School of Music
U N C G
Ted Federle
baritone
Minjung Seo, piano
Graduate Recital
Friday, May 30, 2008
3:30 pm
Organ Hall, School of Music
Program
Dichterliebe (1840) Robert Schumann
Im wunderschönen Monat Mai (1810-1856)
Aus meinen Tränen sprießen
Die Rose, die Lilie, die Taube, die Sonne
Wenn ich in deine Augen seh'
Ich will meine Seele tauchen
Im Rhein, im heiligen Strome
Ich grolle nicht
Und wüßten's die Blumen, die kleinen
Das ist ein Flöten und Geigen
Hör' ich das Liedchen klingen
Ein Jüngling lieht ein Mädchen
Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen
Tre Arietta Vincenzo Bellini
Il fervido desiderio (1801-1835)
Dolente immagine
Vaga luna
Intermission
À Chloris Reynaldo Hahn
(1875-1947)
D'Une Prison
Le bleu manoir de Rosamonde Henri Duparc
(1848-1933)
The Lass from the Low Countree John Jacob Niles
(1892-1980)
Voices from WWII Gene Scheer
Holding Each Other (b. 1958)
Lean Away
Ted Federle is a student of Dr. Robert Wells
________
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Master of Music in Performance
Robert Schumann:
Dichterliebe
Text by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
Im wunderschönen Monat Mai
Im wunderschönen Monat Mai,
Als alle Knospen sprangen,
Da ist in meinem Herzen
Die Liebe aufgegangen.
Im wunderschönen Monat Mai,
Als alle Vögel sangen,
Da hab' ich ihr gestanden Mein
Sehnen und Verlangen.
Aus meinen Tränen sprießen
Aus meinen Tränen spriessen
Viel blühende Blumen hervor.
Und meine Seufzer werden
Ein Nachtigallenchor.
Und wenn du mich lieb hast,
Kindchen, Schenk' ich dir die Blumen all',
Und vor deinem Fenster soll klingen
Das Lied der Nachtigall.
Die Rose, die Lilie, die Taube, die Sonne
Die Rose, die Lilie, die Taube, die Sonne,
Die liebt' ich einst alle in Liebeswonne.
Ich lieb' sie nicht mehr, ich liebe alleine
Die Kleine, die Feine, die Reine, die Eine;
Sie selber, aller Liebe Wonne,
Ist Rose und Lilie und Taube und Sonne.
Wenn ich in deine Augen seh'
Wenn ich in deine Augen seh',
So schwindet all mein Leid und Weh;
Doch wenn ich küsse deinen Mund,
So werd' ich ganz und gar gesund.
Wenn ich mich lehn' an deine Brust,
Kommt's über mich wie Himmelslust;
Doch wenn du sprichst: Ich liebe dich!
So muss ich weinen bitterlich.
Ich will meine Seele tauchen
Ich will meine Seele tauchen
In den Kelch der Lilie hinein;
Die Lilie soll klingend hauchen
Ein Lied von der Liebsten mein.
Das Lied soll schauern und beben
Wie der Kuss von ihrem Mund.
Den sie mir einst gegeben
In wunderbar süsser Stund'.
Poet’s Love
In the marvellous month of May
In the marvellous month of May
when all the buds were bursting,
then in my heart did
love arise.
In the marvellous month of May
when all the birds were singing,
then did I reveal to her
my yearning and longing.
From my tears there spring
From my tears there spring
up many blossoming flowers.
And my sighs turn into
a choir of nightingales.
And if you love me, child,
I will give you all the flowers,
and at your window shall sound
the song of the nightingale.
The rose, the lily, the dove, the sun
The rose, the lily, the dove, the sun,
once, rapt with love, I loved them all.
I love them no more, I love only
her who is small, exquisite, chaste, unique.
She, all loving rapture, herself
is rose and lily and dove and sun.
When I gaze into your eyes
When I gaze into your eyes
all my pain and grief vanishes,
then when I kiss your mouth
I am made wholly and completely well.
When I lean on your bosom
joy as of heaven comes upon me;
but when you say "I love you,"
I must weep bitterly.
I long to sink my soul
I long to sink my soul
within the cup of the lily;
the lily would sing in whispers
a song of my beloved.
The song would tremble and quiver
like the kiss from her mouth
that once she gave me
in an hour of wondrous sweetness.
Im Rhein, im heiligen Strome
Im Rhein, im heiligen Strome,
Da speigelt sich in den Well'n,
Mit seinem grossen Dome,
Das grosse, heilige Köln.
Im Dom. da steht ein Bildnis,
Auf goldenem Leder gemalt;
In meines Lebens Wildnis
Hat's freundlich hineingestrahlt.
Es schweben Blumen und Englein
Um unsre liebe Frau;
Die Augen, die Lippen, die Wänglein,
Die gleichen der Liebsten genau.
Ich grolle nicht
Ich grolle nicht, und wenn das Herz auch
bricht,
Ewig verlornes Lieb! ich grolle nicht.
Wie du auch strahlst in Diamantenpracht,
Es fällt kein Strahl in deines Herzens Nacht.
Das weiss ich längst.
Ich sah dich ja im Traume,
Und sah die Nacht in deines Herzens Raume,
Und sah die Schlang', die dir am Herzen frisst,
Ich sah, mein Lieb, wie sehr du elend bist.
Und wüßten's die Blumen, die kleinen
Und wüssten's die Blumen, die kleinen,
Wie tief verwundet mein Herz,
Sie würden mit mir weinen,
Zu heilen meinen Schmerz.
Und wüssten's die Nachtigallen,
Wie ich so traurig und krank,
Sie liessen fröhlich erschallen
Erquickenden Gesang.
Und wüssten's sie mein Wehe
Die goldenen Sternelein,
Sie kämen aus ihrer Höhe,
Und sprächen Trost mir ein.
Sie alle können's nicht wissen,
Nur eine kennt meinen Sc hmerz;
Sie hat ja selbst zerrissen,
Zerrissen mir das Herz.
Das ist ein Flöten und Geigen
Das ist ein Flöten und Geigen,
Trompeten schmettern darein;
Da tanzt wohl den Hochzeitreigen
Die Herzallerliebste mein.
Das ist ein Klingen und Dröhnen,
Ein Fauken und ein Schalmein;
Dazwischen schluchzen und stöhnen
In the Rhine, the holy river
In the Rhine. the holy river,
there in the waves is reflected
with its mighty cathedral,
mighty, holy Cologne.
In the cathedral there hangs a picture
painted on golden leather;
into the wilderness of my life
it has shed its friendly beams.
Flowers and angels hover there
round Our Lady;
her eyes, her lips, her cheeks
are exactly like my beloved's.
I do not complain
I do not complain, even if my heart is breaking,
love lost for ever! I do not complain.
Though you gleam with the glory of diamonds.
no gleam falls into the night of your heart.
I knew it long ago.
I saw you in my dreams
and saw night in the confines of your heart,
and saw the viper that gnaws at your bosom;
I saw, my love, how wretched you are.
If only the flowers could know
If only the flowers, little as they are, could know
how deeply wounded is my heart,
they would weep with me
to heal my sorrow.
If only the nightingales knew
how sad and sick I am,
they would gladly pour out
their refreshing song.
If only they knew my woe,
those golden stars,
they would come down from aloft
and speak comfort to me.
They can none of them know,
one only knows my sorrow;
she herself has made the rent,
has rent my heart asunder.
There is fluting and fiddling
There is fluting and fiddling,
trumpets are blaring within.
There in the wedding circle dances
the best beloved of my heart.
There is a hubbub and a din,
drumming and piping,
and in between are sobbing and wailing
Die lieblichen Engelein.
Hör' ich das Liedchen klingen
Hör' ich das Liedchen klingen,
Das einst die Liebste sang,
So will mir die Brust zerspringen
Von wildem Schmerzendrang.
Es treibt mich ein dunkles Sehnen
Hinauf zur Waldeshöh',
Dort löst sich auf in Tränen
Mein übergrosses Weh.
Ein Jüngling lieht ein Mädchen
Ein Jüngling liebt ein Mädchen,
Die hat einen andern erwählt;
Der andre liebt eine andre
Und hat sich mit dieser vermählt.
Das Mädchen nimmt aus Ärger
Den ersten besten Mann.
Der ihr in den Weg gelaufen;
Der Jüngling ist übel dran.
Es ist eine alte Geschichte
Doch bleibt sie immer neu;
Und wem sie just passieret,
Dem bricht das Herz entzwei.
Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen
Am leuchtenden Sommermorgen
Geh' ich im Garten herum.
Es flüstern und sprechen die Blumen,
Ich aber wandle stumm.
Es flüstern und sprechen die Blumen
Und schaun mitleidig mich an;
Sei unsrer Schwester nicht böse,
Du trauriger, blasser Mann!
Vincenzo Bellini:
Tre Arietta
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?
Dolente immagine
Dolente immagine di Fille mia,
perché sì squallida mi siedi accanto?
the dear angels.
When I hear the sound of the song
When I hear the sound of song
that once my beloved sang,
my bosom is near to bursting
with the savage strain of sorrow.
A dark longing drives me
up to the woody heights;
there in tears is released
my overwhelming woe.
A lad loves a girl
A lad loves a girl;
she has chosen another.
That other loves another,
and it is this one he has married.
The girl out of anger accepts
the first good man
who crosses her path
the lad is hard hit.
It is an old tale
but it remains ever new,
and when it has just happened to a man
his heart breaks in half.
On a gleaming morning in summer
On a gleaming morning in summer
I pace about in the garden.
The flowers they whisper and speak,
but I wander speechless.
The flowers they whisper and speak,
and look at me compassionately;
"Do not be cross with our sister,
you sorrowful, pale-faced man!"
Three Arietta
The fervid desire
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?
Sorrowful image
Sorrowful image of my Fille,
why do you sit so desolate beside me?
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.
Vaga luna
Vaga luna, che inargenti
queste rive e questi fiori
ed inspiri agli elementi
il linguaggio dell'amor;
testimonio or sei tu sola
del mio fervido desir,
ed a lei che m'innamora
conta i palpiti e i sospir.
Dille pur che lontananza
il mio duol non può lenir,
che se nutro una speranza,
ella è sol nell'avvenir.
Dille pur che giorno e sera
conto l'ore del dolor,
che una speme lusinghiera
mi conforta nell'amor.
Reynaldo Hahn:
À Chloris
Text by Théophile de Viau (1590-1626)
S'il est vrai, Chloris, que tu m'aimes,
Mais j'entends, que tu m'aimes bien,
Je ne crois pas que les rois mêmes
Aient un bonheur pareil au mien.
Que la mort serait importune
De venir changer ma fortune
Pour la félicité des cieux!
Tout ce qu'on dit de l'ambroisie
Ne touche point ma fantaisie
Au prix des grâces de tes yeux.
D'Une Prison
Text by Paul Verlaine (1844-1896)
Le ciel est, par-dessus le toit,
Si bleu, si calme!
Un arbre, par-dessus le toit,
Berce sa palme.
La cloche, dans le ciel qu'on voit,
Doucement tinte.
Un oiseau sur l'arbre qu'on voit
Chante sa plainte.
Mon Dieu, mon Dieu! la vie est là,
Simple et tranquille.
Cette paisible rumeur-là
Vient de la ville.
What more do you wish for? Streams of tears
have I poured on your ashes.
Do you fear that, forgetful of sacred vows,
I could turn to another
Shade of Fillide, rest peacefully;
the old flame cannot be extingushed.
Lovely moon
Lovely moon, you who shed silver light
On these shores and on these flowers
And breathe the language
Of love to the elements,
You are now the sole witness
Of my ardent longing,
And can recount my throbs and sighs
To her who fills me with love.
Tell her too that distance
Cannot assuage my grief,
That if I cherish a hope,
It is only for the future.
Tell her that, day and night,
I count the hours of sorrow,
That a flattering hope
Comforts me in my love.
To Chloris
If it be true, Chloris, that thou lovst me,
(And I understand that thou dost love me well),
I do not believe that even kings
Could know such happiness as mine.
How unwelcome death would be,
If it came to exchange my fortune
With the joy of heaven!
All that they say of ambrosia
Does not fire my imagination
Like the favour of thine eyes.
Of one Prison
The sky above the roof,
So blue, so calm!
A tree, above the roof,
Waves its crown.
The bell, in the sky I watch,
Gently rings
A bird, on the tree I watch,
Plaintively sings.
My God, my God, life is there
Simple and serene.
That peaceful murmur there
Comes from the town.
Qu'as-tu fait, ô toi que voilà
Pleurant sans cesse,
Dis, qu'as-tu fait, toi que voilà,
De ta jeunesse?
Henri Duparc:
Le bleu manoir de Rosamonde
Text by Robert de Bonnieres (1850-1905)
De sa dent soudaine et vorace,
Comme un chien l'amour m'a mordu...
En suivant mon sang répandu,
Va, tu pourras suivre ma trace...
Prends un cheval de bonne race,
Pars, et suis mon chemin ardu,
Fondrière ou sentier perdu,
Si la course ne te harasse!
En passant par où j'ai passé,
Tu verras que seul et blessé
J'ai parcouru ce triste monde.
Et qu'ainsi je m'en fus mourir
Bien loin, bien loin, sans découvrir
Le bleu manoir de Rosamonde.
John Jacob Niles:
The Lass from the Low Countree
Oh he was a lord of high degree,
And she was a lass from the low countree
But she loved his lordship so tenderly
Oh sorrow, sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild
flowers nod
And no-one knows she loved him but herself
and God
One morn' when the sun was on the mead
He passed by her door on a milk white steed
She smiled and she spoke,
But he paid no heed
Oh sorrow, sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley where the wild
flowers nod
And no-one knows she loved him but herself
and God.
If you be a lass from the low countree
Don't love of no lord of high degree
They hain't got a heart for sympathy
Oh sorrow, sing sorrow
Now she sleeps in the valley where wild
flowers nod
And no-one knows she loved him but herself
and God
O you, O you, what have you done,
Weeping without end,
Say, O say, what have you done
With all your youth?
Rosemonde's blue manor-house
Love, like a dog, has bitten me
with its sudden, voracious teeth...
Come, the trail of spilt blood
will enable you to follow my tracks.
Take a horse of good pedigree
and set off on the arduous route I took,
through swamps and overgrown paths,
if that's not too exhausting a ride for you!
As you pass where I passed,
you will see that I travelled
alone and wounded through this sad world,
and thus went off to my death
far, far away, without ever finding
Rosemonde's blue manor-house.
Gene Scheer:
Voices from WWII
Text by Gene Scheer
Holding Each Other
I was a child when war was declared.
I remember people with grey hair
standing in the middle of the street that night,
holding each other in the pale moon light.
I stared out my window and watched them
embrace and memorized each somber face.
Some silent secret they all seemed to share
transformed the street to a church in prayer.
When I recall that painful time
that picture often comes to mind,
people standing in the street that night
holding each other in the pale moon light.
Since that time war has taken friends
and each loss makes me think again
of a bitter grief too deep to be spoken
when I was eight and first saw hearts broken.
When I recall that painful time
that picture often comes to mind,
people standing in the street that night
holding each other in the pale moon light.
Lean Away
Text by Gene Scheer
I let my sail out slowly,
taking pains to find the wind.
But until I turned my boat away,
the sail could not be trimmed.
Tacking towards the wind,
but never face to face.
I feel what I don't see,
an invisible embrace.
Lean away, lean away.
Some things can't be known,
like the wind that takes you home.
I remember hearing a melody
but when I started to describe
all the things it made me feel,
its spirit slowly died.
Now I choose to hum the things
I cannot explain,
and feel my roots spread out
like a tree that drinks the rain.
Lean away, lean away.
Some things can't be known,
like the wonder of a melody,
how it makes me feel home.
I remember when I saw you.
It was a cold winter night.
The moon was hidden by the cloud,
all I remember was the light.
I have searched to find a way,
love to understand.
But I finally gave up trying.
It's enough to hold your hand.
Lean away, lean away.
Some things can't be known,
like the love I feel for you,
how it makes me feel home.
