Classical Music Dictionary

Lieder - complete index

Lieder – Index A (Songs-Cycle: with Opus Number)

Op.18 "Les Illuminations"
Op.18 n.1. Fanfare
Op.18 n.2. Villes
Op.18 n.3a. n.3a">Phrase
Op.18 n.3b. Antique
Op.18 n.4. Royauté
Op.18 n.5. Marine
Op.18 n.6. Interlude
Op.18 n.7. Being Beauteous
Op.18 n.8. Parade
Op.18 n.9. Départ
Op.31 "Serenade"
Op.31 1.Pastoral
Op.31 2.Nocturne
Op.31 3.Elegy
Op.31 4.Dirge
Op.31 5.Hymn
Op.31 6.Sonnet
Op.60 "Nocturne"
Op. 60 n.1.On a poet's lips I slept
Op. 60 n.2.Below the thunders of the upper deep
Op. 60 n.3.Encinctured with a twine of leaves
Op. 60 n.4.Midnight's bell goes ting, ting, ting
Op. 60 n.5.But that night when on my bed I lay
Op. 60 n.6.She sleeps on soft, last breaths
Op. 60 n.7.What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
Op. 60 n.8.When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see
Op.74 "Songs and Proverbs of William Blake"
Op.74 n.1.Proverb I
Op.74 n.2.London
Op.74 n.3.Proverb II
Op.74 n.4.The Chimney-Sweeper
Op.74 n.5.Proverb III
Op.74 n.6.A Poison Tree
Op.74 n.7.Proverb IV
Op.74 n.8.The Tyger
Op.74 n.9.Proverb V
Op.74 n.10.The Fly
Op.74 n.11.Proverb VI
Op.74 n.12.Ah, Sun-flower
Op.74 n.13.Proverb VII
Op.74 n.14.Every Night and every Morn
Op.76 " ‘Ekho Po`eta"
Op.76 n.1.`Ekho
Op.76 n.2.Ja dumal, serdce pozabylo
Op.76 n.3.Ange
Op.76 n.4.Solovej i roza 5.`Epigramma
Op.75 n.5.. " `Epigramma"
Op.76 n.6.Stikhi, sochinennyje noch'ju vo vremja bessonnicy
Op. 92 "A Birthday Hansel"
Op.92 n.1.Birthday Song
Op.92 n.2.My Early Walk
Op.92 n.3.Wee Willie
Op.92 n.4.My Hoggie
Op.92 n.5.Afton Water
Op.92 n.6.The Winter
Op.92 n.7.Leezie Lindsay

Op.18 "Les Illuminations"

Text by Arthur Rimbaud (1854-91), prose-poems
Music by Benjamin Britten, op. 18 for Tenor and Strings

Op.18 n.1. Fanfare
Op.18 n.2. Villes
Op.18 n.3a. Phrase
Op.18 n.3b. Antique
Op.18 n.4. Royauté
Op.18 n.5. Marine
Op.18 n.6. Interlude
Op.18 n.7. Being Beauteous
Op.18 n.8. Parade
Op.18 n.9. Départ

Op.18 n.1. "Fanfare"

J'ai seul la clef de cette parade sauvage.

Op.18 n.2. "Villes"

Ce sont des villes!
C'est un peuple pour qui se sont montés ces Alleghanys
et ces Libans de rêve!
Des chalets de cristal et de bois se meuvent
sur des rails et des poulies invisibles.
Les vieux cratères ceints de colosses
et de palmiers de cuivre rugissent mélodieusement dans les feux...
Des cortèges de Mabs en robes rousses,
opalines, montent des ravines.
Là-haut, les pieds dans la cascade
et les ronces, les cerfs tettent Diane.
Les Bacchantes des banlieues sanglotent et la lune brûle et hurle.
Vénus entre dans les cavernes des forgerons et des ermites.
Des groupes de beffrois chantent les idées des peuples.
Des châteaux bâtis en os sort la musique inconnue...
Le paradis des orages s'effondre...
Les sauvages dansent sans cesse la fête de la nuit...
Quels bons bras, quelle belle heure me rendron cette région
d'où viennent mes sommeils et mes moindres mouvements?

Op.18 n.3a. "Phrase"

J'ai tendu des cordes de clocher à clocher;
des guirlandes de fenêtre à fenêtre;
des chaînes d'or d'étoile à étoile, et je danse.

Op.18 n. 3b. "Antique"

Gracieux fils de Pan!
Autour de ton front couronné de fleurettes et de baies,
tes yeux, des boules précieuses, remeunt.
Tachées de lies brunes, tes joues se creusent.
Tes crocs luisent.
Ta poitrine ressemble à une cithare,
des tintements circulent dans tes bras blonds.
Ton coeur bat dans ce ventre où dort le double sexe.
Promène-toi, la nuit, en mouvant doucement cette cuisse,
cette seconde cuisse et cette jambe de gauche.

Op.18 n.4. "Royauté"

Un beau matin, chez un peuple fort doux,
un homme et une femme superbes
criaient sur la place publique:
"Mes amis, je veux qu'elle soit reine!"
"Je veux être reine!" Elle riait et tremblait.
Il parlait aux amis de révélation, d'épreuve terminée.
Ils se pâmaient l'un contre l'autre.
En effet ils furent rois toute une matinée
où les tentures carminées se relevèrent sur les maisons,
et toute l'après-midi,
où ils s'avancèrent du côté des jardins de palmes.

Op.18 n.5. "Marine"

Les chars d'argent et de cuivre -
Les proues d'acier et d'argent -
Battent l'écume, -
Soulèvent les souches des ronces.
Les courants de la lande,
Et les ornières immenses du reflux,
Filent circulairement vers l'est,
Vers les piliers de la forêt,
Vers les fûts de la jetée,
Dont l'angle est heurté par des tourbillons de lumière.

Op.18 n.6. "Interlude"

J'ai seul la clef de cette parade sauvage.

Op.18 n.7. "Being Beauteous"

Devant une neige un Être de Beauté de haute taille.
Des sifflements de mort
et des cercles de musique sourde font monter,
s'élargir et trembler comme un spectre ce corps adoré:
des blessures écarlates et noires éclatent dans les chaires superbes.
Les couleurs propres de la vie se foncent, dansent,
et se dégagent autour de la Vision, sur le chantier.
Et les frissons s'élèvent et grondent,
et la saveur forcenée de ces effets se chargeant avec
les sifflements mortels
et les rauques musiques que le monde,
loin derrière nous, lance sur notre mère de beauté,
elle recule, elle se dresse.
Oh! nos os sont revêtus d'un nouveau corps amoureux.
O la face cendrée, l'écusson de crin, les bras de cristal!
Le canon sur lequel je dois m'abbatre
à travers la mêlée des arbres et de l'air léger!

Op.18 n.8. "Parade"

Des drôles très solides.
Plusieurs ont exploité vos mondes.
Sans besoins,
et peu pressés de mettre en oeuvre leurs brillantes facultés
et leur expérience de vos consciences.
Quels hommes mûrs!
Des yeux hébétés à la façon de la nuit d'été,
rouges et noirs, tricolorés, d'acier piqué d'étoiles d'or;
des facies déformés, plombés, blêmis, incendiés;
des enrouements folâtres!
La démarche cruelle des oripeaux! Il y a quelques jeunes...
O le plus violent Paradis de la grimace enragée!...
Chinois, Hottentots, bohémiens, niais, hyènes, Molochs,
vieilles démences, démons sinistres, ils mêlent les tours populaires,
maternels, avec les poses et les tendresses bestiales.
Ils interpréte - raient des pièces nouvelles et des chansons "bonnes filles".
Maîtres jongleurs,
ils transforment le lieu et les personnes
et usent de la comédie magnétique...
J'ai seul la clef de cette parade sauvage.

Op.18 n.9. "Départ"

Assez vu. La vision s'est rencontrée à tous les airs.
Assez eu. Rumeurs de villes, le soir, et au soleil, et toujours.
Assez connu. Les arrêts de la vie. O Rumeurs et Visions!
Départ dans l'affection et le bruit neufs!

Op.31 "Serenade"

Music by Benjamin Britten, op.31, for tenor, horn and strings

Op.31 1.Pastoral
Op.31 2.Nocturne
Op.31 3.Elegy
Op.31 4.Dirge
Op.31 5.Hymn
Op.31 6.Sonnet

Op.31 n.1. "Pastoral"

Text by Charles Cotton (1630-1687)

The day's grown old; the fainting sun
Has but a little way to run,
And yet his steeds, with all his skill,
Scarce lug the chariot down the hill.
The shadows now so long do grow,
That brambles like tall cedars show;
Mole hills seem mountains, and the ant
Appears a monstrous elephant.
A very little, little flock
Shades thrice the ground that it would stock;
Whilst the small stripling following them
Appears a mighty Polypheme.
And now on benches all are sat,
In the cool air to sit and chat,
Till Phoebus, dipping in the West,
Shall lead the world the way to rest.

Op.31 n.2. "Nocturne"

Text by Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892)

The splendour falls on castle walls
And snowy summits old in story:
The long night shakes across the lakes,
And the wild cataract leaps in glory:
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Bugle, blow; answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying, dying.

O hark, O hear how thin and clear,
And thinner, clearer, farther going!
O sweet and far from cliff and scar
The horns of Elfland faintly blowing!
Blow, let us hear the purple glens replying:
Bugle, blow; answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying, dying.
O love, they die in yon rich sky,
They faint on hill or field or river:
Our echoes roll from soul to soul
And grow for ever and for ever.
Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying,
Bugle, blow; answer, echoes, answer, dying, dying, dying, dying.

Op.31 n.3. "Elegy"

Text by William Blake (1757-1827)

O Rose, thou art sick!
The invisible worm
That flies in the night,
In the howling storm,
Has found out thy bed
Of crimson joy:
And his dark secret love
Does thy life destroy.

Op.31 n.4. "Dirge"

Text by Anonymous (15th cent.)

This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire and fleete and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thy saule.
When thou from hence away art past,
Every nighte and alle,
To Whinnymuir thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.
If ever thou gav'st hos'n and shoon,
Every nighte and alle,
Sit thee down and put them on;
And Christe receive thy saule.
If hos'n and shoon thou ne'er gav'st nane,
Every nighte and alle,
The winnies shall prick thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.
From Whinnymuir when thou may'st pass,
Every nighte and alle,
To Brig o' Dread thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.
From Brig o' Dread when thou may'st pass,
Every nighte and alle,
To Purgatory fire thou com'st at last;
And Christe receive thy saule.
If ever thou gav'st meat or drink,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire shall never make thee shrink;
And Christe receive thy saule.
If meat or drink thou ne'er gav'st nane,
Every nighte and alle,
The fire will burn thee to the bare bane;
And Christe receive thy saule.
This ae nighte, this ae nighte,
Every nighte and alle,
Fire and fleete and candle-lighte,
And Christe receive thy saule.

Op.31 n.5. "Hymn"

Text by Ben Jonson (1572-1637)

Queen and huntress, chaste and fair,
Now the sun is laid to sleep,
Seated in thy silver chair,
State in wonted manner keep:
Hesperus entreats thy light,
Goddess excellently bright.
Earth, let not thy envious shade
Dare itself to interpose;
Cynthia's shining orb was made
Heav'n to clear when day did close;
Bless us then with wishèd sight,
Goddess excellently bright.
Lay thy bow of pearl apart,
And thy crystal shining quiver;
Give unto the flying hart
Space to breathe, how short so-ever:
Thou that mak'st a day of night,
Goddess excellently bright.

Op.31 n.6. "Sonnet"

Text by John Keats (1795-1821)

O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
Shutting with careful fingers and benign,
Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
Or wait the `Amen' ere thy poppy throws
Around my bed its lulling charities.
Then save me, or the passèd day will shine
Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,
Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
Turn the key deftly in the oilèd wards,
And seal the hushèd Casket of my Soul.

Op.60 "Nocturne"

Music by Benjamin Britten, for tenor solo, seven obligato instruments and string orchestra

Op. 60 n.1.On a poet's lips I slept
Op. 60 n.2.Below the thunders of the upper deep
Op. 60 n.3.Encinctured with a twine of leaves
Op. 60 n.4.Midnight's bell goes ting, ting, ting
Op. 60 n.5.But that night when on my bed I lay
Op. 60 n.6.She sleeps on soft, last breaths
Op. 60 n.7.What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
Op. 60 n.8.When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see

Op.60 n.1. "On a poet's lips I slept"

Text by Percy Bysshe Shelley (1792-1822), Prometheus Unbound

On a poet's lips I slept
Dreaming like a love-adept
In the sound his breathing kept;
Nor seeks nor finds he mortal blisses,
But feeds on the aëreal kisses
Of shapes that haunt thought's wildernesses.
He will watch from dawn to gloom
The lake-reflected sun illume
The yellow bees in the ivy-bloom,
Nor heed nor see, what things they be;
But from these create he can
Forms more real than living man,
Nurslings of immortality!

Op.60 n.2. "Below the thunders of the upper deep"

Text by Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892), The Kraken

Below the thunders of the upper deep;
Far, far beneath in the abysmal sea,
His ancient, dreamless, uninvaded sleep
The Kraken sleepeth: faintest sunlights flee
About his shadowy sides: above him swell
Huge sponges of millenial growth and height;
And far away into the sickly light,
From many a wondrous grot and secret cell
Unnumber'd and enormous polypi
Winnow with giant arms the slumbering green.
There hath he lain for ages and will lie
Battening upon huge seaworms in his sleep,
Until the latter fire shall heat the deep;
Then once by men and angels to be seen,
In roaring he shall rise and on the surface die.

Op.60 n.3. "Encinctured with a twine of leaves"

Text by Samuel Taylor Coleridge (1772-1834), The Wanderings of Cain

Encinctured with a twine of leaves,
That leafy twine his only dress!
A lovely Boy was plucking fruits,
By moonlight, in a wilderness.
The moon was bright, the air was free,
And fruits and flowers together grew
On many a shrub and many a tree:
And all put on a gentle hue,
Hanging in the shadowy air
Like a picture rich and rare.
It was a climate where, they say,
The night is more beloved than day.
But who that beauteous Boy beguil'd
That beauteous boy to linger here?
Alone, by night, a little child,
In place so silent and so wild -
Has he no friend, no loving mother near?

Op.60 n.4. Midnight's bell goes ting, ting, ting

Text by Thomas Middleton (1570?-1627), Blurt, Master Constable

Midnight's bell goes ting, ting, ting, ting, ting,
Then dogs do howl, and not a bird does sing
But the nightingale, and she cries twit, twit, twit;
Owls then on every bough do sit;
Ravens croak on chimneys' tops;
The cricket in the chamber hops;
The nibbling mouse is not asleep,
But he goes peep, peep, peep, peep, peep;
And the cats cry mew, mew, mew,
And still the cats cry mew, mew, mew.

Op.60 n.5. "But that night when on my bed I lay"

Text by William Wordsworth (1770-1850), The Prelude (1805)

But that night
When on my bed I lay, I was most mov'd
And felt most deeply in what world I was;
With unextinguish'd taper I kept watch,
Reading at intervals; the fear gone by
Press'd on me almost like a fear to come;
I thought of those September Massacres,
Divided from me by a little month,
And felt and touch'd them, a substantial dread:
The rest was conjured up from tragic fictions,
And mournful Calendars of true history,
Remembrances and dim admonishments.
"The horse is taught his manage, and the wind
Of heaven wheels round and treads in his own steps,
Year follows year, the tide returns again,
Day follows day, all things have second birth;
The earthquake is not satisfied all at once."
And in such way I wrought upon myself,
Until I seem'd to hear a voice that cried
To the whole City, "Sleep no more."

Op.60 n.6. "She sleeps on soft, last breaths"

Text by Wilfred Owen (1893-1918), The Kind Ghosts

She sleeps on soft, last breaths; but no ghost looms
Out of the stillness of her palace wall,
Her wall of boys on boys and dooms on dooms.
She dreams of golden gardens and sweet glooms,
Not marvelling why her roses never fall
Nor what red mouths were torn to make their blooms.
The shades keep down which well might roam her hall.
Quiet their blood lies in her crimson rooms
And she is not afraid of their footfall.
They move not from her tapestries, their pall,
Nor pace her terraces, their hecatombs,
Lest aught she be disturbed, or grieved at all.

Op.60 n.7. "What is more gentle than a wind in summer?"

Text by John Keats (1795-1821), Sleep and Poetry

What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer
That stays one moment in an open flower,
And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?
What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men's knowing?
More healthful than the leafiness of dales?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?
More serene than Cordelia's countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?
What, but thee, Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!
Light hoverer around our happy pillows!
Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows!
Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!
Most happy listener! when the morning blesses
Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes
That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.

Op.60 n.8. "When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see"

Text by William Shakespeare (1564-1616), Sonnet XLIII

See also:

Frank Bridge, (1879-1941), "When most I wink"

When most I wink, then do mine eyes best see,
For all the day they view things unrespected;
But when I sleep, in dreams they look on thee,
And darkly bright, are bright in dark directed.
Then thou, whose shadow shadows doth make bright,
How would thy shadow's form form happy show
To the clear days with thy much clearer light,
When to unseeing eyes thy shade shines so?
How would, I say, mine eyes be blessed made
By looking on thee in the living day,
When in dead night thy fair imperfect shade
Through heavy sleep on sightless eyes doth stay?
All days are nights to see, till I see thee,
And nights bright days, when dreams do show thee me.

Op.74 " Songs and Proverbs of William Blake"

Texts by William Blake (1757-1827)
Music by Benjamin Britten, op. 74 (first performance: 1965)

Op.74 n.1.Proverb I
Op.74 n.2.London
Op.74 n.3.Proverb II
Op.74 n.4.The Chimney-Sweeper
Op.74 n.5.Proverb III
Op.74 n.6.A Poison Tree
Op.74 n.7.Proverb IV
Op.74 n.8.The Tyger
Op.74 n.9.Proverb V
Op.74 n.10.The Fly
Op.74 n.11.Proverb VI
Op.74 n.12.Ah, Sun-flower
Op.74 n.13.Proverb VII
Op.74 n.14.Every Night and every Morn

Op.74 n.1. "Proverb I"

The pride of the peacock is the glory of God.
The lust of the goat is the bounty of God.
The wrath of the lion is the wisdom of God.
The nakedness of woman is the work of God.

Op.74 n.2. "London"

I wander thro' each charter'd street,
Near where the charter'd Thames does flow
And mark in every face I meet
Marks of weakness, marks of woe.
In every cry of every Man,
In every Infant's cry of fear,
In every voice, in every ban,
The mind-forg'd manacles I hear.
How the Chimney-sweeper's cry
Every black'ning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldier's sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls.
But most thro' midnight streets I hear
How the youthful Harlot's curse
Blasts the new-born Infant's tear
And blights with plagues the Marriage hearse.

Op.74 n.3. "Proverb II"

Prisons are built with stones of Law,
Brothels with bricks of Religion.

Op.74 n.4. "The Chimney-Sweeper"

A little black thing among the snow,
Crying 'weep 'weep in notes of woe!
Where are thy father and mother? say?
They are both gone up to the church to pray.
Because I was happy upon the hearth,
And smil'd among the winter's snow
They clothed me in the clothes of death,
And taught me to sing the notes of woe.
And because I am happy & dance & sing
They think they have done me no injury,
And are gone to praise God & his Priest & King
Who make up a heaven of our misery.

Op.74 n.5. "Proverb III"

The bird a nest, the spider a web, man friendship.

Op.74 n.6. "A Poison Tree"

I was angry with my friend:
I told my wrath, my wrath did end.
I was angry with my foe:
I told it not, my wrath did grow.
And I water'd it in fears,
Night and morning with my tears;
And I sunned it with smiles,
And with soft deceitful wiles.
And it grew both day and night,
Till it bore an apple bright.
And my foe beheld it shine,
And he knew that it was mine.
And into my garden stole
When the night had veil'd the pole,
In the morning glad I see
My foe outstretch'd beneath the tree.

Op.74 n.7. "Proverb IV"

Think in the morning.
Act in the noon.
Eat in the evening.
Sleep in the night.

Op.74 n.8. "The Tyger"

See also:

Eric Ewazen (b.1954)

Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?
In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?
And what shoulder, & what art,
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand? & what dread feet?
What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? what dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?
When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did he smile his work to see?
Did he who made the Lamb make thee?
Tyger! Tyger! burning bright
In the forests of the night:
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

Op.74 n.9. "Proverb V"

The tygers of wrath are wiser than the horses of instruction.
If the fool would persist in his folly he would become wise.
If others had not been foolish, we should be so.

Op.74 n.10. "The Fly"

Little Fly,
Thy summer's play
My thoughtless hand
Has brush'd away.
Am not I
A fly like thee?
Or art not thou
A man like me?
For I dance
And drink and sing:
Till some blind hand
Shall brush my wing.
If thought is life
And strength and breath
And the want
Of thought is is death;
Then am I
A happy fly,
If I live,
Or if I die.

Op.74 n.11. "Proverb VI"

The hours of folly are measur'd by the clock;
But of wisdom, no clock can measure.
The busy bee has no time for sorrow.
Eternity is in love with the productions of time.

Op.74 n.12. "Ah, Sun-flower"

Ah, Sun-flower! weary of time,
Who countest the steps of the Sun;
Seeking after that sweet golden clime,
Where the traveller's journey is done:
Where the Youth pined away with desire,
And the pale Virgin shrouded in snow,
Arise from their graves and aspire
Where my Sun-flower wishes to go.

Op.74 n.13. "Proverb VII"

To see a World in a Grain of Sand,
And a Heaven in a Wild Flower,
Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand,
And Eternity in an hour.

Op.74 n.14. "Every Night and every Morn"

Every Night and every Morn
Some to Misery are Born.
Every Night and every Morn
Some are Born to sweet delight.
Some are Born to sweet delight,
Some are Born to Endless Night.
We are led to Believe a Lie
When we see not Thro' the Eye,
Which was Born in a Night, to perish in a Night,
When the Soul Slept in Beams of Light.
God Appears and God is Light
To those poor Souls who dwell in Night,
But does a Human Form Display
To those who Dwell in Realms of Day.

Op.76 " ‘Ekho Po`eta"

Text by Aleksandr Sergejevich Pushkin (1799-1837)
Music by Benjamin Britten, op. 76, 1965

Op.76 n.1.`Ekho
Op.76 n.2.Ja dumal, serdce pozabylo
Op.76 n.3.Ange
Op.76 n.4.Solovej i roza 5.`Epigramma
Op.75 n.5.. " `Epigramma"
Op.76 n.6.Stikhi, sochinennyje noch'ju vo vremja bessonnicy

Op.76 n. 1. " `Ekho"

Revet li zver' v lesu glukhom,
Trubit li rog, gremit li grom,
Pojot li deva za kholmom -
Na vsjakij zvuk
Svoj otklik v vozdukhe pustom
Rodish' ty vdrug.
Ty vnemlesh' grokhotu gromov,
I glasu buri i valov,
I kriku sel'skikh pastukhov -
I shlesh' otvet;
Tebe zh net otzyva... Takov
I ty, po`et!

Op.76 n.2. "Ja dumal, serdce pozabylo"

Ja dumal, serdce pozabylo
Sposobnost' legkuju stradat',
Ja govoril: tomu, chto bylo,
Uzh ne byvat'! uzh ne byvat'!
Proshli vostorgi, i pechali,
I legkovernyje mechty...
No vot opjat' zatrepetali
Pred moshchnoj vlast'ju krasoty.

Op.76 n.3. "Angel"

V dverjakh `edema angel nezhnyj
Glavoj poniksheju sijal,
A demon mrachnyj i mjatezhnyj
Nad adskoj bezdnoju letal.
Dukh otrican'ja, dukh somnen'ja
Na dukha chistogo vziral
I zhar nevol'nyj umilen'ja
Vpervyje smutno poznaval.
"Prosti," on rek, "tebja ja videl,
I ty nedarom mne sijal:
Ne vsjo ja v nebe nenavidel,
Ne vsjo ja v mire preziral."

Op.76 n.4. "Solovej i roza"

See also:

César Cui (1835-1918), op. 33 no. 1, "Solovej"

V bezmolvii sadov, vesnoj, vo mgle nochej,
Pojot nad rozoju vostochnyj solovej.
No roza milaja ne chuvstvujet, ne vnemlet,
I pod vljublennyj gimn kolebletsja i dremlet.
Ne tak li ty pojosh' dlja khladnoj krasoty?
Opomnis', o po`et, k chemu stremish'sja ty?
Ona ne slushajet, ne chuvstvujet po`eta;
Gljadish' - ona cvetet; vzyvajesh' - net otveta.

Op.76 n.5. " `Epigramma"

Polu-milord, polu-kupec,
Polu-mudrec, polu-nevezhda,
Polu-podlec, no jest' nadezhda,
Chto budet polnym nakonec.

Op.76 n.6. "Stikhi, sochinennyje noch'ju vo vremja bessonnicy"

Mne ne spitsa, net ognja;
Vsjudu mrak i son dokuchnyj.
Khod chasov lish' odnozvuchnyj
Razdajotsja bliz menja,
Parki bab'je lepetan'je,
Spjashchej nochi trepetan'je,
Zhizni mysh'ja begotnja...
Chto trevozhish' ty menja?
Chto ty znachish', skuchnyj shopot?
Ukorizna, ili ropot
Mnoj utrachennogo dnja?
Ot menja chego ty khochesh'?
Ty zovesh' ili prorochish'?
Ja ponjat' tebja khochu,
Smysla ja v tebe ishchu...

Op. 92 "A Birthday Hansel"

Texts by Robert Burns (1759-1796)
Music by Benjamin Britten (1913-1976), op. 92

Op.92 n.1.Birthday Song
Op.92 n.2.My Early Walk
Op.92 n.3.Wee Willie
Op.92 n.4.My Hoggie
Op.92 n.5.Afton Water
Op.92 n.6.The Winter
Op.92 n.7.Leezie Lindsay

Op. 92 n.1. "Birthday Song"

Health to our well-lo'ed Hielan Chief!
Health, ay sour'd by care or grief:
Inspir'd, I turn'd Fate's sibyl leaf,
This natal morn,
I see thy life is stuff o' prief,
Scarce quite half-worn:
All hail, all hail, auld birkie! Lord be near ye,
And then the De'il, he daurna steer ye:
Your friends ay love, your faes ay fear ye,
For me, shame fa' me,
If neist my heart I dinna wear ye,
While BURNS they ca' me.

Op. 92 n.2. "My Early Walk"

A rose bud by my early walk,
Adown a corn-inclosèd bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.
Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,
And drooping rich the dewy head,
It scents the dewy morning.
Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast
Sae early in the morning.
So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care
That tents thy early morning.

So thou, sweet Rose bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the Parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning.

Op. 92 n.3. "Wee Willie"

Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet,
Peel a willow-wand, to be him boots and jacket:
The rose upon the breer will be him trews and doublet,
The rose upon the breer will be him trews and doublet.
Wee Willie Gray, and his leather wallet,
Twice a lily-flower will be him sark and cravat;
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet,
Feathers of a flee wad feather up his bonnet.

Op. 92 n.4. "My Hoggie"

What will I do gin my Hoggie die,
My joy, my pride, my Hoggie?
My only beast, I had nae mae,
And vow but I was vogie.
The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld,
Me and my faithfu' doggie;
We heard nocht but the roaring linn,
Amang the braes sae scroggie.
But the howlet cry'd frae the castle wa'.
The blitter frae the boggie,
The tod reply'd upon the hill--
I trembled for my Hoggie.
When day did daw, and cocks did craw,
The morning it was foggie;
An unco tyke lap o'er the dyke,
And maist has killed my Hoggie.

Op. 92 n.5. "Afton Water"

Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, I'll sing thee a song in thy praise;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.
Thou stock dove whose echo resounds thro' the glen,
Ye wild whistling blackbirds in yon thorny den,
Thou green-crested lapwing, thy screaming forbear,
I charge you disturb not my slumbering Fair.
Thy crystal stream, Afton, how lovely it glides,
And winds by the cot where my Mary resides;
How wanton thy waters her snowy feet lave,
As, gathering sweet flowerets, she stems thy clear wave.
Flow gently, sweet Afton, among thy green braes,
Flow gently, sweet River, the theme of my lays;
My Mary's asleep by thy murmuring stream,
Flow gently, sweet Afton, disturb not her dream.

Op. 92 n.6. "The Winter"

The Winter it is past, and the summer comes at last,
And the small birds, they sing on ev'ry tree;
Now ev'ry thing is glad, while I am very sad,
Since my true love is parted from me.
The rose upon the brier, by the waters running clear,
May have charms for the linnet or the bee;
Their little loves are blest, and their little hearts at rest,
But my true love is parted from me.

Op. 92 n.7. "Leezie Lindsay"

Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay?
Will ye go to the Hielands wi' me?
Will ye go to the Hielands, Leezie Lindsay,
My pride and my darling to be?

Lieder’s Composers