sing.
Struna naladĕna, hochu, toč se v kole
Struna naladĕna, hochu, toč se v kole,
dnes, snad dnes převysoko,
zejtra, zejtra, zejtra zase dole.
Pozejtří u Nilu za posvátným stolem;
struna již, struna naladěna,
hochu, toč, hochu, toč se kolem!
Struna naladěna, hochu, toč se kolem!
The strings are tuned, lad, join the dance
The strings are tuned, lad, join the dance, Today, perhaps today we’re high up; Tomorrow, tomorrow again we’re down. Day after tomorrow, by the Nile, at the holy table; The strings, the strings are tuned. Lad, dance! Lad, join the dance! The strings are tuned, lad, join the dance!
Široké rukávy a široké gatě
Široké rukávy a široké gatĕ
volnĕjŝí cigánu nežli dolman v zlatĕ.
Dolman a to zlato bujná prsa svírá;
pod ním volná píseň násilně umírá.
A kdo raduješ se, tvá kdy píseň v květě,
přej si, aby zaŝlo zlato v celém svêtê!
Wide sleeves and wide trousers
Wide sleeves and wide trousers Suit the gypsy better than a gold encrusted dolman. The dolman and the gold constrict the powerful chest; Under them the free song dies a violent death. And you who rejoice when your song blossoms free, Wish all the gold in the world would perish!
Dejte klec jestřábu ze zlata ryzého
Dejte klec jestřábu ze zlata ryzého;
nezmĕní on za ni hnízda trnĕného.
Komoni bujnému, jenž se pustou žene,
zřídka kdy připnete uzdy a třemene.
A tak i cigánu příroda cos dala:
k volnosti ho věčným poutem,
k volnosti ho upoutala.
Offer a hawk a cage of purest gold
Offer a hawk a cage of purest gold; He will not choose it over his nest of thorns. On a spirited steed charging through the steppe, You can seldom put reins and stirrups. Thus nature gave something even to the gypsy: To freedom, by an eternal bond, To freedom it tied him.
Songs on Texts by Walt Whitman (1819-1892)
Ned Rorem (b. 1923) - As Adam Early in the Morning
As Adam early in the morning, walking forth from the bower refresh’d with sleep, behold me where I pass, hear my voice, approach, touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass, be not afraid of my body.
Charles Naginski (1909-1940) - Look Down Fair Moon
Look down fair moon and bathe this scene, pour softly down night’s nimbus floods on faces ghastly, swollen, purple, on the dead on their backs with arms toss’d wide, pour down your unstinted nimbus, sacred moon.
Henry T. Burleigh (1866-1949) - Ethiopia Saluting the Colors
Who are you dusky woman, so ancient, hardly human, with your woolly-white and turban’s head, and bare bony feet? why rising by the roadside here, do you the colors greet? ‘Tis while our army lines Carolina’s sand and pines, forth from thy hovel door, thou, Ethiopia, com’st to me, as, under doughty Sherman, I march toward the sea. Me, master, years a hundred, since from my parents sunder’d, a little child, they caught me as the savage beast is caught; Then hither me, across the sea, the cruel slaver brought. No further does she say, but lingering all the day, her high-borne turban’s head she wags, and rolls her darkling eye, and curtseys to the regiments, the guidons moving by. What is it, fateful woman - so bleak, hardly human? Why wag your head, with turban bound - yellow, red and green? Are the things so strange and marvellous, you see or have seen?
William H. Neidlinger (1863-1924) - Memories of Lincoln
Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows - through the doors - burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation,
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet - no happiness must he have now with his bride,
Nor the peaceful farmer and peace, ploughing his field or gathering hie grain,
So firece you whirr and pound you drums - so shrill you bugles blow.
Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities - over the rumble of wheels in the streets;
Are beds prepared for the sleepers at night in the houses? no sleepers must sleep in those beds,
No bargainers’ nargains by day - no brokers or speculators - would they continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums - you bugles wilder blow.
Beat! beat! drums! - blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley - stop for no expostulation,
Mind not the timid - mind not the weeper or prayer,
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man,
Let not the child’s voice be heard not the mother’s entreaties,
Make even the trestles to shake the dead where they lie awaiting the hearses,
So strong you thump O terrible drums - so loud you bugles blow.
When lilacs last in the dooryard bloom’d,
And the great star early droop’d in the western sky in the night,
O mourn’d, and yet shall mourn with ever-returning spring.
Ever-returning spring, trinity sure to me you bring,
Lilac blooming perennial and drooping star in the west,
And though of him I love.
O powerful western fallen star!
O shades of night - O moody, tearful night!
O great star disappear’d - O black murk that hides the star!
O cruel hands that hold me powerless - O helpless soul of me!
O harsh surrounding cloud that will not free my soul.
O Captain! my Captain! our fearful trip is done,
The ship has weather’d every rack, the prize we sought is won,
The port is near, the bells I hear, the people all exulting,
While follow eyes the steady keel, the vessel grim and daring:
But O heart! Heart! Heart!
O the bleeding drops of red,
Where on the deack my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
O Captain! my Captain! rise up and hear the bells;
Rise up for you the flag is flung for you the bugle trills,
For you bouquets and ribbon’d wreaths - for you the shores a-crowding,
For you they call, the swaying mass, their eager faces turning,
Here Captain! dear father!
This arm beneath your head!
It is some dream that on the deck,
You’ve fallen cold and dead.
My Captain does not answer, his lips are pale and still,
My father does not feel my arms, he has no pulse or will,
The ship is anchor’s safe and sound, its voyage closed and done,
From fearful trip the victor ship comes in with object won;
Exult O shores, and ring O bells!
But I with mournful tread,
Walk the deck my Captain lies,
Fallen cold and dead.
Paul Hindemith (1895-1963) - Sing on There in the Swamp
Sing on there in the swamp, O singer bashful and tender, I hear your notes, I hear your call, I hear, I come presently, I understand you, but a moment I linger, for the lustrous star has detain'd me, the star, my departing comrade, holds and detains me.
Leonard Bernstein (1918-1990) - To What You Said
To what you said, passionately clasping my hand, this is my answer:
Though you have strayed hither, for my sake,
you can never belong to me, nor I to you,
Behold the customary loves and friendships - the cold guards
I am that rough and simple person
I am he who kisses his comrade lightly on the lips at parting
and I am one who is kissed in return,
I introduce that new American salute.
Behold love choked, correct, polite always
Suspicious
Behold the received models of the parlors -
What are they to me?
What to these young men that travel with me?
American Art and Folk Songs
Edward MacDowell (1860-1908) - The sea
One sails away to sea, to sea
one stands on the shore and cries;
the ship goes down the world, and the light
on the sullen water dies.
The whispering shell is mute,
and after is evil cheer;
she shall stand on the shore and cry in vain,
many and many a year.
But the stately wide-winged ship
lies wrecked, lies wrecked on the unknown deep;
far under, dead in his coral bed,
the lover lies asleep.
- W.D. Howells after Goethe
William Grant Still (1895-1978) - Grief
Weeping angel with pinions trailing
and head bowed low in your hands.
Mourning angel with heartstrings wailing
for one who in death’s hall stands,
mourning angel silence your wailing
and raise your head from your hands,
weeping angel with pinions trailing,
the white dove, promise, stands!
- LeRoy V. Brant
Arr. Clifford Shaw - The Nightingale
One mornin’, one mornin’, one mornin’ in May,
I saw a fair couple amakin’ their way;
And one was a lady, a lady so fair,
The other a soldier, a brave volunteer.
“Good mornin’, good mornin’, good mornin’ to thee,
O where are you goin’ my pretty lady?”
“O I am a goin’ to the banks of the sea,
To see waters glidin’, hear the nightingale sing.”
They hadn’t been standin’ a minute or two,
When out of his knapsack a fiddle he drew;
And the tune that he played made the valleys all ring,
Made the waters go glidin’, made the nightingale sing!
“Brave soldier, kind soldier, will you marry me?”
“Oh, no, pretty lady, that never could be.
I’ve a true love in London who’s waitin’ for me,
Two loves in the army’s too many for me.”
“I’ll go back to London and stay there a year,
and often I’ll dream of you, my little dear;
And if e’er I return ‘twill be in the spring,
To see waters glidin’, hear the nightingale sing.”
- Traditional East Tennessee and Western Virginia Mountain Ballad
Arr. Stephen White - Shenandoah
Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you,
away you rolling river.
Oh, Shenandoah, I long to hear you,
away, I’m bound away, ‘cross the wide Missouri.
Oh Shenandoah, I love your daughter
away you rolling river.
Oh Shenandoah, I love your daughter
away, I’m bound away, ‘cross the wide Missouri.
This white man love your Indian maiden,
away you rolling river.
In my canoe with notions laden,
away, I’m bound away, ‘cross the wide Missouri.
Farewell, goodbye, I shall not grieve you,
away you rolling river.
Oh, Shenandoah, I’ll not deceive you,
away, I’m bound away, ‘cross the wide Missouri.
- Traditional
Aaron Copland (1900-1990) - The boatmen’s dance
High row the boatmen row,
Floatin’ down the river the Ohio.
The boatmen dance, the boatmen sing,
the boatmen up to ev’rything.
And when the boatmen gets on shore
he spends his cash and works for more.
Then dance the boatmen dance,
O dance the boatmen dance.
Oh dance all night ‘til broad daylight,
and go home with the gals in the mornin’.
I went on board the other day
to see what the boatmen had to say.
There I let my passion loose,
an’ they cram me in the callaboose.
O dance the boatmen dance.
Oh dance all night ‘til broad daylight,
and go home with the gals in the mornin’.
The boatman is a thrifty man,
there’s none can do as the boatman can.
I never see a pretty gal in my life
but that she was a boatman’s wife.
O dance the boatmen dance.
Oh dance all night ‘til broad daylight,
and go home with the gals in the mornin’.
- Traditional
© 2003-2005
The University of Iowa Center for Macular Degeneration
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