Phoebe (Charles Villiers Stanford): Difference between revisions
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==Music files== | ==Music files== | ||
{{Legend}} | {{#Legend:}} | ||
*{{PostedDate|2008-01-24}} {{CPDLno|15829}} [[Media:StanfordPhoebeSat.pdf|{{pdf}}]] | |||
* | |||
{{Editor|Robin Doveton|2008-01-24}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|5|203}}{{Copy|CPDL}} | {{Editor|Robin Doveton|2008-01-24}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|5|203}}{{Copy|CPDL}} | ||
: | :{{EdNotes|}} | ||
==General Information== | ==General Information== | ||
{{Title|''Phoebe''}} | |||
{{Composer|Charles Villiers Stanford}} | {{Composer|Charles Villiers Stanford}} | ||
{{Voicing|4|SATB}} | {{Voicing|4|SATB}} | ||
{{Genre|Secular| | {{Genre|Secular|Partsongs}} | ||
{{Language|English}} | {{Language|English}} | ||
{{Instruments|A cappella}} | |||
{{Pub|1|August, 1892}} | |||
{{Descr| }} | |||
{{#ExtWeb:}} | |||
==Original text and translations== | ==Original text and translations== | ||
{{Text|English | {{Text|English| | ||
Phoebe sat | Phoebe sat | ||
Sweet she sat, | Sweet she sat, | ||
Line 63: | Line 58: | ||
Phoebe yield, | Phoebe yield, | ||
Or I die; | Or I die; | ||
Shall true hearts be fancy's fuel? | Shall true hearts be fancy's fuel?}} | ||
[[Category:Sheet music]] | [[Category:Sheet music]] | ||
[[Category:Early 20th century music]] | [[Category:Early 20th century music]] |
Revision as of 03:02, 28 July 2021
Music files
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Mp3 | |
File details | |
Help |
- Editor: Robin Doveton (submitted 2008-01-24). Score information: A4, 5 pages, 203 kB Copyright: CPDL
- Edition notes:
General Information
Title: Phoebe
Composer: Charles Villiers Stanford
Number of voices: 4vv Voicing: SATB
Genre: Secular, Partsong
Language: English
Instruments: A cappella
First published: August, 1892
Description:
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
Phoebe sat
Sweet she sat,
Sweet sat Phoebe when I saw her,
White her brow,
Coy her eye:
Brow and eye how much you please me?
Words I spent,
Sighs I sent,
Sighs and words could never draw her.
Oh my love
Thou art lost,
Since no sight could ever ease thee.
Phoebe sat
By a fount;
Sitting by a fount I spied her:
Sweet her touch,
Rare her voice;
Touch and voice what may distain you?
As she sung,
I did sigh,
And by sighs whilst that I tried her,
Oh mine eyes
You did lose
Her first sight whose want did pain you.
Phoebe's flocks
White as wool,
Yet were Phoebe's locks more whiter.
Phoebe's eyes,
Dove-like mild,
Dove-like eyes both mild and cruel.
Montan swears,
In your lamps
He will die for to delight her.
Phoebe yield,
Or I die;
Shall true hearts be fancy's fuel?