Recital: Colleen Ernandes '21 BM, Mezzo-Soprano

L’allegro marinaro

Allor che azzurro il mar
sereno specchia il ciel,
al tuo navil fedel
ritorna, o marinar.
Tentiamo del piacer
su l'onde la canzon,
sfidiamo il flutto e il tuon
contenti avventurier.

Spera, spera, o marinar:
la speranza è il nostro ben.
Ognun speri di tornar
de' suoi fidi ancora al sen.
Cinge il futuro un manto:
sol Dio saper potrà
chi fia che rivedrà
l'antica madre in pianto.

Allor che in ciel vedrem
il nembo imperversar,
convien coraggio oprar:
da forti griderem.
Oggi concenti e suon
la sorte ci serbò;
doman mandar ci può
forse procelle e tuon.

Ma tornar vedrem sul mar,
pien di gioia, ancor quel sol
che alla pace ridonar
ci dovrà del patrio suol.
Allor senza periglio
la madre ascolterà
quella che a lei dirà
storia di pianto il figlio.

Anonymous

The Happy Mariner

As soon as the blue sea
brightly mirrors the sky,
to your trusty ship
return, o seaman.
Let's try out a happy
song on the waves;
let's defy the waves and thunder
as happy adventurers.

Hope, o mariner:
Hope is our treasure.
Let everyone hope to return
again to the bosom of his faithful ones.
The future is surrounded by a cloak:
Only God can know
who it may be who will again see
his old mother, weeping.

As soon as we shall see in the sky
the rain clouds raging,
we must work with courage.
Loudly we will cry out: "Courage!"
For today, songs and music
are what fate has dealt us;
tomorrow it can send us,
perhaps, storms and thunder.

But we shall see, returning on the sea,
full of joy, again that sunlight
that must return us
to the peace of our native land.
Then, out of danger,
a mother will listen to
that which will tell her
the tearful story of her son.

Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © 2004 by John Glenn Paton. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive

Il fervido desiderio

Quando verrà quel dì
che riveder potrò 
quel che l'amante cor tanto desia?

Quando verrà quel dì
che in sen t'accoglierò,
bella fiamma d'amor, anima mia?

Anonymous

The Fervent Wish

When will that day come
when I may see again 
that which the loving heart so desires?

When will that day come
when I welcome you to my bosom,
beautiful flame of love, my own soul?

Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © 2004 by Camilla Bugge. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive.

Dolente immagine di Fille mia

Dolente immagine di Fille mia,
perché sì squallida mi siedi accanto?
Che più desideri? Dirotto pianto
io sul tuo cenere versai finor.

Temi che immemore de' sacri giuri
io possa accendermi ad altra face?
Ombra di Fillide, riposa in pace;
è inestinguibile l'antico ardor.

Anonymous

Sorrowful Image of my Phyllis

Sorrowful image of my Phillis,
why do you sit so desolate beside me?
What more do you wish for? Streams of tears
have I poured on your ashes.

Do you fear that, forgetful of sacred vows,
I might burn by another flame?
Shade of Phillis, rest peacefully;
the old flame [of love] cannot be extinguished.

Translation from Italian (Italiano) to English copyright © 2004 by Camilla Bugge. Reprinted with permission from the LiederNet Archive.

En sourdine

Calmes dans le demi-jour
Que les branches hautes font,
Pénétrons bien notre amour
De ce silence profond.

Fondons nos âmes, nos cœurs
Et nos sens extasiés,
Parmi les vagues langueurs
Des pins et des arbousiers.

Ferme tes yeux à demi,
Croise tes bras sur ton sein,
Et de ton cœur endormi 
Chasse à jamais tout dessein.

Laissons-nous persuader
Au souffle berceur et doux
Qui vient à tes pieds rider
Les ondes des gazons roux.

Et quand, solennel, le soir
Des chênes noirs tombera,
Voix de notre désespoir,
Le rossignol chantera.

Paul Verlaine

Muted

Calm in the twilight
Cast by lofty boughs,
Let us steep our love
In this deep quiet.

Let us blend our souls, our hearts
And our enraptured senses
With the hazy languor
Of arbutus and pine.

Half-close your eyes,
Fold your arms across your breast,
And from your heart now lulled to rest 
Banish forever all intent.

Let us both succumb
To the gentle and lulling breeze
That comes to ruffle at your feet
The waves of russet grass.

And when, solemnly, evening
Falls from the black oaks,
That voice of our despair,
The nightingale shall sing

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

Fantoches

Scaramouche et Pulcinella
Qu’un mauvais dessein rassembla
Gesticulent, noirs sous la lune.

Cependant l’excellent docteur
Bolonais cueille avec lenteur
Des simples parmi l’herbe brune.

Lors sa fille, piquant minois,
Sous la charmille, en tapinois,
Se glisse, demi-nue, en quête

De son beau pirate espagnol,
Dont un amoureux rossignol
Clame la détresse à tue-tête.

Paul Verlaine

Puppets

Scaramouche and Pulcinella
Drawn together by some evil scheme,
Gesticulate, black beneath the moon.

Meanwhile the excellent doctor
From Bologna is leisurely picking
Medicinal herbs in the brown grass.

Then his daughter, pertly pretty,
Beneath the arbour, stealthily,
Glides, half-naked, in quest

Of her handsome Spanish pirate,
Whose grief a lovelorn nightingale
Proclaims as loudly as he can. 

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

Clair de lune

Votre âme est un paysage choisi
Que vont charmant masques et bergamasques
Jouant du luth et dansant et quasi
Tristes sous leurs déguisements fantasques.

Tout en chantant sur le mode mineur
L’amour vainqueur et la vie opportune,
Ils n’ont pas l’air de croire à leur bonheur
Et leur chanson se mêle au clair de lune,

Au calme clair de lune triste et beau,
Qui fait rêver les oiseaux dans les arbres
Et sangloter d’extase les jets d’eau,
Les grands jets d’eau sveltes parmi les marbres.

Paul Verlaine

Moonlight

Your soul is a chosen landscape
bewitched by masquers and bergamaskers,
playing the lute and dancing and almost
sad beneath their fanciful disguises.

Singing as they go in a minor key
of conquering love and life’s favours,
they do not seem to believe in their fortune
and their song mingles with the light of the moon,

The calm light of the moon, sad and fair,
that sets the birds dreaming in the trees
and the fountains sobbing in their rapture,
tall and svelte amid marble statues.

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

Erwartung

Aus dem meergrünen Teiche
neben der roten Villa
unter der toten Eiche
scheint der Mond.

Wo ihr dunkles Abbild
durch das Wasser greift,
steht ein Mann und streift
einen Ring von seiner Hand.

Drei Opale blinken;
durch die bleichen Steine
schwimmen rot und grüne
funken und versinken.

Und er küßt sie, und
seine Augen leuchten
wie der meergrüne Grund:
ein Fenster tut sich auf.

Aus der roten Villa
neben der toten Eiche
winkt ihm eine bleiche
Frauenhand.

Richard Dehmel

Expectation

From the sea-green pond
near the red villa
beneath the dead oak
the moon is shining.

Where [its] dark image
gleams through the water,
a man stands, and draws
a ring from his hand.

Three opals glimmer;
among the pale stones
float red and green sparks
and sink.

And he kisses [it],
and his eyes gleam
like the sea-green depths:
a window opens.

From the red villa
near the dead oak,
a woman’s pale hand
waves to him. 

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

Schenk mir deinen goldenen Kamm

Schenk mir deinen goldenen Kamm;
Jeder Morgen soll dich mahnen,
Daß du mir die Haare küßtest.
Schenk mir deinen seidenen Schwamm;
Jeden Abend will ich ahnen,
Wem du dich im Bade rüstest,
O Maria!

Schenk mir Alles, was du hast;
Meine Seele ist nicht eitel,
Stolz empfang ich deinen Segen.
Schenk mir deine schwerste Last:
Willst du nicht auf meinen Scheitel
Auch dein Herz, dein Herz noch legen,
Magdalena?

Richard Dehmel

Give me your Golden Comb

Give me your golden comb;
every morning shall remind you
that you kissed my hair.
Give me your silken sponge;
every evening I want to sense
for whom you prepared yourself in the bath -
oh, Maria!

Give me everything you have;
my soul is not vain,
proudly I receive your blessing.
Give me your heavy burden:
will you not lay on my head
your heart too, your heart -
Magdalena? 

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

Erhebung

Gib mir deine Hand,
Nur den Finger,
dann Seh ich diesen
ganzen Erdkreis Als
mein Eigen an!

O, wie blüht mein Land!
Sieh dir's doch nur an.
Daß es mit uns
über di Wolken
In die Sonne kann!

Richard Dehmel

Exaltation

Give me your hand,
only a finger, then
I shall see this
whole round earth
as my own!

Oh, how my country blossoms!
Just look at me,
that I may go with you
above the clouds 
into the sun!

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

Waldsonne

In die braunen, rauschenden Nächte
Flittert ein Licht herein, 
Grüngolden ein Schein. 

Blumen blinken auf und Gräser
Und die singenden, springenden Waldwässerlein,
Und Erinnerungen.

Die längst verklungenen:
Golden erwachen sie wieder,
All deine fröhlichen Lieder.

Und ich sehe deine goldenen Haare glänzen,
Und ich sehe deine goldenen Augen glänzen
Aus den grünen, raunenden Nächten.

Und mir ist, ich läge neben dir auf dem Rasen
Und hörte dich wieder auf der glitzeblanken Syrinx
In die blauen Himmelslüfte blasen.

In die braunen, wühlenden Nächte
Flittert ein Licht,
Ein goldener Schein.

Johannes Schlaf

Forest Sun

Into the brown rustling nights
There flutters a light, 
A green-golden gleam.

Glinting flowers gaze up
And the singing, leaping forest brooklets,
And memories.

The long silent ones:
Golden, they awaken again,
All your joyous songs.

And I see your golden hair glitter,
And I see your golden eyes gleam
Out of the green murmuring nights.

And I feel as though I were lying on the lawn by your side
And heard you once more blow on your brightly glinting pipes
Into the blue air of heaven.

Into the brown, turbulent nights
There flutters a light,
A golden gleam.

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