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录音剪辑 - 古典音乐--作曲家 John Mitchell | |
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录音剪辑
布莱克(William Blake)
I Love the Merry Dance
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music by 约翰 Mitchell
words by 布莱克(William Blake)
April Crane, soprano
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I love the merry dance,
The softly breathing song,
Where innocent eyes do glance,
Where lisps the maiden's tongue.
I love the laughing vale,
I love the echoing hills,
Where mirth does never fail,
And the jolly swain laughs his fill.
I love the pleasant cot,
I love the innocent bow'r,
Where white and brown is our lot,
Or fruit in the midday hour.
I love the oaken seat,
Beneath the oaken tree,
Where all the villagers meet,
And laugh my sports to see.
I love our neighbors all,
But Kitty, but Kitty, I love thee more;
And love them ever I shall;
But thou art all to me.
多恩(John Donne)
With His Kind Mother
music by 约翰 Mitchell
words by 多恩(John Donne)
Ariella Vaccarino, soprano
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With His kind mother, who partakes thy woe,
Joseph, turn back ; see where your child doth sit,
Blowing, yea blowing out those sparks of wit,
Which Himself on the doctors did bestow.
The Word but lately could not speak, and lo !
It suddenly speaks wonders ; whence comes it,
That all which was, and all which should be writ,
A shallow seeming child should deeply know ?
His Godhead was not soul to His manhood,
Nor had time mellow'd Him to this ripeness ;
But as for one which hath a long task, 'tis good,
With the sun to begin His business,
He in His age's morning thus began,
By miracles exceeding power of man.
惠特曼(Walt Whitman)
I Hear Thee Trumpeter
music by 约翰 Mitchell
words by 惠特曼(Walt Whitman)
Jeffrey Stackhouse, bass-baritone
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HARK, some wild trumpeter, some strange musician,
Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes to-night.
I hear thee trumpeter, listening alert I catch thy notes,
Now pouring, whirling like a tempest round me,
Now low, subdued, now in the distance lost.
Come nearer bodiless one, haply in thee resounds
Some dead composer, haply thy pensive life
Was fill'd with aspirations high, unform'd ideals,
Waves, oceans musical, chaotically surging,
That now ecstatic ghost, close to me bending, thy cornet echoing, pealing,
Gives out to no one's ears but mine, but freely gives to mine,
That I may thee translate.
Blow trumpeter free and clear, I follow thee,
While at thy liquid prelude, glad, serene,
The fretting world, the streets, the noisy hours of day withdraw,
A holy calm descends like dew upon me,
I walk in cool refreshing night the walks of Paradise,
I scent the grass, the moist air and the roses;
Thy song expands my numb'd imbonded spirit, thou freest,launchest me
Floating and basking upon heaven's lake.
弗罗斯特(Robert Frost)
To the Thawing Wind
music by 约翰 Mitchell
words by 弗罗斯特(Robert Frost)
Jeffrey Stackhouse, bass-baritone
Acquainted with the Night
music by 约翰 Mitchell
words by 弗罗斯特(Robert Frost)
Jeffrey Stackhouse, bass-baritone
埃德娜.圣文森特.米莱(Edna St. Vincent Millay)
You'll Be Sorry
music by 约翰 Mitchell
words by 埃德娜.圣文森特.米莱(Edna St. Vincent Millay)
Wendy Lashbrook, soprano
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Oh, oh, you will be sorry for that word!
Give back my book and take my kiss instead.
Was it my enemy or my friend I heard?
"What a big book for such a little head!"
Come, I will show you now my newest hat,
And you may watch me purse my mouth and prink!
Oh, I shall love you still, and all of that.
I never again will tell you what I think.
I shall be sweet and crafty, soft and sly;
You will not catch me reading any more;
I shall be called a wife to pattern by.
And some day when you knock and push the door,
Some sane day, not too bright and not too stormy,
I shall be gone,
And you may whistle for me.
普拉斯(Sylvia Plath)
Morning Song
music by 约翰 Mitchell
words by 普拉斯(Sylvia Plath)
Wendy Lashbrook, soprano
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