Jesse Herndon
tenor
Kristen Ironside, piano
assisted by:
Brent Byhre, baritone
Junior Recital
Saturday, March 21, 2015
1:30 pm
Recital Hall, Music Building
Program
Liederkries, Op. 39 Robert Schumann
In der Fremde (1810-1856)
Zwielicht
Frühlingsnacht
Folksong Arrangements, Benjamin Britten
Volume 4: Moore’s Irish Melodies (1913-1976)
How sweet the answer
Dear Harp of my Country!
The last rose of summer
Agony Stephen Sondheim
Into the Woods (b. 1930)
Lily’s Eyes Lucy Simon
The Secret Garden (b. 1943)
‘O Sole Mio! Eduardo di Capua
(1965-1917)
Non ti scordar di me Ernesto De Curtis
(1875-1937)
Mattinata Ruggero Leoncavallo
(1957-1919)
Jesse Herndon is a student of Ms. Clara O’Brien
________
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Bachelor of Music in Performance
Robert Schumann:
Liederkries, Op. 39
Text by Joseph Freiherr von Eichendorff
(1788-1857)
In der Fremde
Aus der Heimat hinter den Blitzen rot
Da kommen die Wolken her,
Aber Vater und Mutter sind lange tot,
Es kennt mich dort keiner mehr.
Wie bald, wie bald kommt die stille Zeit,
Da ruhe ich auch, und über mir
Rauschet die schöne Waldeinsamkeit,
Und keiner mehr kennt mich auch hier.
Zwielicht
Dämmrung will die Flügel spreiten,
Schaurig rühren sich die Bäume,
Wolken ziehn wie schwere Träume -
Was will dieses Grau'n bedeuten?
Hast ein Reh du lieb vor andern,
Laß es nicht alleine grasen,
Jäger ziehn im Wald und blasen,
Stimmen hin und wieder wandern.
Hast du einen Freund hienieden,
Trau ihm nicht zu dieser Stunde,
Freundlich wohl mit Aug' und Munde,
Sinnt er Krieg im tück'schen Frieden.
Was heut müde gehet unter,
Hebt sich morgen neu geboren.
Manches bleibt in Nacht verloren -
Hüte dich, bleib wach und munter!
Frühlingsnacht
Über'n Garten durch die Lüfte
Hört' ich Wandervögel ziehn,
Das bedeutet Frühlingsdüfte,
Unten fängt's schon an zu blühn.
Jauchzen möcht' ich, möchte weinen,
Ist mir's doch, als könnt's nicht sein!
Alte Wunder wieder scheinen
Mit dem Mondesglanz herein.
Und der Mond, die Sterne sagen's,
Und im Träumen rauscht's der Hain,
Und die Nachtigallen schlagen's:
Sie ist deine! Sie ist dein!
Circle of Songs
In the Foreign
From the homeland, behind the lightning’s
red
there comes the clouds here,
but father and mother are long dead;
no one there knows me anymore.
How soon, ah, how soon comes the quiet
time,
then rest I also, and over me
the beautiful forest-solitude rustles,
and no one will know me here anymore.
Twilight
Dusk begins to spread its wings,
the trees themselves stir gruesomely,
clouds drift like heavy dreams -
What is the meaning of this horror?
If you have a favorite roe,
do not let it graze alone;
hunters roam in the forest and blow,
voices flit here and there.
If you have a friend on earth,
do not trust him at this hour;
friendly might he seem in eye and mouth,
he plans war in treacherous peace.
What today goes wearily under,
lifts itself tomorrow newly born.
Many a thin gets lost in the night –
Beware, be awake and aleart!
Spring night
Above the garden and through the skies
I heard migrating birds passing;
that means that spring is in the air;
below things are already beginning to
bloom.
I want to rejoice, I want to weep,
it seems to me that it just can’t be!
Old miracles again shine
with the moon’s radiance.
And the moon, and the stars say it,
And in the dream the grove murmurs it,
And the nightingales sing it;
she is yours! She is yours!
Benjamin Britten:
Folksong Arrangements,
Volume 4: Moore’s Irish Melodies
Text by Thomas Moore (1779-1852)
How sweet the answer
How sweet the answer Echo makes
To Music at night,
When, rous'd by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,
Goes answering light!
Yet Love hath echoes truer far,
And far more sweet,
Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar,
The songs repeat.
'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere,
And only then, --
The sigh that's breath'd for one to hear,
Is by that one, that only dear,
Breath'd back again.
Dear Harp of my Country!
Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I
found thee,
The cold chain of silence had hung o'er thee
long;
When proudly, my own Island Harp, I
unbound thee
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom
and song!
The warm lay of love and the light note of
gladness
Have waken'd thy fondest, thy liveliest
thrill;
But so oft hast thou echo'd the deep sigh of
sadness,
That e'en in thy mirth it will steal from thee
still.
Dear Harp of my Country! farewell to thy
numbers
This sweet wreath of song is the last we
shall twine;
Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy
slumbers,
Till touch'd by some hand less unworthy
than mine.
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,
Have throbb'd at our lay 'tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly
over,
And all the wild sweetness I waked was thy
own!
The last rose of summer
'Tis the last rose of summer,
Left blooming alone;
All her lovely companions
Are faded and gone;
No flow'r of her kindred,
No rosebud is nigh
To reflect back her blushes,
Or give sigh for sigh.
I'll not leave thee, thou lone one,
To pine on the stem;
Since the lovely are sleeping,
Go, sleep thou with them;
Thus kindly I scatter
Thy leaves o'er [thy bed,
Where thy mates of the garden
Lie scentless and dead.
So soon may I follow,
When friendships decay,
And from Love's shining circle
The gems drop away!
When true hearts lie wither'd.
And fond ones are flown,
Oh! who would inhabit
This bleak world alone?
Stephen Sondheim:
Into the Woods
Text by Stephen Sondheim (1930-present)
Agony
Did I abuse her
Or show her disdain?
Why does she run from me?
If I should lose her,
How shall I regain
The heart she has won from me?
Agony!
Beyond power of speech,
When the one thing you want
Is the only thing out of your reach.
High in her tower,
She sits by the hour,
Maintaining her hair.
Blithe and becoming and frequently
humming
A lighthearted air:
Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-
Agony!
Far more painful than yours,
When you know she would go with you
If there only were doors.
Agony!
Oh, the torture they teach!
What's as intriguing-
Or half so fatiguing-
As what's out of reach?
Am I not sensitive,
Clever,
Well-mannered,
Considerate,
Passionate,
Charming,
As kind as I'm handsome
And heir to a throne?
You are everything maidens could wish for!
Then why no-?
Do I know?
The girl must be mad!
You know nothing of madness
Till you're climbing her hair
And you see her up there
AS you're nearing her,
All the while hearing her:
Ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-ah-
Agony!
Misery!
Woe!
Though it's different for each.
Always ten steps behind-
Always ten feet below-
And she's just out of reach.
Agony
That can cut like a knife!
I must have her to wife.
Lucy Simon:
The Secret Garden
Text by Marsha Norman (1947-present)
Strangely quiet, but now the storm
Simply rests to strike again.
Standing, waiting, I think of her.
I think of her.
Strange, this Mary, she leaves the room,
Yet remains, She lingers on.
Something stirs me to think of her.
I think of her.
From death she casts her spell,
All night we hear her sighs,
And now a girl has come
Who has her eyes.
She has her eyes.
The girl has Lily's hazel eyes,
Those eyes that saw him happy long ago.
Those eyes that gave him life
And hope he'd never known.
How can he see the girl
And miss those hazel eyes?
She has her eyes.
The girl has Lily's hazel eyes,
Those eyes that closed and left me all alone.
Those eyes I feel will never ever let me go!
How can I see this girl who has her hazel
eyes?
In Lily's eyes a castle
This house seemed to be,
And I, the bravest knight, became,
My lady fair was she.
She has her eyes.
She has my Lily's hazel eyes.
Those eyes that loved my brother-never me.
Those eyes that never saw me,
Never knew I longed
To hold her close,
To live at last in Lily's Eyes!
Imagine me, a lover!
I longed for the day
She'd turn and see me standing there.
Would God have let her stay! Would God
have let her stay!
She has her eyes. She has her eyes.
She has Lily's hazel eyes. My Lily's hazel
eyes.
Those eyes that saw me
Those eyes that first I loved so! Happy long
ago.
How can How can
I now forget I now forget
That once I dared to be That once I dared to
be in love.
To be alive and whole Alive and whole
In Lily's eyes, In Lily's eyes,
In Lily's eyes! In Lily's eyes!
Eduardo di Capua:
‘O sole mio
Text by Giovanni Capurro (1859-1920)
Che bella cosa è na jurnata ’e sole,
n’aria serena dopo na tempesta!
Pe’ ll’aria fresca para già na festa...
Che bella cosa na jurnata ’e sole.
Ma n’atu sole cchiù bello, oi ne’,
’o sole mio sta nfronte a te!
’o sole, ’o sole mio, sta nfronte a te,
sta nfronte a te!
Quanno fa notte e ’o sole se ne scenne,
me vane quasi ’na malincunia;
sotta ’a fenesta toia restarria
quanno fa notte e ’o sole se ne scenne.
Ma n’atu sole cchiù bello, oi ne’,
’o sole mio sta nfronte a te!
’o sole, ’o sole mio, sta nfronte a te,
sta nfronte a te!
Ernesto De Curtis:
Non ti scordar di me
Text by Ernesto De Curtis (1875-1937)
Partirono le rondini dal mio paese freddo e
senza sole,
cercando primavere di viole,
nidi d'amore e di felicita'.
La mia piccola rondine parti'
senza lasciarmi un bacio,
senza un addio parti'.
Non ti scordar di me!
La vita mia legata e' a te!
Io t'amo sempre piu',
nel sogno mio rimani tu.
Non ti scordar di me:
la vita mia legata e' a te.
C'e' sempre un nido
nel mio cor per te.
Non ti scordar di me!
My own sun
What a beautiful thing is a sunny day!
The air is serene after a storm,
The air is so fresh that it already feels like a
celebration.
What a beautiful thing is a sunny day!
But another sun that's brighter still,
It's my own sun that's upon your face!
The sun, my own sun, it's upon your face!
It's upon your face!
When night comes and the sun has gone
down,
I almost start feeling melancholy;
I'd stay below your window
When night comes and the sun has gone
down.
But another sun that's brighter still,
It's my own sun that's upon your face!
The sun, my own sun, it's upon your face!
It's upon your face!
Don’t forget me
The swallows have left my cold and sunless
land,
searching for spring and violets,
nests of love and happiness.
My little swallow has left
without leaving me a kiss,
without a goodbye, she left.
Don’t forget me!
My life is bound to you!
I will always love you,
you remain in my dreams.
Don’t forget me:
My life is bound to you.
There's always a nest
in my heart for you.
Don't forget me!
Ruggero Leoncavallo
Mattinata
Text by Ruggero Leoncavallo (1857-1919)
L'aurora di bianco vestita
Già l'uscio dischiude al gran sol;
Di già con le rosee sue dita
Carezza de' fior lo stuol!
Commosso da un fremito arcano
Intorno il creato già par;
E tu non ti desti, ed invano
Mi sto qui dolente a cantar.
Metti anche tu la veste bianca
E schiudi l'uscio al tuo cantor!
Ove non sei la luce manca;
Ove tu sei nasce l'amor.
Ove non sei la luce manca;
Ove tu sei nasce l'amor.
Morning
The dawn, dressed in white,
has already opened the door to the sun,
and with pink fingers
caresses the myriads with flowers.
A mysterious trembling seems
to disturb all nature,
yet you will not get up, and vainly
I stand here sadly and sing.
Dress yourself, too, in white
and open the door to your serenader!
Where you are not, all is dark,
where you are, love is born!
Where you are not, all is dark,
where you are, love is born!
