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LIBRETTI AND TEXTS FOR VOCAL WORKS

Op. 1 - Nativity Mass

The construction of the Latin text was undertaken by Barry Blackburn and Ian Crane.

​

Kyrie eleison

 

Kyrie eleison.

Christe eleison.

Kyrie eleison.

 

Adeste fideles

 

Adeste fideles,

laeti, triumphantes,

venite, venite in Bethlehem:

natum videte

regem angelorum:

venite adoremus Dominum.

 

Hodie cantemus

 

Hodie cantemus,

Deum nos laudemus,

Christum proponemus

dona.

 

In stabulo humili

Christo canunt angeli:

Laus et gloria tibi,

Alleluia.

 

Laus tibi, O Deo,

laus tibi, O Christo,

laus Spirito Sancto

semper.

 

Ave Maria

 

Ortus Domini Christi haec ratione erat:

Gabriel Angelus legatus de Deo

ad urbem Galilei, Nazareth,

ad virginem qui sposa erat

ad Josephum ex Davido:

et virgina erat Maria.

 

 

Et angelus venit ad eam et dixit:

―Ave, Maria! gratia plena:

Dominus tecum:

Benedicta tu in mulieribus.

Ecce, concipies, et paries filium:

Et vocabitur nomen eius Jesu:

Lumen ad revelationem Israel.

―Ecce, ecce ancillae Domini:

Domine mecum cum dixisti meam.

Et angelus exivit.

 

Veni Emmanuel

 

Veni, veni, Emmanuel,

captivum solve Israel,

qui gemit in exilio,

privatum Deo filio:

Gaude! gaude! Emmanuel

nascetur pro te, Israel.

 

Magnificat

 

Et dixit Maria:

―Magnificat anima mea Dominum,

et exultavit spiritus meus in Deo salutari meo,

quia respexit humilitatem ancillae suae:

ecce, enim ex hoc beatam me dicant

omnes generationes.

Quia fecit mihi magna qui potens est:

et sanctam nomen eius.

Et misericordia eius a progenie in progenies

timentibus eium.

Fecit potentiam in brachio suo:

dispersit superbos mente cordis sui.

Deposuit potentes de sede:

et exaltavit humiles.

Esurientes implevit bonis:

et divites dimisit inanes.

Suscepit Israel puerum suum,

recordatus misericordiae suae,

  

sicut locutus est ad patres nostros,

Abraham et semini eius.

Gloria Patri et Filio et Spiritui Sancto!

Sicut erat in principio, et nunc,

et in saecula saeculorum. Amen.

 

Cum Maria mater

 

Cum Maria mater Jesui Josepho sponsetur

ante concipient, habet filium Spiritu Sanctis.

Quando Josephus pius putat eiam exitis faciat.

Sed quondam eis putat, ecce!

angelus Domini ei venit dormenti et dixit:

―O Joseph ex Davido! Ne timere capere

Maria femina: quia id concipiet

est de Spiritui Sancto. Et pariet filium:

et nomen fuerit Jesu.

 

Puer nobis

 

Puer nobis nascitur,

regem creatorarum!

Advenit mundum relictum,

Dominus genium.

 

Omega et Alpha est!

Organum tonneret!

Cum chorus, Dei gaudens,

Deum lauderet.

 

Corde natus

 

Corde natus ex parentis

ante mundi exordium.

Alpha et O cognominatus,

ipse fons et clausula.

Omnium quae sunt, fuerunt,

quaeque post futura sunt,

saeculorum saeculis.

 

Psallat altitude caeli,

psallite omnes angeli,

quidquid est virtutis usquam,

psallat in laudem Dei.

Nulla lunguarum silescat,

vox et omnes consonet,

saeculorum saeculis.

 

Et Josephus exivit

 

Et Josephus exivit de Galilaeo ad Bethlehem,

nam est de Davide,

cum Maria femina, tributum imponi.

Et sicut erat cum adfuit, nascetur in stabulo

filium suum Jesu.

Et errant in rure ipse pastores oves supervidentes.

Ecce! angelus Domini advenit,

et Gloria Domini eius luceat,

et errant timentes. Et eius dixit angelus:

―Noli timere: nam ecce! nuntio bona.

Nam filius nascetur in urbe Davidi,

Christus Dominus.

Et ecce! angeli cum angelo errant de caelis,

Dei laudis offerent et dicent:

 

Gloria

 

Gloria in excelsis Deo,

et in terra pax hominibus bonae voluntatis.

Laudamus te, benedicimus te,

adoramus te, glorificamus te,

gratias agimus tibi propter magnam gloriam.

Domine Deus, rex caelestis, Deus pater omnipotens.

Domine Fili unigenite, Jesu Christe.

Domine Deus, Agnus Dei, qui tollis peccata mundi,

miserere nobis.  Qui tollis peccata mundi,

suscipe deprecationem nostrum.

Qui sedes ad dexteram Patris, miserere nobis.

Quoniam tu solus Sanctus, tu solus Dominus,

tu solus altissimus, Jesu Christe,

cum Sancto Spiritu in gloria Dei Patris. Amen.

 

Quem pastores

 

Quem pastores laudevere,

quibus angeli dixere,

absit vobis iam timere,

natus est rex gloriae.

 

Christe rege, Deo nato,

per Mariam nobis dato,

merito resonet vere,

laus, honor et Gloria.

 

Quem angeli

 

Quem angeli nunc exiverunt in caelos,

pastores dixeverunt unter eos:

―Eamus, videre hoc quid angelus nos dicunt.

Et venerunt, et viderunt, et Deo laudaverunt.

 

Deum de Deo

 

Deum de Deo,

lumen de lumine:

gestant puellae viscera:

Deum verum,

genitum non factum:

venite adoremus Dominum.

 

Cantet nunc Io,

chorus angelorum!

Cantet nunc Io caelestium:

―Gloria in excelsis Deo!

Venite adoremus Dominum.

 

Jesu natus

 

Jesu natus Bethlehem in Judaea, Herode rege,

venit tres reges de Parthis Jerusalem qui dicent:

―Ubi sit rex natus Judaeorum?

Nam vidistis stellam in oriente

e venistis ad eum laudare.

Et Herod rex convenit Sanhedrin,

 

 Et rogavit eos ubi Christus natus sit. Et dixerent:

―Bethlehem Judaeorum:

beatam te, nam tibi rex Israel venit.

Et Herod nuntiabat magi Bethlehem

et advenerunt filium cum Maria matre

et eum laudaverunt. Et offerunt ei dona:

aurum, thus, myrrhumque.

 

Deo gratias

 

Deo gratias!

Gratias Christi,

Deo gratias!

 

Vere dignum

 

Vere dignum et justum est, aequum et salutare,

tibi semper et ubique gratias agree:

Domine sanctus, Pater omnipotens, aeterne Deus!

 Quia per incarnate verbi mysterium

nova mentis nostrae oculis

lux tuae claritatis infulsit:

ut dum visibilter Deum cognoscimus per hunc

in invisibilium orem rapiamur.

Et deio cum angelis et archangelis,

cum Thronis et Dominationibus,

cumque omnia militia caelestis exercitus

hymnum gloriae tuae cantimus,

sine fine dicentes:

 

Sanctus

 

Sanctus, sanctus, sanctus,

Dominus Deus Sabaoth!

Pleni sunt caeli et terra gloria tua.

Hosanna in excelsis!

Benedictus qui venit in nominee Domini.

Hosanna in excelsis!

Op. 2- Requiem Canticle In memoriam Patri

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,

Grant them eternal rest, O Lord,

et lux perpetua luceat eis.

and may eternal light shine on them.

Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,

A hymn is offered to you, Lord, in Sion,

et tibi redetur votum in Jerusalem.

and a prayer is rendered in Jerusalem.

Exaudi orationem nostram:

Hear our prayer:

ad te omnis caro veniet.

to you all flesh comes.

Requiem aeternam dona eis, Domine,

Grant them eternal rest, O Lord,

et lux perpetua luceat eis.

and may eternal light shine on them.​

Op. 3 - Three Early Songs

A song of nationalism

First World War traditional

 

God heard the embattled nations sing and shout:

Gott strafe England – God save the King –

God this – God that – and God the other thing.

“My God,” said God, “I’ve got my work cut out.”

​

Those dancing days are gone

William Butler Yeats

 

Come, let me sing into your ear;

those dancing days are gone,

all that silk and satin gear,

crouch upon a stone,

wrapping that foul body up

in as foul a rag:

I carry the sun in a golden cup,

the moon in a silver bag.

 

Curse as you may I sing it through,

what matter if the knave

that the most could pleasure you,

the children that he gave,

are somewhere sleeping like a top

under a marble flag?

I carry the sun in a golden cup,

the moon in a silver bag.

 

I thought it out this very day,

noon upon the clock,

a man may put pretence away

who leans upon a stick,

may sing, and dance until he drops,

whether to maid or hag:

I carry the sun in a golden cup,

the moon in a silver bag.

​

One came back

Olive Gaunt

 

Yon pit-lad with his pony,

right well he’ll groom and tend.

They talk to one another

as friend to loyal friend.

 

In Stanley pit down in bye

died nigh two hundred men.

Of all the putters, yonder lad

alone came up again.

 

They bade him keep his pony

all for his very own;

he brought that pony safe to bank,

when he came up alone.

Op. 12 - Whispers of Heavenly Death

Walt Whitman​

​

Whispers of Heavenly Death murmur’d I hear,

labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals,

footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low,

ripples of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, endlessly flowing

(or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?)

 

I see, just see skyward, great cloud-masses,

mournfully slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing,

with a times a half-dimm’d, sadden’d, far-off star, appearing and disappearing.

Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal birth;

on the frontiers to eyes impenetrable, some soul is passing over.

Op. 14 - The Watchman

Chorus

Holy, Holy, Holy is the Lord of Hosts: the whole earth is filled with his glory. Glory be to thee, O Lord most high.

​

Baritone solo

Woe is me! for I am lost: because I am a man of unclean lips, and I dwell in the midst of a people of unclean lips:

yet mine eyes have seen the King, the Lord of Hosts.

 

Chorus

Lo! the coal hath touched thy lips, and thine iniquity is taken away, and thy sin purged.

 

Chorus

Go, and tell this people: Hear ye in hearing, but understand not; and see ye in seeing, but perceive not.

The heart of this people is fat, their eyes are heavy and their ears are shut; they see not with their eyes,

and hear not with their ears, and understand not with their heart, that they may turn and be saved.

 

Baritone solo

How long, O Lord, how long?

 

Chorus

Until the cities be wasted without inhabitant, and the houses unpeopled, and the land be utterly desolate.

And the people shall be devoured, as an oak or a terebinth set to the fire.

 

Chorus

Hear, O Heavens, and give ear, O Earth: for the Lord hath spoken. I have nourished and brought up children,

and they have rebelled against me. And yet, though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be white as snow;

though they be as red as crimson, they shall be as wool.

 

Baritone solo

Who is this that cometh with dyed garments, that is glorious in his apparel,

travelling in the greatness of his strength?

 

Chorus

He that speaketh in righteousness, mighty to save.

 

Baritone solo

Thou hast trodden the wine-press alone; for thou hast trod them in thy anger, and trampled them in thy fury.

 

Chorus

For the Day of my Vengeance is come, and the Year of my Redeemed is in my heart.

 

Chorus

For behold, I create a new Heaven and a new Earth; and the former shall not be remembered,

and shall not come into mind.

 

Baritone solo

And I will rejoice in my people; and the voice of weeping shall be heard no more, nor the crying of tongues.

They shall not build, and another inhabit; they shall not plant, and another reap;

the wolf and the lamb shall feed together, and the lion shall eat straw like the bullock.

They shall not hurt nor destroy in all my Holy Mountain, saith the Lord.

 

Chorus

For the Earth shall be full of the glory of God, as the waters cover the sea.

And every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill made low: the crooked straight,

and the rough places plain. And they shall beat their swords into plough-shares, and their spears into pruning-hooks;

nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.

 

Baritone solo

Come ye, let us walk in the light of the Lord.

 

Chorus

But watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night?

 

Baritone solo

The morning cometh, and also the night: if ye will inquire, inquire ye: return, come.

Op. 17 - Folksong Arrangements

Waly waly

Scottish Traditional

 

The water is wide, I cannot get o’er,

and neither have I wings to fly,

give me a boat that will carry two,

and both shall cross, my love and I.

 

I leant my back up against an oak,

thinking it was a mighty tree,

but first it bent and then it broke;

so did my love prove false to me.

 

O love is handsome and love is kind,

gay as a jewel when it is new;

but love grows old and waxes cold,

and fades away like morning dew.

 

The water is wide, I cannot get o’er,

and neither have I wings to fly,

give me a boat that will carry two,

and both shall cross, my love and I.

​

Ca' the yowes

Robert Burns

 

Ca’ the yowes tae the nowes,

ca’ them where the heather growes;

ca’ them where the burnie rowes,

my bonnie dearie.

 

Hark the mavis evenin’ sang,

sounden Clouden’s woods amang;

then a-foldin’ let us gang,

my bonnie dearie.

 

We’ll gang down by Clouden side,

through the hazels spreading wide,

o’er the waves that sweetly glide,

to the moon sae clearly.

 

Fair and lovely as thou art,

thou hast stol’n my very heart;

I can die but canna part,

my bonnie dearie

​

She moved through the fair

Irish Traditional

 

My young love said to me: My mother won’t mind,

and my father won’t slight you for your lack of kind;

and she stepped away from me and this she did say:

It will not be long, love, till our wedding day.

 

She stepped away from me, and she went through the fair,

and fondly I watched her move here and move there;

and then she went homeward with one star awake,

As the swan in the evening moves over the lake.

  

Last night she came to me, she came softly in,

So softly she came that her feet made no din;

And she laid her hand on me, and this she did say:

It will not be long, love, till our wedding day.

​

All my trials

Traditional Bahamas Song

​

Hush, li’l baby, don’t you cry;

you know yo’ daddy was born to die.

All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

 

There is a tree in Paradise,

the pilgrims call it the Tree of Life.

All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

 

Too late, my brothers!

Too late, but never mind:

All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

 

If religion were a thing that money could buy,

the rich would live and the poor would die.

All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

 

I had a little book was given to me,

and every page spelt Liberty.

All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

 

Too late, my brothers!

Too late, but never mind:

All my trials, Lord, soon be over.

​

The House of the Rising Sun

Traditional Louisiana Ballad

​

There is a house in New Orleans

they call the Rising Sun;

and it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy,

and God, I know, I’m one.

 

My mother was a tailor,

sewed my new blue jeans;

my father was a gambling man,

down in New Orleans.

 

Now the only thing a gambler needs

is a suitcase and a trunk;

and the only time that keeps him satisfied

is when he’s on the drunk.

 

There is a house in New Orleans

they call the Rising Sun;

and it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy,

and God, I know, I’m one.

​

Dafydd y Garreg Wen

Welsh Traditional, literal English translation by Sian Meinir.

Performing English version by the composer

​

Welsh Version:

​

Carwch, medd Dafydd, fy melyn i mi,

Bring, says Dafydd, my harp to me,

ceisiaf cyn marw rhoi tôn arni i.

I'll try before I die to play a melody on her.

Codwch fy nwylaw i gyraedd y tant

Lift my hands to reach the strings,

Duw a’ch bendithio fy ngweddw a’m plant.

God bless you, my wife and my children.

 

Neithiwr mi glywais lais angyl fel hyn,

Last night I heard a voice of an angel like this,

Dafydd, tyrd adref, a chwareu trwy’r glyn;

Dafydd, come home, and play through the valley;

Telyn fy mebyd, ffarwel i dy dant

Harp of my childhood, farewell to your strings,

Duw a’ch bendithio fy ngweddw a’m plant.

God bless you, my wife and my children.

​

English Version:

​

Bring me, said David, the harp I adore;

I long ere death calls me to play it once more.

Help me to reach my belov’d strings again.

On women and children God’s blessing remain.

 

Last night I heard a kind angel thus say:

David, fly home on the wings of thy lay.

Harp of my youth and thy music, adieu!

Women and children, God’s blessing on you!

Op. 18 - Two Partsongs for Male Choir

Stillness

James Elroy Flecker

 

When the words rustle no more,

and the last work’s done,

when the bolt lies deep in the door,

and Fire, our Sun,

falls on the dark-laned shadows of the floor,

 

 

when from the clock’s last chime to the next chime

Silence beats his drum,

and Space with gaunt grey eyes and her brother, Time,

wheeling and whispering come,

she with the mould of form and he with the loom of rhyme:

 

 

then twittering out in the night my thought-birds flee,

I am emptied of all my dreams;

I only hear Earth turning, only hear

Lethe’s long bankless streams,

and only know that I would drown if you laid not your hand on me.

​

Gods

Walt Whitman

​

Lover divine and perfect comrade,

waiting content, invisible yet, but certain,

be Thou my God.

 

Thou, the Ideal Man, able, fair, content and loving,

complete in body and dilate in spirit,

be Thou my God.

 

O Death (for Life has serv’d its turn),

opener and usher to the Heavenly mansion,

be Thou my God.

 

Aught of mightiest, best I see, conceive or know

(to break the stagnant tie, thee to free, O soul!),

be thou my God.

 

All great ideas, the races’ aspirations,

all heroisms, deeds of rapt enthusiasts,

be ye my Gods.

 

Or Time: or Space: or shape of Earth divine and wond’rous:

or some fair shape I, viewing, worship:

or lustr’ous orb of sun or moon by night:

be ye my Gods.

​

Op. 22 - Three Partsongs for Mixed Choir

Adapted from W. B. Yeats' "The Wanderings of Óisin"

​

Dedication

 

I wander by the edge of this desolate lake

where the wind cries in the sedge:

Until the axle break

that keeps the stars in their round

and hands hurl in the deep

the banners of East and West,

and the girdle of light is unbound,

your heart will not rest

by the breast of your beloved in sleep.

 

 

 

Monotone

 

I hear my soul drop down into decay,

and Mannanan’s dark tower, stone by stone

gather salt slime and fall the seaward way,

and the moon goad the waters night and day,

till all be overthrown.

 

But till the moon has taken all, I wage

war on the mightiest men under the skies,

and they have fallen or fled, age after age.

Light is man’s love, and lighter is man’s rage;

his purpose drifts and dies.

 

The mystery of the Immortal Rose

 

The Powers whose name and shape no living creature knows

have plucked the Immortal Rose;

and though the Seven Lights bowed their heads and wept,

the Polar Dragon slept,

his heavy rings uncoiled from glimmering Deep to Deep;

when will he wake from sleep?

 

Great Powers of falling wave and wind and windy fire,

with your harmonious choir

encircle her I love and sing her into peace,

that my old care may cease;

unfold your flaming wings and cover out of sight

the nets of day and night.

 

Dim Powers of shadowy thought, let her no longer be

like the pale cup of the sea,

when winds have gathered and Sun and Moon burned dim

above its cloudy rim;

but let a gentle silence wrought with music flow

whither her footsteps go.

Op. 23 - The Deserted Village

Adapted from Oliver Goldsmith by Alun Alban Davies

​

A time there was, ere England’s woes began,

when every rood of land maintained its man,

his blest companions, innocence and health,

and his blest riches, ignorance of wealth.

But times are altered: trade’s unfeeling train

usurps the land, and dispossesses the swain.

And now the sounds of population fail;

no cheerful murmurs fluctuate in the gale;

these, far departing, seek a kinder shore,

and rural mirth and manners are no more.

 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,

where wealth accumulates and men decay.

Kings and princes may flourish, or may fade;

a breath can make them, as a breath hath made;

but a bold peasantry, their country’s pride,

when once destroyed, can never be supplied.

 

How different now from all that charmed of yore,

now there is altered all that was before!

Now matted weeds where birds forget to sing,

and silent bats in drowsy clusters cling;

now poisonous fields with rank luxuriance crowned,

where the dark scorpion gathers death around,

and crouching tigers wait their hapless prey,

to savage men more murderous than they;

while oft in whirls the mad tornado flies,

mingling the ravaged landscape with the skies.

 

Even now, methinks, as pondering here I stand,

I see the rural virtues leave the land.

Down, where yon anchoring vessel spreads the sail

that idly waiting flaps with every gale,

downwards they move, a melancholy band,

pass from the shore, and darken all the strand.

And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid,

art first to fly where sensual joys invade.

 

Still let my voice, prevailing over time,

redress the rigours of this inclement clime.

And, slighted Truth, with thy persuasive strain,

teach erring man to spur the rage of gain.

Teach him that empire hastes to swift decay,

as ocean sweeps the laboured mole away,

while self-dependent power can Time defy,

as rocks resist the billows and the sky.

 

Ill fares the land, to hastening ills a prey,

where wealth accumulates and men decay.

Kings and princes may flourish, or may fade;

a breath can make them, as a breath hath made;

but a bold peasantry, their country’s pride,

when once destroyed, can never be supplied

Op. 24 - Three Songs of Faith

John Bunyan

​

1

 

Let the most blessed be my guide,

if’t be His blessed will,

up to His gates, into His halls,

up to His holy hill.

 

And let Him never suffer me

to swerve or turn aside

from his free grace and holy will,

whate’er shall me betide.

 

And let Him gather them of mine

that I have left behind.

Lord, let them pray they may be thine,

with all their heart and mind.

 

2

 

Behold ye, how these crystal streams do glide,

to comfort pilgrims by the highway side;

the meadows green, beside their fragrant smell,

yield dainties for them; and he that can tell

what pleasant fruits, yea sweets, these trees do yield,

will soon sell all he hath that he may buy this field.

 

3

 

He that is down need fear no fall;

he that is low, no pride;

he that is humble, ever shall

have God to be his guide.

 

I am content with what I have,

little be it or much,

and Lord, contentment still I crave,

because thou savest such.

 

Fullness to such a burden is,

that go on pilgrimage,

here little, and hereafter bliss,

is best from age to age.

Op. 25 - Two Meditations

Dychwelyd

T H Parry-Williams

 

 

Ni all terfysgoedd daear fyth gyffroi  

The earthly tumult never can disturb

distawrwydd nef: ni sigla lleisiau’r llawr

the high silent Heavens: the voices of the world

rymuster y tangnefydd sydd yn toi

can never break the mighty peace that spans

diddim diarcholl yr ehangder mawr.

the vast void of the immense Firmament.

Ac ni all holl drybestod dyn a byd

Nor all worldly commotions of mankind

darfu’r tawelwch nac amharudim

can break its stillness, nor impair at all

ar dreigl a thro’r pellterau sydd o hyd

the move and turn of distance that creates

yn gwneuthur gosteg â’u chwyrnellu chwim.

a moving stillness, a calm over space.

Ac am nad ydwy’n hyw ar hyd y daith,

And as our lifespan, all our journey through

o gri ein geni hyd ein holaf gŵyn,

from childish crying to the sigh of death,

yn ddim ond crych dros dro neu gysgod craith

is but a passing transitory scar

arlyfnder esmwyth y mudandod mwyn,

upon the surface of that silent calm,

Ni wnaun, wrth ffoi am byth o’n ffwdan ffôl,

so, once all our bluster comes to an end,

ond llithro i’r llondwch mawr yn ôl.

we pass forth to that eternal peace.

​

 

Sleep

Samuel Daniel

 

 

Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,

brother to Death, in silent darkness born,

relieve my languish and restore the light

with dark forgetting of my care reborn.

 

And let the day be time enough to mourn

the shipwreck of my ill-adventured youth;

let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,

without the torment of the night’s untruth.

 

Cease, dreams, the images of day-desires,

to model forth the passions of the morrow!

Still let me sleep, embracing clouds in vain,

and never wake to feel the day’s disdain.

Op. 26 - Three Songs of Twilight

Adapted from the Roman poet Ausonius, English translation by the composer.

​

Mosella (Evening on the Moselle)

 

Quis color ille vadis, seras cum populit umbras

Hesperus et viridi perfudit monte Mosellam!

Tota natant crispis iuga motibus et tremens absens

pampinus, et vitreis vindemia turget in undis.

​

What colour is it now, the lonely stream below in the sunset?

How vividly the light illumines the Moselle!

All is bathed in crimson, in reflected hue.

The bushes quiver in the shade,

and all above is seen in brightly mirrored ripples.

 

De rosis nascentibus (On new blown roses)

 

Ver erat, et blando mordentia frigora sensu

 spirabat croceo mane revecta diem.

Stricteor Eos praecesserat aura

iugales aestiferum suavens anticipare diem.

Errabam riguis per quadrua compita

in hortis, mature cupiens me vegetare diem.

​

Spring it was, the white-shaded deathly pale cold before sunrise

Breathing the frosty air cold ere the daylight’s dawning.

Sharply a cool wind blew into the garden

caressing, lightly breathing, yet presaging a humid warm day.

And I walked in my shaded garden before the sun

had risen, in expectation of a glorious and bright morn.

 

Sylva myrta (The fields of sorrow)

 

Errantes silva in magna et sub luce maligna

inter harundineasque comas gravidumque papaver

et tacitos sine labe lacus, sine murmure rivos,

 quorum per ripas nebuloso lumine marcent

fleti, olim regios et puerorum nomine, flores.

​

They wander sadly in deep woods and under light most mournful

by the shores of reed-tangled pools and through fields of drowsy-headed poppies,

by silent lakes and by streaming waters with no sound of water flowing,

and in the dim day of the twilight gently there by the rivers,

those that once were mighty kings and princes known to all the world—flowers.

Op. 29 - The Arrogance of Youth

Poems drawn from an extensive unpublished collection by Liam Blake

​

Dedication

 

I’ll bring you water to anoint your sorrow,

stroke your aching head with the fronds of palm-leaves,

make a hollow in the earth and lay with you softly,

cover you with warm leaves and bracken under which to dream.

 

The shadow

 

You came like a raven out of the shadow.

I couldn’t see you, but heard your wings beat the air.

Landing firmly at my side you wrapped your wings round me.

You tore my flesh, but there was no pain;

your beak pierced my soul, but left no scar;

you ate my seed, then flew back into the shadow.

 

The separation

 

I’ve lost sight of when it started.

Perhaps when we parted, that first meeting,

I don’t know where the words came from.

Perhaps rising from the sea, the clouds formed somewhere near.

Like you I needed to touch them, scything through their form.

I could not grasp them.

The clouds drifted northwards over the land.

Sometime they will return to the sea as flooding rivers.

 

Reflection

 

All sense in me is gone;

no world such as this can ever content me.

Life and death surround me;

prosperity and poverty abound about me.

I see beauty where many see ugliness;

I see death where many see achievement.

What I have achieved, can I alone understand?

 

Dichotomy

 

Sometimes I ask the light to speak to me:

only the dark replies in solemn tones: Don’t weep for me.

Then call my children to the sun,

for they are blind and cannot run: Don’t search for me.

Then hide Time behind the clouds

to lay in shade an empty shroud: Forget me.

 

Epitaph

 

J’etais né, j’habitai, et à la fin je mourirai…

Op. 30 - Two Pagan Choruses

The Sphinx

Oscar Wilde

 

Away to Egypt!

Only one God has ever died.

Only one God has let his side

be wounded by a soldier’s spear.

But these, thy lovers, are not dead.

Still from his chair of porphyry

gaunt Memnon strains his lidless eyes,

and cries each yellow morning unto thee.

Still by the hundred cubit gate

dog-faced Anubis sits in state

with lotus lilies for thy head.

And Nilus with his broken horn

lies in his black and oozy bed

and till thy coming will not spread

his waters on the withering corn.

Your lovers are not dead, I know.

They will rise up, and hear your voice

and clash their cymbals and rejoice

and run to kiss thy mouth!

And so, set wings upon your argosies!

Set horses to your ebon car!

Back to your Nile! or if you are

grown sick of dead divinities

follow some roving lion’s spoor

across the copper-coloured plain,

reach out and hale him by the mane

and bid him be your paramour!

Couch by his side upon the grass

and set your white teeth in his throat

and when you hear his dying note

lash your long flanks of polished brass,

and take a tiger for your mate,

whose amber sides are flecked with black,

and ride upon his gilded back

in triumph through the Theban Gate,

and toy with him in amorous jests,

and when he turns, and snarls, and gnaws,

O smite him with your jasper claws!

and bruise him with your agate breasts!

 

Dithyramb

Richard Wagner translated by the composer

 

The old world lies in ruins from which a new world shall arise;

for the sublime goddess Revolution comes rushing on on the wings of the storm,

her august head rayed round with lightnings, a sword in her right hand, a torch in her left,

her eyes so sullen, so sombre, so punitive, so solemn and so cold!

And yet what warmth of purest love, what fullness of happiness,

radiate from her towards them who dare to look steadfastly into that sombre eye!

Rushing and roaring she comes, the ever-rejuvenating mother of mankind,

destroying and blessing she sweeps across the earth, before her pipes the storm,

it shakes so violently the world of Man that vast clouds of dust darken the air,

and where her mighty foot falls, the ages’ idle whims crash in ruins,

and the hem of her robe sweeps the last remains of it away.

But in her wake there opens out a paradise of happiness, illumed by kindly sunbeams;

and where her feet have trodden down spring fragrant flowers from the soil,

and jubilant songs of freed mankind fill full the air scarce silent from the din of battle.

Op. 31 - Passacaglia On the seashore of endless worlds

A setting of Rabindranath Tagore in English translation by the author

 

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet.

The infinite sky is motionless overhead, and the restless water is boisterous. 

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet with shouts and dances.

 

They build their houses with sand and they play with empty shells. 

With withered leaves they build their boats and silently float them on the vast deep.  

Children have their play on the seashore of endless worlds.

 

They know not how to swim, they know not how to cast nets. 

Pearl-fishers dive for pearls, merchants sail in their ships, while children gather pebbles and scatter them again.

They seek not for hidden treasures, they know not how to cast nets.

 

The sea surges up with laughter and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.

Death-dealing waters sing meaningless ballads to the children, even like a mother while rocking her baby’s cradle.

The sea plays with children, and pale gleams the smile of the sea-beach.

 

On the seashore of endless worlds children meet. 

Tempest roams in the pathless sky, ships are wrecked in the trackless waters, death is abroad, and children play.

On the seashore of endless worlds is the great meeting of children.

Op. 34 - Planctus

A setting of Peter Abelard with an English translation by the composer

 

Latin Version

 

Vel confossus pariter

Morirer feliciter,

Cum, quod amor faciat,

Majus hoc non habeat.

Et me post te vivere

Mori sit assidue,

Nec ad vitam anima

Satis est dimidia.

​

Vicem amicitiae

Vel unam me reddere,

Oportebat tempore

Summae angustiae;

Triumphi participem

Vel ruinas comitem,

Ut te vel eriperem

Vel tecum occumberem,

Vitam pro te finiens,

Quam salvasti totiens,

Ut et mors nos jungeret

Magis quam disjungeret.

​

Do quietem fidibus:

Vellem ut et planctibus

Sic possem et fletibus!

Caesis pulsu manibus,

Raucis planctu vocibus

Deficit et spiritus.

​

English Version

​

Low within thy tomb with thee

would I lie most happily,

for my passion and my love

never could recur again,

and since my life after thee

would be death eternally,.

with my soul and my inspiration

broken and rent in twain.

 

Defiance do I cry,

for either I will thee save

despite the snares of Fate,

bursting through Time’s dark gate,

thy triumph will I share,

or share with thee thy grave,

either will I rescue thee

or else with thee shall I lie,

laying down my life for thy sake,

future joy will I forsake,

so that death which sunders us

now might bring thee nigh.

 

Ah, my lute, be silent!

be still, bid thy strings to cease

their wailing and crying:

let my heart resume its sighing,

so his soul may find release,

and my sorrow rest in peace.

Op. 35 - Counterpoint

A setting of Walt Whitman

 

That music always round me, unceasing, unbeginning, yet long untaught I did not hear,

but now the music I hear and am elated,

a tenor, strong, ascending with power and health, with the glad notes of daybreak I hear,

a soprano at intervals sailing buoyantly over the tops of immense waves,

a transparent base shuddering lusciously under and through the universe,

the triumphant tutti, the funereal wailings with sweet flutes and violins,

all these I fill myself with,

I hear not the volumes of sound merely, I am moved by the exquisite meanings,

I listen to the different voices winding in and out, striving,

contending with fiery vehemence to excel each other in emotion;

I do not think the performers know themselves, but now I think I begin to understand them.

Op. 37 - Hymnus Mysticus

A setting of Aleister Crowley adapted by the composer

 

Soprano solo and chorus

Mightiest self! Supreme in self-contentment!

palpable, formless, infinite presentment

of thine own light in thine own soul’s eclipse!

Let thy chaste lips

sweep through the aether guarding thee,

touch, draw me with thy kiss

into thine own deep bliss,

into thy sleep, thy life, thine imperishable crown.

 

Baritone solo

All things which are complete and solitary;

the circling moon, the inconsistent drift of stars,

the central systems. Burn they, change they, vary?

Theirs is no motion beyond the eternal bars.

Solitary are the winter woods and caves not habited,

and O! most lone

the melancholy mountain shrine and throne,

where far above all things God sits, the ultimate alone.

 

Soprano solo and chorus

O soul of tears! for never has fallen like dew thy word,

nor is thy shape showed, nor as wisdom’s heard

thy crying about the city,

in the home where is no pity,

but in the desolate halls and desolate vales of sand.

 

Baritone solo and chorus

I sate upon the mossy promontory,

where the cascade cleft not his mother rock,

but swept in whirlwind lightning foam and glory

to lure and lock

marvellous eddies in its wild caress;

all earth took up the sound,

being in one tune securely bound,

even as a star,

became the soul of silence most profound.

 

Soprano solo and chorus

Where thou has trodden, I have trod!

I have no fear to tread thy far irremeable way,

beyond the paths and palaces of day,

beyond the night, beyond the skies,

beyond Eternity’s tremendous gate,

beyond the immanent miracle.

 

Soloists and chorus

O secret self of things!

I have not feet nor wings

except to follow far beyond Heaven and Earth and Hell,

until I fix my mood, and being in thee,

I grow the thing I contemplate:

that selfsame solitude.

Op. 38 - Epigrams

1

Sir John Harington

​

Treason doth never prosper; what the reason?

For if it prosper, none dare call it treason.

 

2

Hilaire Belloc

 

When I am dead, I hope it may be said:

His sins were scarlet, but his books were read.

​

 

3

Richard Garnett

 

I hardly ever ope my lips, one cries:

Simonides, what think you of my rule?

— If you’re a fool, I think you’re very wise;

if you are wise, I think you are a fool.

​

Op. 39 - Llef

O Iesu mawr, rho d’anian bur

O mighty Lord, give thou thy hand

i eiddil gwan mewn anial dir,

to succour one in barren land,

i’w nerthu drwy’r holl rwystrau sy

that he may in his upward quest

ar ddyrus daith i’r Ganaan fry.

through conflicts find eternal rest.

 

Pob gras sydd yr yr Eglwys fawr,

All graces that the church can know

fry yn y nef, neu ar y llawr,

in heaven above, or earth below,

caf feddu oll, eu meddu’n un,

I claim them all as my due right,

wrth feddu d’anian Di dy Hun.

if I possess thy nature’s might.

 

Mi lyna’n dawel wrth dy draed,

I’ll cling to thee while I have breath,

mi ganaf am rinweddau’r gwaed,

I’ll praise the virtues of thy death,

mi garia’r groes, mi nofia’r don,

I’ll bear the cross, I’ll breast the tide

ond cael dy anian dan fry mron.

if thou thyself in me abide.

Op. 44 - Mysteries of Time

The Mystery 

Ralph Hodgson

 

He came and took me by the hand      

up to a red rose tree; 

he kept its meaning to himself, 

but gave a rose to me.

 

I did not pray him to lay bare

its mystery to me;

enough the rose was heaven to smell,

and his own face to see.

​

 

Cywydd

Gerard Manley Hopkins (English version by the composer) 

 

Y mae’n llewyn ym’an llon

a ffrydon llawer ffynon.

Wlau new wlith, ni chai wlad braidd,

tan rod sydd fal hon irraid.

Gwan ddŵr a ddŵg, nis dwg dyn,

dyst ffyddlon am ein dyffryn;

hen ddaiar ddenhys a’i gwadd

ran ddragwyddol o rinwedd;

ni ddyfig ond naws ddynol,

dyn dydd yn unig yn ol.

​

The hill hallow’d here is hail’d

with flowing-fairly fountains.

Rain and dew enrich the dales,

and green grass grows in verdant vales..

Fast-flowing, frail, the streams flow,

as faith in fearful souls below;

e’en elder earth in sight

bears witness to its weak-saving might;

man only is out of tune,

faithless and fickle as the moon..

 

Graveyard

Alison Reynolds

​

Written upon seeing discarded ships rotting on the banks of the River Waveney

between Oulton Broad and Lowestoft in Suffolk

 

Gaunt and green are the dead ships,

lying forgotten on the low-tide shore.

Their skeletons racked and riddled with disease,

the canker of dark decay, the dank death of Time.

 

Their grave the green mud, their shroud the green weed.

Their requiem eternal by gulls chanted,

who sit on ragged ribs that once were stately bows.

 

None need set a stone against this shore;

they are their own memorial.

​

 The Seven Woods of Coole

William Butler Yeats adapted by the composer

 

I walked among the seven woods of Coole,

where enchanted eyes have seen immortal proud shadows walk;

seven odours, seven murmurs, seven woods.

And more I may not write of, for they that cleave

the waters of sleep can make a chattering tongue

heavy like stone, their wisdom being half silence.

How shall I name you, immortal, mild, proud shadows?

I only know that all we know comes from you,

and that you come from Eden on flying feet.

Is Eden far away, or do you hide from human thought,

as hares and mice and coneys that run before the reaping hook

and lie in the last ridge of the barley? Do our woods

and winds and ponds cover more quiet woods,

more shining winds, more star-glimmering ponds?

Is Eden out of time and out of space?

And do you gather around us when pale light

shining on water and fallen among leaves,

and winds blowing from flowers, and whirr of feathers,

and the green quiet, have uplifted the heart?

​

 The Queen of Air and Darkness

Poul Anderson

 

It was the ranger Arvid

rode homeward through the hills,

among the shadowy, shimmering leaves,

along the shining rills.

 

The night wind whispered about him

with scent of brock and rue.

The moon shone high above him

and hills aflash with dew.

 

And, dreaming of that woman

who waited in the sun,

he stopped, amazed by starlight,

and so he was undone.

 

For there, beneath a barrow

that bulked athwart the moon,

the Outling folk were dancing

in glass and golden shoon.

 

The Outling folk were dancing

like water, wind and fire,

to frosty-ringing harpstrings,

and never did they tire.

 

To Arvid there came striding,

from where she watched the dance,

the Queen of Air and Darkness

with starlight in her glance.

 

With starlight, love and terror

in her immortal eye,

the Queen of Air and Darkness

cried softly under sky:

 

Light down, you ranger Arvid,

and join the Outling folk;

you need no more be mortal,

which is a heavy yoke.

 

He dared to give her answer:

I can do nought but run.

A maiden waits me, dreaming

 in lands beneath the sun.

​

And likewise wait me comrades

and tasks I would not shirk;

for what is ranger Arvid

if he lays down his work?

 

So wreak your spells, you Outling,

and cast your wrath on me;

though maybe you can slay me,

you’ll not make me unfree.

 

The Queen of Air and Darkness

stood wrapped about with fear

and northlight flames and beauty

he dared not come too near.

 

Until she laughed like harp-string

and said to him in scorn:

I do not need a magic

 to make you always mourn.

 

I send you home with nothing

except your memory

of moonlight, Outling music,

night-breezes, dew and me.

 

And that will run behind you,

a shadow on the sun,

And that will lie beside you

when every day is done.

 

In work and play and friendship

your grief shall strike you dumb

For being what you are,

and what you might have become.

 

Your dull and foolish woman

treat kindly as you can.

Go home now, ranger Arvid,

set free to be a man!

 

In flickering and laughter

the Outling folk were gone.

He stood alone by moonlight

and wept until the dawn.

Op. 50 - Tair Cân Gwmreig

Dacw ’nghariad i

 

Dacw ’nghariad lawr yn y berllan,

Twrymdiro, cymdiradlidlal.

O na bawn i yno fy hunan,

Twrymdiro, cymdiradlidlal.

Dacw’r ty, a dacw’r ’sgubor,

dacw ddrws y beudy’n agor,

Ffaldiradlidlal, ffaldiradlidlal,

Twrymdiro, cymdiradlidlal.

 

Dacw dderwen wych ganghenog,

golwg arni sydd dra serchog;

mi arhosaf dan ei chysgod

nes daw ’nghariad i ’nghyfarfod.

 

Dacw’r delyn, dacw’r tannau,

Twrymdiro, cymdiradlidlal.

Beth wyf gwell heb neb i chwarae?

Twrymdiro, cymdiradlidlal.

Dacw’r feinwen heonus fanwl,

beth wyf nes heb gael ei meddwl?

Ffaldiradlidlal, ffaldiradlidlal,

Twrymdiro, cymdiradlidlal.

 

Ym Mhontypridd mae ’nghariad

 

Ym Mhontypridd mae ’mwriad,

ym Mhontypridd mae ’nghariad;

ym Mhontypridd mae’r ferch fâch lân,

a’i chael o fla’n y ’ffeiriad.

 

Mi hela’ heddiw unswllt,

mi hela’ fory ddeuswllt,

a chyn y colla’i ferch ei mam

mi trela’i am y triswllt.

 

Mi glywais lawer caniad,

mi welais lawer bariad,

mi welais lawer benyw lân,

ond neb mor lân â ’nghariad.

 

Mae ’mwthyn ger yr afon,

mae gennyf wartheg blithion,

mae gennyf ffarm ar lannau Taf,

o tyred ataf, Gwenfron.

 

 

Ffarwel i blwy’ Llangower

 

Ffarwel i blwy’ Llangower,

a’r Bala dirion deg,

ffarwel fy annwyl gariad

nid wyf yn enwi neb;

’rwy’n mynd i wlad y Saeson,

a’m calon fel y plwym,

i ddawnsio flaen y delyn

ac i chwarae o flaen y drwm.

Op. 52 - Two Songs of Protest

The colour of his hair

A. E. Housman

​

Oh, who is that young sinner with the handcuffs on his wrists?

And what has he been after that they groan and shake their fists?

And wherefore is he wearing such a melancholy air?

Oh, they’re taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

 

’Tis a shame to human nature, such a head of hair as his;

in the good old time ’twas hanging for the colour that it is,

though hanging isn’t good enough, and flaying would be fair

for the nameless and abominable colour of his hair.

 

Oh, a deal of pain he’s taken and a pretty price he’s paid

to hide his poll or dye it of a mentionable shade;

but they’ve pulled the beggar’s hat off for the world to see and stare

and they’re taking him to prison for the colour of his hair.

 

Now ’tis oakum for his fingers and the treadmill for his feet

and the quarry gang on Portland in the cold and in the heat,

and between his spells of labour, in the time he has to spare

he can curse his God that made him for the colour of his hair.

 

 

 

Sunsong

James Elliott

 

Come then to me. The Stars are high,

the Earth is deep, the Moon drops dew;

swift Hermes floats along the sky

from Love to me, from me to you.

Till I return, I question still

if any of my dreams be true?

That none are so I know full well,

and yet I ever long for you.

 

Come then to me, and you and I

maybe shall know when we are one;

there is a sheltering, the Sky;

there is a centre, called the Sun.

Separate Life and separate Will

leave something still in our desire;

look! on the high Olympian Hill

the Sun burns on, a single fire.

 

A single flame fill all the earth,

a single Sun fill all the blue;

a single Death, a single Birth

suffice us not.  Let me with you

discover if there be a way

separate from that path above

the plains of earth.  The High Gods say

there is a way: the way of love.

Op. 54 - Two Chamber Songs

The lover at sunrise

Algernon Charles Swinburne

 

Love laid his sleepless head

on a thorny rosy bed;

and his eyes with tears were red,

and pale his lips as the dead.

 

And fear and sorrow and scorn

kept watch by his head forlorn;

till the night was overthrown,

and the world was merry with morn.

 

And Joy came up with the Day,

and kissed Love’s lips as he lay,

and the watchers ghostly and grey

fled from his pillow away.

 

And his eyes as the dawn grew bright,

and his face waxed ruddy as light;

Sorrow may reign for a day,

but day will bring back Delight.

 

The nightjar

Leon Wiltshire

 

Green meadows lie beneath my feet,

while distant sun horizon nears.

Soon Stygian depths will shade my sight,

and I’m alone with foreknown fears,

and the scream of the nightjar in my ears.

​

Within that hour I seem to see

my end, and all eternity.

The sepulchre and womb are one,

concealing me from the raging sun.

Op. 57 - Sundials

Words by Hilaire Belloc

​

1

 

In soft deluding lies let fools delight.

A shadow marks our days, which end in Night.

 

2

 

I am a sundial, and I make a botch

of what is done far better by a watch.

 

3

 

I that still point to one enduring star

abandoned am, as all the constant are.

 

4

 

Creep, shadows, creep; my aging hours tell.

I cannot stop you, so you may as well.

 

5

 

Here in a lonely glade, forgotten, I

mark the tremendous progress of the sky.

So does your inmost soul, forgotten, mark

the dawn, the noon, the coming of the dark.

 

6

 

Save only on the rare occasions when the sun

is shining, I am only here for fun.

 

7

 

How slow the shadow creeps; but when ’tis past

how fast the shadows fall!  How fast!  How fast!

 

8

 

Stealthy the silent hours advance, and still;

and each may wound you, and the last shall kill.

 

9

 

I am a sundial, turned the wrong way round.

I cost my foolish mistress fifty pound.

 

10

 

Loss and Possession, Death and Life are one.

There falls no shadow where there shines no sun.

 

11

 

I am a sundial.  Ordinary words

cannot express my thoughts on birds.

 

12

 

Ephemeral mortal, mark my emblem well;

I tell the Time, and Time in time will tell

Op. 58 - The Water Is Wide

Words by David Leverett

​

The trade wind blows, and carries my dreams;

to distant lands would I roam.

Seafarers all ride on the moonbeams,

till family love brings them home.

The oceans of the world are wide,

yet by every harbour side

when sailors come home to port,

in every net that they have cast

the present still reflects the past,

and dreams remain that are caught.

Op. 62 - Six Pagan Chants

1. Chant to the Goddesses

 

Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate,

Demeter, Kali, Innanna!

Isis, Astarte, Diana, Hecate,

Demeter, Kali, Innanna!

 

2. Hoof and horn

 

Hoof and horn, hoof and horn,

all that dies shall be reborn.

Corn and grain, corn and grain,

all that dies shall live again.

 

3. Earth my body

 

Earth my body, Water my blood,

Air my breath and Fire my spirit.

​

4. We all come from the Goddess

 

We all come from the Goddess,

and to her we will return

like a drop of rain

flowing to the ocean.

 

5. Hymn to the Goddesses

 

I am wise in the name of Hecate;

Innanna has come to set me free.

I am strong in the name of Diana;

I am the Goddess and the Goddess is me.

I am Innanna.

 

6. Hymn to Love

 

Strong like the ocean,

gentle like rain,

river, wash my tears way,

Aphrodite.

Op. 66 - Hymn of Saint Cecilia

Words by Geoffrey Chaucer paraphrased by the composer

​

God’s own dear beloved sons, be not afraid,

and cast away from you all works of darkness.

Go, garb yourselves, put on the arms of brightness.

You have in truth fought a good fight, your course

is finished, and your task you have achieved.

Take the unfading crown of righteousness.

The Lord, the righteous judge whom you have served,

shall give it to you, as you have deserved.

Op. 67 - Songs of the Road

Words adapted from Walt Whitman by the composer

​

1

 

The earth expanding right hand and left hand,

the picture alive, every part in its best light,

the music falling in where it is wanted, and stopping where it is not wanted,

the cheerful voice of the road.

You air, that serves me with breath to speak!

You objects, that call from diffusion my meanings and give them shape!

You light, that wraps me and all things in delicate equable showers!

I believe you are latent with unseen regular paths worn in the hollows by the roadside,

you are so dear to me.

 

2

 

You have done such good to me, I would do the same to you,

I will scatter myself among men and women as I go, a new gladness.

Whoever denies me, it shall not trouble me,

and who accepts me shall be blessed and shall bless me.

Here is the majesty, the past, the future, love;

do you know what it is, to be loved by a stranger?

What is it I interchange so with a man’s good will?

What gives them free to be mine?

 

3

 

I do not offer the old smooth prizes, but offer rough new prizes.

these are the days, the days that must happen to you.

You shall not heap up what is called riches,

you shall scatter with lavish hand all that you earn or achieve,

to merge all in the travel and the days and nights they tend to,

again to merge them in the start of further journeys,

to look up and down no road but is stretches and waits for you,

to conceive no time, however distant, that you may not reach.

 

4

 

The earth is rude, it never tires (I swear, keep on),

incomprehensible at first, there are divine things well enveloped,

divine things more beautiful than words can tell.

However sheltered this port, and however calm these waters,

we must not anchor here, we must not stop here.

However welcome the hospitality, we are permitted to receive it but a little while.

 

5

 

The road is before us, I have tried it! I give you my hand!

May the paper remain on the desk unwritten, unopened! I give you my love!

Mind not the cry of the teacher! Let the money remain unearned!

Let the preacher, the lawyer, expound the law; I give you myself!

Allons! Allons! the road is before us, will you travel with me?

My call is the call of battle, he going with me must go well armed, will you give me yourself?

The goal that was named cannot be countermanded. Have the past struggles succeeded?

Let the tools remain in the workshop! Will you come, travel with me?

Shall we stick by one another as long as we shall live?

I give you myself, before the teachings of law; I give you my love.

Op. 70 - The Charge of the Goddess

Words adapted by the composer

​

I am the beauty of the green earth

and the white moon among the stars

and the mystery of the waters.

I call unto your soul:

"Arise and come unto me."

For I am the soul of nature,

who gives life unto the universe.

From me all things proceed,

and unto me all must return.

​

Before my face,

O beloved of gods and human-kind,

let your higher self rejoice

and be enfolded in the rapture of the Infinite!

for my worship is in the heart that rejoices

and behold, all acts of love and pleasure are my rituals.

​

Therefore let there be beauty and strength,

pow'r and compassion, honour and humility,

mirth and reverence within you.

And you who seek to find me

in the depths of the sea or the shining stars,

know that your seeking will avail you not

unless you know the mystery.

​

For if that which you seek you find not within yourself

you will never find it.

For, behold, I have been with you since the beginning,

and I am that which is attained at the end of desire.

Op. 74 - Cuchulain Comforted

Words by William Butler Yeats

​

A man that had six mortal wounds, a man

violent and famous, strode among the dead;

eyes started out of the branches and were gone.

 

Then certain Shrouds that muttered head to head

came and were gone. He leant upon a tree

as though to meditate on wounds and blood.

 

A Shroud that seemed to have authority

among those bird-like things came, and let fall

a bundle of linen. Shrouds by two and three

 

came creeping up because the man was still.

And thereupon the linen-carrier said:

Your life can grow much sweeter if you will

 

obey our ancient rule and make a shroud;

mainly because of what we only know

the rattle of those arms makes us afraid.

 

We thread the needles’ eyes and all we do

all must together do. That done, the man

took up the nearest and began to sew.

 

Now we must sing and sing the best we can

but first you must be told our character:

convicted cowards all by kindred slain

 

or driven from home and left to die in fear.

They sang, but had not human tunes or words,

though all was done in common as before;

 

they had changed their throats and had the throats of birds.

Op. 75 - Hymns in Three Parts

Bryn Calfaria

Words by Pantcelyn

​

Cymer, Iesu, fi fel’ rydwyf,
Fyth ni allaf fod yn well;
Dallu di am gwna yn agos,
Fewyllys i yw mynd ymhell
Yn, dy glwyfau,
yn dy glwyfau,
Bydda’i’n unig fyth yn iach,
Bydda’i’n unig fyth yn iach.

 

Mi ddiffygiais deithior crastir
Dyrys anial wrthyf f’hun
Ac mi fethais â choncwerio
O’m gelynion lleiaf un
Mae dy enw,
Mae dy enw,
Mae dy enw
’N able i beri i’r cryfaf ffoi,
’N able i beri i’r cryfaf ffoi.

 

Gwaed y Groes sy’n codi i fyny,
’Reiddil yn goncwerwr mawr:
Gwaed dy Groes sydd yn darostwng,
Cewri cedyrn fyrdd i lawr.
Gad im deimlo,
Gad im deilo,
Gad im deimlo
Awel O Galfaria fryn,
Awel O Galfaria fryn.

 

Ymddiriedaf yn dy allu,
Mawr yw’r gwaith a wnest erioed;
Ti gest angeu, Ti gest uffern,
Ti gest Satan dan dy droed.
Pen Calfaria,
Pen Calfaria,
Pen Calfaria,
Nac aed hwnw byth om cof,
Nac aed hwnw byth om cof.

​

King's Lynn

Words by G. K. Chesterton

​

O God of earth and altar,
bow down and hear our cry,
our earthly rulers falter,
our people drift and die;
the walls of gold entomb us,
the swords of scorn divide,
take not thy thunder from us,
but take away our pride.

​

From all that terror teaches,
from lies of tongue and pen,
from all the easy speeches
that comfort cruel men,
from sale and profanation
of honour and the sword,
from sleep and from damnation,
deliver us, good Lord!

​

Tie in a living tether
the prince and priest and thrall,
bind all our lives together,
smite us and save us all;
in ire and exultation
aflame with faith, and free,
lift up a living people,
a single sword to thee.

​

The Truth Sent From Above

Traditional Hereford Carol

​

This is the truth sent from above,
the truth of God, the God of love;
therefore don't turn me from the door
but hearken all, both rich and poor.

​

The first thing that I will relate,
that God at first did man create;
the next thing which to you I tell -
woman was made with man to dwell.

​

Then after that 'twas God's own choice
to place them both in paradise,
there to remain from evil free
except they ate of such a tree.

 

And they did eat, which was a sin,
and thus our ruin did begin -
ruined themselves, both you and me,
and all of our posterity.

​

Thus we were heirs to endless woes
till God the Lord did interpose;
and so a promise soon did run:
that he'd redeem us by his Son.

​

At at that season of the year
our blest Redeemer did appear,
and here did live, and here did preach,
and many thousands he did teach.

​

Thus he in love to us behaved,
to show us how we must be saved;
and if you want to know the way,
be pleased to hear what he does say:

Op. 76 - Folksongs for Voice and Piano

Trade Wind

Words by David Leverett

​

The trade wind blows, and carries my dreams;

to distant lands would I roam.

Seafarers all ride on the moonbeams,

till family love brings them home.

The oceans of the world are wide,

yet by every harbour side

when sailors come home to port,

in every net that they have cast

the present still reflects the past,

and dreams remain that are caught.

​

The trade wind blows and scatters my dreams.

The oceans of the world are wide,

yet by every harbour side

when sailors come home to port

in every net that they have cast

the present still reflects the past

and dreams remain that are caught.

​

Waly Waly

Scottish Traditional

 

The water is wide, I cannot get o’er,

and neither have I wings to fly,

give me a boat that will carry two,

and both shall cross, my love and I.

 

I leant my back up against an oak,

thinking it was a mighty tree,

but first it bent and then it broke;

so did my love prove false to me.

 

O love is handsome and love is kind,

gay as a jewel when it is new;

but love grows old and waxes cold,

and fades away like morning dew.

 

The water is wide, I cannot get o’er,

and neither have I wings to fly,

give me a boat that will carry two,

and both shall cross, my love and I

 

Searching for Lambs

Collected by Cecil Sharp in 1916

​

As I walked out one May morning, one May morning betime
I met a maid from home had strayed just as the sun did shine


'What makes you rise so soon, my dear, your journey to pursue?'
'Your pretty little feet they tread so neat, strike off the morning dew'.

​

'I'm going to feed my father's flocks, his young and tender lambs'
'That over hills and over dales lie waiting for their dams'


'O stay, o stay! You handsome maid, and rest a moment here;
For there is none but you alone that I do love so dear'.

​

'How gloriously the sun doth shine, how pleasant is the air;
'I'd rather rest on a true love's breast than any other where'

​

Cradle Song​

Words by Padraic Colum (1881-1972) used by permission.

​

O, men from the fields!
Come gently within.
Tread softly, softly,
O! men coming in.

Mavourneen is going
From me and from you,
Where Mary will fold him
With mantle of blue!

From reek of the smoke
And cold of the floor,
And the peering of things
Across the half-door.

O, men from the fields!
Soft, softly come thro'.
Mary puts round him
Her mantle of blue.

​

Lisa Lân

Traditional Welsh words

​

Bûm yn dy garu lawer gwaith
Do lawer awr mewn mwynder maith
Bûm yn dy gusanu Lisa gêl
Yr oedd dy gwmni'n well na'r mêl.

Fy nghangen lân, fy nghowlad glyd
Tydi yw'r lanaf yn y byd
Tydi sy'n peri poen a chri
A thi sy'n dwyn fy mywyd i.

Pan fyddai'n rhodio gyda'r dydd
Fy nghalon fach sy'n mynd yn brudd
Wrth glywed sŵn yr adar mân
Daw hiraeth mawr am Lisa Lân.

Pan fyddai'n rhodio gyda'r hwyr
Fy nghalon fach a dôdd fel cwyr
Wrth glywed sŵn yr adar mân
Daw hiraeth mawr am Lisa lân.

Lisa, a ddoi di i'm danfon i
I roi fy nghorff mewn daear ddu?
Gobeithio doi di, f'annwyl ffrind
Hyd lan y bedd, lle'r wyf yn mynd.

​

Op. 78 - De Profundis in carcere et vinculis

text by Oscar Wilde
adapted by Simon Crosby Buttle and the composer

​

As I sit here in the perturbed and fitful nights of anguish, in the long monotonous days of pain, it is
myself that I blame. The gods are strange. It is not of our vices that they make instruments to scourge
us; they bring us to ruin through what in us is good, gentle, humane, loving.


Love is fed by the imagination, by which we become wiser than we know, better than we feel, nobler
than we are; by which we can see Life as a whole: by which, and by which alone, we can understand
others. Only what is fine, and finely conceived, can feed Love.
 

Of seed-time or harvest, of the reapers bending over the corn, or the grape-gatherers treading
through the vines, of the grass in the orchard made white with broken blossoms, or strewn with fallen
fruit, we know nothing, and can know nothing.
 

For us there is only one season, the season of Sorrow. The very sun and moon seem taken from us. It
is always twilight in one’s cell, as it is always midnight in one’s heart. And in the sphere of thought, no
less than in the sphere of time, motion is no more.
 

Where there is Sorrow there is holy ground. It is embalmed and kept sweet by the myrrh of many
tears. The poor are wiser, more charitable, more kind, more sensitive than we are. In their eyes prison is
a tragedy, a misfortune, something that calls for sympathy in others. There is only one thing for me
now, absolute Humility.
 

My Gods dwell in temples made with hands, and within the circle of actual experience is my creed
made perfect and complete. I have found in it not merely the beauty of Heaven, but the horror of
Hell also.
 

To reject one’s own experience is to arrest one’s own development. To deny one’s own experience is
to put a lie into the lips of one’s own life. It is no less than a denial of the Soul. For just as the body
absorbs things of all kinds, things common and unclean no less than those that a vision has cleansed,
and converts them into swiftness or strength, into the play of beautiful muscles and the moulding of
fair flesh, into the curves and colours of the hair, the lips, the eye: so the Soul, in its turn, has its
nutritive functions also, and can transform into noble moods of thought, and passions of high import,
what in itself is base, cruel, and degrading: nay more, may find in these its most august modes of
assertion, and can often reveal itself most perfectly through what was intended to desecrate or destroy.
 

Love of some kind is the only possible explanation for the amount of suffering in the world. For, if the
world had been built out of Sorrow, it has been by the hands of Love, to reach the full stature of
perfection. Pleasure for the beautiful body, but Pain for the beautiful Soul.

 

I have a right to share in Sorrow, and he who can look at the loveliness of the world, and share its
sorrow, and realise something of the wonder of both, is in immediate contact with divine things.
Behind Sorrow there is always a soul. And to mock at a soul in pain is a dreadful thing. Unbeautiful are
their lives who do it.
 

All the spring may be hidden in a single bud, and the low ground-nest of the lark may hold the joy that is
to herald the feet of many rose-red dawns, and so perhaps whatever beauty of life still remains to me
is contained in some moment of surrender, abasement and humiliation.
 

There is not a single colour hidden away in the chalice of a flower, or the curve of a shell, to which
my nature does not answer.
 

Still I am conscious now that behind all this beauty, satisfying though it be, there is some Spirit hidden
of which the painted forms and shapes are but moods of manifestation, and it is with this Spirit that I
desire to become in harmony.
 

I have grown tired of the articulate utterances of men and things. The Mystical in Art, the Mystical in
Life, the Mystical in Nature: this is what I am looking for, and in the great symphonies of Music, in the
initiation of Sorrow, in the depths of the Sea I may find it.
 

Nature, whose sweet rains fall on unjust and just alike, will have clefts in the rocks where I may hide,
and secret valleys in whose silence I may weep undisturbed. She will hang the night with stars so that I
may walk abroad in the darkness without stumbling, and send the wind over my footprints so that
none may track me to my hurt: she will cleanse me in great waters, and with bitter herbs make me
whole.

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