“The Lost Chord”
CONTENTS OF THE CASSETTE RECORDING
Side One
1. Five Victorian Songs
2. Piano Pieces
3. Six Songs by John Ruskin
4. Church Music by Samuel Sebastian Wesley
Side Two
4. Church Music by Samuel Sebastian Wesley (continued)
5. Arthur Somervell’s Cycle of Songs from Tennyson’s Maud
The cassette recording supplied here is a two-sided, 90-minute tape, encoded with Dolby B noise reduction. The copies were duplicated by PRC Tape Co. from a master prepared by Rex Anderson in the recording studio of the University of Illinois School of Music at Urbana.
The words of the songs, and the program notes found in the score of “The Battle of Prague,” are given below, following the order in which the music appears on the cassette, which in turn follows the order of the chapters concerned. Except in the case of the Maude cycle, no attempt has been made to collate the song texts with those of the original poems.
Side One
1. FIVE VICTORIAN SONGS
Phyllis Hurt, soprano; Nicholas Temperley, piano
Recorded at the University of Illinois, Urbana, May 1986
Recording engineer: Rex Anderson
Invocation to the Deep (Felicia Hemans) | Edward James Loder, c. 1845 |
What hid’st thou in thy treasure caves and cells,
Thou ever sounding and mysterious main!
Pale glist’ning pearls and rainbow coloured shells,
Bright things which gleam unrecked of, and in vain.
Keep, keep thy riches, melancholy sea;
We ask not such from thee.
But more, the billows and the depths have more,
High hearts and brave are gathered to thy breast;
They hear not now the booming waters roar;
The battle thunders will not break their rest.
Keep thy red gold and gems, thou stormy grave;
Give back the true and brave.
Dark roll thy tides o’er manhood’s noble head,
O’er youth’s bright locks and beauty’s flow’ry crown.
Yet must thou hear a voice: restore the dead!
Earth shall reclaim her precious things from thee!
Restore the dead, thou sea!
Foreign Children (Robert Louis Stevenson) | Charles Villiers Stanford, 1892 |
Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,
Little frosty Eskimo,
Little Turk or Japanee,
O! don’t you wish that you were me?
You have seen the scarlet trees
And the lions overseas;
You have eaten ostrich eggs,
And turn’d the turtles off their legs.
Such a life is very fine,
But it’s not so nice as mine:
You must often, as you trod,
Have wearied not to be abroad.
You have curious things to eat,
I am fed on proper meat;
You must dwell beyond the foam,
But I am safe and live at home.
Little Indian, Sioux or Crow,
Little frosty Eskimo,
Little Turk or Japanee,
O! don’t you wish that you were me?
A Widow-Bird (Percy Bysshe Shelley) | Liza Lehmann, 1895 |
A widow-bird sate mourning for her love
Upon a wintry bough;
The frozen wind crept on above,
The freezing stream below.
There was no leaf upon the forest bare,
No flow’r upon the ground,
And little motion in the air,
Except the mill-wheel’s sound.
The Dream (Alfred Bunn), from The Bohemian Girl | Michael William Balfe, 1843 |
I dreamt that 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 too great to count — could boast
Of a high ancestral name;
But I always dreamt, which pleas’d me most,
That you lov’d me still the same.
I dreamt that suitors sought my hand,
That knights upon bended knee,
And with vows no maiden heart could withstand,
They pledg’d their faith to me.
And I dreamt that one of that noble host
Came forth my hand to claim;
But I also dreamt, which charm’d me most,
That you lov’d me still the same.
Buy Me Some Almond Rock (Joseph Tabrar) | Joseph Tabrar, 1893 |
I feel so glad, I never had
Such joy within my heart;
I’ve been asked out, and without doubt
I’m dying to make a start.
I’ve never seen a ball, nor been
Allowed out after dark;
I’ll mash the men, nine out of ten,
Oh won’t it be a lark!
(Chorus) Only fancy if Gladstone’s there,
And falls in love with me!
If I run across Labouchere,
I’ll ask him home to tea.
I shall say to a young man gay,
If he treads upon my frock,
Randy pandy, sugardy candy,
Buy me some almond rock!
I heard in truth that General Booth
Is going to be M.C.,
And if he is, ‘twill be good “biz,”
No end of fun there’ll be.
Ma said last week, I’m not to speak
To even one young man,
But just you wait, in spite of fate,
I’ll speak to all I can.
(Chorus) Only fancy, ....
If Sir Charles Dilke sees me in silk,
To dance with me he’ll try,
I’ll sing “Tral la,” Ha! “There you are,”
Then “Wink the other eye.”
If by a “fluke” I meet a Duke,
A Marquis or an Earl,
I’ll win all three, in fact I’ll be
A regular “Giddy girl.”
(Chorus) Only fancy, . . . .
2. PIANO PIECES
Philip Carli, piano
Recorded at Palomar College, San Marcos, California 1986
on a Mason & Hamlin Piano (c. 1890)
Recording Engineer: James A. Weld
The Battle of Prague | Franz Kocžwara, c. 1788 |
Slow March
Word of Command — First Signal Cannon — The Bugle Horn Call for the Cavalry — Answer to the first Signal Cannon — The Trumpet Call — Cannon
The Attack — Prussians: Imperialists — Cannon — Flying Balls — Trumpets, Kettle Drums — Attack with Swords, Horses Galloping — Trumpet, Cannons, Light Dragoons advancing — Heavy Cannonade — Cannons & Drums in general — Running Fire — Trumpet of Recall — Cannon
Cries of the Wounded — Trumpet of Victory
God Save the King
Turkish Music: Quick Step
Finale — Go to Bed Home — Tempo Primo
Fantasia on a Favorite Irish Melody | Felix Mendelssohn, 1830 |
“ ‘Tis the Last Rose of Summer” |
3. SONGS BY JOHN RUSKIN
Paul Proveaux, baritone; William J. Gatens, piano
Recorded at Swarthmore College, April 1986
Recording engineer: Glenn Short (Crystalline Acoustics)
At Marmion’s Grave (Sir Walter Scott), 1881 |
But yet from out the little hill
Oozes the slender springlet still,
And shepherd boys repair
To seek the water-flag and rush,
And plait their garlands fair;
When thou shalt find the little hill
With thy heart commune, and be still.
On Old Ægina’s Rock (Lord Byron), 1881 |
On old Aegina’s rock, and Hydra’s isle,
The god of gladness sheds his parting smile.
Descending fast, the mountain shadows kiss
Thy glorious gulph, unconquer’d Salamis.
Not yet; — not yet. Sol pauses on the hill;
The precious hour of parting lingers still.
Come Unto These Yellow Sands (William Shakespeare), c.1880 |
Come unto these yellow sands,
And then take hands.
Curtsied when you have, and kissed,
The wild waves whist.
Foot it featly here and there,
And let the rest the burden bear.
Hark, hark,
The watchdogs bark.
Faune, Nympharum (Horace), c.1880 |
Faune, nympharum fugient’ amator,
Per meos fines et aprica rura,
Lenis incedas, abeasque parvis,
Aequus alumnis.
Si tener pleno cadit haedus anno,
Larga nec desunt Veneris sodali,
Vina craterae, vetus ara multo,
Fumat odore.
Ludit herboso pecus omne campo,
Cum tibi Nonae redeunt Decembres,
Festus in pratis vacat otioso
Cum bove pagus.
Inter audaces lupus errat agnos
Spargit agres tes tibi silva frondes,
Gaudet invisam pepulisse fossor
Ter pede terram.
A Note of Welcome: Joanna’s Care (John Ruskin), 1880
What shall we say to her,
Now she is here,
Don’t go away again,
Joanie my dear.
Trust Thou Thy Love (John Ruskin), 1881
Trust thou thy love, if she be proud, is she not sweet?
Lay thou thy soul, full in her hands, low at her feet.
Trust thou thy love, if she be mute, is she not pure?
Fail, sun and breath, yet for thy peace, she shall endure.
4. CHURCH MUSIC BY SAMUEL SEBASTIAN WESLEY
Medici Chamber Choir
Raymond Lewis, director; Justin Waters, organist
Recorded in Bromley Parish Church, November 1988
Jubilate from the Service in E, 1841-1844 |
O be joyful in the Lord, all ye lands: serve the Lord with gladness,
and come before his presence with a song.
Be ye sure that the Lord he is God: it is he that hath made us, and not
we ourselves; we are his people, and the sheep of his pasture.
O go your way into his gates with thanksgiving, and into his courts with
praise: be thankful unto him, and speak good of his name.
For the Lord is gracious, his mercy is everlasting: and his truth endureth
from generation to generation.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son: and to the Holy Ghost;
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end.
Amen.
Anthem, “Cast me not away,” 1847 |
Cast me not away from thy presence, and take not thy Holy Spirit from me.
Restore unto me the joy of thy salvation, and uphold me with thy spirit.
The sacrifices of God are a broken spirit; a broken and a contrite heart thou wilt not despise, O God.
Make me to hear joy and gladness, that the bones which thou hast broken may rejoice.
Side Two
Nunc Dimittis from the Chant Service in F, 1848-1850 |
Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace: according to thy word.
For mine eyes have seen: thy salvation;
Which thou hast prepared: before the face of all people;
To be a light to lighten the Gentiles: and to be the glory of thy people Israel.
Glory be to the Father, and to the Son: and to the Holy Ghost;
As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be: world without end. Amen.
5. CYCLE OF SONGS FROM ALFRED TENNYSON’S MAUD
by Arthur Somervell, 1898
Bart Lind Smith, baritone; Nicholas Temperley, piano
Recorded at the Unversity of Illinois, Urbana, May 1986
Recording engineer: Rex Anderson
Note: the text of the song-cycle has been collated with that of the poem, as printed in Christopher Hicks, ed., The Poems of Tennyson (New York: Norton, 1972).
1. “I hate the dreadful hollow” (Tennyson: I, 1-4)
I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood,
Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath,
And the red ribbed ledges drip with the silent horror of blood,
And Echo there, whatever is ask’d her, answers “Death.”
2. “A voice by the cedar tree” (Tennyson: I, 162-189)
A voice by the cedar tree
In the meadow under the Hall!
She is singing an air that is known to me,
A passionate ballad gallant and gay,
A martial song like a trumpet’s call!
Singing alone in the morning of life,
In the happy morning of life and of May,
Singing of men that in battle array,
Ready in heart, and ready in hand,
March with banner and bugle and fife
To the death, for their native land.
Maud with her exquisite face,
And wild voice pealing up to the sunny sky,
And feet like sunny gems on an English green,
Maud in the light of her youth and her grace,
Singing of Death, and of Honour that cannot die,
Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean,
And myself so languid and base.
Silence, beautiful voice!
Be still, for you only trouble the mind.
With a joy in which I cannot rejoice,
A glory I shall not find.
Still! I will hear you no more,
For your sweetness hardly leaves me a choice
But to move to the meadow and fall before
Her feet on the meadow grass, and adore,
Not her, who is neither courtly nor kind,
Not her, not her, but a voice.
3. “She came to the village church” (Tennyson: I, 301-307)
She came to the village church,
And sat by a pillar alone;
An angel watching an urn
Wept over her, carved in stone;
And once, but once, she lifted her eyes,
And suddenly, sweetly, strangely blushed,
To find they were met by my own.
4. “O let the solid ground” (Tennyson: I, 398-411)
O let the solid ground
Not fail beneath my feet
Before my life has found
What some have found so sweet;
Then let come what come may,
What matter if I go mad,
I shall have had my day.
Let the sweet heavens endure,
Not close and darken above me
Before I am quite, quite sure
That there is one to love me;
Then let come what come may
To a life that has been so sad,
I shall have had my day.
5. “Birds in the high Hall-garden” (Tennyson: I, 412-427, 432-435)
Birds in the high Hall-garden
When twilight was falling,
Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud,
They were crying and calling.
Where was Maud? in our wood;
And I, who else, was with her,
Gath’ring woodland lilies,
Myriads blow together.
Birds in our wood sang,
Ringing thro’ the valleys,
Maud is here, here, here
In among the lilies.
I kissed her slender hand,
She took the kiss sedately;
Maud is not seventeen,
But she is tall and stately. . . .
I know the way she went
Home with her maiden posy,
For her feet have touched the meadows
And left the daisies rosy.
6. “Maud has a garden” (Tennyson: I, 489-494, 516-526)
Maud has a garden of roses
And lilies fair on a lawn;
There she walks in her state
And tends upon bed and bower;
And thither I climbed at dawn
And stood by her garden gate. . . .
I heard no sound where I stood
But the rivulet on from the lawn
Running down to my own dark wood;
Or the voice of the long sea wave as it swelled
Now and then in the dim gray dawn;
But I looked, and round, all round the house I beheld
The death-white curtain drawn;
Felt a horror over me creep,
Prickle my skin and catch my breath,
Knew that the death-white curtain meant but sleep,
Yet I shudder’d and thought like a fool of the sleep of death.
7. “Go not, happy day” (Tennyson: I, 571-598)
Go not, happy day,
From the shining fields,
Go not, happy day,
Till the maiden yields.
Rosy is the West,
Rosy is the South,
Roses are her cheeks,
And a rose her mouth.
When the happy “Yes”
Falters from her lips,
Pass and blush the news
Over glowing ships;
Over blowing seas,
Over seas at rest,
Pass the happy news,
Blush it thro’ the West;
Till the red man dance
By his red cedar tree,
And the red man’s babe
Leap, beyond the sea.
Blush from West to East,
Blush from East to West,
Till the West is East,
Blush it thro’ the West.
Rosy is the West,
Rosy is the South,
Roses are her cheeks,
And a rose her mouth.
8. “I have led her home” (Tennyson: I, 599-610)
I have led her home, my love, my only friend.
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly on and on.
Calming itself to the long wished-for end,
Full to the banks, close to the promised good.
None like her, none.
Just now the dry-tongued laurel’s pattering talk
Seemed her light foot along the garden walk,
And shook my heart to think she comes once more;
But even then I heard her close the door,
The gates of Heav’n are closed, and she is gone.
9. “Come into the Garden, Maud” (Tennyson: I, 850-867, 902-923)
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the rose is blown.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun that she loves,
To faint in his light, and to die.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirred
To the dancers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird
And a hush with the setting moon. . . .
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.
There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion flower at the gate.
She is coming, my own, my dear,
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, “She is near, she is near;”
The white rose weeps, “She is late;”
The larkspur listens, “I hear, I hear;”
And the lily whispers, “I wait.”
She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread,
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had it lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.
10. “The fault was mine” (Tennyson: II, 1-5, 34-35)
“The fault was mine, the fault was mine;” —
Why am I sitting here so stunned and still,
Plucking the harmless wild flower on the hill?
It is this guilty hand!
And there rises ever a passionate cry, . . .
a cry for a brother’s blood,
It will ring in my heart and my ears, till I die, till I die.
11. “Dead, long dead” (Tennyson: II, 239-258, 334-342)
Dead, long dead, long dead!
And my heart is a handful of dust,
And the wheels go over my head,
And my bones are shaken with pain,
For into a shallow grave they are thrust,
Only a yard beneath the street,
And the hoofs of the horses beat, beat,
The hoofs of the horses beat,
Beat into my scalp and my brain,
With never an end to the stream of passing feet,
Driving, hurrying, marrying, burying,
Clamour and rumble, and ringing and clatter,
And here in the grave it is just as bad.
For I thought that the dead had peace, but it is not so;
To have no peace in the grave, is that not sad?
But up and down and to and fro,
Ever about me the dead men go;
And then to hear a dead man chatter
Is enough to drive one mad. . . .
Ah me, why have they not buried me deep enough?
Is it kind to give me a grave so rough,
Me, that was never a quiet sleeper?
Maybe still I am but half dead;
Then I cannot be wholly dumb;
I will cry to the steps above my head
And somebody, surely, some kind heart will come
To bury me, bury me
Deeper, ever so little deeper.
12. “O that ‘twere possible” (Tennyson: II, 141-144)
O that ‘twere possible
After long grief and pain
To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!
Epilogue: “My life has crept so long” (Tennyson: III, 1-5, 9-11, 15-17, 34-37, 53-55, 58-59)
My life has crept so long on a broken wing
Thro’ cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear,
That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing:
My mood is changed, for it fell at a time of year
When the face of night is fair on the dewy downs, . . .
That like a silent lightning under the stars
She seemed to divide in a dream from a band of the blest,
And spoke of a hope for the world in the coming wars — . . .
And it was but a dream, yet it yielded a dear delight
To have looked, tho’ but in a dream, upon eyes so fair,
That had been in a weary world my one thing bright. . . .
And I stood on a giant deck and mixed my breath
With a loyal people shouting a battle cry,
Till I saw the dreary phantom arise and fly
Far into the North and battle, and seas of death. . . .
The blood red blossom of war with a heart of fire.
Let it flame or fade, and the war roll down like a wind,
We have proved we have hearts in a cause, we are noble still, . . .
I have felt with my native land, I am one with my kind,
I embrace the purpose of God, and the doom assigned.
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