I HEAR THEE TRUMPETER

Set by Джон Митчел  (1941-) op. 55 (1984),
 from Three Songs from the Mystic Trumpeter, no. 1. 
Text by Уолт Уитман (1819-1892)

trumpeter.mp3


Hark, some wild trumpeter, some strange musician
Hovering unseen in air, vibrates capricious tunes tonight.

I hear thee trumpeter, alert my ear to catch thy notes,
Now pouring, whirling, a tempest around me,
Thy song again to me heard in the distance,
Now low, subdued, now in the distance lost.

Come nearer, bodiless one, 
Perhaps in thee resounds some lost composer, 
Perhaps thy pensive life was filled
With aspirations high.

Waves, oceans musical, chaotically surging,
That now ecstatic ghost close to me is bending,
Thy cornet echoing, a strong sound appealing
Gives out to no-one's ears, but freely gives to mine,
That I may thee translate, that I may thee translate,
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.

Walk in cool refreshing night the walks of Paradise,
Scent the grass, the moist air and the roses
Thy song expands my numb'd imbonded spirit,
Thou freest, launchest me, on heaven's lake.

I hear thee trumpeter, alert my ear to catch thy notes,
Now pouring, whirling, that I may thee translate,
That I may thee translate,
That I may thee translate.

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The Beauty of Touch
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