Songs of Old Cathay

Song Cycle by Cyril Meir Scott (1879 - 1970)

1. Alone  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
What do these halls of jasper mean,
  and shining floor,
Where tapestries of satin screen
  window and door?
A lady on a lonely seat,
  embroidering
Fair flowers which seem to smell as sweet
  as buds in spring.
Swallows flit past, a zephyr shakes
  the plum-blooms down;
She draws the blind, a goblet takes
  her thoughts to drown.
And now she sits in tears, or hums,
  nursing her grief
That in her life joy rarely comes
  to bring relief. . . . . . .
Oh for the humble turtle's flight,
  my mate and I;
Not the lone crane far out of sight
  beyond the sky!

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2. In absence  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
At eve, I stand upon the bank and gaze;
  Restless, I know not where my bark may rest;
I see the forest through the autumn haze;
  I see the hills of radiance all divest;
I see the herdsman homing o'er the lea;
  I see the huntsman's laden horse return. . . . .
Alas, no loved one comes to beckon me!--
  I sit and croon the thoughts that in me burn.

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3. A song of Wine
 (Sung text)

Language: English 
What is life after all but a dream?
And why should such pother be made?
Better far to be tipsy, I deem,
And doze all day long in the shade.

When I wake and look out on the lawn,
I hear midst the flowers a bird sing;
I ask, "Is it evening or dawn?"
The mango-bird whistles, "'Tis spring."

Overpower'd with the beautiful sight,
Another full goblet I pour,
And would sing till the moon rises bright--
But soon I'm as drunk as before.

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Researcher for this page: Robbert Muuse

4. Waiting  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
The sun has sunk behind the western hill,
  And darkness glides across the vale below;
Between the firs the moon shines cold and chill,
  No breezes whisper to the streamlet's flow.
Belated woodsmen homeward hurry past,
  Birds seek their evening refuge in the tree:
O my beloved, wilt thou come at last?
  With lute, among the flowers, I wait for thee.

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5. A picnic  [sung text not yet checked]

Language: English 
The sun is setting as we loose the boat,
And lightly o'er the breeze-swept waters float.
We seek a corner where the bamboo grows,
And fragrant lilies offer cool repose.
Here well-iced draughts of wine the men prepare,
With lotus shredded fine by fingers fair. . . .
But now a black cloud gathering in the sky
Warns me to finish off my verse and fly.

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Total word count: 387