Song Cycle by Sir Granville Ransome Bantock (1868-1946)

1. Prelude

Authorship

by Fiona Macleod (1885-1905) [pseudonym]

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2. The shadowy woodlands

Authorship

by Fiona Macleod (1885-1905) [pseudonym] , "The shadowy woodlands", from From the Hills of Dream, in The Silence of Amor, published 1896

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Above the shadowy woodlands 
I hear the voice of the cuckoo, 
sailing like a silver skiff 
upon the moonflood. 
I hear the far-off plaint of the cuckoo 
sink deep through the moonshine 
above the shadowy woodlands. 
At last, in the dense shadow of the wood, 
the moonlight sleeps.

3. At the rising of the moon

Authorship

by Fiona Macleod (1885-1905) [pseudonym] , "At the rising of the moon", from From the Hills of Dream, in The Silence of Amor, published 1896

At the rising of the moon 
I heard the falling echo of a song, 
down by the linn where the wild-brier hangs over the swirling foam. 
Ah swirling foam, ah poignant breath of the wild brier, 
now that I hear no haunting-sweet echo of a falling song 
at the rising of the moon.

4. Nocturne

Authorship

by Fiona Macleod (1885-1905) [pseudonym] , "Nocturne", from From the Hills of Dream, in The Silence of Amor, published 1896

By dim, mauve and. dream-white bushes of lilac 
I pass to the cypress alley, 
and to the mere which lies breathless in the moonshine. 
A fish leaps, a momentary flame of fire. 
Then all is still again on the moonlit mere, 
where, breathless, it lies beyond the cypress alley. 
In the vague moonshine of the cypress alley 
I pass again, a silent shadow, 
by the dim, mauve and dream-white bushes of lilac.

5. The reed player

Authorship

by Fiona Macleod (1885-1905) [pseudonym] , "The reed player", from From the Hills of Dream, in The Silence of Amor, published 1896

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I saw one put a hollow reed to his lips. 
It was a forlorn, sweet air that he played, 
an ancient forgotten strain learned 
of a shepherding woman upon the hills. 
The Song of Songs it was that he played: 
and the beating of hearts was heard, and I heard sighs, 
and a voice like a distant bird-song rose and fell.
"Play me a song of Death," I said. 
Then he, who had the hollow reed at his lips smiled, 
and he played again the Song of Songs.

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Classical Vocal Repertoire