The Penguin Book of English Song Page 12

  Hesperides has proved to be one of the richest sources for English Song in our literature, and contains some of the most polished and elegant verse in the language. Swinburne, who called Herrick ‘the greatest song-writer ever born of English race’, was also aware of the poet’s limited range and wrote, naughtily but with some perception:

  The sturdy student who tackles his Herrick as a schoolboy is expected to tackle his Horace, in a spirit of pertinacious and stolid straightforwardness, will probably find himself before long so nauseated by the incessant inhalation of spices and flowers, condiments and kisses that if a musk-rat ran over the page it could hardly be less endurable to the physical than it is to the spiritual stomach.

  HENRY LAWES1

  The elder brother of William Lawes, Henry was the most important songwriter of the mid-seventeenth century. He wrote over 400 songs, of which 38 are settings of Carew, 16 of Waller and 14 of Herrick. He also set celebrated poems by Suckling and Lovelace, and not only composed the songs for Milton’s Arcades but also arranged for Milton to write Comus, premiered at Ludlow Castle on 29 September 1634. All the above poets, in early editions of their works, proudly stated that Lawes had set their poems, and several of them wrote poems about the composer, praising the way in which he never allowed the music to submerge the poem. ‘But you alone may truly boast/That not a Syllable is lost […]’ wrote Waller in ‘To Mr. Henry Lawes’; while Milton’s sonnet ‘To Mr. H. Lawes, on his Aires’ makes it clear that music’s function is not to get in the way: ‘Harry, whose tuneful and well-measur’d Song/First taught our English Musick how to span/Words with just note and accent […]’. Herrick, in his poem on Henry Lawes, see below, cites the lute virtuoso Jacques Gaultier and the celebrated singer Laniere. From 1653 to 1658 Lawes published three books of Ayres and Dialogues, in the first of which he condemned his fellow composers’ predilection for foreign music and poetry.

  Among the Mirtles, as I walkt

  [Loves sweet repose: Amidst the myrtles as I walk] (1648)

  Among the Mirtles, as I walkt,

  Love and my sighs thus intertalkt:

  Tell me, said I, in deep distresse,

  Where I may find my Shepardesse.

  Thou foole, said Love, know’st thou not this?

  In every thing that’s sweet, she is.

  In yond’ Carnation goe and seek,

  There thou shalt find her lip and cheek:

  In that ennamel’d Pansie by,

  There thou shalt have her curious eye:

  In bloome of Peach, and Roses bud,

  There waves the Streamer of her blood.

  ’Tis true, said I, and thereupon

  I went to pluck them one by one,

  To make of parts an union;

  But on a sudden all were gone.

  At which I stopt; Said Love, these be

  The true resemblances of thee;

  For as these flowers, thy joyes must die,

  And in the turning of an eye;

  And all thy hopes of her must wither,

  Like those short sweets ere knit together.

  WILLIAM LAWES1

  To the Virgins, to make much of Time

  [Gather ye Rose-buds while ye may] (1648)

  Gather ye Rose-buds while ye may,

  Old Time is still a flying:

  And this same flower that smiles today,

  Tomorrow will be dying.

  The glorious Lamp of Heaven, the Sun,

  The higher he’s a getting;

  The sooner will his Race be run,

  And neerer he’s to Setting.

  That Age is best, which is the first,

  When Youth and Blood are warmer;

  But being spent, the worse, and worst

  Times, still succeed the former.

  Then be not coy, but use your time;

  And while ye may, goe marry:

  For having lost but once your prime,

  You may for ever tarry.

  (Dring)

  JOHN L. HATTON1

  To Anthea, who may command him any thing

  [To Anthea] (1850)

  Bid me to live, and I will live

  Thy Protestant2 to be:

  Or bid me love, and I will give

  A loving heart to thee.

  A heart as soft, a heart as kind,

  A heart as sound and free,

  As in the whole world thou canst find,

  That heart Ile give to thee.

  Bid that heart stay, and it will stay,

  To honour thy Decree:

  Or bid it languish quite away,

  And’t shall doe so for thee.

  Bid me to weep, and I will weep,

  While I have eyes to see:

  And having none, yet I will keep

  A heart to weep for thee.

  Bid me despaire, and Ile despaire,

  Under that Cypresse tree:

  Or bid me die, and I will dare

  E’en Death, to die for thee.

  Thou art my life, my love, my heart,

  The very eyes of me:

  And hast command of every part,

  To live and die for thee.

  ROGER QUILTER: To Julia, Op. 8, also with instrumental ensemble (1905/1906)

  The bracelet to Julia

  [The bracelet]

  Why I tye about thy wrist,

  Julia, this my silken twist;

  For what other reason is’t,

  But to shew thee how in part,

  Thou my pretty Captive art?

  But thy Bondslave is my heart:

  ’Tis but silke that bindeth thee,

  Knap the thread, and thou art free:

  But ’tis otherwise with me;

  I am bound, and fast bound so,

  That from thee I cannot go,

  If I co’d, I wo’d not so.

  The maiden-blush

  [The maiden blush]

  So look the mornings when the Sun

  Paints them with fresh Vermilion:

  So Cherries blush, and Kathern Peares1,

  And Apricocks, in youthfull yeares:

  So Corrols looke more lovely Red,

  And Rubies lately polishèd:

  So purest Diaper doth shine,

  Stain’d by the beames of Clarret wine:

  As Julia looks when she doth dress

  Her either cheeke with bashfulness.

  To Daisies, not to shut so soone

  [To daisies]

  Shut not so soon; the dull-ey’d night

  Ha’s not as yet begunne

  To make a seisure1 on the light,

  Or to seale up the Sun.

  No Marigolds yet closèd are;

  No shadowes great appeare;

  Nor doth the early Shepheard’s Starre2

  Shine like a spangle here.

  Stay but till my Julia close

  Her life-begetting eye;

  And let the whole world then dispose

  It selfe to live or dye.

  The Night-piece, to Julia

  [The night piece]

  Her Eyes the Glow-worme lend thee,

  The Shooting Starres attend thee;

  And the Elves also,

  Whose little eyes glow,

  Like the sparks of fire, befriend thee.

  No Will-o’th’-Wispe mis-light thee;

  Nor Snake, or Slow-worme bite thee:

  But on, on thy way

  Not making a stay,

  Since Ghost ther’s none to affright thee.

  Let not the darke thee cumber;

  What though the Moon do’s slumber?

  The Starres of the night

  Will lend thee their light,

  Like Tapers cleare without number.

  Then Julia let me wooe thee,

  Thus, thus to come unto me:

  And when I shall meet

  Thy silv’ry feet,

  My soule Ile poure into thee.

  Upon Julia’s haire fill’d with Dew

  [Julia’s hair]


  Dew sate on Julia’s haire,

  And spangled too,

  Like Leaves that laden are

  With trembling Dew:

  Or glitter’d to my sight,

  As when the Beames

  Have their reflected light,

  Daunc’t by the Streames.

  Cherrie-Ripe1

  [Cherry Ripe]

  Cherrie-Ripe, Ripe, Ripe, I cry,

  Full and faire ones; come and buy:

  If so be, you ask me where

  They do grow? I answer, There,

  Where my Julia’s lips doe smile;

  There’s the Land, or Cherry-Ile:

  Whose plantations fully show

  All the yeere, where Cherries grow.

  (Horn)

  FREDERICK DELIUS: from Four Old English Lyrics (1919)1

  To daffadills

  [To daffodils] (1915)

  Faire daffadills, we weep to see

  You haste away so soone;

  As yet the early-rising Sun

  Has not attain’d his Noone.

  Stay, stay

  Untill the hasting day

  Has run

  But to the Even-song;

  And, having pray’d together, we

  Will go with you along.

  We have short time to stay, as you,

  We have as short a Spring;

  As quick a growth to meet Decay,

  As you, or anything.

  We die

  As your hours doe, and drie

  Away

  Like to the Summer’s raine;

  Or as the pearles of Mornings dew,

  Ne’r to be found againe.

  (Bax, Britten, Dring, Herbert, Rawsthorne, Vaughan Williams)

  PAUL HINDEMITH: from Nine English Songs (1942–4)

  To Musique, to becalme his Fever

  [To music, to becalm his fever]

  Charm me asleep, and melt me so

  With thy Delicious Numbers;

  That being ravisht, hence I goe

  Away in easie slumbers.

  Ease my sick head,

  And make my bed,

  Thou Power that canst sever

  From me this ill:

  And quickly still:

  Though thou not kill

  My Fever.

  Thou sweetly canst convert the same

  From a consuming fire,

  Into a gently-licking flame,

  And make it thus expire.

  Then make me weep

  My paines asleep;

  And give me such reposes,

  That I, poore I,

  May think, thereby,

  I live and die

  ’Mongst Roses.

  Fall on me like a silent dew,

  Or like those Maiden showrs,

  Which, by the peepe of day, doe strew

  A Baptime1 o’re the flowers.

  Melt, melt my paines,

  With thy soft straines;

  That having ease me given,

  With full delight,

  I leave this light;

  And take my flight

  For Heaven.

  BENJAMIN BRITTEN: from Spring Symphony, Op. 44, for soprano, alto and tenor solos, chorus, boys’ choir and orchestra (1949/1949)

  To Violets

  Welcome, Maids of Honour,

  You doe bring

  In the Spring;

  And wait upon her.

  She has Virgins many,

  Fresh and faire;

  Yet you are

  More sweet then any.

  Y’are the Maiden Posies,

  And so grac’t,

  To be plac’d

  ’Fore Damask Roses.

  Yet though thus respected,

  By and by

  Ye doe lie,

  Poore Girles, neglected.

  BENJAMIN BRITTEN: from Five Flower Songs, Op. 47, for unaccompanied chorus (1950)

  The succession of the foure sweet months

  [The succession of the four sweet months]

  First, April, she with mellow showrs

  Opens the way for early flowers;

  Then after her comes smiling May,

  In a more rich and sweet array;

  Next enters June, and brings us more

  Jems, then those two, that went before:

  Then (lastly) July comes, and she

  More wealth brings in, then all those three.

  NED ROREM: from Flight for Heaven (1950/1952)

  Upon Julia’s clothes

  When as in silks my Julia goes,

  Then, then (me thinks) how sweetly flowes

  That liquefaction of her clothes.

  Next, when I cast1 mine eyes and see

  That brave Vibration each way free;

  O how that glittering taketh me!

  MADELEINE DRING: from Dedications (1967)

  To the Willow-tree

  Thou art to all lost love the best,

  The onely true plant found,

  Wherewith young men and maids distrest,

  And left of love, are crown’d.

  When once the Lovers Rose is dead,

  Or laid aside forlorne;

  Then Willow-garlands, ’bout the head,

  Bedew’d with tears, are worne.

  When with Neglect, (the Lover’s bane)

  Poore Maids rewarded be,

  For their love lost; their onely gaine

  Is but a Wreathe from thee.

  And underneath thy cooling shade,

  (When weary of the light)

  The love-spent Youth, and love-sick Maid,

  Come to weep out the night.

  To Musick, to becalme a sweet-sick-youth

  [To music, to becalm a sweet sick youth]

  Charms, that call down the moon from out her sphere,

  On this sick youth work your enchantments here:

  Bind up his senses with your numbers, so,

  As to entrance his paine, or cure his woe.

  Fall gently, gently, and a while him keep

  Lost in the civil Wildernesse of sleep:

  That done, then let him, dispossest of paine,

  Like to a slumbring Bride, awake againe.

  FRANCIS QUARLES

  (1592–1644)

  Some poets, if debarr’d profaness, wantoness and Satiricalness, (that they may neither abuse God, themselves, nor their neighbours) have their tongues cut out in effect. Others onely trade in wit at the second hand, being all for translations, nothing for invention. Our Quarles was free from the faults of the first, as if he has drank of his Jordan in stead of Helicon, and slept on mount Olivet for his Parnassus, and was happy in his own invention. His visible Poetry (I mean his Emblemes) is excellent, catching therein the eye and fancy at one draught […].

  THOMAS FULLER: The History of the Worthies of England (1662)

  Born near Romford in Essex, the son of a surveyor-general of victualling for the Navy, Quarles was educated at Christ’s College, Cambridge, before entering Lincoln’s Inn. A strong supporter of the Royalist cause, he found favour at court, and was part of the Princess Elizabeth’s entourage when she travelled to Germany for her marriage to the Elector Palatine. When the Parliamentary party came to power, his star waned, his property was sequestered and his manuscripts were destroyed. He was appointed chronologer to the City of London in 1639. On his death, his wife and nine children lived on in extreme poverty. Although he made a name for himself with a series of biblical paraphrases, A Feast for Worms (1620), he is now mostly remembered for Emblemes (1635), Hieroglyphicks of the Life of Man (1638) and Enchiridion (1640), a collection of moral aphorisms. Eclogues (1646) and The Virgin Widow (1649) were published posthumously. In the Preface to his Emblemes, he attempts a definition of the genre:

  An Embleme is but a silent Parable. Let not the tender Eye check, to see the allusion to our blessed Saviour figured in these Types. In holy Scripture, He is sometimes called a Sower; sometimes a Fisher; sometimes a Physician. And why not presented so as well to the
eye as to the eare? Before the knowledge of letters God was known by Hieroglyphicks: And, indeed, what are the Heavens, the Earth, nay every Creature, but Hieroglyphicks and Emblemes of His Glory? I have no more to say. I wish thee as much pleasure in the reading, as I had in writing. Farewell, Reader.

  HENRY PURCELL

  On our Saviour’s Passion

  [The earth trembled] (1688)1

  The earth did tremble; and heav’n’s closed eye

  Was loth to see the Lord of Glory dye:

  The Skyes were clad in mourning, and the Spheares

  Forgat their harmony; the Clouds dropt teares:

  Th’ambitious Dead arose to give him roome;

  And ev’ry Grave did gape to be his Tombe;

  Th’affrighted heav’ns sent down elegious2 Thunder;

  The World’s Foundation loos’d, to lose their Founder;