Yeonjae Cho '22 GD, Soprano

Alma grande e nobil core

Alma grande e nobil core
Le tue pari ognor disprezza.
Sono dama al fasto avvezza
E so farmi rispettar.
Va', favella, a quell'ingrato,
Gli dirai che fida io sono.
Ma non merita perdono,
Sì mi voglio vendicar,
Ingrato non merita perdono,
Sì mi voglio vendicar.

Giuseppe Palomba (1769-1825)

A great soul and noble heart

A great soul and noble heart
always spurns those like you.
I am a lady accustomed to splendor,
and I will be respected.
Go, and relate to that ingrate
that I am faithful.
But he does not deserve pardon,
and I will have my revenge.
The ingrate does not deserve pardon,
and I will have my revenge.

Translation from Italian to English copyright © 2018
by Andrew Schneider, reprinted with permission from
the LiederNet Archive, https://www.lieder.net/

Suleikas zweiter Gesang

Ach, um deine feuchten Schwingen,
West, wie sehr ich dich beneide:
Denn du kannst ihm Kunde bringen
Was ich in der Trennung leide!

Die Bewegung deiner Flügel
Weckt im Busen stilles Sehnen;
Blumen, Auen, Wald und Hügel
Stehn bei deinem Hauch in Tränen.

Doch dein mildes sanftes Wehen
Kühlt die wunden Augenlider;
Ach, für Leid müsst’ ich vergehen,
Hofft’ ich nicht zu sehn ihn wieder.

Eile denn zu meinem Lieben,
Spreche sanft zu seinem Herzen;
Doch vermeid’ ihn zu betrüben
Und verbirg ihm meine Schmerzen.

Sag ihm, aber sag’s bescheiden:
Seine Liebe sei mein Leben,
Freudiges Gefühl von beiden
Wird mir seine Nähe geben.

Marianne von Willemer (1784-1860)




Der Fluss

Wie rein Gesang sich windet
Durch wunderbarer Saitenspiele Rauschen,
Er selbst sich wieder findet,
Wie auch die Weisen tauschen,
Daß neu entzückt die Hörer ewig lauschen:

So fließet mir gediegen
Die Silbermasse, schlangengleich gewunden,
Durch Büsche, die sich wiegen
Von Zauber süß gebunden,
Weil sie im Spiegel neu sich selbst gefunden;

Wo Hügel sich so gerne
Und helle Wolken leise schwankend zeigen,
Wenn fern schon matte Sterne
Aus blauer Tiefe steigen,
Der Sonne trunkne Augen abwärts neigen.

So schimmern alle Wesen
Den Umriß nach im kindlichen Gemüthe,
Das zur Schönheit erlesen
Durch milder Götter Güte
In dem Krystall bewahrt die flücht'ge Blüthe.

Friedrich von Schlegel (1772-1829)



Auflösung

Verbirg dich, Sonne,
Denn die Gluten der Wonne
Versengen mein Gebein;
Verstummet, Töne,
Frühlings Schöne
Flüchte dich und lass mich allein!

Quillen doch aus allen Falten
Meiner Seele liebliche Gewalten,
Die mich umschlingen,
Himmlisch singen.
Geh unter, Welt, und störe
Nimmer die süssen, ätherischen Chöre.

Johann Mayrhofer (1787-1836)

Suleika II

Ah, West Wind, how I envy you
your moist wings;
for you can bring him word
of what I suffer separated from him.

The motion of your wings
awakens a silent longing within my breast.
Flowers, meadows, woods and hills
grow tearful at your breath.

But your mild, gentle breeze
cools my sore eyelids;
ah, I should die of grief
if I had no hope of seeing him again.

Hasten then to my beloved
speak softly to his heart –
but be careful not to distress him, 
and conceal my suffering from him.

Tell him, but tell him humbly,
that his love is my life,
and that his presence will bring me
a joyous sense of both.

Translation © Richard Wigmore, author of Schubert:
The Complete Song Texts, published by Schirmer Books, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)

The River

Like a pure song that winds itself
through the wonderful sound of strings playing,
finding itself again
as the tunes switch back and forth
so that the listeners are always newly delighted;

So the silvery bulk flows with dignity,
winding like a snake
through swaying bushes
sweetly and magically entranced
to find themselves mirrored;

Where hills and bright clouds
like to melt themselves into softly vibrating images
when the distant, faint stars
rise from the blue depths
and the sun lowers its intoxicated eyes.

So shine all creatures,
like silhouettes in the childlike mind,
which is selected for beauty
by the gentle goodness of the Gods,
and in which fleeting blossoms are preserved in
     crystal.

Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
from the LiederNet Archive -- https://www.lieder.net/

Dissolution

Hide yourself, sun,
for the fires of rapture
burn through my whole being.
Be silent, sounds;
spring beauty,
flee, and let me be alone!

From every recess of my soul
gentle powers well up
and envelop me
with celestial song.
Dissolve, world, and never more
disturb the sweet ethereal choirs.

Translation © Richard Wigmore, author of Schubert:
The Complete Song Texts, published by Schirmer
Books, provided courtesy of Oxford Lieder
(www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)

La coccinelle

Elle me dit: "Quelque chose
"Me tourmente." Et j'aperçus
Son cou de neige, et, dessus,
Un petit insecte rose.

J'aurais dû, - mais, sage ou fou,
A seize ans, on est farouche, -
Voir le baiser sur sa bouche
Plus que l'insecte à son cou.

On eût dit un coquillage;
Dos rose et taché de noir.
Les fauvettes pour nous voir
Se penchaient dans le feuillage.

Sa bouche fraîche était là;
Je me courbai sur la belle,
Et je pris la coccinelle;
Mais le baiser s'envola.

"Fils, apprends comme on me nomme,"
Dit l'insecte du ciel bleu,
"Les bêtes sont au bon Dieu;
"Mais la bêtise est à l'homme."

Victor Hugo (1802-1885)



Adieux de l'hôtesse arabe

Puisque rien ne t’arrête en cet heureux pays,
Ni l’ombre du palmier, ni le jaune maïs,
Ni le repos, ni l’abondance,
Ni de voir à ta voix battre le jeune sein

De nos sœurs, dont, les soirs, le tournoyant essaim
Couronne un coteau de sa danse,

Adieu, beau voyageur! Hélas adieu.
Oh! que n’es-tu de ceux
Qui donnent pour limite à leurs pieds paresseux
Leur toit de branches ou de toiles!
Que, rêveurs, sans en faire, écoutent les récits,
Et souhaitent, le soir, devant leur porte assis,
De s’en aller dans les étoiles!

Si tu l’avais voulu, peut-être une de nous,
O jeune homme, eût aimé te servir à genoux
Dans nos huttes toujours ouvertes;
Elle eût fait, en berçant ton sommeil de ses chants,
Pour chasser de ton front les moucherons méchants,
Un éventail de feuilles vertes.

Si tu ne reviens pas, songe un peu quelquefois
Aux filles du désert, sœurs à la douce voix,
Qui dansent pieds nus sur la dune;
O beau jeune homme blanc, bel oiseau passager,
Souviens-toi, car peut-être, ô rapide étranger,
Ton souvenir reste à plus d’une!
Hélas! Adieu! bel étranger! Souviens-toi!

Victor Hugo (1802-1885)



Ouvre ton cœur

La marguerite a fermé sa corolle,
L’ombre a fermé les yeux du jour.
Belle, me tiendras-tu parole?
Ouvre ton cœur à mon amour.

Ouvre ton cœur, ô jeune ange, à ma flamme,
Qu’un rêve charme ton sommeil.
Je veux reprendre mon âme,
Comme une fleur s’ouvre au soleil!

Louis Delâtre (1815-1893)

The ladybug

She told me: "Something
Is bothering me." And I noticed
Her snow-white neck, and, upon it,
A small reddish insect.

I should have - but wise or mad,
At sixteen, one is timid --
I should have noticed the kiss on her mouth
More than the insect on her neck.

It looked like a shell,
Its back red and spattered with black.
To see us better, warblers
Stretched out their necks in the branches.

Her sweet mouth was there;
I bent over the beautiful girl,
And I removed the ladybug,
But the kiss flew away!

"Son, learn what they call me,"
The insect said from the blue sky,
"Animals belong to the Good Lord,
But Idiocy belongs to Man."

Translation copyright © by Emily Ezust,
from the LiederNet Archive --
https://www.lieder.net/

Farewell of the Arabian hostess

Since nothing can keep you in this happy land,
neither shade-giving palm nor yellow corn,
nor repose, nor abundance,
nor the sight of our sisters’ young breasts
   trembling
at your voice as, in a whirling swarm at evening,
they garland a hillside with their dance,

Farewell, fair traveller! Ah!
Why are you not like those
whose indolent feet venture no further
than their roofs of branch or canvas!
Who, musing, listen passively to tales
and dream at evening, sitting before their door,
of wandering among the stars!

Had you so wished, perhaps one of us,
O young man, would fain have served you, kneeling,
in our ever-open huts;
lulling you asleep with songs, she would have made,
to chase the noisome midges from your brow,
a fan of green leaves.

If you do not return, dream at times
of the daughters of the desert, sweet-voiced sisters,
who dance barefoot on the dunes;
O handsome young white man, fair bird of passage,
remember – for perhaps, O fleeting stranger,
more than one maiden will remember you!
Alas! Farewell, fair stranger! Remember!

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of A French Song
Companion (Oxford University Press); provided via
Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)

Open your heart

The daisy has closed its petals,
darkness has closed the eyes of day,
will you, fair one, be true to your word?
Open your heart to my love.

Open your heart to my ardour, young angel,
that a dream may charm your sleep –
I wish to recover my soul,
as a flower unfolds to the sun!

Translation © Richard Stokes, author of A French Song Companion (Oxford University Press); provided via Oxford Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)