布里顿《男高音、圆号、弦乐小夜曲》诗作

Serenade for tenor, horn and strings Song Cycle by Benjamin Britten 1. Pastoral by Charles Cotton (1630-1687) Set by by Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) , op. 31 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. ------------------------------------------------------- 2. Nocturne by Lord Alfred Tennyson (1809-1892) , "Blow, Bugle, blow" Set by by Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) , op. 31 The splendour falls on castle walls And snowy summits old in story: The long [light]1 shakes across the lakes, And the wild cataract leaps in glory: Blow, bugle, blow, set the wild echoes flying, [Blow, bugle;]2 answer, echoes, 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: [Blow, bugle;]2 answer, echoes, 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, [And]2 answer, echoes, dying, dying, dying.]3 1 Britten: "night" 2 Britten: "Bugle, blow" 3 not set by Delius. ------------------------------------------------------- 3. Elegy by William Blake (1757-1827) Set by by Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) , op. 31 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. ------------------------------------------------------- 4. Dirge by Anonymous/Unidentified Artist , 15th century. Set by by Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) , op. 31 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. ------------------------------------------------------- 5. Hymn by Ben Jonson (1572-1637) Set by by Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) , op. 31 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. ------------------------------------------------------- 6. Sonnet by John Keats (1795-1821) Set by by Benjamin Britten (1913-1976) , op. 31 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.