1.
I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood,
Its lips in the field above are dabbled with blood-red heath,
The red-ribb'd ledges drip with a silent horror of blood,
And Echo there, whatever is ask'd her, answers 'Death.'
[ ... ]
Cycle of Songs from Tennyson's Maud
Song Cycle by Arthur Somervell, Sir (1863 - 1937)
1. I hate the dreadful hollow  [sung text checked 1 time]
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 1, no. 1
Go to the single-text view
Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
2. A voice by the cedar tree  [sung text checked 1 time]
1. A voice by the cedar tree, In the meadow under the Hall! She is singing an air that is known to me, A passionate ballad gallant and gay, A martial song like a trumpet's call! Singing alone in the morning of life, In the happy morning of life and of May, Singing of men that in battle array, Ready in heart and ready in hand, March with banner and bugle and fife To the death, for their native land. 2. Maud with her exquisite face. And wild voice pealing up to the sunny sky, And feet like sunny gems on an English green, Maud in the light of her youth and her grace, Singing of Death, and of Honour that cannot die, Till I well could weep for a time so sordid and mean, And myself so languid and base. 3. Silence, beautiful voice! Be still, for you only trouble the mind With a joy in which I cannot rejoice, A glory I shall not find. Still! I will hear you no more, For your sweetness hardly leaves me a choice But to move to the meadow and fall before Her feet on the meadow grass, and adore, Not her, who is neither courtly nor kind, Not her, not her, but a voice.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 1, no. 5
See other settings of this text.
Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
3. She came to the village church  [sung text checked 1 time]
She came to the village church,
And sat by a pillar alone;
An angel watching an urn
Wept over her, carved in stone;
And once, but once, she lifted her eyes,
And suddenly, sweetly, strangely blush'd
To find they were met by my [own;]1
[ ... ]
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 1, no. 8
Go to the single-text view
View original text (without footnotes)Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
1 Somervell: "own."Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
4. O let the solid ground  [sung text checked 1 time]
1. O let the solid ground Not fail beneath my feet Before my life has found What some have found so sweet; Then let come what come may, What matter if I go mad, I shall have had my day. 2. Let the sweet heavens endure, Not close and darken above me Before I am quite quite sure That there is one to love me; Then let come what come may To a life that has been so sad, I shall have had my day.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 1, no. 11
Go to the single-text view
Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
5. Birds in the high hall garden  [sung text checked 1 time]
1.
Birds in the high Hall-garden
When twilight was falling,
Maud, Maud, Maud, Maud,
They were crying and calling.
2.
Where was Maud? in our wood;
And I, who else, was with her,
Gathering woodland lilies,
Myriads blow together.
3.
Birds in our wood sang
Ringing thro' the vallies,
Maud is here, here, here
In among the lilies.
4.
I kiss'd her slender hand,
She took the kiss sedately;
Maud is not seventeen,
But she is tall and stately.
6.
I know the way she went
Home with her maiden posy,
For her feet have touch'd the meadows
And left the daisies rosy.
[ ... ]
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 1, no. 12
See other settings of this text.
Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
Note: parodied in Archibald Stodart-Walker's Maud (of all work).
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
6. Maud has a garden  [sung text checked 1 time]
1. Maud has a garden of roses And lilies fair on a lawn: There she walks in her state And tends upon bed and bower And thither I climb'd at dawn And stood by her [garden-gate; A lion ramps at the top, He is claspt by a passion-flower.]1 4. I heard no sound where I stood But the rivulet on from the lawn Running down to my own dark wood; Or the voice of the long sea-wave as it swell'd Now and then in the dim-gray dawn; But I look'd, and round, all round the house I beheld The death-white curtain drawn; Felt a horror over me creep, Prickle my skin and catch my breath, Knew that the death-white curtain meant but sleep, Yet I shudder'd and thought like a fool of the sleep of death.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 1, no. 14
Go to the single-text view
View original text (without footnotes)Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
1 Somervell: "garden-gate."Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
7. Go not, happy day  [sung text not yet checked]
Go not, happy day, From the shining fields, Go not, happy day. Till the maiden yields. Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks, And a rose her mouth. When the happy Yes Falters from her lips, Pass and blush the news [O'er the blowing ships]1. Over blowing seas, Over seas at rest, Pass the happy news, Blush it thro' the West; [Till the red man dance By his red cedar tree, And the red man's babe Leap, beyond the sea.]2 Blush from West to East, Blush from East to West, Till the West is East, Blush it thro' the West. Rosy is the West, Rosy is the South, Roses are her cheeks. And a rose her mouth.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), appears in Maud, Part 1, no. 17
See other settings of this text.
View original text (without footnotes)Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
1 Bridge, Liszt: "Over glowing ships"2 omitted by Bridge.
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry
8. I have led her home  [sung text checked 1 time]
1.
I have led her home, my love, my only friend.
There is none like her, none.
And never yet so warmly ran my blood
And sweetly, on and on
Calming itself to the long-wish'd-for end,
Full to the banks, close on the promised good.
2.
None like her, none.
Just now the dry-tongued laurels' pattering talk
Seem'd her light foot along the garden walk,
And shook my heart to think she comes once more;
But even then I heard her close the door,
The gates of Heaven are closed, and she is gone.
[ ... ]
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 1, no. 18
Go to the single-text view
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]9. Come into the garden, Maud  [sung text checked 1 time]
1.
Come into the garden, Maud,
For the black bat, night, has flown,
Come into the garden, Maud,
I am here at the gate alone;
And the woodbine spices are wafted abroad,
And the musk of the roses blown.
2.
For a breeze of morning moves,
And the planet of Love is on high,
Beginning to faint in the light that she loves
On a bed of daffodil sky,
To faint in the light of the sun she loves.
To faint in his light, and to die.
3.
All night have the roses heard
The flute, violin, bassoon;
All night has the casement jessamine stirr'd
To the dangers dancing in tune;
Till a silence fell with the waking bird,
And a hush with the setting moon.
9.
Queen rose of the rosebud garden of girls,
Come hither, the dances are done,
In gloss of satin and glimmer of pearls,
Queen lily and rose in one;
Shine out, little head, sunning over with curls,
To the flowers, and be their sun.
[ ... ]
10.
There has fallen a splendid tear
From the passion-flower at the gate.
She is coming, my dove, my dear;
She is coming, my life, my fate;
The red rose cries, *She is near, she is near;'
And the white rose weeps, 'She is late;'
The larkspur listens, 'I hear, I hear;'
And the lily whispers, 'I wait.'
11.
She is coming, my own, my sweet;
Were it ever so airy a tread.
My heart would hear her and beat,
Were it earth in an earthy bed;
My dust would hear her and beat,
Had I lain for a century dead;
Would start and tremble under her feet,
And blossom in purple and red.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 1, no. 22, first published 1855
See other settings of this text.
Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
10. The fault was mine  [sung text checked 1 time]
1. 'The fault was mine, the fault was mine' -- Why am I sitting here so stunn'd and still, Plucking the harmless wild-flower on the hill? -- It is this guilty hand! -- And there [rises]1 ever a passionate cry [From underneath in the darkening land -- What is it, that has been done? O dawn of Eden bright over earth and sky, The fires of Hell brake out of thy rising sun, The fires of Hell and of Hate; For she, sweet soul, had hardly spoken a word, When her brother ran in his rage to the gate, He came with the babe-faced lord; Heap'd on her terms of disgrace, And while she wept, and I strove to be cool, He fiercely gave me the lie, Till I with as fierce an anger spoke, And he struck me, madman, over the face, Struck me before the languid fool, Who was gaping and grinning by: Struck for himself an evil stroke; Wrought for his house an irredeemable woe; For front to front in an hour we stood, And a million horrible bellowing echoes broke From the red-ribb'd hollow behind the wood, And thunder'd up into Heaven the Christless code, That must have life for a blow. Ever and ever afresh they seem'd to grow. Was it he lay there with a fading eye? 'The fault was mine,' he whisper'd, 'fly!' Then glided out of the joyous wood The ghastly Wraith of one that I know; And there rang on a sudden a passionate cry,]2 A cry for a brother's blood: It will ring in my heart and my ears, till I die, till I die. 2. Is it gone? my pulses beat -- What was it? a lying trick of the brain? Yet I thought I saw her stand, A shadow there at my feet, High over the shadowy land. It is gone; and the heavens fall in a gentle rain, When they should burst and drown with deluging storms The feeble vassals of wine and anger and lust, The little hearts that know not how to forgive: Arise, my God, and strike, for we hold Thee just, Strike dead the whole weak race of venomous worms, That sting each other here in the dust; We are not worthy to live.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 2, no. 1
Go to the single-text view
View original text (without footnotes)Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
1 Somervell: "arises"2 omitted by Somervell.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
11. Dead, long dead  [sung text checked 1 time]
1. Dead, long dead, Long dead! And my heart is a handful of dust, And the wheels go over my head, And my bones are shaken with pain, For into a shallow grave they are thrust, Only a yard beneath the street, And the hoofs of the horses beat, beat, The hoofs of the horses beat, Beat into my scalp and my brain, With never an end to the stream of passing feet, Driving, hurrying, marrying, burying, Clamour and rumble, and ringing and clatter, And here beneath it is all as bad, For I thought the dead had peace, but it is not so; To have no peace in the grave, is that not sad? But up and down and to and fro, Ever about me the dead men go; And then to hear a dead man chatter Is enough to drive one mad. 11. O me, why have they not buried me deep enough? Is it kind to have made me a grave so rough, Me, that was never a quiet sleeper? Maybe still I am but half-dead; Then I cannot be wholly dumb; I will cry to the steps above my head, And somebody, surely, some kind heart will come To bury me, bury me Deeper, ever so little deeper.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 2, no. 5
Go to the single-text view
Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
12. O that 'twere possible  [sung text checked 1 time]
1.
O that 'twere possible
After long grief and pain
To find the arms of my true love
Round me once again!
[ ... ]
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 2, no. 4
See other settings of this text.
Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
13. My life has crept so long  [sung text checked 1 time]
1. My life has crept so long on a broken wing Thro' cells of madness, haunts of horror and fear, That I come to be grateful at last for a little thing: My mood is changed, for it fell at a time of year When the face of night is fair on the dewy downs, [And the shining daffodil dies, and the Charioteer And starry Gemini hang like glorious crowns Over Orion's grave low down in the west,]1 That like a silent lightning under the stars She seem'd to divide in a dream from a band of the blest, And spoke of a hope for the world in the coming wars -- ['And in that hope, dear soul, let trouble have rest. Knowing I tarry for thee,' and pointed to Mars As he glow'd like a ruddy shield on the Lion's breast.]1 2. And it was but a dream, yet it yielded a dear delight To have look'd, tho' but in a dream, upon eyes so fair, That had been in a weary world my one thing bright; [And it was but a dream, yet it lightened my despair When I thought that a war would arise in defence of the right, That an iron tyranny now should bend or cease, The, glory of manhood stand on his ancient height, Nor Britain's one sole God be the millionnaire: No more shall commerce be all in all, and Peace Pipe on her pastoral hillock a languid note, And watch her harvest ripen, her herd increase, Nor the cannon-bullet rust on a slothful shore, And the cobweb woven across the cannon's throat Shall shake its threaded tears in the wind no more.]1 3. [And as months ran on and rumour of battle grew, 'It is time, it is time, O passionate heart,' said I (For I cleaved to a cause that I felt to be pure and true), 'It is time, O passionate heart and morbid eye, That old hysterical mock-disease should die.']1 And I stood on a giant deck and mix'd my breath With a loyal people shouting a battle cry, Till I saw the dreary phantom arise and fly Far into the North, and battle, and seas of death. 4. [Let it go or stay, so I wake to the higher aims Of a land that has lost for a little her lust of gold, And love of a peace that was full of wrongs and shames, Horrible, hateful, monstrous, not to be told; And hail once more to the banner of battle unroll'd! Tho' many a light shall darken, and many shall weep For those that are crush'd in the clash of jarring claims, Yet God's just wrath shall be wreak'd on a giant liar; And many a darkness into the light shall leap, And shine in the sudden making of splendid names, And noble thought be freer under the sun, And the heart of a people beat with one desire; For the peace, that I deem'd no peace, is over and done, And now by the side of the Black and the Baltic deep, And deathful-grinning mouths of the fortress, flames]1 The blood-red blossom of war with a heart of fire. 5. Let it flame or fade, and the war roll down like a wind, We have proved we have hearts in a cause, we are noble still, [And myself have awaked, as it seems, to the better mind; It is better to fight for the good, than to rail at the ill;]1 I have felt with my native land, I am one with my kind, I embrace the purpose of God, and the doom assign'd.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Tennyson, Lord (1809 - 1892), no title, appears in Maud, Part 2, no. 6
Go to the single-text view
View original text (without footnotes)Confirmed with Maud, and Other Poems. By Alfred Tennyson, D.C.L., Poet Laureate. A New Edition, London: Edward Moxon & Co., Dover Street, 1859.
1 omitted by Somervell.Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]