Recital: Yuwen Sun '22 MM, Mezzo-Soprano

Crude furie degl’ orridi abissi

Crude furie degl’orridi abissi
aspergetemi d’atro veleno

Crolli il mondo, e ‘l sole s’eclissi
a quest’ira che spira il mio seno!

Nicolo Minata, revised by Silvio Stampiglia

Rise ye Furies from baleful abysses

Rise ye Furies from baleful abysses
Come bespatter me with your foul venom!

Heav’n is blackened, by fiercesome eclipses
Which proceed from the wrath in my bosom.

Translation by Nicholas Hytner

Seit ich ihn gesehen

Seit ich ihn gesehen,
Glaub ich blind zu sein;
Wo ich hin nur blicke,
Seh ich ihn allein;

Wie im wachen Traume
Schwebt sein Bild mir vor,
Taucht aus tiefstem Dunkel,
Heller nur empor.

Sonst ist licht- und farblos
Alles um mich her,
Nach der Schwestern Spiele
Nicht begehr ich mehr,

Möchte lieber weinen,
Still im Kämmerlein;
Seit ich ihn gesehen,
Glaub ich blind zu sein.


Er, der Herrlichste von allen

Er, der Herrlichste von allen,
Wie so milde, wie so gut!
Holde Lippen, klares Auge,
Heller Sinn und fester Mut.

So wie dort in blauer Tiefe,
Hell und herrlich, jener Stern,
Also er an meinem Himmel,
Hell und herrlich, hehr und fern.

Wandle, wandle deine Bahnen;
Nur betrachten deinen Schein,
Nur in Demut ihn betrachten,
Selig nur und traurig sein!

Höre nicht mein stilles Beten,
Deinem Glücke nur geweiht;
Darfst mich niedre Magd nicht kennen,
Hoher Stern der Herrlichkeit!

Nur die Würdigste von allen
Darf beglücken deine Wahl,
Und ich will die Hohe segnen,
Viele tausendmal.

Will mich freuen dann und weinen,
Selig, selig bin ich dann;
Sollte mir das Herz auch brechen,
Brich, o Herz, was liegt daran?


Ich kann’s nicht fassen, nicht glauben

Ich kann’s nicht fassen, nicht glauben,
Es hat ein Traum mich berückt;
Wie hätt er doch unter allen
Mich Arme erhöht und beglückt?

Mir war’s, er habe gesprochen:
„Ich bin auf ewig dein“—
Mir war’s—ich träume noch immer,
Es kann ja nimmer so sein.

O lass im Traume mich sterben,
Gewieget an seiner Brust,
Den seligen Tod mich schlürfen
In Tränen unendlicher Lust.


Du Ring an meinem Finger

Du Ring an meinem Finger,
Mein goldenes Ringelein,
Ich drücke dich fromm an die Lippen,
Dich fromm an das Herze mein.

Ich hatt ihn ausgeträumet,
Der Kindheit friedlich schönen Traum,
Ich fand allein mich, verloren
Im öden, unendlichen Raum.

Du Ring an meinem Finger
Da hast du mich erst belehrt,
Hast meinem Blick erschlossen
Des Lebens unendlichen, tiefen Wert.

Ich will ihm dienen, ihm leben,
Ihm angehören ganz,
Hin selber mich geben und finden
Verklärt mich in seinem Glanz.

Du Ring an meinem Finger,
Mein goldenes Ringelein,
Ich drücke dich fromm an die Lippen,
Dich fromm an das Herze mein.

Since first seeing him

Since first seeing him,
I think I am blind,
Wherever I look,
Him only I see;

As in a waking dream
His image hovers before me,
Rising out of deepest darkness
Ever more brightly.

All else is dark and pale
Around me,
My sisters’ games
I no more long to share,

I would rather weep
Quietly in my room;
Since first seeing him, 
I think I am blind.


He, the most wonderful of all

He, the most wonderful of all,
How gentle and loving he is!
Sweet lips, bright eyes,
A clear mind and firm resolve.

Just as there in the deep-blue distance
That star gleams bright and brilliant,
So does he shine in my sky,
Bright and brilliant, distant and sublime.

Wander, wander on your way,
Just to gaze on your radiance,
Just to gaze on in humility,
To be but blissful and sad!

Do not heed my silent prayer,
Uttered for your happiness alone,
You shall never know me, lowly as I am,
You noble star of splendour!

Only the worthiest woman of all
May your choice elate,
And I shall bless that exalted one
Many thousands of times.

Then shall I rejoice and weep,
Blissful, blissful shall I be,
Even if my heart should break,
Break, O heart, what does it matter?


I cannot grasp it, believe it

I cannot grasp it, believe it,
A dream has beguiled me;
How, from all women, could he
Have exalted and favored poor me?

He said, I thought,
‘I am yours forever’,
I was, I thought, still dreaming,
After all, it can never be.

O let me, dreaming, die,
Cradled on his breast;
Let me savour blissful death
In tears of endless joy.


You ring on my finger

You ring on my finger,
My golden little ring,
I press you devoutly to my lips,
To my heart.

I had finished dreaming
Childhood’s peaceful dream,
I found myself alone, forlorn
In boundless desolation.

You ring on my finger,
You first taught me,
Opened my eyes
To life’s deep eternal worth.

I shall serve him, live for him,
Belong to him wholly,
Yield to him and find
Myself transfigured in his light.

You ring on my finger,
My golden little ring,
I press you devoutly to my lips,
To my heart.

Le manoir de Rosemonde

De sa dent soudaine et vorace,
Comme un chien l'Amour m'a mordu;
En suivant mon sang répandu,
Va, tu pourras suivre ma trace.

Prends un cheval de bonne race,
Pars et suis mon chemin ardu,
Fondrière ou sentier perdu,
Si la course ne te harasse.

En passant par où j'ai passé,
Tu verras que, seul et blessé,
J'ai parcouru ce triste monde,

Et qu'ainsi je m'en fus mourir
Bien loin, bien loin, sans découvrir
Le bleu manoir de Rosemonde.

Robert de Bonnière


Chanson triste

Dans ton cœur dort un clair de lune,
Un doux clair de lune d’été,
Et pour fuir la vie importune,
Je me noierai dans ta clarté.

J’oublierai les douleurs passées,
Mon amour, quand tu berceras
Mon triste cœur et mes pensées
Dans le calme aimant de tes bras.

Tu prendras ma tête malade,
Oh! quelquefois sur tes genoux,
Et lui diras une ballade
Qui semblera parler de nous;

Et dans tes yeux pleins de tristesses,
Dans tes yeux alors je boirai
Tant de baisers et de tendresses
Que peut-être je guérirai.

Jean Lahor

The manor of Rosamond

With sudden and ravenous tooth,
Love like a dog has bitten me.
By following the blood I've shed -
Come, you'll be able to follow my trail.

Take a horse of fine breeding,
Set out, and follow my arduous course
By quagmire or by hidden path,
If the chase does not weary you.

Passing by where I have passed,
You will see that, solitary and wounded,
I have traversed this sorry world,

And that thus I went off to die
Far, far away, without ever finding
The blue manor of Rosamonde.




Song of sadness

Moonlight slumbers in your heart,
A gentle summer moonlight,
And to escape the cares of life
I shall drown myself in your light.

I shall forget past sorrows,
My sweet, when you cradle
My sad heart and my thoughts
In the loving calm of your arms.

Ah! sometimes on your lap,
And recite to it a ballad
That will seem to speak of us;

And from your eyes full of sorrow,
From your eyes I shall then drink
So many kisses and so much love
That perhaps I shall be healed.

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

Anzoleta avanti la regata

Là su la machina xe la bandiera varda,
la vedistu, vala a ciapar.
Co quela tornime in qua sta sera,
o pur a sconderte ti pol andar.
In pope, Momolo, no te incantar.
Va, voga d’anema la gondoleta
nè el primo premio te pol mancar,
va là, recordite la to Anzoleta
che da sto pergolo te sta a vardar.
In pope, Momolo, no te incantar,
ori a svolar.


Anzoleta co passa la regata

I xe qua, vardeli,
povereti i ghe da drento,
ah contrario tira el vento,
i gha l’acqua in so favor.
El mio Momolo dov’elo?
Ah lo vedo, el xe secondo.
Ah! che smania! mi confondo,
a tremar me sento el cuor.
Su coragio, voga,
prima d’esser al paleto
se ti voghi, ghe scometo,
tutti indrio ti lassarà.
Caro, par che ei svola,
el li magna tutti quanti,
meza barca l’è andà avanti,
ah capisso, el m’a vardà.


Anzoleta dopo la regata

Ciapa un baso, un altro ancora,
caro Momolo, de cuor;
qua destrachite che xe ora de sugarte sto sudor.
Ah t’ho visto co passando
su mi l’ocio ti a butà
e godito respitrando:
un bel premio el ciaparà…
Sì un bel premio in sta bandiera
che xe rossa de color;
gha parlà Venezia intiera,
la t’a dito vincitor.
Ciapa un baso, benedeto a vogar nissun te pol,
de casada de tragheto ti xe el megio barcarol.

Count Carlo Pepoli

Angelina before the regatta

Over there on the machina the flag is flying,
Look, you can see it, now go for it.
Bring it back to me this evening,
Or else run away and hide.
Once in the boat, Momolo, don’t gawp.
Row the gondola with heart and soul,
Then you cannot help but be first.
Go on, think of your Angelina
Watching you from this balcony.
Once in the boat, Momolo, don’t gawp,
fly like the wind.


Angelina during the regatta

Here they come, look at them,
The poor things, they’re nearly done in,
Ah, the wind is against them,
But the tide’s in their favour.
My Momolo, where is he?
Ah, I see him, in second place.
Ah! the excitement’s too much for me,
I can feel my heart racing.
Come on, keep it up, row, row,
You must be first to the finish,
If you keep rowing, I’ll lay a bet
You’ll leave all the others behind.
Dear boy, it’s as if he’s flying,
And he’s beating the lot of them,
He’s gone half a length ahead,
Ah! Now I understand – he’s seen me.


Angelina after the regatta

Take a kiss, another,
dear Momolo, from my heart;
here at your right hand is it time to dry your sweat.
Ah I have seen you in passing
by throwing my glance toward you
and enjoyed whispering:
he will catch a beautiful prize…
Yes this flag is a nice prize,
it is red;
of which all of Venice will talk,
you are called the winner.
Take a kiss, no rower is more blessed than you,
yours is the best name among rowers of ferryboats.

Anonymous translation, provided courtesy of Oxford
Lieder (www.oxfordlieder.co.uk)