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Sligo International Chamber Music Festival

Songbook

Franz Schubert
Die Forelle, Schubart

In einem Bächlein helle,

Da schoß in froher Eil

Die launische Forelle

Vorüber, wie ein Pfeil:

Ich stand an dem Gestade,

Und sah' in süsser Ruh

Des muntern Fischleins Bade

Im klaren Bächlein zu.

 

Ein Fischer mit der Ruthe

Wol an dem Ufer stand,

Und sah's mit kaltem Blute

Wie sich das Fischlein wand.

So lang dem Wasser Helle,

So dacht' ich, nicht gebricht,

So fängt er die Forelle

Mit seiner Angel nicht.

 

Doch endlich ward dem Diebe

Die Zeit zu lang; er macht

Das Bächlein tückisch trübe:

Und eh' ich es gedacht,

So zuckte seine Ruthe;

Das Fischlein zappelt dran;

Und ich, mit regem Blute,

Sah die Betrogene an.

The Trout, tr. Emily Ezust

In a bright little brook

there shot in merry haste

a capricious trout:

past it shot like an arrow.

I stood upon the shore

and watched in sweet peace

the cheery fish's bath

in the clear little brook.

 

A fisher with his rod

stood at the water-side,

and watched with cold blood

as the fish swam about.

So long as the clearness of the water

remained intact, I thought,

he would not be able to capture the trout

with his fishing rod.

 

But suddenly the thief grew weary

of waiting. He stirred up

the brook and made it muddy,

and before I realized it,

his fishing rod was twitching:

the fish was squirming there,

and with raging blood I

gazed at the deceived one.

Die Junge Nonne, Craigher de Jachelutta

Wie braust durch die Wipfel der heulende Sturm!

Es klirren die Balken - es zittert das Haus!

Es rollet der Donner - es leuchtet der Blitz! -

Und finster die Nacht, wie das Grab! - - -

     Immerhin, immerhin!

So tobt' es noch jüngst auch in mir!

Es brauste das Leben, wie jetzo der Sturm!

Es bebten die Glieder, wie jetzo das Haus!

Es flammte die Liebe, wie jetzo der Blitz! -

Und finster die Brust, wie das Grab! -

 

Nun tobe du wilder, gewaltiger Sturm!

Im Herzen ist Friede, im Herzen ist Ruh! -

Des Bräutigams harret die liebende Braut,

  Gereinigt in prüfender Glut -

  Der ewigen Liebe getraut. -

 

Ich harre, mein Heiland, mit sehnendem Blick;

Komm, himmlischer Bräutigam! hole die Braut!

Erlöse die Seele von irdischer Haft! -

Horch! friedlich ertönet das Glöcklein am Thurm;

  Es lockt mich das süße Getön

  Allmächtig zu ewigen Höhn -

     »Alleluja!«

The Young Nun, tr. Emily Ezust

How loudly the howling wind roars through the tree-tops!

The rafters rattle, the house shudders!

Thunder rolls, lighting flashes,

And the night is as dark as the grave!

   All the same, ever all the same,

so it raged in me not long ago as well:

My life roared like the storm now,

My limbs trembled like the house now,

Love burst into flame, like the lightning now,

And my heart was as dark as the grave.

 

Now rage, you wild, powerful storm,

In my heart there is peace; in my heart there is calm.

The groom is awaited by the loving bride,

Cleansed by the purifying flames,

To eternal Love betrothed.

 

I await you, my Saviour, with a yearning gaze!

Come, my heavenly bridegroom, take your bride,

Rescue her soul from earthly imprisonment.

Listen: the bell rings peacefully from the tower!

That sweet tone invites me 

overpoweringly to eternal heights.

Halleluja!

An die Musik, von Schober

Du holde Kunst, in wie viel grauen Stunden,

Wo mich des Lebens wilder Kreis umstrickt,

Hast du mein Herz zu warmer Lieb entzunden,

Hast mich in eine beßre Welt entrückt.

 

Oft hat ein Seufzer, deiner Harf' entflossen,

Ein süßer, heiliger Akkord von dir,

Den Himmel beßrer Zeiten mir erschlossen,

Du holde Kunst, ich danke dir dafür.

To Music

You lovely art, in how many grey hours,

experiencing the turmoil of life,

you have ignited love in my heart

and transported me to a better world?!

 

Often a sigh from your harp,

a sweet, holy chord,

opened a heaven of better times.

You lovely art, I thank you!

Frühlingsglaube, Johann Ludwig Uhland

Die linden Lüfte sind erwacht,

Sie säuseln und weben Tag und Nacht,

Sie schaffen an allen Enden.

O frischer Duft, o neuer Klang!

Nun, armes Herze, sei nicht bang!

Nun muß sich Alles, Alles wenden.

 

Die Welt wird schöner mit jedem Tag,

Man weiß nicht, was noch werden mag,

Das Blühen will nicht enden.

Es blüht das fernste, tiefste Thal.

Nun, armes Herz, vergiß der Qual!

Nun muß sich Alles, Alles wenden.

Spring Hope

The gentle breezes are awakened,

They whisper and blow day and night,

They create on every end. 

O fresh scent, O new sound! 

Now, poor heart, be not afraid!

Now must everything change. 

 

The world becomes more beautiful with each day,

One cannot know what is still to come,

The flowering will not end. 

The furthest, deepest valley is flowering. 

Now, poor heart, forgive your torment!

Now must everything change. 

Die Sterne, Carl von Leitner

Wie blitzen

Die Sterne

So hell durch die Nacht!

Bin oft schon

Darüber

Vom Schlummer erwacht.

 

Doch schelt' ich

Die lichten

Gebilde d'rum nicht,

Sie üben

Im Stillen

Manch heilsame Pflicht.

 

Sie wallen

Hoch oben

In Engelgestalt,

Und leuchten

Dem Pilger

Durch Heiden und Wald.

 

Sie schweben

Als Bothen

Der Liebe umher,

Und tragen

Oft Küsse

Weit über das Meer.

 

Sie blicken

Dem Dulder 

Recht mild in's Gesicht,

Und säumen

Die Thränen

Mit silbernem Licht.

 

Sie weisen

Von Gräbern

Gar tröstlich und hold

Uns hinter

Das Blaue

Mit Fingern von Gold.

 

So sei denn

Gesegnet

Du strahlige Schar!

Und leuchte

Mir lange

Noch freundlich und klar.

 

Und wenn ich

Einst liebe,

Seid hold dem Verein,

Und euer

Geflimmer

Laßt Segen uns sein.

 

The Stars

How the stars 

glitter so brightly 

through the night!

I've often been awakened 

by them 

from slumber.

 

Yet I do not scold 

the shining ones 

for that,

For silently 

they perform 

many a benevolent task.

 

They journey 

high above 

in the form of angels,

They light 

the pilgrim's way 

through meadow and forest.

 

They hover 

like heralds 

of love,

And often bear 

kisses 

far away across the sea.

 

They gaze 

tenderly 

into the face of the sufferer,

And wipe 

his tears 

with silver light;

 

And direct us 

away from the grave, 

comfortingly and gently,

Beyond 

the blue sky 

with fingers of gold.

 

Now shall you 

be blessed, 

thou radiant throng!

And long shine 

upon me 

with your clear, pleasant light!

 

And should I 

one day fall in love, 

smile upon the union,

And let 

your twinkling

bless us in return.

Nacht und Träume, von Collin

Heil'ge Nacht, du sinkest nieder;

Nieder wallen auch die Träume,

Wie dein Mondlicht durch die Räume,

Durch der Menschen stille Brust;

Die belauschen sie mit Lust,

Rufen, wenn der Tag erwacht:

Kehre wieder holde Nacht,

Holde Träume kehret wieder.

Night and Dreams

Holy night, you sink down, 

Drifting down, also the dreams, 

As your moonlight through quiet hearts of mankind;

They listen with delight

Calling out when day awakens:

Return, holy night! 

Fair dreams, return again!

Der Musensohn, Goethe

Durch Feld und Wald zu schweifen,

Mein Liedchen wegzupfeifen,

So gehts von Ort zu Ort!

Und nach dem Takte reget,

Und nach dem Maaß beweget

Sich alles an mir fort.

 

Ich kann sie kaum erwarten,

Die erste Blum' im Garten,

Die erste Blüt' am Baum.

Sie grüßen meine Lieder,

Und kommt der Winter wieder,

Sing' ich noch jenen Traum.

 

Ich sing' ihn in der Weite,

Auf Eises Läng' und Breite,

Da blüht der Winter schön!

Auch diese Blüte schwindet,

Und neue Freude findet

Sich auf bebauten Höhn.

 

Denn wie ich bei der Linde

Das junge Völkchen finde,

Sogleich erreg' ich sie.

Der stumpfe Bursche bläht sich,

Das steife Mädchen dreht sich

Nach meiner Melodie.

 

Ihr gebt den Sohlen Flügel

Und treibt, durch Thal und Hügel,

Den Liebling weit von Haus.

Ihr lieben holden Musen,

Wann ruh' ich ihr am Busen

Auch endlich wieder aus?

The Muses’ Son

Roaming through field and wood,

Piping along my little song,

So I go from place to place!

And to my beat

And to my measure

Everything moves with me.

 

I can hardly wait for them - 

The first bloom in the garden,

The first blossoming on the tree.

My songs greet them,

And when winter returns

I still sing of that dream.

 

I sing them far and wide,

Through the ice's realm,

Then winter blossoms beautifully!

That bloom disappears too,

And new joy is found

In the heights.

 

For when I, beside the linden,

Encounter young folks,

I rouse them at once.

The swaggering youth puffs up,

The naive maiden twirls

To my melody.

 

You give my feet wings

And drive through vale and hill

Your favorite, far from home.

You dear, kind muses,

When on her bosom

Will I finally again find rest?

Robert Schumann
In der Fremde, von Eichendorff

Aus der Heimat hinter den Blitzen rot

Da kommen die Wolken her,

Aber Vater und Mutter sind lange tot,

Es kennt mich dort keiner mehr.

 

Wie bald, wie bald kommt die stille Zeit,

Da ruhe ich auch, und über mir

Rauschet die schöne Waldeinsamkeit,

Und keiner mehr kennt mich auch hier.

In the distant Land, tr. Emily Ezust

From the direction of home, 

behind the red flashes of lightning

There come clouds,

But Father and Mother are long dead;

No one there knows me anymore.

 

How soon, ah, how soon will that quiet time come,

When I too shall rest, and over me

the beautiful forest's loneliness shall rustle,

And no one here shall know me anymore.

Intermezzo, von Eichendorff

Dein Bildnis wunderselig

Hab ich im Herzensgrund,

Das sieht so frisch und fröhlich

Mich an zu jeder Stund'.

 

Mein Herz still in sich singet

Ein altes schönes Lied,

Das in die Luft sich schwinget

Und zu dir eilig zieht.

Intermezzo, Tr. Emily Ezust

Your blissful, wonderful image 

I have in my heart's depths;

it looks so freshly and joyously

at me in every moment.

 

My heart sings mutely to itself

an old, beautiful song

that soars into the air

and hastens to your side.

Waldesgespräch, von Eichendorff

Es ist schon spät, es ist schon kalt,

Was reitst du einsam durch den Wald?

Der Wald ist lang, du bist allein,

Du schöne Braut! Ich führ dich heim!

 

"Groß ist der Männer Trug und List,

Vor Schmerz mein Herz gebrochen ist,

Wohl irrt das Waldhorn her und hin,

O flieh! Du weißt nicht, wer ich bin."

 

So reich geschmückt ist Roß und Weib,

So wunderschön der junge Leib,

Jetzt kenn ich dich - Gott steh mir bei!

Du bist die Hexe Lorelei. -

 

"Du kennst mich wohl - von hohem Stein

Schaut still mein Schloß tief in den Rhein.

Es ist schon spät, es ist schon kalt,

Kommst nimmermehr aus diesem Wald."

Forest Conversation, tr. Emily Ezust

It is already late, it is already cold;

why do you ride alone through the wood?

The wood is vast and you are alone,

you fair bride! I will lead you home.

 

"Great are the deceit and cunning of men;

my heart has broken for pain.

The forest horn strays here and there,

o flee! You do not know who I am." 

 

So richly decked are mount and lady,

so wondrously fair the young form;

now I recognize you - God stand by me!

You are the Witch Loreley.

 

"You recognize me well - from the lofty cliffs

my castle gazes down into the Rhine.

It is already late, it is already cold -

you shall never again leave this wood."

Mondnacht, von Eichendorff

Es war, als hätt' der Himmel,

Die Erde still geküßt,

Daß sie im Blütenschimmer

Von ihm nur träumen müßt.

 

Die Luft ging durch die Felder,

Die Ähren wogten sacht,

Es rauschten leis die Wälder,

So sternklar war die Nacht.

 

Und meine Seele spannte

Weit ihre Flügel aus,

Flog durch die stillen Lande,

Als flöge sie nach Haus.

Moon-night, tr. Emily Ezust

It was as if the sky

Had quietly kissed the earth,

So that, glistening with blossoms,

She must only dream of him.1

 

The breeze wafted through the fields,

The ears of corn waved gently,

The forests rustled faintly,

So sparkling clear was the night.

 

And my soul stretched 

its wings out far,

Flew through the still lands,

as if it were flying home.

Im Walde, Eichendorff

Es zog eine Hochzeit den Berg entlang,

Ich hörte die Vögel schlagen,

Da blitzten viel Reiter, das Waldhorn klang,

Das war ein lustiges Jagen!

 

Und eh' ich's gedacht, war alles verhallt,

Die Nacht bedecket die Runde,

Nur von den Bergen noch rauschet der Wald

Und mich schauert’s im Herzensgrunde.

In the Woods, tr. Emily Ezust

Beside the mountain there passed a wedding party.

I heard the birds singing;

then there blazed past many horsemen, their forest horns sounding.

That was a merry hunt!

 

And before I could think about it, everything had died away

and the night threw a cloak all around.

Only from the mountains did the woods yet rustle,

and deep in my heart I shudder.

Reynaldo Hahn
Quand je fus pris au pavillon, Charles d’Orléans

Quand je fus pris au pavillon De ma dame, trèsgente et belle, Je me brulai à la chandelle, Ainsi que fait le papillon. Je rougis comme vermillon, À la clarté d'une étincelle, Quand je fus pris au pavillon. Si j'eusse été émerillon Ou que j'eusse eu aussi bonne aile, Je me fusse gardé de celle Qui me bailla de l'aiguillon Quand je fus pris au pavillon!

 

When I was caught at the pavilion of my very gentle and beautiful lady, I burnt myself at the candle as a butterfly does. I blushed like vermilion, at the brightness of a spark, when I was caught at the pavilion. Had I been a merlinor had I had as good a wing, I would have guarded myself against her who struck me with the sting when I was caught at the pavilion!

À Chloris, Théophile de Viau

S'il est vrai, Chloris, que tu m'aimes,

Mais j'entends, que tu m'aimes bien,

Je ne crois point que les rois mêmes

Aient un bonheur pareil au mien.

 

Que la mort serait importune

De venir changer ma fortune

A la félicité des cieux!

 

Tout ce qu'on dit de l'ambroisie

Ne touche point ma fantaisie

Au prix des grâces de tes yeux.

To Chloris

If it's true, Chloris, that you love me,

But I hear that you very well do love me,

I don't believe that even kings

Have a happiness that compares to mine.

 

Death would be so unwelcome

To come change my fortunes

To1 the delight of heaven!

 

Everything that is said about ambrosia

Touches not at all my fantasy

About the prize that is the grace of your eyes.

Mai, François Coppée

Depuis un mois, chère exilée,

Loin de mes yeux tu t’en allas,

Et j’ai vu fleurir des lilas

Avec ma peine inconsolée.

 

Seul, je fuis ce ciel clair et beau

Dont l’ardent effluve me trouble,

Car l’horreur de l’exil se double

De la splendeur du renouveau.

 

En vain le soleil a souri,

Au printemps je ferme ma porte,

Et veux seulement qu’on m’apporte

Un rameau de lilas fleuri;

 

Car l’amour dont mon âme est pleine

Y trouve parmi ses douleurs

Ton regard dans ces chères fleurs

Et dans leur parfum ton haleine.

May

It has been one month, sweet exiled one,

Since you left my sight,

And I have seen the lilacs bloom

With inconsolable grief.

 

Alone, I shun fresh air,

Whose ardent fragrance disquiets me,

For the horror of an exile doubles

At seeing the luster of nature’s renewal.

 

In vain I listen at the windows,

In the room in which I have shut myself up,

As the first beetles of May

Collide against them with their clumsy shells.

 

In vain does the sun smile,

For I close my door against the spring,

And wish only that someone would bring me

A branch of blossoming lilac;

 

For Love, of which my heart is full,

In the middle of its grief, finds

Your gaze among these precious flowers,

And in their scent, your breath!

L’Enamourée, Théodore de Banville

Ils se disent, ma colombe, que tu rêves, 

Morte encore, sous la pierre d’une tombe.

Mais pur l’âme qui t’adore tu t’éveilles ranimée, 

ô pensive bienaimée.

Par les blanches nuits d’étoiles, 

Dans la brise qui murmure, Je caresse tes longs voiles.

Ta mouvante chevelure, et tes ailes demiclose 

Qui voltigent sur les roses.

Ô delices! Je respire tes divines tresses blondes; 

Ta voix pure, cette lyre, suir la vague sur les ondes.

Et, suave, les effleuve, comme un cygne qui se pleure!

 

 

They say, my dove, that you dream in death 

Under the stone of your tomb. 

But for the soul who adores you, you awaken, 

Revived, o my pensive beloved!

In the white, starlit nights, in the murmuring breeze, 

I caress your long veils, your moving hair, 

And your half-closed wings which soar over the roses.

O delight! I breathe your divine blond tresses.  

Your pure voice, that lyre, follows the wave on the waters, 

And sweetly touches them like a swan which mourns for itself.

La Délaissée, Augustine Blanchecotte

Ah! Je ne savais pas qu’il pouvait m’être doux

Après tant de jours de misère,

De me ressouvenir et de parler de vous

Comme une soeur ferait d’un frère!

Tout nous a séparés et tous nous réunit,

Ma pensée est votre pensée...

Un sentiment de paix que rien ne définit

Vient visiter la delaissée!

Nous nous sommes aimés et nous aimons encore,

C’est la le meilleur de nous-mêmes...

Et quels que soient les coups dont nous frappe le sort,

Je t’aime et je sais que tu m’aimes!

 

 

Ah! I did not know that it could be sweet to me, 

After so many days of misery,

To remember you again and speak of you

As a sister would of a brother!

Everything separates us and everything reunites us,

My thought is your thought...

A feeling of peace that nothing defines 

Comes to visit the forsaken one!

We are loved and we love again,

That ist the best of ourselves...

And whatever blows are dealt to us by fate,

I love you and I know that you love me!

Le Printemps, Théodore de Banville

Te voilà, rire du Printemps!

Les thyrses des lilas fleurissent.

Les amantes, qui te chérissent, délivrent leurs cheveux flottants.

Sous les rayons d’ors éclatants les anciens lierres se flétrissent.

Te voilá, rire du Printemps!

Les thyrses des lilas fleurissent.

Couchons-nous au bord des étangs, 

Que nos maux amers se quérissent.

Mille espoirs fabuleux nourrissent nos coeurs émus et palpitants.

Te voilá, rire du Printemps!

 

 

You are here, you laughing Spring!

Bunches of lilacs are blossoming.

Lovers who cherish you free their flowing hair.

Beneath the rays of sparkling gold

The ancinet ivy withers.

Your are here, laughing spring!

Bunches of lilacs are blossoming.

Let us lie besides ponds so that our bitter wounds may heal!

A thousand fabulous hopes nourish our stirred and fluttering hearts.

You are here, you laughing Spring!

Benjamin Britten
Come you not from Newcastle?

Come you not from Newcastle?

Come you not there away?

Oh met you not my true love,

Riding on a bonny bay?

Why should I not love my love?

Why should not my love love me?

Why should I not speed after him since love to all is free?

The Minstrel Boy

The Minstrel Boy to the war is gone

In the ranks of death you’ll find him;

His father’s sword he’s girded on,

And his wild harp slung behind him.

„Land of Song“, said the warrior bard,

Tho’ all the world betrays thee,

One sword, at least, thy rights shall gueard,

One faithful harp shall praise thee.

 

The Minstrel fell but the foeman’s chain 

Could not bring that proud soul under.

The harp he lov’d ne’er spoke again,

For he tore it’s chords asunder;

And said, „No chains shall sully thee,

Thou soul of love and brav’ry!

Thy songs were made fort the pure and free, 

They shall never sound in slav’ry!

Sally Gardens

Down by the Sally Gardens my love and I did meet;

She passed the Sally Gardens with little snow-white feet,

Sje bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree;

But I being young and foolish, with her did not agree.

 

In a field by the river my love and I did stand,

And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand.

She bid me take life easy as the grass grows on the weirs;

But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears.

At the Mid hour of Night

At the mid hour of night when stars are weeping I fly

To the lone vale we lov’d when love shone warm in thine eye.

And I think of if spirits can steal from the region of air,

To revisist past scenes of delight,

Thou wilt come to me there and tell me our love is remember’d e’en in the sky.

 

The I’ll sing the wild song which once t’was rapture to hear,

When our voices both mingling breath’d like one in the ear:

And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orizon rolls,

I think, o my love, ‚tis thy voice from the kingdom of souls,

faintly answering still the notes which once were so dear.

How Sweet the Answer, Thomas Moore

How sweet the answer Echo makes

   To Music at night,

When, rous'd by lute or horn, she wakes,

And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,

   Goes answering light!

 

Yet Love hath echoes truer far,

   And far more sweet,

Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star,

Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar,

   The songs repeat.

 

'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere,

   And only then, --

The sigh that's breath'd for one to hear,

Is by that one, that only dear,

   Breath'd back again.

O Waly Waly, Cecil Sharp

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 row, my love and I.

O, down in the meadows the other day, a gath’ring flowers both fine and gay,

A gath’ring flowers both red and blue, I little thought what love can do.

I leaned my back up against some oak, thinking he was a trusty tree; 

But first he bended and then he broke; and so did my false live to me.

A ship there is, and she sails the ea,

She’s loeaded deep as deep can be,

But not so deep as the love I’m in; I know not if I sink or swim.

O love is handsome and love is fine, and Love’s a jewel while it is new;

But when it is old it groweth cold, and fades away like morning dew.

Oliver Cromwell

Oliver Cromwell lay buried and dead,

Hee-haw, buried and dead,

There grew an old apple-tree over his dead,

Hee-Haw over his head.

 

The apples wer ripe and ready to fall,

Hee-Haw ready to fall,

There came an old woman to gather them all,

Hee-Haw gather them all.

 

Oliver rose and gave her a drop,

Hee-Haw gave her a drop,

Which made the old woman go hippety-hop,

Hee-Haw hippety-hop.

 

The saddle and bridle they lie on the shelf,

Hee-Haw lie on the shelf,

If you want any more you can sing it yourself,

Hee-Haw sing it yourself.

Michael William Balfe
I Dreamt that I Dwellt in Marble Halls, Alfred Bunn

I dreamt I dwelt in marble halls

With vassals and serfs at my side,

And of all who assembled within those walls

That I was the hope and the pride.

I had riches all too great to count

And a high ancestral name.

But I also dreamt which pleased me most

That you loved me still the same,

That you loved me

You loved me still the same,

That you loved me

You loved me still the same.

I dreamt that suitors sought my hand,

That knights upon bended knee

And with vows no maidens heart could withstand,

They pledged their faith to me.

And I dreamt that one of that noble host

Came forth my hand to claim.

But I also dreamt which charmed me most

That you loved me still the same

That you loved me

You loved me still the same,

That you loved me

You loved me still the same.