Charles Villiers Stanford
5 voix · Soprano, Alto, Tenor, Bass, Piano
Chargement de la partition…
Soprano
O Swallow, Swallow, Flying, flying south, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee. O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, And light upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, and cheep and twitter twenty million loves. Why ling’reth she to clothe her heart with love, When all the woods are green? O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, But in the North long since my nest is made, O tell her, brief is life, but love is long, And brief the sun of summer in the North, And brief the moon of beauty in the South. Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.
Alto
O Swallow, Swallow, Flying, flying south, Fly to her, and fall upon her gilded eaves, And tell her, tell her, what I tell to thee. O Swallow, Swallow, if I could follow, And light upon her lattice, I would pipe and trill, and cheep and twitter twenty million loves. Why ling’reth she to clothe her heart with love, When all the woods are green? O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, But in the North long since my nest is made, O tell her, brief is life, but love is long, And brief the sun of summer in the North, And brief the moon of beauty in the South. Fly to her, and pipe and woo her, and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.
Tenor
O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, that bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North. O were I thou that she might take me in, And lay me on her bosom, and her heart would rock the snowy cradle till I died. Delaying as the tender ash delays To clothe herself, When all the woods are green? O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, But in the North long since my nest is made, O tell her, brief is life, but love is long, And brief the sun of summer in the North, And brief the moon of beauty in the South. O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, Fly and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.
Bass
O tell her, Swallow, thou that knowest each, that bright and fierce and fickle is the South, And dark and true and tender is the North. O were I thou that she might take me in, And lay me on her bosom, and her heart would rock the snowy cradle till I died. Delaying as the tender ash delays To clothe herself, When all the woods are green? O tell her, Swallow, that thy brood is flown: Say to her, I do but wanton in the South, But in the North long since my nest is made, O tell her, brief is life, but love is long, And brief the sun of summer in the North, And brief the moon of beauty in the South. O Swallow, flying from the golden woods, Fly and make her mine, And tell her, tell her, that I follow thee.
OpenScore (CC0)
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