Babylon to Boston:
I. Geographical Fugue Ernst
II. Songs from
(Austria): Innsbruck, ich muss dich
Isaac (c. 1450-1517)
Innsbruck, I must leave you; I am going on my way into a foreign land.
My joy is taken from me, I know not how to regain it, while in such
I must now endure great pain which I confide only to my dearest love.
O beloved, find pity in your heart for me, that I must part from you.
My comfort above all other women, I shall always be yours, forever
faithful in honor true.
May the good Lord protect you and keep you in your virtue for me, till I
Triste Espađa Juan
del Encina (1468-c. 1530)
Sad Spain, without a future, all should weep for you.,
Forsaken by joy, which is never to return to you!
Soloist: Sveta Kagan
(Italy): Italia mia Philippe
Verdelot (c. 1480-c. 1530)
My Italy, although
speech does not aid those mortal wounds, so many of which
I see in your
lovely body, I wish at least my sighs to be such as the Tiber and Arno
hope for, and the
Po, where I now sit sorrowful and sad. Ruler of Heaven, I beg
that the mercy
that made you come to earth may now make you turn to your beloved,
holy country. See,
nobel Lord, from what trivial causes comes such cruel war;
the hearts that
proud fierce Mars makes hard and closed, Father, do open and soften
and free. Cause
your truth (though I am unworthy) to be heard there through my tongue.
(Iceland): Thule, the Period of
Thule [Iceland], the period of cosmography, doth vaunt of [the volcano] Hecla whose sulphureous fire
doth melt the frozen clime and thaw the sky. Trinacian [Sicily═s] Aetna═s
flames ascend not higher. These things seem wondrous, but more wondrous I,
whose heart with fear doth freeze, with love doth fry.
The Andalusian merchant that returns, laden with cochineal and China
dishes, reports in Spain how strangely [the volcano] Fogo burns amidst an ocean
full of flying fishes. These things seem wondrousâ
Four Pastorales Cecil
Carol Panofsky, oboe
IV. Eastern Europe
Husa (b. 1921)
There is the sun,
climbing bright skies; my dearest love, open your eyes.
Till you are here,
sad is my heart; hurry to me, never to part.
Good night, my
dearest; sleep gently.
When the leaves
fade on the aspen tree one day, they just flutter to the ground
and then the wind
blows them away. When the time comes, when the golden
years end, shall I
also like the aspen leaves grow faded and unbending?
Dear beloved, hear
me, come what may; never let our love grow faded,
rather let it
V. From Babylon to Boston
Babylonis (Psalm 137) Giovanni
Pierluigi da Palestrina
Al naharot Bavel
(Psalm 137) Salamone
By the rivers of Babylon we sat down and wept when we
Upon the willows in the midst thereof we hung up our
harps. For there they
that led us captive asked of us words of song, and our
tormentors asked of us mirth:
˝Sing us one of the songs of Zion.ţ But how shall we
sing the Lord═s song in a foreign land?
If I forget thee, O Jerusalem, let my right hand
forget her cunning. Let my tongue cleave
to the roof of my mouth if I remember thee not; if I
set not Jerusalem above my chiefest joy. Remember, O Lord, against the children
of Edom the day of Jerusalem, who said,
˝Rase it, rase, even to the foundation thereof.ţ O
daughter of Babylon, that art to be destroyed, happy shall he be that repayeth
thee as thou hast served us.
Stolz, Susana Wessling, Jas Cluff,
Alan Miller, Sveta
Kagan, Michael Vojvoda
Lament for Boston William
Mack, Willow Manspeaker
Babylone (text by
Paul Claudel) Darius
She is fallen, great Babylon! If God does not build
the house or guard the city, it is in vain that it was built; it is in vain
that they labored to build it, and that they labored to labor, those who built
it. I, Jean, heard the voice of an eagle in the midst of the air, who cried,
˝Woe! Calamity!ţ because God suddenly thought again of her and held a goblet to
her lips, a large chalice filled with wine; and the fire in it had not
evaporated. All who stand at a distance will say, trembling, ˝Woe! Calamity!ţ
Perished is her port, her storehouses, her workshops, her boutiques, and there
is no one to buy what she sells. Merchandise of silver and gold and of stones,
precious and purple; and of odoriferous wood and ivory and all sort of metals
and designs; and cinnamon and perfumes and gems and incense; and wine and oil and
wheat flour and beasts of burden and sheep; and the souls of men. And you,
heaven: Rejoice over her! Martyrs, emit cries of joy over her! Because God
avenged your cause on her. She is perished, great Babylon! She is fallen!
Caton, David Cosby
VI. Songs from ye olde countrie
(˝Danny Boyţ) arr.
by Percy Grainger (1882-1961)
Loch Lomond arr.
by David Overton
Cluff, Dan Landry
McAlpine═s Lament arr.
by Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)
VI. Songs from Argentina
(Northern Wind) Carlos
Guastavino (b. 1912)
Ripping through the wooded hills over the dunes, the
northern wind screams its cry in the quebracho woods. A heavy string of bamboo, thorny bushes, and chilcales, play the agony of the fire in the red afternoon. Air
like the forge, winds of fire, burning miles and miles all through February.
The wind blows, fire in its breath, cracked land, thirsty man. The earth is
charred, my hope is wounded, northern wind, low is the river, dry are its
banks. My poor tired land! My sweat will not be enough to see you grow again
with the miracle of the flowering pampas.
(Spring in Buenos Aires) Astor
Leta Miller, director