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Graduate recitals Stephanson, Matthew 2006

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GRADUATE RECITALS by MATTHEW STEPHANSON B.Mus., University of British Columbia, 2005 A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF MASTER OF MUSIC in THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE STUDIES (Voice) THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA September 2006 © MATTHEW STEPHANSON, 2006 ABSTRACT The thesis for the Master of Music degree in Voice consists of the performance of a full-length recital which the candidate presents near the end of the second year. Upon the recommendation of the candidate's committee, a partial recital may be given in the first year, in addition to the final recital. My full-length recital was performed on Sept ember 22, 2006. T H E U N I V E R S I T Y O F BRIT ISH C O L U M B I A S C H O O L O F M U S I C Recital Hal l Friday, September 22, 2006 8:00 p.m. MASTER'S STUDENT RECITAL* Matthew Stephanson, Tenor with Marnie Hauschildt, piano The Fatal Hour Music for a While Comfort Y e (Recitative) Every Val ley (Aria) Henry Purcell .(1659-1695) George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) Thy Rebuke Hath Broken His Heart (Recitative) Behold and See If There Be A n y Sorrow (Aria) A Shropshire Lad' I. Lovliest of Trees II. When I was One-and-Twenty III. Look Not .in M y Eyes IV. Think No More, Lad V . The Lads in Their Hundreds V I . Is M y Team Ploughing? George Butterworth (1885,-1916) I N T E R M I S S I O N Schwanengesang I. Liebesbotschaft II. Kriegers Ahnung IV. Standchen IX. Ihr B i ld XII . A m Meer X I V . Die Taubenpost Skogen sover Tonerna Franz Schubert (1797-1828) Hugo Al fven (1872-1960) Carl Leopold Sjoberg (1861-1900 * In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Master of Music degree with a major in Voice. Henry Purcell (1659-1695) The Fatal Hour The fatal hour comes on a pace, Which I had rather die than see, For when fate calls you from this place, You go to certain misery. The thought does stab me to the heart, And gives me pangs no word can speak, It wracks me in each vital part, Sure when you go my heart will break. Since I for you so much endure, May I not hope you will believe vTis you alone these wounds can cure, Which are the fountains of my greif. Music for a While Music for a while, Shall all your cares beguile: Wondering how your pains were eas'd, And disdaining to be pleased, Till Alecto free the dead From their eternal bands, Till the snakes drop from her head And the whip from out her hands. Music for a while, Shall all your cares beguile. George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) c Comfort Ye (recit.) Comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, And cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplish'd, That her iniquity is pardon'd. The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, Make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every Valley (aria) Every vally shall be exalted And every mountain and hill made low, The crooked straight, and the rough places plain. Thy Rebuke Hath Broken His Heart (recit) Thy rebuke hath broken his heart; He is full of heaviness: He looked for some to have pity on him, But there was no man, Neither found he any to comfort him. Behold and See If There Be Any Sorrow (aria) Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto his sorrow A Shropshire Lad George Butterworth (1885-1916) Lovliest of Trees Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go to see the cherry hung with snow. When I was One-and-Twenty When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, "Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free." But I was one-and-twenty, No use to talk to me. When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again, "The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; 'Tis paid with sighs a plenty And sold for endless rue." ' And I am two-and-twenty, And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true. J Look Not in Mv Eves Look not in my eyes, for fear They mirror true the sight I see, And there you find your face too clear And love it and be lost like me. One the long nights through must lie Spent in star-defeated sighs, But why should you as well as I Perish gaze not in my eyes. A Grecian lad, as I hear tell, One that many loved in vain, Looked into a forest well And never looked away again. There, when the turf in springtime flowers, With downward eye and gazes sad, Stands amid the glancing showers A jonquil, not a Grecian lad. Think No More. Lad Think no more lad; laugh, be jolly : Why should men make haste to die? Empty heads and tongues a talking Make the rough road easy walking, And the feather pate of folly Bears the falling sky. Oh, "tis jesting, dancing, drinking Spins the heavy world around. If young hearts were not so clever, Oh, they would be young for ever: Think no more; "tis only thinking Lays Lads underground. Think no more, lad; Laugh, be jolly: Why should men make haste to die? Empty heads and tongues a talking Make the rough road easy walking, And the feather pate of folly Bears the falling sky. The Lads in Their Hundreds The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come" in for the fair, There's men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold, The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there, And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old. There's chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart, And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave, And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart, And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave. I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern; And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell And watch them depart on the way that they will not return. But now you may stare as you like and there's nothing to scan; And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man, The lads that will die in their glory and never be old. 'Is football playing Along the river shore, With lads to chase the leather; Now I stand up no more?' Ay, the ball is flying, The lads play heart and soul; The goal stands up, the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. 'Is my girl happy, That I thought hard to leave, And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay, she lies down lightly, She lies not down to weep: Your girl is well contented. Be still, my lad, and sleep. 'Is my friend hearty, Now I am thin and pine, And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes, lad, I lie easy, I lie as lads would choose; I cheer a dead man's sweetheart, Never ask me whose. ***Intermission*** Is My Team Ploughing? 'Is my team ploughing, That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay, the horses trample, The harness jingles now; No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. Schwanengesang Franz Schubert (1797-1828) I. Liebesbotschaft Rauchendes Bachlein, so silbern und hell, Eilst zur Geliebten so munter und schnell? Ach, trautes Bachlein, mein Bote sei du; Bringe die Griisse des Fernen ihr zu. All ihre Blumen im Garten gepflegt, Die sie so lieblich am Busen tragt, Und ihre Rosen in purpurner Glut, Bachlein erquikke mit kiihlender Flut. Wenn sie am Ufer, in Traume versenkt, Meiner gedenkend, das Kbpfchen hangt, Trbste die Siisse mit freundlichem Blick, Denn der Geliebte kehrt bald zuriick. Neigt sich die Sonne mit rotiichem Schein, Wiege das Liebchen in Schlummer ein. Rausche sie miirmelnd in siisse Ruh, Flustre ihr traume der Liebe zu. II. Kriegers Ahnung In tiefer Ruh liegt um mich her Der Waffenbriider Kreis; Mir ist das Herz so bang und schwer, Von Sehnsucht mir so heiss. Wie hab ich oft so suss getraumt An ihrem Busen warm! Wie freundlich schein des Herdes Glut, Lag sie in meinem Arm! Hier, wo der Flammen dustrer Schein Ach! nur auf Waff en spielt, Hier fiihlt die Brust sich ganz allein, Der Wehmut Trane quillt. Herz, dass der Trost dich nicht verlasst! Es ruft noch manche Schlacht. Bald ruh ich wohl und schlafe fest, Herzliebste, gute Nacht! IV. Standchen Leise flehen meine Lieder durch die Nacht zu dir; In den stillen Hain hernieder, Liebchen, komm zu mir! Fliisternd schlanke Wipfel rauschen in des Mondes Licht; Des Verraters feindlich Lauschen fiirchte, Holde, nicht. I. Love's Message Murmuring brooklet, so silvery and bright, Are you hurying to my beloved, so gaily and swiftly? Ah, faithful brooklet, be my messenger; Carry to her the absent one's greetings. All the flowers that she tends in her garden, And wears so charmingly on her bosom, And her roses of glowing crimson, Brooklet, refresh them with your cooling stream. When on your bank, deep in reverie, And thinking of me, she lets fall her head, Comfort the sweet one with friendly glances, For her lover will soon come back to her. When the sun sinks with rosy gleam, Cradle the darling to sleep. Murmur her to sweet repose with your eddying, Whisper dreams of love to her. II. Warrior's Forboding In deep sleep lies around me The circle of my brothers-in-arms; My heart is so anxious and heavy, So passionate in longing. How often have I sweetly dreamed. Close to her warm bosom! How warmly gleamed the glowing hearth, As she lay in my arms! Here, where the fire's dimmer gleam Plays, alas! on weapons only, The heart feels utterly alone, And tears of sadness spring forth. Heart, let not comfort forsake you! Many a battle calls you yet. I shall soon rest and be fast asleep, My heart's dearest love, goodnight! IV. Serenade Softly through the night my songs implore you, Down into the still grove my beloved, come to me! Slender treetops rusde and whisper in the moonlight; Fear not, sweet one, the betrayer's malicious eavesdropping. Hdrst die Nachtigallen schlagen? Ach! sie flehen dich, Mit der Tone siissen Klagen flehen sie fur mich. Sie verstehn des Busens Sehnen, kennen Liebesschmerz. Riihren mit den Silbertonen jedes weiche Herz. Lass auch dir die Brust bewegen, Liebchen, hore mich! Bebend harr ich dir entgegen! Komm, begliicke mich! IX. Ihr Bild Ich stand in dunkeln Traumen Und starrt' ihr Bildnis an, Und das geliebte Antlitz Heimlich zu leben begann. Um ihre Lippen zog sic Ein Lacheln wunderbar, Und wievon Wehmutstranen Erglanzte ihr Augenpaar. Auch meine Tranen flossen Mir von den Wangen herab Und ach! ich kann es night glauben, Dass ich dich verloren hab! XII. Am Meer Das Meer erglanzte weit hinaus lm letzten Abendscheine; Wir sassen am einsamen Fischerhaus, Wir sassen stumm und alleine. Der Nebel stieg, das Wasser schwoll, Die Move flog hin und wieder; Aus deinen Augen liebevoll Fielen die Tranen nieder. Ich sah sie fallen auf deine Hand Und bin aufs Knie gesunken; Ich hab von deiner weissen Hand Die Tranen fortgetrunken. Seit jener Stunde verzehrt sich mein Leib, Die Seele stirbt vor Sehnen; Mich hat das ungliickselge Weib r Vergiftet mit ihren Tranen. Do you hear the nightingales calling? Ah! they implore you with the sweet music of their notes They implore you for me. They understand the bosom's yearning, they know the pangs of love, They can touch every tender heart; with their silvery tones. Let them move your heart also; beloved, hear me! Trembling, I wait for you! come, give me bliss! IX. Her Portrait I stand in sombre dreams Staring at her portrait, And that loved countenance Gendy came to life. Her lips were clothed With a wonderous smile, And, as though with tears of sorrow Her two eyes shone. My tears, too, flowed Down from my cheeks And Ah! I cannot believe it, That I have lost you! XII. By the Sea The sea shone far out into the distance In the last evening light; We sat by the fisherman's lonely house, We sat silent and alone. The mists rose, the waters swelled, The gukks flew here and there; From your eyes, full of love The tears were falling. I saw them fall into your hand And sank upon my knees; From your white hand I drank in the tears. Since that hour my body is consumed, My soul is dying of passion; That hapless woman has Poisoned me with her tears. XIV. Die Taubenpost XIV. The Pigeon Post Ich hab eine Brieftaub in meinem Sold, Die ist gar ergeben un treu; Sie nimmt mir nie das Ziel zu kurz, Und fliegt auch nie vorbei. Ich sende sie vieltausendmal Auf Kundschaft taglich hinaus, Vorbei an manchem lieben Ort, Bis zu der Liebsten Haus. Dort schaut sie zum Fenster heimlich hinein, Belauscht ihren Blick und Schritt, Gibt meine Griisse scherzend ab Und nimmt die ihren mit. Kein Briefchen brauch ich zu schreiben mehr, Die Trane selbst geb ich ihr; O, sie vertragt sie sicher nicht, Gar eifrig dient sie mir. Bei Tag, bei Nacht, im Wachen, im Traum, Ihr gilt das alles gleich; Wenn sie nur wandern, wandern kann, Dann ist sie iiberreich! Sie wird nicht mud, sie wird nicht matt, Der Weg ist stets ihr neu, Sie braucht nicht Lockung, braucht night Lohn, Die Taub ist so mir treu! Drum heg ich sie auch so treu ari der Brust, Versichert des schonsten Gewinns; Sie heisst die Sehnsucht! Kennt ihr sie? Die Botin treuen Sinns? Skogen sover - Hugo Alven (1872-1960) Skogen sover. Strimmen pa fastet flamtar matt. Dagen vakar i juninatt. Tystnat har nyss hennes muntra skratt, redan hon sover. Till hennes sida jag stum mig satt. Karleken vakar over sin skatt, Karleken vakar i juni natt. Tonerna - Carl Leopold Sjoberg (1861-1900) Tanke, hvars strider blott natten ser, Toner, hos eder om hvila den ber. Hjarta, som lider af dagens gny, Toner till eder, Till er vill det fly. I have a carrier pigeon in my pay, It is so devoted and faithful; It never fails to reach ist destination, Nor flies beyond it. I send it forth a thousand times Daily to carry news, It flies past many a well-loved spot Straight to my darling's house. There it peeps in at the window, Espies her glance and step, Gaily delivers my greetings And collects hers. i I need write no more letters, I give it even my tears; It would surely riot misdeliver them, So zealously does it serve me. By Day, by night, when awake or dreaming, It is indifferent to all; As long as it can keep on journeying, It feels itself well recompensed! It never grows tired or jaded, Its course seems ever new to it, It needs no inducement, no reward, The bird is true to me! Therefore I keep it loyally, too, in my heart, Thus assured of the fairest prize; It is called Desire! Do you know it? The true heart's messenger? The Forest Sleeps The forest sleeps. A ray of sunlight flickers in the firmament. Day stands guard through the June night. Her merry laughter has just fallen silent, Already she is asleep. I sat down, mute, by her side. Love stands guard over its treasure, Love stands guard through the June night. The Tone Think, of the fight that only the night will see, The unaccustomed tone, for peace they beg. The heart, that is suffering as the days arise, The tone to you will make those sounds disappear. T H E U N I V E R S I T Y O F BRIT ISH C O L U M B I A S C H O O L O F M U S I C Recital Hal l Friday, September 22, 2006 8:00 p.m. MASTERS STUDENT RECITAL* Matthew Stephanson, Tenor with Marnie Hauschildt, piano The Fatal Hour Music for a While Comfort Y e (Recitative) Every Val ley (Aria) Henry Purcell (1659-1695) George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) Thy Rebuke Hath Broken His Heart (Recitative) Behold and See If There Be Any Sorrow (Aria) A Shropshire Lad' I. Lovliest of Trees II. When I was One-and-Twenty III. Look Not in M y Eyes IV. Think No More, Lad V . The Lads in Their Hundreds V I . Is M y Team Ploughing? George Butterworth (1885-1916) I N T E R M I S S I O N -Schwanengesang I. Liebesbotschaft II. Kriegers Ahnung IV. Standchen IX. Ihr B i l d XII . A m Meer X I V . Die Taubenpost Skogen sover Tonerna Franz Schubert (1797-1828) Hugo Al fven (1872-1960) Carl Leopold Sjoberg (1861-1900 * In partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Master of Music degree with a major in Voice. Henry Purcell (1659-1695) The Fatal Hour The fatal hour comes on a pace, Which I had rather die than see, For when fate calls you from this place, You go to certain misery. The thought does stab me to the heart, And gives me pangs no word can speak, It wracks me in each vital part, Sure when you go my heart will break. Since I for you so much endure, May I not hope you will believe xTis you alone these wounds can cure, Which are the fountains of my greif. Music for a While Music for a while, Shall all your cares beguile: Wondering how your pains were eas'd, And disdaining to be pleased, Till Alecto free the dead From their eternal bands, Till the snakes drop from her head And the whip from out her hands. Music for a while, Shall all your cares beguile. George Frideric Handel (1685-1759) Comfort Ye (recit.) Comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye comfortably to Jerusalem, And cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplish'd, That her iniquity is pardon'd. The voice of him that crieth in the wilderness, Prepare ye the way of the Lord, Make straight in the desert a highway for our God. Every Valley (aria) Every vally shall be exalted And every mountain and hill made low, The crooked straight, and the rough places plain. Thy Rebuke Hath Broken His Heart (recit.) Thy rebuke hath broken his heart; He is full of heaviness: He looked for some to have pity on him, But there was no man, Neither found he any to comfort him. Behold and See If There Be Any Sorrow (aria) Behold and see if there be any sorrow like unto his sorrow •A Shropshire Lad George Butterworth (1885-1916) Lovliest of Trees Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy springs a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the woodlands I will go to see the cherry hung with snow. When I was One-and-Twenty When I was one-and-twenty I heard a wise man say, "Give crowns and pounds and guineas But not your heart away; Give pearls away and rubies But keep your fancy free." But I was one-and-twenty, No use to talk to me. When I was one-and-twenty I heard him say again, "The heart out of the bosom Was never given in vain; 'Tis paid with sighs a plenty And sold for endless rue." And I am two-and-twenty, And oh, 'tis true, 'tis true. Look Not in My Eves Look not in my eyes, for fear They mirror true the sight I see, And there you find your face too clear And love it and be lost like me. One the long nights through must lie Spent in star-defeated sighs, But why should you as well as I Perish gaze not in my eyes. A Grecian lad, as I hear tell, One that many loved in vain, Looked into a forest well And never looked away again. There, when the turf in springtime flowers, With downward eye and gazes sad, Stands amid the glancing showers A jonquil, not a Grecian lad. Think No More. Lad Think no more lad; laugh, be jolly : Why should men make haste to die? Empty heads and tongues a talking Make the rough road easy walking, And the feather pate of folly Bears the falling sky. Oh, ^ tis jesting, dancing, drinking Spins the heavy world around. If young hearts were not so clever, Oh, they would be young for ever: Think no more; 'tis only thinking Lays Lads underground. Think no more, lad; Laugh, be jolly: Why should men make haste to die? Empty heads and tongues a talking Make the rough road easy walking, And the feather pate of folly Bears the falling sky. The Lads in Their Hundreds The lads in their hundreds to Ludlow come in for the fair, There's men from the barn and the forge and the mill and the fold, The lads for the girls and the lads for the liquor are there, And there with the rest are the lads that will never be old. There's chaps from the town and the field and the till and the cart, And many to count are the stalwart, and many the brave, And many the handsome of face and the handsome of heart, And few that will carry their looks or their truth to the grave. 'Is football playing Along the river shore, With lads to chase the leather, Now I stand up no more?' Ay, the ball is flying, The lads play heart and soul; The goal stands up, the keeper Stands up to keep the goal. 'Is my girl happy, That I thought hard to leave, And has she tired of weeping As she lies down at eve?' Ay, she lies down lightly, She lies not down to weep: Your girl is well contented. Be still, my lad, and sleep. 'Is my friend hearty, Now I ani thin and pine, And has he found to sleep in A better bed than mine?' Yes, lad, I lie easy, I lie as lads would choose; I cheer a dead man's sweetheart, Never ask me whose. I wish one could know them, I wish there were tokens to tell The fortunate fellows that now you can never discern; And then one could talk with them friendly and wish them farewell And watch them depart on the way that they will not return. But now you may stare as you like and there's nothing to scan; And brushing your elbow unguessed-at and not to be told They carry back bright to the coiner the mintage of man, The lads that will die in their glory and never be old. ***Intermission*** Is My Team Ploughing? 'Is my team ploughing, That I was used to drive And hear the harness jingle When I was man alive?' Ay, the horses trample, The harness jingles now; No change though you lie under The land you used to plough. Schwanengesang Franz Schubert (1797-1828) I. Liebesbotschaft Rauchendes Bachlein, so silbern und hell, Eilst zur Geliebten so munter und schnell? Ach, trautes Bachlein, mein Bote sei du; Bringe die Griisse des Femen ihr zu. All ihre Blumen im Garten gepflegt, Die sie so lieblich am Busen tragt, Und ihre Rosen in purpurner Glut, Bachlein erquikke mit kiihlender Flut. Wenn sie am Ufer, in Traume versenkt, Meiner gedenkend, das Kopfchen hangt, Troste die Siisse mit freundlichem Blick, Denn der Geliebte kehrt bald zuriick. Neigt sich die Sonne mit rotiichem Schein, Wiege das Liebchen in Schlummer ein. Rausche sie murmelnd in siisse Ruh, Flustre ihr traume der Liebe zu. II. Kriegers Ahnung In tiefer Ruh liegt um mich her Der Waffenbriider Kreis; Mir ist das Herz so bang und schwer, Von Sehnsucht mir so heiss. Wie hab ich oft so siiss getraumt An ihrem Busen warm! Wie freundlich schein des Herdes Glut, Lag sie in meinem Arm! Hier, wo der Flammen dustrer Schein Ach! nur auf Waff en spielt, Hier fuhlt die Brust sich ganz allein, Der Wehmut Trane quillt. Herz, dass der Trost dich nicht verlasst! Es ruft noch manche Schlacht. Bald ruh ich wohl und schlafe fest, Herzliebste, gute Nacht! IV. Standchen Leise flehen meine Lieder durch die Nacht zu dir; In den stillen Hain hernieder, Liebchen, komm zu mir! Flusternd schlanke Wipfel rauschen in des Mondes Licht; Des Verraters feindlich Lauschen fiirchte, Holde, nicht. I. Love's Message Murmuring brooklet, so silvery and bright, Are you hurying to my beloved, so gaily and swiftly? Ah, faithful brooklet, be my messenger; Carry to her the absent one's greetings. All the flowers that she tends in her garden, And wears so charmingly on her bosom, And her roses of glowing crimson, Brooklet, refresh them with your cooling stream. When on your bank, deep in reverie, And thinking of me, she lets fall her head, Comfort the sweet one with friendly glances, For her lover will soon come back to her. When the sun sinks with rosy gleam, Cradle the darling to sleep. Murmur her to sweet repose with your eddying, Whisper dreams of love to her, II. Warrior's Forboding In deep sleep lies around me The circle of my brothers-in-arms; My heart is so anxious and heavy, So passionate in longing. How often have I sweetly dreamed. Close to her warm bosom! How warmly gleamed the glowing hearth, As she lay in my arms! Here, where the fire's dimmer gleam Plays, alas! on weapons only, The heart feels utterly alone, And tears of sadness spring forth. Heart, let not comfort forsake you! Many a battle calls you yet. I shall soon rest and be fast asleep, My heart's dearest love, goodnight! IV. Serenade Sofdy through the night my songs implore you, Down into the still grove my beloved, come to me! Slender treetops rustie and whisper in the moonlight; Fear not, sweet one, the betrayer's malicious eavesdropping. Hbrst die Nachtigallen schlagen? Ach! sie flehen dich, Mit der Tone siissen Klagen flehen sie fur mich. Sie verstehn des Busens Sehnen, kennen Liebesschmerz. Riihren mit den Silbertdnen jedes weiche Herz. Lass auch dir die Brust bewegen, Liebchen, hore mich! Bebend harr ich dir entgegen! Komm, begliicke mich! LXIhrBild Ich stand in dunkeln Traumen Und starrt' ihr Bildnis an, Und das geliebte Antlitz • Heimlich zu leben begann. Um ihre Lippen zog sic Ein Lacheln wunderbar, Und wievon Wehmutstranen Erglanzte ihr Augenpaar. Auch meine Tranen flossen Mir von den Wangen herab Und ach! ich kann es night glauben, Dass ich dich verloren hab! XII. Am Meer Das Meer erglanzte weit hinaus Im letzten Abendscheine; Wir sassen am einsamen Fischerhaus, Wir sassen stumm und alleine. Der Nebel stieg, das Wasser schwoll, Die Move flog hin und wieder; Aus deinen Augen liebevoll Fielen die Tranen nieder. Ich sah sie fallen auf deine Hand Und bin aufs Knie gesunken; Ich hab von deiner weissen Hand Die Tranen fortgetrunken. Seit jener Stunde verzehrt sich mein Leib, Die Seele stirbt vor Sehnen; Mich hat das ungluckselge Weib Vergiftet mit ihren Tranen. Do you hear the nightingales calling? Ah! they implore you with the sweet music of their notes They implore you for me. They understand the bosom's yearning, they know the partgs of love, They can touch every tender heart; with their silvery tones. Let them move your heart also; beloved, hear me! Trembling, I wait for you! come, give me bliss! IX. Her Portrait I stand in sombre dreams Staring at her portrait, And that loved countenance Gently came to life. Her lips were clothed With a wonderous smile, And, as though with tears of sorrow Her two eyes shone. My tears, too, flowed Down from my cheeks And Ah! I cannot believe it, x That I have lost you! XII. By the Sea The sea shone far out into the distance In the last evening light; We sat by the fisherman's lonely house, We sat silent and alone. The mists rose, the waters swelled, The gukks flew here and there; From your eyes, full of love The tears were falling. I saw them fall into your hand And sank upon my knees; From your white hand I drank in the tears. Since that hour my body is consumed, My soul is dying of passion; That hapless woman has Poisoned me with her tears. XIV. Die Taubenpost XIV. The Pigeon Post Ich hab eine Brieftaub in meinem Sold, Die ist gar ergeben un treu; Sie nimmt mir nie das Ziel zu kurz, Und fliegt auch nie vorbei. Ich sende sie vieltausendmal Auf Kundschafrtaglich hinaus, Vorbei an manchem lieben Ort, Bis zu der Liebsten Haus. Dort schaut sie zum Fenster heimlich hinein, Belauscht ihren Blick und Schritt, Gibt meine Griisse scherzend ab Und nimmt die ihren mit. 1 Kein Briefchen brauch ich zu schreiben mehr, Die Trane selbst geb ich ihr; O, sie vertragt sie sicher nicht, Gar eifrig dient sie mir. Bei Tag, bei Nacht, im Wachen, im Traum, Ihr gilt das alles gleich; Wenn sie nur wandern, wandern kann, Dann ist sie uberreich! Sie wird nicht mud, sie wird nicht matt, Der Weg ist stets ihr neu, Sie braucht nicht Lockung, braucht night Lohn, Die Taub ist so mir treu! Drum heg ich sie auch so treu an der Brust, Versichert des schonsten Gewinns; Sie heisst die Sehnsucht! Kennt ihr sie? Die Botin treuen Sinns? y ( Skogen sover - Hugo Alven (1872-1960) Skogen sover. Strimmen pa fastet flamtar matt. Dagen vakar i juninatt. Tystnat har nyss hennes muntra skratt, redan hon sover. Till hennes sida jag stum mig satt. Karleken vakar over sin skatt, Karleken vakar i juni nart. Tonerna - Carl Leopold Sjoberg (1861-1900) Tanke, hvars strider blott natten ser, Toner, hos eder om hvila den ber. Hjarta, som lider af dagens gny, Toner till eder, Till er vill detfly. I have a carrier pigeon in my pay, It is so devoted and faithful; It never fails to reach ist destination, Nor flies beyond it. I send it forth a thousand times Daily to carry news, It flies past many a well-loved spot Straight to my darling's house. There it peeps in at the window, Espies her glance and step, Gaily delivers my greetings And collects hers. I need write no more letters, I give it even my tears; It would surely not misdeliver them, So zealously does it serve me. By Day, by night, when awake or dreaming, It is indifferent to all; As long as it can keep on journeying, It feels itself well recompensed! It never grows tired or jaded, Its course seems ever new to it, It needs no inducement, no reward, The bird is true to me! Therefore I keep it loyally, too, in my heart, Thus assured of the fairest prize; It is called Desire! Do you know it? The true heart's messenger? The Forest Sleeps The forest sleeps. A ray of sunlight flickers in the firmament. Day stands guard through the June night. Her merry laughter has just fallen silent, Already she is asleep. I sat down, mute, by her side. Love stands guard over its treasure, Love stands guard through the June night. The Tone Think, of the fight that only the night will see, The unaccustomed tone, for peace they beg. The heart, that is suffering as the days arise, The tone to you will make those sounds disappear. 

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