Recital: Lily Chien '21 BM, Soprano

An Chloë

Wenn die Lieb’ aus deinen blauen,
Hellen, offnen Augen sieht,
Und vor Lust, hineinzuschauen,
Mir’s im Herzen klopft und glüht;

Und ich halte dich und küsse
Deine Rosenwangen warm,
Liebes Mädchen, und ich schließe
Zitternd dich in meinem Arm,

Mädchen, Mädchen, und ich drücke
Dich an meinen Busen fest,
Der im letzten Augenblicke
Sterbend nur dich von sich läßt;

Den berauschten Blick umschattet
Eine düst’re Wolke mir;
Und ich sitze dann ermattet,
Aber selig neben dir.

Johann Jacobi

To Chloë

When love looks out of your blue,
Bright and open eyes,
And the joy of gazing into them
Causes my heart to throb and glow;

And I hold you and kiss
Your rosy cheeks warm,
Sweet girl and clasp
You trembling in my arms,

Sweet girl, sweet girl, and press
You firmly to my breast,
Where until my dying moment
I shall hold you tight –

My ecstatic gaze is blurred
By a sombre cloud;
And I sit then exhausted, 
But blissful, by your side.

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.uk

Das Veilchen

Ein Veilchen auf der Wiese stand,
Gebückt in sich und unbekannt;
Es war ein herzigs Veilchen.
Da kam ein’ junge Schäferin
Mit leichtem Schritt und muntrem Sinn
Daher, daher,
Die Wiese her, und sang.

Ach! denkt das Veilchen, wär ich nur
Die schönste Blume der Natur,
Ach, nur ein kleines Weilchen,
Bis mich das Liebchen abgepflückt
Und an dem Busen matt gedrückt!
Ach nur, ach nur
Ein Viertelstündchen lang!

Ach! aber ach! das Mädchen kam
Und nicht in Acht das Veilchen nahm,
Ertrat das arme Veilchen.
Es sank und starb und freut’ sich noch:
Und sterb’ ich denn, so sterb’ ich doch
Durch sie, durch sie,
Zu ihren Füßen doch.
Das arme Veilchen
Es war ein herzigs Veilchen!

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The Violet

A violet was growing in the meadow,
Unnoticed and with bowed head;
It was a dear sweet violet.
Along came a young shepherdess,
Light of step and happy of heart,
Along, along
Through the meadow, and sang.

Ah! thinks the violet, if I were only
The loveliest flower in all Nature,
Ah! for only a little while,
Till my darling had picked me
And crushed me against her bosom!
Ah only, ah only
For a single quarter hour!

But alas, alas, the girl drew near
And took no heed of the violet,
Trampled the poor violet.
It sank and died, yet still rejoiced:
And if I die, at least I die
Through her, through her
And at her feet.
The poor violet!
It was a dear sweet violet!

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.uk

Als Luise die Briefe ihres ungetreuen     
     Liebhabers verbrannte

Erzeugt von heißer Phantasie,
In einer schwärmerischen Stunde
Zur Welt gebrachte! – geht zu Grunde!
Ihr Kinder der Melancholie!

Ihr danket Flammen euer Sein:
Ich geb’ euch nun den Flammen wieder,
Und all’ die schwärmerischen Lieder;
Denn ach! er sang nicht mir allein.

Ihr brennet nun, und bald, ihr Lieben,
Ist keine Spur von euch mehr hier:
Doch ach! der Mann, der euch geschrieben,
Brennt lange noch vielleicht in mir.

Gabriele von Baumberg

When Louisa burnt her unfaithful lover's           
     letters

Begotten by ardent fantasy,
Born in
an emotional moment! Perish,
Ye children of melancholy!

You owe your existence to flames,
To flames I now return you
And all those passionate songs;
For ah! he did not sing for me alone.

Now you are burning, and soon, my dears,
Not a trace of you will remain:
But ah! the man who wrote you 
May smoulder long yet in my heart.

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.uk

Abendempfindung

Abend ist’s, die Sonne ist verschwunden,
Und der Mond strahlt Silberglanz;
So entflieh’n des Lebens schönste Stunden,
Flieh’n vorüber wie im Tanz!

Bald entflieht des Lebens bunte Szene,
Und der Vorhang rollt herab.
Aus ist unser Spiel! Des Freundes Träne 
Fließet schon auf unser Grab.

Bald vielleicht mir weht, wie Westwind leise,
Eine stille Ahnung zu –
Schließ’ ich dieses Lebens Pilgerreise,
Fliege in das Land der Ruh’.

Werdet ihr dann an meinem Grabe weinen,
Trauernd meine Asche seh’n,
Dann, o Freunde, will ich euch erscheinen
Und will Himmel auf euch weh’n.

Schenk’ auch du ein Tränchen mir
Und pflücke mir ein Veilchen auf mein Grab;
Und mit deinem seelenvollen Blicke
Sieh’ dann sanft auf mich herab.

Weih mir eine Träne, und ach!
Schäme dich nur nicht, sie mir zu weih’n,
Oh, sie wird in meinem Diademe
Dann die schönste Perle sein.

Joachim Heinrich Campe

Evening Thoughts

It is evening, the sun has vanished,
And the moon sheds its silver light;
So life’s sweetest hours speed by,
Flit by as in a dance!

Soon life’s bright pageant will be over,
And the curtain will fall.
Our play is ended! Tears wept by a friend 
Flow already on our grave. 

Soon perhaps, like a gentle zephyr,
A silent presentiment will reach me,
And I shall end this earthly pilgrimage,
Fly to the land of rest.

If you then weep by my grave
And gaze mourning on my ashes,
Then, dear friends, I shall appear to you
Bringing a breath of heaven.

May you too shed a tear for me
And pluck a violet for my grave;
And let your compassionate gaze
Look tenderly down on me.

Consecrate a tear to me and ah!
Be not ashamed to do so;
In my diadem it shall become
The fairest pearl of all.

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of The Book of Lieder, published by Faber, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder, www.oxfordlieder.co.uk

Aurore

Des jardins de la nuit s'envolent les étoiles,
Abeilles d'or qu'attire un invisible miel,
Et l'aube, au loin tendant la candeur de ses toiles,
Trame de fils d'argent le manteau bleu du ciel.

Du jardin de mon coeur qu'un rêve lent enivre
S'envolent mes désirs sur les pas du matin,
Comme un essaim léger qu'à l'horizon de cuivre,
Appelle un chant plaintif, éternel et lointain.

Ils volent à tes pieds, astres chassés des nues,
Exilés du ciel d'or où fleurit ta beauté
Et, cherchant jusqu'à toi des routes inconnues,
Mêlent au jour naissant leur mourante clarté.

Armand Silvestre

Dawn

The stars fly away from the gardens of night
like golden bees attracted by invisible honey;
and dawn in the distance, stretching her clear canvas,
weaves with silver threads the blue cloak of the sky.

My desires fly off at morning's approach
out of the dream-drunk garden of my heart
like a wafting swarm summoned to the red-tinged horizon
by a chant that is plaintive, eternal and far.

They fly to your feet, stars expelled from on high,
exiled from the golden sky in which your beauty blossoms;
and, seeking uncharted roads to travel to where you are,
they mingle their dying light with the awakening day.

Translation copyright © by Peter Low. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive https://www.lieder.net/

En prière

Si la voix d'un enfant peut monter jusqu'à Vous,
Ô mon Père,
Écoutez de Jésus, devant Vous à genoux, 
La prière!
Si Vous m'avez choisi pour enseigner vos lois
Sur la terre,
Je saurai Vous servir, auguste Roi des rois,
Ô Lumière!
Sur mes lèvres, Seigneur, mettez la vérité
Salutaire,
Pour que celui qui doute, avec humilité
Vous révère!
Ne m'abandonnez pas, donnez-moi la douceur
Nécessaire,
Pour apaiser les maux, soulager la douleur,
La misère!
Révèlez Vous à moi, Seigneur en qui je crois
Et j'espère:
Pour Vous je veux souffrir et mourir sur la croix,
Au calvaire!

Stéphan Bordèse

In prayer

If the voice of a child can reach You,
O my Father, 
Listen to the prayer of Jesus, on his knees
before You! 
If You have chosen me to teach your laws
on earth,
I will know how to serve You, noble King of kings,
O Light!
On my lips, Lord, place the salutary
truth,
In order that he who doubts should with humility
revere You!
Do not abandon me, give me
the necessary gentleness,
To ease suffering, to relieve sorrow,
the misery!
Reveal Yourself to me, Lord, in whom I believe
and hope:
For You I wish to suffer and to die on the cross,
at Calvary!

Translation copyright © by David K. Smythe. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive - https://www.lieder.net/

La fée aux chansons

Il était une fée
D’herbe folle coiffée,
Qui courait les buissons,
Sans s’y laisser surprendre,
En avril, pour apprendre
Aux oiseaux leurs chansons.

Lorsque geais et linottes
Faisaient des fausses notes
En récitant leurs chants
La fée, avec constance,
Gourmandait d’importance
Ces élèves méchants.

Sa petite main nue,
D’un brin d’herbe menue
Cueilli dans les halliers,
Pour stimuler leurs zèles,
Fouettait sur leurs ailes 
Ces mauvais écoliers.

Par un matin d’automne,
Elle vient et s’étonne,
De voir les bois déserts:
Avec les hirondelles
Ses amis infidèles
Avaient fui dans les airs.

Et tout l’hiver la fée,
D’herbe morte coiffée,
Et comptant les instants
Sous les forêts immenses,
Compose des romances
Pour le prochain printemps!

Armand Silvestre

The song fairy

There was a fairy
Crowned with rank weeds
Who ran through the bushes
Without being caught,
In April, to teach
The birds their songs.

When jays and linnets
Sang wrong notes
As they recited their songs,
The fairy, tirelessly,
Sternly rebuked
Those naughty pupils.

Her little bare hand,
With a tiny blade of grass
Plucked from the thickets,
To stimulate their zeal
Would whip the wings
Of those bad scholars.

One autumn morning
She comes and is amazed
To find the woods deserted.
With the swallows,
Her unfaithful friends
Had flown away on the wind.

And all winter long, the fairy,
Crowned with dead grass
And counting time
In the vast forests
Composes songs
For the coming spring!

Translation © Richard Stokes, from A French Song Companion (Oxford, 2000) provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder-www.oxfordlieder.co.uk

Nell

Ta rose de pourpre à ton clair soleil,
Ô Juin, étincelle enivrée,
Penche aussi vers moi ta coupe dorée
Mon cœur à ta rose est pareil.

Sous le mol abri de la feuille ombreuse
Monte un soupir de volupté
Plus d'un ramier chante au bois écarté.
Ô mon cœur, sa plainte amoureuse.

Que ta perle est douce au ciel parfumé
Étoile de la nuit pensive!
Mais combien plus douce est la clarté vive
Qui rayonne en mon coeur, en mon cœur charmé!

La chantante mer, le long du rivage,
Taira son murmure éternel,
Avant qu'en mon cœur, chère amour.
Ô Nell, ne fleurisse plus ton image!

Charles-Marie-René Leconte de Lisle

Nell

Under your bright sun, oh summer,
your red, red rose sparkles ecstatically.
Lean over me too with your golden cup -
my heart resembles your rose.

Under the shady, sheltering leaves
there rises a sigh of delight.
In the grove there are doves cooing,
singing their love-songs (oh my heart!).

How sweet in the flame-red sky is the pearl,
the star of pensive night!
But how much sweeter is the vivid glow
that shines in my enchanted heart!

The singing sea all along its shores
will end its eternal murmuring
before your image, oh Nell my love,
ceases to bloom in my heart.

Translation copyright © by Peter Low. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive - https://www.lieder.net/

L’abbandono

Solitario zeffiretto,
a che movi i tuoi sospiri?
Il sospiro a me sol lice,
ché, dolente ed infelice,
chiamo Dafne che non ode
l'insoffribil mio martir.

Langue invan la mammoletta
e la rosa e il gelsomino;
lunge son da lui che adoro,
non conosco alcun ristoro
se non viene a consolarmi
col bel guardo cilestrino.

Ape industre, che vagando
sempre vai di fior in fiore,
ascolta, ascolta.

Se lo scorgi ov'ei dimora,
di' che rieda a chi l'adora,
come riedi tu nel seno
delle rose al primo albor.

Anonymous

The abandonment

Lonely breeze
why do you sigh?
Sighs are meant for me alone
for, grieving and unhappy,
I call on Daphnis who does not hear
my unbearable torment.

The sweet-smelling violet,
the rose and the jasmine languish in vain;
I am far from him whom I adore,
and I have no relief
unless he comes and console me
with his beautiful blue gaze.

Industrious bee, who always flit
from flower to flower,
listen, listen:

If you find him where he is,
tell him to come back to the one who adores him,
as you come back to the bosom of the roses
at the first light of dawn.

Translation © by Paolo Montanari. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive - https://www.lieder.net/

A palpitar d’affanno

A palpitar d’affanno,
A sospirar son nata!
Né la mia stella ingrata
Sente di me pietà!

Cedo a un dover tiranno,
Al fato m’abbandono,
Ma desolata io sono,
Ma pace il cor non ha!

Del mio dolor spietato
Più rio dolor non v’ha.

Forse l’estremo danno
Sovrasta a tante pene,
Ma tu, mio caro bene,
Non hai di me pietà.

Anonymous

To tremble in anguish

To tremble in anguish,
to sigh am I born!
Nor does my thankless star
feel pity for me!

I bow to tyrannous duty,
I abandon myself to fate,
but I am desolate, 
but my heart has no peace!

My ruthless suffering
could not be more cruel than this.

Perhaps death
will resolve so many woes,
but you, my dear beloved,
have no pity for me.

Anonymous translator

Vaga luna, che inargenti

Vaga luna, che inargenti
queste rive e questi fiori
ed inspiri agli elementi
il linguaggio dell'amor;
testimonio or sei tu sola
del mio fervido desir,
ed a lei che m'innamora
conta i palpiti e i sospir.

Dille pur che lontananza
il mio duol non può lenir,
che se nutro una speranza,
ella è sol nell'avvenir.
Dille pur che giorno e sera
conto l'ore del dolor,
che una speme lusinghiera
mi conforta nell’amor.

Anonymous

Lovely moon, you who shed silver light

Lovely moon, you who shed silver light
On these shores and on these flowers
And breathe the language
Of love to the elements,
You are now the sole witness
Of my ardent longing,
And can recount my throbs and sighs
To her who fills me with love.

Tell her too that distance
Cannot assuage my grief,
That if I cherish a hope,
It is only for the future.
Tell her that, day and night,
I count the hours of sorrow,
That a flattering hope
Comforts me in my love.

Translation © by Antonio Giuliano. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive - https://www.lieder.net/

Amor y odio

Pensé que yo sabría
ocultar la pena mía
que por estar en lo profundo
no alcanzara a ver el mundo:
este amor callado
que un majo malvado 
en mi alma encendió.

Y no fue así
porque él vislumbró
el pesar oculto en mí.
Pero fue en vano
que vislumbrara
pues el villano
no mostrose ajeno
de que le amara.

Y esta es la pena
que sufro ahora:
sentir mi alma
llena de amor
por quien me olvida,
sin que una luz
alentadora
surja en las sombras
de mi vida.

Fernando Periquet

Love and hate

I thought I could
conceal my sorrow
So that it might be so deep
As to be imperceptible to the world:
This secret love
that a roguish man 
Enkindled in my soul.

And it wasn't
because he glimpsed
The grief hidden within me.
But it was in vain
that he glimpsed it
And did not
separate himself
From that which he loved.

And this is the punishment
I now suffer:
To feel my soul
filled with love
For one who
has forgotten me,
Without an encouraging light
To pierce the shadows
Of my life.

Translation © by Michael P. Rosewall. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive - https://www.lieder.net/

El majo discreto

Dicen que mi majo es feo.
Es posible que sí que lo sea,
que amor es deseo
que ciega y marea.
Ha tiempo que sé
que quien ama no ve.

Mas si no es mi majo un hombre
que por lindo descuelle y asombre,
en cambio es discreto
y guarda un secreto
que yo posé en él 
sabiendo que es fiel.

¿Cuál es el secreto
que el majo guardó?
Sería indiscreto
contarlo yo.
No poco trabajo costara saber
secretos de un majo con una mujer.
Nació en Lavapiés.
¡Eh, ¡eh! ¡Es
un majo, un majo es!

Fernando Periquet

The discreet lover

Some say that my beloved is homely.
It is possible that he may be,
For love is desire
Which blinds and dizzies.
For long have I known
That loving is not seeing.

But if my beloved is not a man
Whose beauty turns heads and astonishes,
Then he is discreet
And the keeper of a secret
That I entrusted to him 
Knowing that he is true.

What could this secret be
That my beloved is safeguarding?
It would be indiscreet
For me to reveal it.
It is no small feat to learn
The secrets between a man and a woman.
He was born in Lavapiés.
Uh-huh!
He is handsome, handsome is he!

Translation © by Pamela Narbona Jerez. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive - https://www.lieder.net/

Insomnio

Silencio nocturnal, guiños de estrella.
Mueca de luna llena de ironía.
El espíritu alerta con la huellas que le dejará
su melancolía.

Serenata de amor en lontananza.
Alma precoz, ruborizada y fría.
Y el insomnio tenaz como una lanza,
que martiriza la existencia mía.

Y surge la canción de lo profundo,
del alma desolada y sin consuelo
que anhela libertarse de este mundo
y remontarse en el azul del cielo. 

Manuel M. Ponce

Insomnia

Nocturnal silence, star winks.
Moon grin full of irony.
The spirit is alerted by the footprints
left by its melancholy.

Serenade of love in the distance.
Precocious soul, blushing and cold.
And insomnia tenacious as a spear,
That torments my existence.

And the song arises from the depth,
Of the desolate soul with no consolation,
Who longs to free himself from this world
And soar into the blue of the sky. 

Translated by Lily Chien

Estrellita

Estrellita del lejano cielo,
Que miras mi dolor,
Que sabes mi sufrir.
Baja y dime si me quiere un poco,
Porque yo no puedo sin su amor vivir.

¡Tu eres, estrella, mi faro de amor!
Tu sabes que pronto he de morir.
Baja y dime si me quiere un poco,
Porque yo no puedo sin su amor vivir. 

Manuel M. Ponce

Little star

Little star of the distant sky,
You see my pain,
You know my anguish.
Come down and tell me if he loves me a little,
Because I cannot live without his love.

You are, star, my beacon of love!
You know that soon I shall die.
Come down and tell me if he loves me a little,
Because I cannot live without his love. 

Anonymous translator