Haley Rollins
soprano
Elizaveta Auvil, piano
Tyler Rathbone
baritone
Kay Johnson Aycock, piano
Degree Recital
Monday, April 1, 2013
5:30 pm
Recital Hall, Music Building
Program
How willing my Paternal Love from Samson George Fredrick Handel
Sì, tra i ceppi from Berenice (1685-1759)
Tyler Rathbone
Hark the Echoing Air from the Fairy Queen Henry Purcell
(1659-1695)
Haley Rollins
Der Wanderer Op. 4, No. 1 Franz Schubert
(1797-1828)
Tyler Rathbone
Das Mädchen spricht, Op. 107, No. 3 Johannes Brahms
Der Tod, das ist die kühle Nacht, Op. 49, No. 3 (1833-1897)
Sehnsucht, Op. 49, No. 3
Haley Rollins
En Prière Gabriel Faurè
(1845-1924)
Le Charme Op. 2, No. 2 Ernest Chausson
(1855-1899)
Tyler Rathbone
Cuor mio, cuor mio no vedi Stefano Donaudy
Come l’allodoletta (1879-1925)
Sorge il sol! Che fai tu?
Haley Rollins
The Crocodile from English County Songs arr. Benjamin Britten
The Foggy, Foggy Dew from Sufolk (1913-1976)
Oliver Cromwell from Sufolk
Tyler Rathbone
A cycle of Three Mystical Songs Alec Rowley
1. Three Jolly Shepherds (1892-1958)
2. The Prophecy
3. The Birthday
Haley Rollins
They Call the Wind Maria from Paint Your Wagon Frederic Loewe
(1901-1988)
Tyler Rathbone
Haley Rollins is a student of Professor. Levone Tobin-Scott
Tyler Rathbone is a student of Dr. Donald Hartmann
________
In partial fulfillment of the degree requirements for the
Bachelor of Music in Music Education
George Frederick Handel:
How Willing My Paternal Love
How willing my paternal love
The weight to share of filial care,
And part of sorrow’s burden prove!
Though wand’ring in the shades of night,
Whilst I have eyes he wants no light.
Sì, tra i ceppi
Sì, tra i ceppi e le ritorte
La mia fè risplenderà
Nò nè pur la stessa morte
Il mio foco estinguerà
Henry Pucell:
Hark the Echoing Air
Hark the Echoing Air
A triumph sings
And all around
Pleas’d Cupids clap their wings
Franz Schubert:
Der Wanderer
Text by S. von Lübeck
Ich komme vom Gebirge her,
Es dampft das Tal, es braust das Meer,
Ich wandle still, bin wenig
froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer, wo?
Die Sonne dünkt mich hier so kalt,
Die Blüte welk, das Leben alt,
Und was sie reden, leerer Schall,
Ich bin ein Fremdling überall.
Wo bist du, mein geliebtes Land,
Gesucht, geahnt, und nie
gekannt?
Das Land, das Land so hoffnungsgrün,
Das Land, wo meine Rosen blühn;
Wo meine Freunde wandelnd gehen,
Wo meine Toten auferstehen,
Das Land, das meine Sprache spricht,
O Land, Wo bist du?
Ich wandle still, bin wenig
froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer, wo?
Im Geisterhauch tönt’s mir zurück,
“Dort, wo du nicht bist, dort ist das
Glück.”
Yes, even in chains and bonds
Yes, even in chains and bonds
My faith will shine
No, not even death itself
Will extinguish my flame
The Wanderer
I come down from the mountains,
The valley dims, the sea roars.
I wander silently and am somewhat
unhappy,
And my sighs always ask “Where?”
The sun seems so cold to me here,
The flowers faded, the life old,
And what they say has an empty sound;
I am a stranger everywhere.
Where are you, my dear land?
Sought and brought to mind, yet never
known,
That land, so hopefully green,
That land, where my roses bloom,
Where my friends wander
Where my dead ones rise from the dead,
That land were they speak my language,
Oh land, where are you?
I wander silently and am somewhat
unhappy,
And my sighs always ask “Where?’
In a ghostly breath it calls back to me,
“There, where you are not, there is your
happiness.”
Johannes Brahms:
Das Mädchen Spricht
Text by Otto Friedrich Gruppe (1804-1876)
Schwalbe, sag' mir an,
Ist's dein alter Mann,
Mit dem du's Nest gebaut?
Oder hast du jüngst
Erst dich ihm vertraut?
Sag', was zwitschert ihr,
Sag', was flüstert ihr
Des Morgens so vertraut?
Gelt, du bist wohl auch
Noch nicht lange Braut?
Der Tod, das ist die kühle Nacht
Text by Heinrich Heine (1797-1856)
Der Tod, das ist die kühle Nacht,
Das Leben ist der schwüle Tag.
Es dunkelt schon, mich schläfert,
Der Tag hat mich müd’ gemacht.
Über mein Bett erhebt sich ein Baum,
D’rin singt die junge Nachtigall;
Sie singt von lauter Liebe
Ich hör es, ich hör es sogar im Traum.
Sehnsucht
from the Bohemian Folklore
Hinter jenen dichten Wäldern,
Weilst du meine Süssgeliebte,
Weit, ach weit!
Berset ihr Felsen, ebnet euch Tähler
Dass ich ersehe, dass ich erspähe
Meine erne, meine ferne süsse Maid!
Gabriel Fauré:
En Prière
Text by Stéphan Bordèse
Si la voix d’un enfant peut monter jusqu’à
Vous,
O mon Père
Ecoutez de Jèsus devant Vous à genoux
La prière
Si vous m’avez choisi pour enseigner Vos
lois
Sur la terre,
Je saurai Vous servir, auguste Roi des Rois,
O Lumière!
Sur mes lèvres, Seigneur, mettez la verité
Salutaire,
Pour que celui qui doute, avec
humilité,
Vous revere!
Ne m’abandonnez pas, donnez-moi la
douceur
The Maiden Speaks
Swallow, tell me,
Is it your old mate,
With whom you built your nest?
Or have you but of late
Given yourself to him?
Tell me, what do you twitter,
Tell me, what do you whisper
So intimately, mornings?
Surely you have not been
A bride for long?
Death is the cool Night
Death is the cool night.
Life is the sultry day.
It now grows dark, I am sleepy,
The day has tired me.
Above my bed rises a tree,
The young nightingale sings therein;
It sings of naught but love,
I hear it, I hear it even in my dream.
Longing
Beyond those dense forests
You dwell, my sweet beloved,
Far, oh far away!
Burst, you rocks, be level, you valleys,
That I may see, that I may glimpse
My distant, my distant sweet maid!
The Prayer
If the voice of a child can reach
you,
O my Father,
Listen to the prayer of Jesus on His knees
Before You.
If You have chosen me to teach Your laws
On the earth,
I will know how to serve you, holy King of
Kings,
O light!
Place on my lips, o Lord,
The salutary truth,
So that whoever doubts, should with
humility
Revere You!
Do not abandon me, give me the
gentleness
Nécessaire,
Pour apaiser les maux, solager la douleur,
La misére!
Revelez Vous à moi, Seigneur, en Qui je
crois,
Et j’espère,
Pour Vous je veux souffrir et mourir sur la
croix,
Au Clavaire!
Ernest Chausson:
Le Charme
Text by Armand Silvestre
Quand ton sourire me surprit,
Je sentis frémir tout mon être,
Mais ce qui domptait mon esprit,
Je ne pus d’abord le connaître.
Quand ton regard tomba sur moi,
Je sentis mon âme se fonder,
Mais ce que serait cet émoi,
Je ne pus d’abord en répondre.
Ce qui me vainquit à jamais,
Ce fut un plus douloureux charme;
Et je n’ai su que je t’aimais
Qu’en voyant ta première larme.
Stefano Donaudy:
Cuor mio, cuor mio non vedi
Text by Alberto Donaudy (1880-1941)
Cuor mio, cuor mio non vedi
che, quando amor ti coglie,
non gioie son, ma tedii;
non fremiti, ma doglie?
E smetti allora un poco
di fare il cascamorto!
Non ti sei dunque accorto
che amar è un brutto gioco?
Ma qual vid'io donzella
di lei piu bella e pura?
Ahimè ho gran paura
che ci ricascherò!
Par che non riesca vano
fuggir l'amato incanto…
Ma come andar lontano
e non restarle accanto?
No, no; è miglior consiglio,
l'amor vedendo a zonzo,
fuggir come un coniglio
o fargli un cuor di bronzo.
Come l’allodoletta
Text by Alberto Donaudy (1880-1941)
Come l'allodoletta per li prati,
così fugge la pace e l'allegranza
So necessary,
To relieve the suffering, to alleviate pains,
The misery!
Reveal Yourself to me, Lord, in whom I
have faith
And hope,
I want to suffer for You and to die on the
Cross,
At Calvary!
The Charm
When I caught your smile,
I felt all my being atremble,
But what has conquered my mind
I did not know at first.
When your glance rested on me,
I felt my soul melting,
But what this emotion might be
I could not explain at first.
What conquered me forever
Was a much sadder charm;
And I only realized I loved you
When I saw you shed your first tear.
My heart, My heart, don’t you see…
My heart, my heart, don't you see
that, when love takes hold of you,
there are not joys, but troubles,
not thrills, but pains?
So then cease for a while
from philandering!
Aren’t you aware
that loving is an nasty game?
But what young lady have I seen
more beautiful and pure than she?
Alas, I'm very much afraid
that I shall give in again!
It seems that one can mange
to flee from the beloved enchantment,
But how to go far away
and not remain near her?
No, no; it is better advice,
if you see love wandering about,
to flee like a rabbit
or show him a heart of bronze.
As the little lark…
As the little lark over the meadows,
so flees peace and joy
da un cor gentile in cui sol regna
amore!
Passa ogni gioia, passa ogni dolzore
da un cor gentile in cui sol regna
amore;
e l'alma che ne sente la gravanza,
sen' muore di gelo come un fior!
Sorge il sol! Che fai tu?
Text by Alberto Donaudy (1880-1941)
Sorge il sol! Che fai tu?
Che fai lassù?
Se dormi, svègliati: è primavera!
Se vegli, lèvati: vienne a gioir!
Sorge il sol! Che fai tu?
Che fai lassù?
È tempo venuto di correre ancor
pei campi stellanti di mille
colori;
di sciogliere canti, di cogliere fiori,
di ber lungo i rivi,
d'avere nel cor le gioie d'amor!
Sorge il sol! Che fai tu?
Vienne a gioir...
Chè, se tu non vieni,
non sbocciano i fior.
Benjamin Britten:
The Crocodile
Now listen you landsmen unto me,
To tell you the truth I’m bound,
What happened to me while going to sea,
And the wonders that I found:
Shipwrecked I was once off Perouse,
And cast upon the shore,
So then I did resolve to roam,
The country to explore,
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
‘Twas far I had not scouted out
When close along side the ocean
I saw something move which at first I
thought
Was all the world in motion;
But steering up close alongside
I found ‘twas a crocodile;
And from his nose to the tip of his tail
He measured five hundred mile.
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
‘Twas a crocodile,
I plainly could see,
He was not of a common race,
from a gentle heart in which only reigns
love!
Every joy, every bliss passes
from a gentle heart in which only reigns
love;
and the soul which feels the oppression of it
dies of cold, like a flower!
The sun is rising! What are you doing?
The sun is rising! What are you doing?
What are you doing up there?
If you are sleeping, wake up: it is spring!
If you are awake, get up: come to rejoice.
The sun is rising! What are you doing?
What are you doing up there?
The time has come to run again
through fields shining with a thousand
colors;
to disperse songs, to gather flowers,
to drink along the riverbanks
to have in your heart the joys of love!
The sun is rising! What are you doing?
Come rejoice...
because if you do not come,
the flowers will not bloom!
For I was obliged to climb a high tree
Before I could see his face.
And when he lifted up his jaw,
Though perhaps you may think ‘tis a lie,
He reach’d above the clouds for miles three
score
And almost touched the sky.
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
While up a loft the wind was high,
And it blew a gale from the south.
I lost my hold and away did fly
Right into the crocodile’s mouth.
He quickly closed his jaws on me,
And thought he got a victim,
But I ran down his throat d’ye see?
And that’s the way I tricked him.
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
I traveled on for a month or two,
Till I got into his maw,
Where I found of rumkegs not a few,
And a thousand fat bullocks in store.
Of life I banished all my care,
(The Crocodile continued)
For of food I was not stinted.
And in this crocodile I lived ten years
And very well contented.
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
This crocodile being very old,
One day alas he died.
He was ten long years a getting cold
He was so long and wide.
His skin was eight miles thick I’m sure,
Or very near about.
For I was full ten years or more
Acutting my way out.
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
And now I am once more got on earth
I’ve vowed no more to roam,
In a ship that passed I got a berth,
And now I’m safe at home.
And if my story you should doubt,
Should you ever travel the Nile,
It’s ten to one you’ll find the shell
Of the wonderful crocodile.
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
To my rit fal lal li bollem tit!
To my rit fal lal li dee!
Oliver Cromwell
Oliver Cromwell lay buried and dead,
Heehaw buried and dead,
There grew an old apple tree over his head,
Heehaw over his head.
The apples were ripe and ready to fall;
Heehaw ready to fall;
There came an old woman to gather them
all,
Heehaw gather them all.
Oliver rose and gave her a drop,
Heehaw gave her a drop,
Which mad the old woman go hippety hop,
Hee Haw hippety hop.
The saddle and bridle, they lie on the shelf,
Heehaw lie on the shelf,
If you want anymore you can sing it
yourself
Heehaw sing it yourself.
The Foggy, Foggy Dew
When I was a bachelor
I lived all alone,
And worked at the weaver’s trade
And the only, only thing that I ever did
wrong,
Was to woo a fair young maid.
I wooed her in the winter time, and in the
summer too.
And the only, only thing I did that was
wrong,
Was to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.
One night she came to my bedside
When I lay fast asleep
She laid her head upon my bed
And she began to weep.
She sighed, she cried, she damn’near died,
She said: What shall I do?
So I hauled her into bed and I covered up
her head,
Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.
Oh I am a bachelor
And I live with my son,
And we work at the weaver’s trade.
And ev’ry single time that I look into his
eyes,
He reminds me of the fair young maid.
He reminds me of the winter time and of
the summer too,
And of the many, many times that I held
her in my arms,
Just to keep her from the foggy, foggy dew.
Alec Rowley:
A Cycle of Three Mystical Songs
Three Jolly Shepherds
As I out rode his enders night,
Of three jolly shepherds I saw a sight
And all about their fold a star shone bright
They sang terly terlow;
So merrily the shepherds
Their pipes gan to blow
Down from heaven
From heaven so high
Of angels there came a great company
Of mirth and joy and great solemnity
They sang terly terlow;
So merrily the shepherds
Their pipes gan to blow
The Birthday
This day Christ was born,
This day our savior did appear,
This day the angels sing in Earth,
This day archangels are glad;
This day the just rejoice, saying:
Glory be the God on high,
Allelujah!
Frederick Loewe:
They Call The Wind Maria
Away out here they got a name
For wind and rain and fire;
The rain is Tess, the fire’s Jo,
And they call the wind Maria.
Maria blows the stars around
And sends the clouds a flyin’.
Maria makes the mountains sound
Like folks were up there dyin’.
Maria! Maria!
They call the wind Maria!
Before I knew Maria’s name
And heard her wail and whinin’,
I had a girl and she had me,
And the sun was always shinin’.
But then one day I left my girl,
I left her far behind me;
And now I’m lost, so goldurn lost,
Not even God can find me.
Maria! Maria!
The Prophecy
Then Mary took her young son
And set him on her knee
“I pray thee now dear child,
Tell how the world shall be.”
“O I shall be as dead, mother,
As the stones in the wall;
O the stones in the street, mother,
Shall mourn for me all.”
“Upon Easter day, mother,
My uprising shall be;
O the sun and the moon, mother,
Shall both rise with me.”
They call the wind Maria!
Out here they got a name for rain,
For wind and fire only.
But when you’re lost and all a lone,
There ain’t no word but lonely.
And I’m a lost and lonely man
Without a star to guide me.
Maria, blow my love to me;
I need my girl beside me.
Maria! Maria!
They call the wind Maria!
Maria! Maria!
Blow my love to me.
