Finghin Collins fortepiano; Gemma Ní Bhriain mezzo-soprano; Sarah McMahon cello & Claire Duff violin

NCH Classical Livestream Series

Finghin Collins fortepiano Gemma NĂ­ Bhriain mezzo-soprano Sarah McMahon cello Claire Duff violin Saturday 14 November 2020 Song Text and Translations

For this concert, members of the Irish Baroque Orchestra, directed by Finghin Collins, explore works by Beethoven as part of the 250th anniversary year.

Beethoven Variations on “Bei Männern” from The Magic Flute for cello and piano Lieder with piano Three Songs Op. 83; Wonne der Wehmut, Sehnsucht, Mit einem gemalten Band Wonne der Wehmut

Sweet Melancholy

Trocknet nicht, trocknet nicht, Thränen der ewigen Liebe!

Ach, nur dem halbgetrockneten Auge Wie öde, wie tot die Welt ihm erscheint!

Trocknet nicht, trocknet nicht, Thränen unglücklicher Liebe!

Don’t dry, don’t dry Those tears of eternal love!

Ah, how barren, how dead the world appears To him who sees through halfdried tears.

Don’t dry, don’t dry Those tears of unhappy love!

Sehnsucht

Longing

Was zieht mir das Herz so? was zieht mich hinaus? und windet und schraubt mich aus Zimmer und Haus?

Wie dort sich die Wolken um Felsen verziehn! da mocht’ ich hinuber, da möcht’ ich wohl hin!

What’s tugging my heart so? What drags me away, Wrenching, driving me From my home in dismay?

See, beyond the crags Where the cloud-forms change, That’s where I’m drawn to, Over that range.

Nun wiegt sich der Raben geselliger Flug; ich mische mich drunter und folge dem Zug. Und Berg und Gemäuer umfittigen wir; sie weilet da drunten, ich spähe nach ihr.

Now ravens pass In companiable flight And I fly with them For a day and a night. Over mountains and ruins We fly all around, She’s waiting below; I’ve my eye on the ground.

Da kommt sie und wandelt; ich eile sobald ein singender Vogel zum buschigen Wald,

There she comes walking, I swiftly fly down, Now as a song bird 1

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Sie weilet und horchet und lächelt mit sich: “Er singet so lieblich und singt es an mich.”

I perch on a bough.

She stops and she listens, Smiles (such a pleasure to see), “He’s singing so sweetly,

Die scheidende Sonne vergüldet die Höhn; die sinnende Schöne sie lässt es geschehn.

Sie wandelt am Bache die Wiesen entlang, und finstrer umschlingt sich der Gang.

He’s singing for me.”

And now the setting sun Turns the hills to gold; My love pays no heed. With thoughts untold She follows the stream Over the field As the path winds away From the last light of day.

Auf einmal erschein’ ich ein blikender Stern.

“Was glänzet da droben, so nah und so fern?”

Und hast du mit Staunen das Leuchten erblickt; ich lieg dir zu Füssen, da bin ich beglückt!

Suddenly I appear As a glittering star; “What’s that shining up there, So near yet so far?”

And as in wonder You catch sight of its gleam I’ll be there at your feet My perfect dream.

Mit einem gemalten Band

With a painted ribbon

Kleine Blumen, kleine Blätter Streuen mir mit leichter Hand Gute, junge Frühlings-Götter Tändelnd auf ein luftig Band.

Zephir, nimm's auf deine Flügel, Schling's um meiner Liebsten Kleid; Und so tritt sie vor den Spiegel All in ihrer Munterkeit.

Sieht mit Rosen sich umgeben, Selbst wie eine Rose jung.

Einen Blick, geliebtes Leben!

Und ich bin belohnt genug.

Fühle, was dies Herz empfindet, Reiche frei mir deine Hand, Und das Band, das uns verbindet, Sei kein schwaches Rosenband!

Little leaves and flowers are being strewn By gods of spring, so young and fair, Playfully, delicately, On a ribbon light as air.

Zephyr, take it on your wings, Wind it about my dearest’s dress.

Then she’ll step up to her mirror, There in all her sprightliness.

And with roses all about her, She’ll look young as any rose.

Grant me just one glance, my dearest, Reward enough, as Heaven knows!

Feel just what this heart is feeling, Freely offer me your hand, See the bond that binds us More than a ribbon will withstand.

Two songs from Mignon Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt (WoO 134) Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt WeiĂ&#x;, was ich leide!

Allein und abgetrennt Von aller Freude, Seh ich ans Firmament Nach jener Seite.

Only Those Who Know Longing Only those who know longing Know what sorrows me!

Alone and separated From all joy, I look into the sky To the yonder side.

Ach! der mich liebt und kennt, Ist in der Weite.

Es schwindelt mir, es brennt Mein Eingeweide.

Nur wer die Sehnsucht kennt WeiĂ&#x;, was ich leide!

Ah! the one who loves and knows me Is in the distance.

It dizzies me, it burns my guts.

Only those who know longing Know how I suffer!

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Kennst Du das Land (Do You Know The Country) (Op. 75, No. 1) Text by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe (1749-1832)

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Kennst du das Land, wo die Zitronen blühn, Im dunkeln Laub die GoldOrangen glühn, Ein sanfter Wind vom blauen Himmel weht, Die Myrte still und hoch der Lorbeer steht? Kennst du es wohl?

Dahin! dahin Möcht ich mit dir, o mein Geliebter, ziehn.

Kennst du das Haus? Auf Säulen ruht sein Dach. Es glänzt der Saal, es schimmert das Gemach, Und Marmorbilder stehn und sehn mich an: Was hat man dir, du armes Kind, getan?

Kennst du es wohl?

Dahin! dahin Möcht ich mit dir, o mein Beschützer, ziehn.

Kennst du den Berg und seinen Wolkensteg? Das Maultier sucht im Nebel seinen Weg; In Höhlen wohnt der Drachen alte Brut; Es stürzt der Fels und über ihn die Flut!

Kennst du ihn wohl?

Dahin! dahin Geht unser Weg! O Vater, laß uns ziehn!

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Do you know the country where lemons grow? Where through darkgreen leaves golden oranges glow?

Where gentle breezes come from a clear sky And the myrtle is still and the laurel grows high? Do you know it, then? It is there, there I would go, my beloved, with you.

Do you know the house, its roof rests on colonnades?

Its great hall is agleam, it has balconnades And marble figures lean down and say: ‘Poor child, what have they done to you, pray?’ Do you know it, then? It is there, there I would go, my protector, with you.

Do you know the mountain, its path in the cloud? The mule picks his way through the mist, its head bowed.

In caves there, you’ll find antique dragons’ kin, The sheer rock face, the great water-fall’s din. Do you know it then? It is there, there We must go, Father - O let us go now!

Irish Folk Songs with piano trio The Wand’ring Gypsey, Sirs, am I (WoO 152, No. 23) A wand'ring gypsey, Sirs, am I, From Norwood, where we oft complain, With many a tear and many a sigh, Of blust'ring winds and rushing rain.

No costly rooms nor gay attire Within our humble shed appear; No beds of down or blazing fire, At night our shivering limbs to cheer.

Alas! No friend comes near our cot; The redbreasts only find the way.

Who give there all, a simple note, At peep of morn and parting day.

But fortunes here I come to tell, They yield me, gentle Sir, your hand: Within these lines what thousands dwell!

And, bless me, what a heap of land!

It surely, Sir, must pleasing be To hold such wealth in every line!

Try, pray now try, if you can see A little treasure lodg'd in mine.

Yon sun that pours the lightsome day, And gilds the palace and the farm, Can never miss the kindly ray That makes the hapless vagrant warm.

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Sad and luckless was the season (WoO 153, No. 6) Sad and luckless was the season, When to court fair Ellen flew, Flew from Love, and Peace, and Reason, Worlds to see of promise new.

Back she comes - each grace is finer, Ev'ry charm that crowds adore, All the form divine, diviner But the heart is there no more.

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Oh! 'tis gone, the temper even, Careless nature, artless ease!

All that makes retirement heaven Pleasing, without toil to please, Hope no more, sweet lark, to cheer her, Vain to her these echoing skies Bloom non more, ye violets, near her, Yours are charms she would not prize.

Ellen! Go where crowds admire thee, Chariots rattle, torches blaze; Here our dull content would tire thee, Worthless be our village praise.

Go! Yet oh, that Thought's soft season Ellen's heart might but restore!

Hard the task - whate'er the reason Hard the task to love no more.

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O Harp of Erin (WoO 154, No. 2) O harp of Erin thou art now laid low, For he the last of all his race is gone: And now no more the minstrel's verse shall flow, That sweetly mingled with thy dulcet tone: The hand is cold that with a poet's fire Could sweep in magic change thy sounding wire.

How lonely were the minstrel's latter days, How of thy string with strains indignant rung; To desert wilds he pour'd his ancient lays, Or to a shepherd boy his legend sung: The purple heath of ev'ning was his bed, His shelter from the storm a peasant's shed!

The gale that round his urn its odour flings, And waves the flow's that o'er it wildly wreathe, Shall thrill along thy few remaining strings, And with a mournful chord his requiem breathe.

The shepherd boy that paus'd his song to hear, Shall chant it o'er his grave, and drop a tear.

Beethoven Piano Trio Op.1 No.3 1. Allegro con brio 2. Andante cantabile con Variazioni 3. Minuetto. Quasi Allegro 4. Finale. Prestissimo Next concert in the NCH Classical Livestream Series is: ‘Master & Prodigy’; Irish Chamber Orchestra with Katherine Hunka, Director/Violin and Kevin Jansson Piano, Thursday 19th November.

See www.nch.ie

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