Claudia DellaSantina Senior Recital
Sunday, April 30, 2023 at 7:30 p.m.
Senior Recital

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
with Dustin Lin, piano

Sunday, April 30, 2023 at 7:30 p.m.

Sandra G. Powell Recital Hall
Natalie L. Haslam Music Center

PROGRAM

Piango, Gemo
Antonio Vivaldi
(1678-1741)

Dille ch’il viver mio
Antonio Vivaldi

Vieni, vieni o mio diletto
Antonio Vivaldi

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
Dustin Lin, piano

From 6 Mélodies

     1. À la Fontaine
     2. Belle Yoli
     3. Ici-bas tout les lilas meurent
     5. Madrid

Pauline Viardot
(1821-1910)

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
Dustin Lin, piano

--- INTERMISSION ---

From Spiewnik Domowy 4

     5. Czary
     7. Groźna dziewczyna

Stanisław Moniuszko
(1819-1872)

From Spiewnik Domowy 3

     7. Prząśniczka

Stanisław Moniuszko

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
Dustin Lin, piano

Three Songs for Medium Voice, Viola, and Piano

  1. Far, far from each other
  2. Where is it that our soul doth go?
  3. Music when soft voices die.

Frank Bridge
(1879-1941)

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
Jackson Guthrie, viola
Dustin Lin, piano

This recital is presented in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Bachelor of Music degree in Music Performance.

Miss Claudia DellaSantina is a student of
Dr. Kimberly Roberts. 

PROGRAM NOTES

Antonio Vivaldi [1678-1741]

Antonio Vivaldi was an Italian composer and violinist known most notably for his violin Concerto, The Four Seasons. Along with Bach and Handel, Vivaldi is regarded as one of the greatest Baroque composers, with a wide breath of works from over 450 concertos for various instruments to 63 operas. His style was considered highly innovative, and in fact, he was an important figure in the formation of the preclassical and classical style. Vivaldi’s compositions are strongly diatonic and structured by tonic-dominant progressions. However, he often employs the use of chromaticism for dramatic purposes.

Piango, Gemo
Piango, gemo, sospiro e peno.
O, la pianga rinchiusa è nel cor.
Solo chiedo per pace del seno,
Che m’uccida un più fiero dolor.

I weep, I moan, I sigh and suffer.
The soreness is confined within my heart.
I only ask for the sake of my heart’s peace,
That an even fiercer pain should kill me.

Dille ch’il viver mio
Dille ch’il viver mio
Col suo bel nome io chiuderò.
Poi dagli elisi ombra dolente,
Pietosi baci le recherò.

Tell her that I will end my days
With her lovely name upon my lips.
And that, from Elysian Fields
I will send her pious kisses.

Vieni, vieni o mio diletto
Vieni, vieni o mio diletto
Che il mio cor è tutto affetto.
Già t’aspetta e ognor ti chiama.
Il mio cor è tutto affetto.

Come, come oh my beloved
For my heart is all affection.
It is ever awaiting and forever calls to you.
My heart is all affection.

Pauline Viardot [1821-1910]

Pauline Viardot was an acclaimed and accomplished vocalist and pianist whose extraordinary talents and intelligence made her an incredibly influential figure for the musical and literary figures of her time. Viardot is considered to be one of the greatest singing actresses in operatic history. She came from a famous musical family, her father being renowned pedagogue Manuel Garcia and her mother and sister celebrated opera stars. Her famous family gave her access to amazing teachers; she studied composition with Anton Reicha and piano with Franz Liszt. Her compositions mirrored her colorful personality, with a plethora of styles and dramatic dimension. She composed over 100 vocal pieces, 90 being published during her lifetime. Her piano accompaniments are often complex, and her vocal melodies are well conceived for the singer. Her use of text reflects her intimate knowledge of language and often features exoticism, this set being no different.

From 6 Mélodies

À la Fontaine
Que viens-tu faire à la fontaine,
Fillette blonde aux yeux d’azur ?
Depuis longtemps la cruche est pleine,
Tu souris encore au flot pur.
Espères-tu, par ton haleine,
Réchauffer, au fond du puits obscur,
L'image du beau capitaine,
Que l'on t'a donné pour futur ?

Ce qui te retient davantage,
C'est, je crois, qu'avec ton image
L'onde reflète les lilas
Et que, caché par le feuillage,
Tu vois le timide Lucas,
Qui croit, que tu ne le vois pas !

What are you doing at the fountain,
Blonde girl with blue eyes?
The jug has long been full,
Yet, you still smile at the pure flow.
Do you hope, by your breath,
To warm the bottom of the dark well,
The image of the handsome captain,
What have you been given for the future?

What holds you back the most,
It is, I believe, that with your image,
The wave reflects the lilacs
And that, hidden by the foliage,
You see the shy Lucas,
Who believes that you do not see him!

Belle Yoli
Voici la Pentecôte,
Belle Yoli,
La fraise est à mi côte
Du bois joli.
Dèja roses nouvelles,
Ont refleuri,
C’est le temps où les belles
Changent d’ami.

Changerez vous comme elles,
Belle Yoli?
Non, je ne veux pas d’autre,
Que mon ami.
Le temps change la rose
La fraise aussi.
Il change toute chose
Mon coeur nenni!

Sur la harpe sonore
Clavier touchant,
Va pour moi dire encore
Cet humble chant,
Toi don’t la voix si douce
Vaut, pour mon coeur,
La brise sur la mouse,
L’eau sur la fleur.

Here is the Pentecost,
Beautiful Yoli,
The strawberry is almost
To the pretty wood
Already new roses,
Have bloomed again,
This is the time where the beauties
Change friends.

Will you change like them,
Beautiful Yoli?
No, I don’t want any one other
Than my friend.
The weather changes the rose
The strawberry too.
It changes everything
My heart nay!

The harp sounds
The keyboard as well,
Play for me again
That humble song,
You whose voice is sweet
Is worth, for my heart,
The breeze on the mouse,
The water on the flower.

Ici-bas tout les lilas meurent
Ici-bas tous les lilas meurent,
Tous les chants des oiseaux sont courts,
Je rêve aux étés qui demeurent
Toujours.
Ici-bas les lèvres effleurent
Sans rien laisser de leur velours,
Je rêve aux baisers qui demeurent
Toujours.
Ici-bas, tous les hommes pleurent
Leurs amitiés ou leurs amours;
Je rêve aux couples qui demeurent
Toujours.

In this world all the flowers wither,
All the songs of the birds are brief;
I dream of summers that will last
Always.
In this world the lips touch but lightly,
And no taste of sweetness remains;
I dream of kisses that will last
Always.
In this world every man is mourning
His lost friendship or his lost love;
I dream of lovers that will last
Always.

Madrid
Madrid, princesse des Espagnes,
Il court par tes mille campagnes
Bien des yeux bleus, bien des yeux noirs.
La blanche ville aux sérénades,
Il passe par tes promenades
Bien des petits pieds tous les soirs.

Madrid, quand les taureaux bondissent,
Bien des mains blanches applaudissent,
Bien des écharpes sont en jeux
Par tes belles nuits étoilées,
Bien des señoras long voilées
Descendent tes escaliers bleus.

Madrid, Madrid, moi, je me raille
De tes dames à fine taille
Qui chaussent l'escarpin étroit;
Car j'en sais une, par le monde,
Que jamais ni brune ni blonde
N'ont valu le bout de son doigt!

Car c'est ma princesse Andalouse!
Mon amoureuse, ma jalouse,
Ma belle veuve au long réseau!
C'est un vrai démon, c'est un ange!
Elle est jaune comme une orange,
Elle est vive comme l'oiseau!

Or, si d'aventure on s'enquête
Qui m'a valu telle conquête,
C'est l'allure de mon cheval,
Un compliment sur sa mantille
Et des bonbons à la vanille
Par un beau soir de carnaval.

Madrid, princess of Spain
Many a blue eye, many a black,
runs through your myriad lands.
The white city of serenades,
Many little feet pass
through your promenades every night.

Madrid, when your bulls are bounding,
Many a white hand applauds.
Many banners are streaming;
On your beautiful starry nights,
Many a long-veiled señora strolls
Down your blue staircases.

Madrid, Madrid, I laugh at
Your thin-waisted women
Shod in such narrow heels;
Because I know that none in all the world,
Neither brunette nor blonde,
is worth even the tip of her finger.

She is my Andalusian princess!
My beloved, my jealous one,
My beautiful widow in a long veil!
A true demon, an angel!
She is yellow like an orange,
Lively like a bird!

Now, if you want to know
How I made this conquest,
It was the allure of my horse,
A compliment on her mantilla
And some vanilla bonbons we shared
On a beautiful evening of carnival.

Stanisław Moniuszko [1819-1872]

Stanisław Moniuszko was a prolific Polish composer and conductor who is widely known for his opera Halka which is part of the official canon of Polish national operas. For this reason, he is known as the father of Polish national opera. He also wrote an enormous amount of Polish art song in his twelve volumes of Spiewnik Domowy. These collections of songs held wide appeal to the Polish public because of their approachable melodies, mainly due to their simple and predominately strophic nature. Many of his songs take the form of dialogues which testifies to Moniuszko’s originality and inventiveness. The main source and inspiration for his rhythmic patterns, melodies, and text are Polish folklore which is highlighted in the selection below.

From Spiewnik Domowy 4

Czary
To są czary, pewno czary!
Coś dziwnego wtem się święci,
Dobrze mówi ojciec stary:
Robię, gadam bez pamięci.
W każdym miejscu, każdą dobą,
Idę w lasy, czyli w jary,
Zawsze widzę ją przed sobą.
To są czary!

W dzień się myślą przy niej stawię,
W nocy kształt jej biorą mary,
Ona przy mnie w snach na jawie…
Jestem pewny, że to czary.
Gdy z nią śpiewam czuje trwogę,
Gdy odejdzie żal bez miary.
Chcę być wesół I nie mogę.
To są czary!

This is witchcraft, surely witchcraft!
Something strange is about to happen,
My wise father is right:
I do, I talk without memory.
In every place, in every day,
I go into the woods, into the canyons,
I always see her before me.
This is witchcraft!

I think of her throughout the day,
At night she takes the shape of a nightmare,
She is beside me in my daydreams…
I am sure that it is witchcraft.
When I sing with her I feel terrified,
When I leave her, grief beyond measure.
I want to be happy, but I cannot.
This is witchcraft!

Groźna dziewczyna
Słuchaj chłopcze: masz mnie kochać?
Kochaj z duszy całej!
Ja nie będę jęczeć, szlochać,
Inne jak szlochały.
Pójdę w bory,
A tam mieszka czarownica stara,
A jak ona cię zamówi,
Zapisze na niebie,
Potem włosów twoich złowi,
Pod krzyżem zagrzebie.
Poznasz wtedy,
Jak to zwodzić miodowym wyrazem;
Poznasz wtedy,
Jak to chodzić do dwóch dziewcząt razem.

Jeśli puścisz się na wody,
Z tobą łódź zatonie,
Jeśli puścisz się na gody
Rozniosą cię konie;
W lesie zginiesz w ciężkim bólu,
Bo cię dąb przywali.
A przy żniwie w ciężkim polu
Piorun cię wypali!
Ach i potem nieraz Stasio
Z grobu już zapłacze:
"Przebacz, przebacz, droga Kasiu"
A ja nie przebaczę!

Listen boy: are you supposed to love me?
Then love me with all your soul!
I will not moan and sob,
Like others have sobbed.
I will go into the deep woods
Where an old witch lives,
And once she curses you,
It will last forever,
Later she will bury your hair,
Under the cross before the tree.
Then you will know
How to whisper sweet nothings;
Then you will know,
How to be with two girls at once.

If you go on the water,
You will drown with your boat,
If you go to the horse race,
You will be dragged behind the horses;
In the forest you will die of a terrible pain
Because an oak tree will crush you.
And at the harvest in a field
Lightning will strike you down!
Oh, and then Stasio
From the grave he will cry:
“Forgive me, forgive me, dear Kasia”
And I will never forgive him!

From Spiewnik Domowy 3

Prząśniczka
U prząśniczki siedzą
Jak anioł dzieweczki,
Przędą sobie, przędą
Jedwabne niteczki.

Kręć się, kręć wrzeciono,
Wić się tobie wić!
Ta pamięta lepiej,
Czyja dłuższa nić!

Poszedł do Królewca
Młodzieniec z wiciną,
Łzami się zalewał,
Żegnając z dziewczyną.

Gładko idzie przędza
Wesołej dziewczynie,
Pamiętała trzy dni
O wiernym chłopczynie.

Inny się młodzieniec
Podsuwa z ubocza,
I innemu rada
Dziewczyna ochocza.

Kręć się, kręć wrzeciono,
Prysła wątła nić,
Wstydem dziewczę płonie,
Wstydź się, dziewczę, wstydź!

At the spinning wheel they sit,
Like little angels,
They spin and spin,
Their small silk threads.

Spin, spin oh spinning wheel,
You ought to plait and plait,
Whoever remembers the best,
Will have the longest thread!

He went to Kròlewiec,
The young boy on a river,
His tears poured,
Saying farewell to his girl.

The spinning goes well,
For the merry girl,
She only remembered for three days,
Her loyal boy.

Another boy approaches,
From another side,
And the girl is eager,
To open herself to him.

Spin, spin oh spinning wheel,
The frail thread broke,
Shame falls upon the girl,
Shame on you girl, shame!

Frank Bridge [1879-1941]

Frank Bridge was an English composer, violinist, and conductor who is widely known for having taught Benjamin Britten. Bridge has always had a penchant for chamber works regardless of the genre. His earlier style demonstrates an interest in modernist tendencies, however, during the period of WWI his style experiments with impressionism. Bridge displays significant developments in his harmonic language as well as the use of non-functional harmony. This set highlights his later style most prominently with the use of text which is both reflective and dark in theme.

From Three Songs for Medium Voice, Viola, and Piano

1. Far, far from each other
Far, far from each other our spirits have flown,
And what heart knows another?
Ah! Who knows his own?
Blow ye winds!
Lift me with you!
I come to the wild.
Fold closely, o nature!
Thine arms round thy child.
Ah! Calm me!
Restore me and dry up my tears.
On thy high mountain platforms,
Where morn first appears.

2. Where is it that our soul doth go?
One thing I’d know,
When we have perished,
Where is it that our soul doth go?
Where, where is the fire,
That is extinguished?
Where is the wind?
Where is the wind but now did blow?
Where is it?
Where is it that our soul doth go?
When we have perished.

3. Music when soft voices die.
Music when soft voices die,
Vibrate in the memory.
Odors when the violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved’s bed.
And so my thoughts when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

We hope you enjoyed this performance. Private support from music enthusiasts enables us to improve educational opportunities and develop our student artists’ skills to their full potential. To learn more about how you can support the School of Music, contact Chris Cox, Director of Development, 865-974-2365 or ccox@utfi.org.

Claudia DellaSantina Senior Recital
Sunday, April 30, 2023 at 7:30 p.m.
Senior Recital

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
with Dustin Lin, piano

Sunday, April 30, 2023 at 7:30 p.m.

Sandra G. Powell Recital Hall
Natalie L. Haslam Music Center

PROGRAM

Piango, Gemo
Antonio Vivaldi
(1678-1741)

Dille ch’il viver mio
Antonio Vivaldi

Vieni, vieni o mio diletto
Antonio Vivaldi

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
Dustin Lin, piano

From 6 Mélodies

     1. À la Fontaine
     2. Belle Yoli
     3. Ici-bas tout les lilas meurent
     5. Madrid

Pauline Viardot
(1821-1910)

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
Dustin Lin, piano

--- INTERMISSION ---

From Spiewnik Domowy 4

     5. Czary
     7. Groźna dziewczyna

Stanisław Moniuszko
(1819-1872)

From Spiewnik Domowy 3

     7. Prząśniczka

Stanisław Moniuszko

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
Dustin Lin, piano

Three Songs for Medium Voice, Viola, and Piano

  1. Far, far from each other
  2. Where is it that our soul doth go?
  3. Music when soft voices die.

Frank Bridge
(1879-1941)

Claudia DellaSantina, mezzo-soprano
Jackson Guthrie, viola
Dustin Lin, piano

This recital is presented in partial fulfillment of the requirements for the Bachelor of Music degree in Music Performance.

Miss Claudia DellaSantina is a student of
Dr. Kimberly Roberts. 

PROGRAM NOTES

Antonio Vivaldi [1678-1741]

Antonio Vivaldi was an Italian composer and violinist known most notably for his violin Concerto, The Four Seasons. Along with Bach and Handel, Vivaldi is regarded as one of the greatest Baroque composers, with a wide breath of works from over 450 concertos for various instruments to 63 operas. His style was considered highly innovative, and in fact, he was an important figure in the formation of the preclassical and classical style. Vivaldi’s compositions are strongly diatonic and structured by tonic-dominant progressions. However, he often employs the use of chromaticism for dramatic purposes.

Piango, Gemo
Piango, gemo, sospiro e peno.
O, la pianga rinchiusa è nel cor.
Solo chiedo per pace del seno,
Che m’uccida un più fiero dolor.

I weep, I moan, I sigh and suffer.
The soreness is confined within my heart.
I only ask for the sake of my heart’s peace,
That an even fiercer pain should kill me.

Dille ch’il viver mio
Dille ch’il viver mio
Col suo bel nome io chiuderò.
Poi dagli elisi ombra dolente,
Pietosi baci le recherò.

Tell her that I will end my days
With her lovely name upon my lips.
And that, from Elysian Fields
I will send her pious kisses.

Vieni, vieni o mio diletto
Vieni, vieni o mio diletto
Che il mio cor è tutto affetto.
Già t’aspetta e ognor ti chiama.
Il mio cor è tutto affetto.

Come, come oh my beloved
For my heart is all affection.
It is ever awaiting and forever calls to you.
My heart is all affection.

Pauline Viardot [1821-1910]

Pauline Viardot was an acclaimed and accomplished vocalist and pianist whose extraordinary talents and intelligence made her an incredibly influential figure for the musical and literary figures of her time. Viardot is considered to be one of the greatest singing actresses in operatic history. She came from a famous musical family, her father being renowned pedagogue Manuel Garcia and her mother and sister celebrated opera stars. Her famous family gave her access to amazing teachers; she studied composition with Anton Reicha and piano with Franz Liszt. Her compositions mirrored her colorful personality, with a plethora of styles and dramatic dimension. She composed over 100 vocal pieces, 90 being published during her lifetime. Her piano accompaniments are often complex, and her vocal melodies are well conceived for the singer. Her use of text reflects her intimate knowledge of language and often features exoticism, this set being no different.

From 6 Mélodies

À la Fontaine
Que viens-tu faire à la fontaine,
Fillette blonde aux yeux d’azur ?
Depuis longtemps la cruche est pleine,
Tu souris encore au flot pur.
Espères-tu, par ton haleine,
Réchauffer, au fond du puits obscur,
L'image du beau capitaine,
Que l'on t'a donné pour futur ?

Ce qui te retient davantage,
C'est, je crois, qu'avec ton image
L'onde reflète les lilas
Et que, caché par le feuillage,
Tu vois le timide Lucas,
Qui croit, que tu ne le vois pas !

What are you doing at the fountain,
Blonde girl with blue eyes?
The jug has long been full,
Yet, you still smile at the pure flow.
Do you hope, by your breath,
To warm the bottom of the dark well,
The image of the handsome captain,
What have you been given for the future?

What holds you back the most,
It is, I believe, that with your image,
The wave reflects the lilacs
And that, hidden by the foliage,
You see the shy Lucas,
Who believes that you do not see him!

Belle Yoli
Voici la Pentecôte,
Belle Yoli,
La fraise est à mi côte
Du bois joli.
Dèja roses nouvelles,
Ont refleuri,
C’est le temps où les belles
Changent d’ami.

Changerez vous comme elles,
Belle Yoli?
Non, je ne veux pas d’autre,
Que mon ami.
Le temps change la rose
La fraise aussi.
Il change toute chose
Mon coeur nenni!

Sur la harpe sonore
Clavier touchant,
Va pour moi dire encore
Cet humble chant,
Toi don’t la voix si douce
Vaut, pour mon coeur,
La brise sur la mouse,
L’eau sur la fleur.

Here is the Pentecost,
Beautiful Yoli,
The strawberry is almost
To the pretty wood
Already new roses,
Have bloomed again,
This is the time where the beauties
Change friends.

Will you change like them,
Beautiful Yoli?
No, I don’t want any one other
Than my friend.
The weather changes the rose
The strawberry too.
It changes everything
My heart nay!

The harp sounds
The keyboard as well,
Play for me again
That humble song,
You whose voice is sweet
Is worth, for my heart,
The breeze on the mouse,
The water on the flower.

Ici-bas tout les lilas meurent
Ici-bas tous les lilas meurent,
Tous les chants des oiseaux sont courts,
Je rêve aux étés qui demeurent
Toujours.
Ici-bas les lèvres effleurent
Sans rien laisser de leur velours,
Je rêve aux baisers qui demeurent
Toujours.
Ici-bas, tous les hommes pleurent
Leurs amitiés ou leurs amours;
Je rêve aux couples qui demeurent
Toujours.

In this world all the flowers wither,
All the songs of the birds are brief;
I dream of summers that will last
Always.
In this world the lips touch but lightly,
And no taste of sweetness remains;
I dream of kisses that will last
Always.
In this world every man is mourning
His lost friendship or his lost love;
I dream of lovers that will last
Always.

Madrid
Madrid, princesse des Espagnes,
Il court par tes mille campagnes
Bien des yeux bleus, bien des yeux noirs.
La blanche ville aux sérénades,
Il passe par tes promenades
Bien des petits pieds tous les soirs.

Madrid, quand les taureaux bondissent,
Bien des mains blanches applaudissent,
Bien des écharpes sont en jeux
Par tes belles nuits étoilées,
Bien des señoras long voilées
Descendent tes escaliers bleus.

Madrid, Madrid, moi, je me raille
De tes dames à fine taille
Qui chaussent l'escarpin étroit;
Car j'en sais une, par le monde,
Que jamais ni brune ni blonde
N'ont valu le bout de son doigt!

Car c'est ma princesse Andalouse!
Mon amoureuse, ma jalouse,
Ma belle veuve au long réseau!
C'est un vrai démon, c'est un ange!
Elle est jaune comme une orange,
Elle est vive comme l'oiseau!

Or, si d'aventure on s'enquête
Qui m'a valu telle conquête,
C'est l'allure de mon cheval,
Un compliment sur sa mantille
Et des bonbons à la vanille
Par un beau soir de carnaval.

Madrid, princess of Spain
Many a blue eye, many a black,
runs through your myriad lands.
The white city of serenades,
Many little feet pass
through your promenades every night.

Madrid, when your bulls are bounding,
Many a white hand applauds.
Many banners are streaming;
On your beautiful starry nights,
Many a long-veiled señora strolls
Down your blue staircases.

Madrid, Madrid, I laugh at
Your thin-waisted women
Shod in such narrow heels;
Because I know that none in all the world,
Neither brunette nor blonde,
is worth even the tip of her finger.

She is my Andalusian princess!
My beloved, my jealous one,
My beautiful widow in a long veil!
A true demon, an angel!
She is yellow like an orange,
Lively like a bird!

Now, if you want to know
How I made this conquest,
It was the allure of my horse,
A compliment on her mantilla
And some vanilla bonbons we shared
On a beautiful evening of carnival.

Stanisław Moniuszko [1819-1872]

Stanisław Moniuszko was a prolific Polish composer and conductor who is widely known for his opera Halka which is part of the official canon of Polish national operas. For this reason, he is known as the father of Polish national opera. He also wrote an enormous amount of Polish art song in his twelve volumes of Spiewnik Domowy. These collections of songs held wide appeal to the Polish public because of their approachable melodies, mainly due to their simple and predominately strophic nature. Many of his songs take the form of dialogues which testifies to Moniuszko’s originality and inventiveness. The main source and inspiration for his rhythmic patterns, melodies, and text are Polish folklore which is highlighted in the selection below.

From Spiewnik Domowy 4

Czary
To są czary, pewno czary!
Coś dziwnego wtem się święci,
Dobrze mówi ojciec stary:
Robię, gadam bez pamięci.
W każdym miejscu, każdą dobą,
Idę w lasy, czyli w jary,
Zawsze widzę ją przed sobą.
To są czary!

W dzień się myślą przy niej stawię,
W nocy kształt jej biorą mary,
Ona przy mnie w snach na jawie…
Jestem pewny, że to czary.
Gdy z nią śpiewam czuje trwogę,
Gdy odejdzie żal bez miary.
Chcę być wesół I nie mogę.
To są czary!

This is witchcraft, surely witchcraft!
Something strange is about to happen,
My wise father is right:
I do, I talk without memory.
In every place, in every day,
I go into the woods, into the canyons,
I always see her before me.
This is witchcraft!

I think of her throughout the day,
At night she takes the shape of a nightmare,
She is beside me in my daydreams…
I am sure that it is witchcraft.
When I sing with her I feel terrified,
When I leave her, grief beyond measure.
I want to be happy, but I cannot.
This is witchcraft!

Groźna dziewczyna
Słuchaj chłopcze: masz mnie kochać?
Kochaj z duszy całej!
Ja nie będę jęczeć, szlochać,
Inne jak szlochały.
Pójdę w bory,
A tam mieszka czarownica stara,
A jak ona cię zamówi,
Zapisze na niebie,
Potem włosów twoich złowi,
Pod krzyżem zagrzebie.
Poznasz wtedy,
Jak to zwodzić miodowym wyrazem;
Poznasz wtedy,
Jak to chodzić do dwóch dziewcząt razem.

Jeśli puścisz się na wody,
Z tobą łódź zatonie,
Jeśli puścisz się na gody
Rozniosą cię konie;
W lesie zginiesz w ciężkim bólu,
Bo cię dąb przywali.
A przy żniwie w ciężkim polu
Piorun cię wypali!
Ach i potem nieraz Stasio
Z grobu już zapłacze:
"Przebacz, przebacz, droga Kasiu"
A ja nie przebaczę!

Listen boy: are you supposed to love me?
Then love me with all your soul!
I will not moan and sob,
Like others have sobbed.
I will go into the deep woods
Where an old witch lives,
And once she curses you,
It will last forever,
Later she will bury your hair,
Under the cross before the tree.
Then you will know
How to whisper sweet nothings;
Then you will know,
How to be with two girls at once.

If you go on the water,
You will drown with your boat,
If you go to the horse race,
You will be dragged behind the horses;
In the forest you will die of a terrible pain
Because an oak tree will crush you.
And at the harvest in a field
Lightning will strike you down!
Oh, and then Stasio
From the grave he will cry:
“Forgive me, forgive me, dear Kasia”
And I will never forgive him!

From Spiewnik Domowy 3

Prząśniczka
U prząśniczki siedzą
Jak anioł dzieweczki,
Przędą sobie, przędą
Jedwabne niteczki.

Kręć się, kręć wrzeciono,
Wić się tobie wić!
Ta pamięta lepiej,
Czyja dłuższa nić!

Poszedł do Królewca
Młodzieniec z wiciną,
Łzami się zalewał,
Żegnając z dziewczyną.

Gładko idzie przędza
Wesołej dziewczynie,
Pamiętała trzy dni
O wiernym chłopczynie.

Inny się młodzieniec
Podsuwa z ubocza,
I innemu rada
Dziewczyna ochocza.

Kręć się, kręć wrzeciono,
Prysła wątła nić,
Wstydem dziewczę płonie,
Wstydź się, dziewczę, wstydź!

At the spinning wheel they sit,
Like little angels,
They spin and spin,
Their small silk threads.

Spin, spin oh spinning wheel,
You ought to plait and plait,
Whoever remembers the best,
Will have the longest thread!

He went to Kròlewiec,
The young boy on a river,
His tears poured,
Saying farewell to his girl.

The spinning goes well,
For the merry girl,
She only remembered for three days,
Her loyal boy.

Another boy approaches,
From another side,
And the girl is eager,
To open herself to him.

Spin, spin oh spinning wheel,
The frail thread broke,
Shame falls upon the girl,
Shame on you girl, shame!

Frank Bridge [1879-1941]

Frank Bridge was an English composer, violinist, and conductor who is widely known for having taught Benjamin Britten. Bridge has always had a penchant for chamber works regardless of the genre. His earlier style demonstrates an interest in modernist tendencies, however, during the period of WWI his style experiments with impressionism. Bridge displays significant developments in his harmonic language as well as the use of non-functional harmony. This set highlights his later style most prominently with the use of text which is both reflective and dark in theme.

From Three Songs for Medium Voice, Viola, and Piano

1. Far, far from each other
Far, far from each other our spirits have flown,
And what heart knows another?
Ah! Who knows his own?
Blow ye winds!
Lift me with you!
I come to the wild.
Fold closely, o nature!
Thine arms round thy child.
Ah! Calm me!
Restore me and dry up my tears.
On thy high mountain platforms,
Where morn first appears.

2. Where is it that our soul doth go?
One thing I’d know,
When we have perished,
Where is it that our soul doth go?
Where, where is the fire,
That is extinguished?
Where is the wind?
Where is the wind but now did blow?
Where is it?
Where is it that our soul doth go?
When we have perished.

3. Music when soft voices die.
Music when soft voices die,
Vibrate in the memory.
Odors when the violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
Rose leaves when the rose is dead,
Are heaped for the beloved’s bed.
And so my thoughts when thou art gone,
Love itself shall slumber on.

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