The lotos eaters (Charles Hubert Hastings Parry): Difference between revisions

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==Music files==
==Music files==
{{Legend}}
{{#Legend:}}
 
*{{PostedDate|2009-05-03}} {{CPDLno|16383}} [http://imslp.org/wiki/The_Lotos-Eaters_%28Parry%2C_Charles_Hubert_Hastings%29 {{net}}]
*{{NewWork|2009-05-03}} '''CPDL #16383:''' [http://imslp.org/wiki/The_Lotos-Eaters_%28Parry%2C_Charles_Hubert_Hastings%29 {{net}}]
{{Contributor|Jim Cooke|2009-05-03}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|56|9950}}{{Copy|Public Domain}}
{{Editor|IMSLP|2009-05-03|edtype=Contributor}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|56|9950}}{{Copy|Public Domain}}
:'''Edition notes:'''
:'''Edition notes:'''  


==General Information==
==General Information==
'''Title:''' ''The Lotus Eaters'' <br>
{{Title|''The Lotus Eaters''}}
{{Composer|Charles Hubert Hastings Parry}}
{{Composer|Charles Hubert Hastings Parry}}
{{Lyricist|Alfred Tennyson}}
{{Lyricist|Alfred Tennyson}}


{{Voicing|4|SATB}}<br>
{{Voicing|4|SATB}}<br>
{{Genre|Sacred|Anthems}}
{{Genre|Secular|Anthems}}
{{Language|English}}
{{Language|English}}
'''Instruments:''' {{PnoAcc}}<br>
{{Instruments|Piano}}
'''Published:''' 1892 by Novello Ewer and Company, Ltd.
{{Pub|1|1892 by Novello Ewer and Company, Ltd.}}


'''Description:'''  
'''Description:'''


'''External websites:'''  
'''External websites:'''


==Original text and translations==
==Original text and translations==
{{Text|English}}
{{Text|English|
<poem>
There is sweet music here that softer falls
There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Line 50: Line 48:
Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?
Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?


Lo! in the middle of the wood,  
Lo! in the middle of the wood,
The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud
The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud
With winds upon the branch, and there
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green and broad, and takes no care,
Grows green and broad, and takes no care,
Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon
Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow  
Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow
Falls, and floats adown the air.
Falls, and floats adown the air.
Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light,
Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light,
The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,
The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,
Drops in a silent autumn night.
Drops in a silent autumn night.
All its allotted length of days,  
All its allotted length of days,
The flower ripens in its place,
The flower ripens in its place,
Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,
Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,
Line 66: Line 64:


Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea.  
Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labour be?
Should life all labour be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?  
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past.
Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?  
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence; ripen, fall and cease:
In silence; ripen, fall and cease:
Line 82: Line 80:


How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,
How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,
With half-shut eyes ever to seem  
With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half-dream!
Falling asleep in a half-dream!
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light,
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light,
Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;
Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;
To hear each other's whisper'd speech;
To hear each other's whisper'd speech;
Eating the Lotos day by day,  
Eating the Lotos day by day,
To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,
To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,
And tender curving lines of creamy spray;
And tender curving lines of creamy spray;
To lend our hearts and spirits wholly
To lend our hearts and spirits wholly
To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;
To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;
To muse and brood and live again in memory,  
To muse and brood and live again in memory,
With those old faces of our infancy
With those old faces of our infancy
Heap'd over with a mound of grass,
Heap'd over with a mound of grass,
Line 98: Line 96:


Dear is the memory of our wedded lives,
Dear is the memory of our wedded lives,
And dear the last embraces of our wives  
And dear the last embraces of our wives
And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change;
And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change;
For surely now our household hearts are cold:
For surely now our household hearts are cold:
Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange:
Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange:
And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy.
And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy.
Or else the island princes over-bold  
Or else the island princes over-bold
Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings
Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings
Before them of the ten years' war in Troy,
Before them of the ten years' war in Troy,
And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things.
And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things.
Is there confusion in the little isle?
Is there confusion in the little isle?
Let what is broken so remain.  
Let what is broken so remain.
The Gods are hard to reconcile:
The Gods are hard to reconcile:
'Tis hard to settle order once again.
'Tis hard to settle order once again.
There is confusion worse than death,
There is confusion worse than death,
Trouble on trouble, pain on pain,
Trouble on trouble, pain on pain,
Long labour unto aged breath,  
Long labour unto aged breath,
Sore task to hearts worn out with many wars
Sore task to hearts worn out with many wars
And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars.
And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars.
Line 119: Line 117:
But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly,
But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly,
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly)
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly)
With half-dropt eyelids still,  
With half-dropt eyelids still,
Beneath a heaven dark and holy,
Beneath a heaven dark and holy,
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly
His waters from the purple hill—
His waters from the purple hill—
To hear the dewy echoes calling
To hear the dewy echoes calling
From cave to cave thro' the thick-twinèd vine—  
From cave to cave thro' the thick-twinèd vine—
To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling
To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling
Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine!
Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine!
Line 158: Line 156:
Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;
Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;
O rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.
O rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.}}
</poem>


{{DEFAULTSORT:Lotus Eaters, The (Charles Hubert Hastings Parry)}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Lotus Eaters, The (Charles Hubert Hastings Parry)}}
[[Category:Sheet music]]
[[Category:Sheet music]]
[[Category:Early 20th century music]]
[[Category:Early 20th century music]]
[[Category:Music facsimiles]]

Revision as of 15:28, 24 November 2020

Music files

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Contributor: Jim Cooke (submitted 2009-05-03).  Score information: A4, 56 pages, 9.72 MB   Copyright: Public Domain
Edition notes:

General Information

Title: The Lotus Eaters
Composer: Charles Hubert Hastings Parry
Lyricist: Alfred Tennyson

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB

Genre: SecularAnthem

Language: English
Instruments: Piano

First published: 1892 by Novello Ewer and Company, Ltd.

Description:

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

There is sweet music here that softer falls
Than petals from blown roses on the grass,
Or night-dews on still waters between walls
Of shadowy granite, in a gleaming pass;
Music that gentlier on the spirit lies,
Than tir'd eyelids upon tir'd eyes;
Music that brings sweet sleep down from the blissful skies.
Here are cool mosses deep,
And thro' the moss the ivies creep,
And in the stream the long-leaved flowers weep,
And from the craggy ledge the poppy hangs in sleep.

Why are we weigh'd upon with heaviness,
And utterly consum'd with sharp distress,
While all things else have rest from weariness?
All things have rest: why should we toil alone,
We only toil, who are the first of things,
And make perpetual moan,
Still from one sorrow to another thrown:
Nor never fold our wings,
And cease from wanderings,
Nor steep our brows in slumber's holy balm;
Nor harken what the inner spirit sings,
"There is no joy but calm!"
Why should we only toil, the roof and crown of things?

Lo! in the middle of the wood,
The folded leaf is woo'd from out the bud
With winds upon the branch, and there
Grows green and broad, and takes no care,
Sun-steep'd at noon, and in the moon
Nightly dew-fed; and turning yellow
Falls, and floats adown the air.
Lo! sweeten'd with the summer light,
The full-juiced apple, waxing over-mellow,
Drops in a silent autumn night.
All its allotted length of days,
The flower ripens in its place,
Ripens and fades, and falls, and hath no toil,
Fast-rooted in the fruitful soil.

Hateful is the dark-blue sky,
Vaulted o'er the dark-blue sea.
Death is the end of life; ah, why
Should life all labour be?
Let us alone. Time driveth onward fast,
And in a little while our lips are dumb.
Let us alone. What is it that will last?
All things are taken from us, and become
Portions and parcels of the dreadful Past.
Let us alone. What pleasure can we have
To war with evil? Is there any peace
In ever climbing up the climbing wave?
All things have rest, and ripen toward the grave
In silence; ripen, fall and cease:
Give us long rest or death, dark death, or dreamful ease.

How sweet it were, hearing the downward stream,
With half-shut eyes ever to seem
Falling asleep in a half-dream!
To dream and dream, like yonder amber light,
Which will not leave the myrrh-bush on the height;
To hear each other's whisper'd speech;
Eating the Lotos day by day,
To watch the crisping ripples on the beach,
And tender curving lines of creamy spray;
To lend our hearts and spirits wholly
To the influence of mild-minded melancholy;
To muse and brood and live again in memory,
With those old faces of our infancy
Heap'd over with a mound of grass,
Two handfuls of white dust, shut in an urn of brass!

Dear is the memory of our wedded lives,
And dear the last embraces of our wives
And their warm tears: but all hath suffer'd change;
For surely now our household hearts are cold:
Our sons inherit us: our looks are strange:
And we should come like ghosts to trouble joy.
Or else the island princes over-bold
Have eat our substance, and the minstrel sings
Before them of the ten years' war in Troy,
And our great deeds, as half-forgotten things.
Is there confusion in the little isle?
Let what is broken so remain.
The Gods are hard to reconcile:
'Tis hard to settle order once again.
There is confusion worse than death,
Trouble on trouble, pain on pain,
Long labour unto aged breath,
Sore task to hearts worn out with many wars
And eyes grown dim with gazing on the pilot-stars.

But, propt on beds of amaranth and moly,
How sweet (while warm airs lull us, blowing lowly)
With half-dropt eyelids still,
Beneath a heaven dark and holy,
To watch the long bright river drawing slowly
His waters from the purple hill—
To hear the dewy echoes calling
From cave to cave thro' the thick-twinèd vine—
To watch the emerald-colour'd water falling
Thro' many a wov'n acanthus-wreath divine!
Only to hear and see the far-off sparkling brine,
Only to hear were sweet, stretch'd out beneath the pine.

The Lotos blooms below the barren peak:
The Lotos blows by every winding creek:
All day the wind breathes low with mellower tone:
Thro' every hollow cave and alley lone
Round and round the spicy downs the yellow Lotos-dust is blown.
We have had enough of action, and of motion we,
Roll'd to starboard, roll'd to larboard, when the surge was seething free,
Where the wallowing monster spouted his foam-fountains in the sea.
Let us swear an oath, and keep it with an equal mind,
In the hollow Lotos-land to live and lie relined
On the hills like Gods together, careless of mankind.
For they lie beside their nectar, and the bolts are hurl'd
Far below them in the valleys, and the clouds are lightly curl'd
Round their golden houses, girdled with the gleaming world:
Where the smile in secret, looking over wasted lands,
Blight and famine, plague and earthquake, roaring deeps and fiery sands,
Clanging fights, and flaming towns, and sinking ships, and praying hands.
But they smile, they find a music centred in a doleful song
Steaming up, a lamentation and an ancient tale of wrong,
Like a tale of little meaning tho' the words are strong;
Chanted from an ill-used race of men that cleave the soil,
Sow the seed, and reap the harvest with enduring toil,
Storing yearly little dues of wheat, and wine and oil;
Till they perish and they suffer—some, 'tis whisper'd—down in hell
Suffer endless anguish, others in Elysian valleys dwell,
Resting weary limbs at last on beds of asphodel.
Surely, surely, slumber is more sweet than toil, the shore
Than labour in the deep mid-ocean, wind and wave and oar;
O rest ye, brother mariners, we will not wander more.