Canticles, Rivers and Horns: A Homage to Britten

Program and Notes

• Britten: Canticle I: My beloved is mine and I am his op 40

  Written in 1947, the lyrics are from "A Divine Rapture" by Francis Quarles, based on the Song of Solomon in the Old Testament.

• Schubert: Ganymed D.544

  In the glow of the morning, how You are heating things up around me, Spring, beloved! With a thousand-fold loving bliss, Pressing onto my heart is Your eternal warmth’s Sacred feeling, Endless beauty! If only I could get hold of you In these arms! Oh, on your breast I am lying and languishing, And your flowers, your grass Are pushing themselves towards my heart. You cool the burning Thirst of my breast, Lovely morning wind! The nightingales are calling down Lovingly towards me out of the misty valley. I am coming, I am coming! Where to? Oh, where to? Up! There is a striving up. The clouds are floating Down, the clouds Are bending down to this yearning love. To me! To me! Into your lap, Upwards! Embracing embraced! Upwards to your breast, All-loving father! Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe. English translation by Malcolm Wren by permission from schubertsong.uk

• Britten: Canticle III: Still falls the rain (The raids, 1940. Night and Dawn) op 55

  Written in 1954 in memory of Australian pianist Noel Mewton-Wood. The text is based on the 1941 Edith Sitwell poem of the same title.

• Schubert: Du bist die Ruh D. 776

  You are rest, Gentle peace, You are longing And what quenches it. I dedicate to you, Full of pleasure and pain, A dwelling place here in My eyes and heart. Take up your home with me And close the gates Quietly behind you, Close the gates. Drive other pain Out of this breast. May this heart be full Of your delight. My field of vision Takes in your radiance And is lit by that alone, Oh fill it completely. Text by Friedrich Rückert. English translation by Malcolm Wren by permission from schubertsong.uk

• Schubert: Auf dem Wasser zu singen D. 774

  In the middle of the shimmer of the mirroring waves The rocking boat is gliding like swans; Oh, on the gently shimmering waves of joy The soul is gliding along like the boat; Because coming down from the sky onto the waves The sunset is dancing around the boat. Over the treetops of the woods in the west The reddish glow is beckoning to us in a friendly way; Under the branches of the woods in the east The Acorus plants are rustling in the reddish glow; The joy of heaven and the calm of the woods – The soul is breathing these in in the reddening glow. Oh, with its dewy wings it is vanishing, Time is vanishing for me on these rocking waves; With shimmering wings it is going to vanish tomorrow Again, time will vanish like yesterday and today, Until I, on higher, beaming wings, Myself vanish into changing time. Text by Friedrich Leopold Graf zu Stolberg-Stolberg. English translation by Malcolm Wren by permission from schubertsong.uk

• Britten: From Winter Words op 52: The Choirmaster’s Burial

  Also known as "The Tenor Man's Story", this is the fifth song in the 1953 song cycle which sets poems by Thomas Hardy.

• Schubert: Auf dem Strom D. 943

  Take my last farewell kisses, And these greetings as I wave, Sending them off to the riverbank Before your feet turn around as you depart! Already the waves of the river Are rapidly carrying the boat off, Yet my gaze, darkened with tears, Keeps being pulled back by longing. And thus, the waves carry me Forwards at an unwanted speed. Alas, the meadow has already disappeared Where I met her with such happiness. You have gone forever, days of bliss! My lament echoes, empty of hope, Around the beautiful homeland Where I found her love. Look at how the shore flies past And how I am pulled across, I am drawn by nameless attachments, I want to land there by that cottage, I want to stay there in the foliage; Yet the river’s waves hurry, taking me Further, without pause or rest, Leading me on to the ocean. Alas, before this dark wasteland, Far from that bright coast, Where no island can be seen, Oh, how I shudder as I am gripped with horror. Tears of melancholy cannot be brought gently here, No songs can reach me from the riverbank; Only the cold storm blows in Across the grey, pitching sea. Since the yearning roving of my eyes No longer grasps the shore, I shall now gaze at the stars Up in the sacred distance. Alas, it was as they were gently shining That I first named her as mine; There, perhaps, oh comforting happiness! There is where I shall encounter her gaze. Text by Ludwig Rellstab. English translation by Malcolm Wren by permission from schubertsong.uk