Arnold
Dolmetsch
and Mr.
Yeats
_
FOOTNOTE:
[B] Mr. Synge has outdone me with his _Play Boy of the Western World_,
which towards the end of the week had more than three times the number
in the pit alone. Counting the police inside and outside the theatre,
there were, according to some evening papers, five hundred. --_March,
1908. _
THE MUSIC FOR USE IN THE PERFORMANCE OF THESE PLAYS.
All the music that is printed here, with the exception of Mr. Arthur
Darley's, is of that kind which I have described in _Samhain_ and in
_Ideas of Good and Evil_. Some of it is old Irish music made when all
songs were but heightened speech, and some of it composed by modern
musicians is none the less to be associated with words that must
never lose the intonation of passionate speech. No vowel must ever be
prolonged unnaturally, no word of mine must ever change into a mere
musical note, no singer of my words must ever cease to be a man and
become an instrument.
The degree of approach to ordinary singing depends on the context, for
one desires a greater or lesser amount of contrast between the lyrics
and the dialogue according to situation and emotion and the qualities
of players. The words of Cathleen ni Houlihan about the 'white-scarfed
riders' must be little more than regulated declamation; the little song
of Leagerie when he seizes the 'Golden Helmet' should in its opening
words be indistinguishable from the dialogue itself. Upon the other
hand, Cathleen's verses by the fire, and those of the pupils in the
_Hour-Glass_, and those of the beggars in the _Unicorn_, are sung as
the country people understand song. Modern singing would spoil them for
dramatic purposes by taking the keenness and the salt out of the words.
The songs in _Deirdre_, in Miss Farr's and in Miss Allgood's setting,
need fine speakers of verse more than good singers; and in these,
and still more in the song of the Three Women in _Baile's Strand_,
the singers must remember the natural speed of words. If the lyric
in _Baile's Strand_ is sung slowly it is like church-singing, but if
sung quickly and with the right expression it becomes an incantation
so old that nobody can quite understand it. That it may give this
sense of something half-forgotten, it must be sung with a certain lack
of minute feeling for the meaning of the words, which, however, must
always remain words. The songs in _Deirdre_, especially the last dirge,
which is supposed to be the creation of the moment, must, upon the
other hand, at any rate when Miss Farr's or Miss Allgood's music is
used, be sung or spoken with minute passionate understanding. I have
rehearsed the part of the Angel in the _Hour-Glass_ with recorded notes
throughout, and believe this is the right way; but in practice, owing
to the difficulty of finding a player who did not sing too much the
moment the notes were written down, have left it to the player's own
unrecorded inspiration, except at the 'exit,' where it is well for the
player to go nearer to ordinary song.
I have not yet put Miss Farr's _Deirdre_ music to the test of
performances, but, as she and I have worked out all this art of spoken
song together, I have little doubt but I shall find it all I would have
it. Mr. Darley's music was used at the first production of the play and
at its revival last spring, and was dramatically effective. I could
hear the words perfectly, and I think they must have been audible to
anyone hearing the play for the first or second time. They had not,
however, the full animation of speech, as one heard it in the dirge
at the end of the play set by Miss Allgood herself, who played the
principal musician. It is very difficult for a musician who is not a
speaker to do exactly what I want. Mr. Darley has written for singers
not for speakers. His music is, perhaps, too elaborate, simple though
it is. I have not had sufficient opportunity to experiment with the
play to find out the exact distance from ordinary speech necessary in
the first two lyrics, which must prolong the mood of the dialogue while
being a rest from its passions. Miss Farr's music will be used at the
next revival of the play.
Mr. Darley's music for _Shadowy Waters_ was supposed to be played
upon Forgael's magic harp, and it accompanied words of Dectora's and
Aibric's. It was played in reality upon a violin, always pizzicato,
and gave the effect of harp playing, at any rate of a magic harp. The
'cues' are all given and the words are printed under the music. The
violinist followed the voice, except in the case of the 'O', where it
was the actress that had to follow.
W. B. YEATS.
_March, 1908. _
THE KING'S THRESHOLD.
_THE FOUR RIVERS. _
FLORENCE FARR.
The four rivers that run there,
Through well-mown level ground
Have come out of a blessed well
That is all bound and wound
By the great roots of an apple,
And all fowls of the air
Have gathered in the wide branches
And Keep singing there.
ON BAILE'S STRAND.
_THE FOOL'S SONG. _
FLORENCE FARR.
Cuchulain has killed kings,
Kings and sons of kings,
Dragons out of the water and witches out of the air,
Banachas and Bonachas and people of the woods.
Witches that steal the milk,
Fomor that steal the children,
Hags that have heads like hares,
Hares that have claws like witches,
All riding a-cock-horse,
Out of the very bottom of the bitter black north.
ON BAILE'S STRAND.
_SONG OF THE WOMEN. _
FLORENCE FARR.
May this fire have driven out
The shape-changers that can put
Ruin on a great king's house,
Until all be ruinous.
Names whereby a man has known
The threshold and the hearthstone,
Gather on the wind and drive
Women none can kiss and thrive,
For they are but whirling wind,
Out of memory and mind.
They would make a prince decay
With light images of clay
Planted in the running wave;
Or for many shapes they have,
They would change them into hounds
Until he had died of his wounds
Though the change were but a whim;
Or they'd hurl a spell at him,
That he follow with desire
Bodies that can never tire
Or grow kind, for they anoint
All their bodies joint by joint
With a miracle-working juice
That is made out of the grease
Of the ungoverned unicorn;
But the man is thrice forlorn
Emptied, ruined, wracked, and lost,
That they follow, for at most
They will give him kiss for kiss
While they murmur "After this
Hatred may be sweet to the taste;"
Those wild hands that have embraced
All his body can but shove
At the burning wheel of love
Till the side of hate comes up.
Therefore in this ancient cup
May the sword-blades drink their fill
Of the home-brew there, until
They will have for master none
But the threshold and hearthstone.
_THE FOOL'S SONG. _--II.
FLORENCE FARR.
When you were an acorn on the tree top,
Then was I an eagle-cock;
Now that you are a withered old block,
Still am I an eagle-cock.
DEIRDRE.
_MUSICIANS' SONG. _--I.
FLORENCE FARR.
First Musician.
"Why is it," Queen Edain said,
"If I do but climb the stair
To the tower overhead
When the winds are calling there,
Or the gannets calling out,
In waste places of the sky,
There is so much to think about,
That I cry, that I cry? "
Second Musician.
But her goodman answered her:
"Love would be a thing of naught
Had not all his limbs a stir
Born out of immoderate thought.
Were he any thing by half,
Were his measure running dry,
Lovers, if they may not laugh,
Have to cry, have to cry. "
The Three Musicians together.
But is Edain worth a song
Now the hunt begins anew?
Praise the beautiful and strong;
Praise the redness of the yew;
Praise the blossoming apple-stem.
But our silence had been wise.
What is all our praise to them
That have one another's eyes?
DEIRDRE.
_MUSICIANS' SONG. _--II.
FLORENCE FARR.
Love is an immoderate thing
And can never be content
Till it dip an ageing wing,
Where some laughing element
Leaps and Time's old lanthorn dims.
What's the merit in love-play,
In the tumult of the limbs
That dies out before 'tis day,
Heart on heart or mouth on mouth
All that mingling of our breath,
When love-longing is but drouth
For the things that follow death?
_MUSICIANS' SONG. _--III.
FLORENCE FARR.
First Musician.
They are gone, they are gone
The proud may lie by the proud.
Second Musician.
Though we were bidden to sing, cry nothing Loud.
First Musician.
They are gone, they are gone.
Second Musician.
Whispering were enough.
First Musician.
Into the secret wilderness of their love.
Second Musician.
A high grey cairn.
What more to be said?
First Musician.
Eagles have gone into their cloudy bed.
DEIRDRE.
_MUSICIANS' SONG. _--III.
SARAH ALLGOOD.
FIRST MUSICIAN
They are gone:
They are gone; the proud may lie by the proud.
SECOND MUSICIAN
Though we are bidden to sing, cry nothing loud.
FIRST MUSICIAN
They are gone, they are gone.
SECOND MUSICIAN
Whispering were enough.
FIRST MUSICIAN.
Into the secret wilderness of their love.
SECOND MUSICIAN
A high grey cairn.
What more is to be said?
FIRST MUSICIAN
Eagles have gone into their cloudy bed.
SHADOWY WATERS.
ARTHUR DARLEY.
Sailors. And I! And I! And I!
Dectora. Protect me now, gods, that my people swear by.
Dectora. I will end all your magic on the instant. [C]
This sword is to lie beside him in the grave.
It was in all his battles.
I will spread my hair, and wring my hands, and wail him bitterly,
For I have heard that he was proud and laughing, blue-eyed, and
a quick runner on bare feet,
And that he died a thousand years ago.
O! O! O!
But no, that is not it.
I knew him well, and while I heard him laughing they killed him at
my feet.
O! O! O! O!
For golden-armed Iollan that I loved.
Forgael. Have buried nothing by my golden arms.
Forgael. And knitted mesh to mesh we grow immortal.
FOOTNOTE:
[C] The Violinist should time the music so as to finish when Aibric
says "For everything is gone".
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS.
_IRISH TRADITIONAL AIRS. _
"The Airy Bachelor. "
Oh come all ye airy bachelors,
come listen unto me.
A sergeant caught mefowling,
and he fired his gun so free . . .
His comrades came to his relief,
And I was soon trapanned. . .
And bound up like a wood-cock
That had fallen into their hands.
"Johnnie Gibbons. "
1.
Oh Johnnie Gibbons my five hundred healths to you,
Its long you're away from us over the sea.
2.
Oh Johnnie Gibbons its you were the prop to us,
You to have left us, we're fools put astray.
"The Lion shall lose his strength. "
Oh the Lion shall lose his strength,
And the bracket thistle pine . . .
And the harp shall sound sweet, sweet at length
Between the eight and nine.
THE HOUR-GLASS.
_TRADITIONAL ARAN AIR. _
I was going the road one day . . .
O! the brown and the yellow beer,
And I met with a man that was no right man, . . .
Oh my dear, my dear.
CATHLEEN NI HOULIHAN.
FLORENCE FARR.
I.
I will go cry with the woman,
For yellow-haired Donough is dead,
With a hempen rope for a neck-cloth,
And a white cloth on his head.
II.
Do not make a great keening
When the graves have been dug tomorrow.
III.
They shall be remembered forever
[repeat 3 times]
The people shall hear them forever.
MUSIC FOR LYRICS.
Three of the following settings are by Miss Farr, and she accompanies
the words upon her psaltery for the most part. She has a beautiful
speaking-voice, and, an almost rarer thing, a perfect ear for verse;
and nothing but the attempting of it will show how far these things
can be taught or developed where they exist but a little. I believe
that they should be a part of the teaching of all children, for the
beauty of the speaking-voice is more important to our lives than that
of the singing, and the rhythm of words comes more into the structure
of our daily being than any abstract pattern of notes. The relation
between formal music and speech will yet become the subject of science,
not less than the occasion of artistic discovery; for I am certain
that all poets, even all delighted readers of poetry, speak certain
kinds of poetry to distinct and simple tunes, though the speakers may
be, perhaps generally are, deaf to ordinary music, even what we call
tone-deaf. I suggest that we will discover in this relation a very
early stage in the development of music, with its own great beauty, and
that those who love lyric poetry but cannot tell one tune from another
repeat a state of mind which created music and yet was incapable of the
emotional abstraction which delights in patterns of sound separated
from words. To it the music was an unconscious creation, the words a
conscious, for no beginnings are in the intellect, and no living thing
remembers its own birth.
I give after Miss Farr's settings three others, two taken down by Mr.
Arnold Dolmetsch from myself, and one from a fine scholar in poetry,
who hates all music but that of poetry, and knows of no instrument that
does not fill him with rage and misery. Mr. Arnold Dolmetsch, when he
took up the subject at my persuasion, wrote down the recitation of
another lyric poet, who like myself knows nothing of music, and found
little tunes that delighted him; and Mr. George Russell ('A. E. ') writes
all his lyrics, a musician tells me, to two little tunes which sound
like old Arabic music. I do not mean that there is only one way of
reciting a poem that is correct, for different tunes will fit different
speakers or different moods of the same speaker, but as a rule the more
the music of the verse becomes a movement of the stanza as a whole,
at the same time detaching itself from the sense as in much of Mr.
Swinburne's poetry, the less does the poet vary in his recitation. I
mean in the way he recites when alone, or unconscious of an audience,
for before an audience he will remember the imperfection of his ear in
note and tone, and cling to daily speech, or something like it.
Sometimes one composes to a remembered air. I wrote and I still speak
the verses that begin 'Autumn is over the long leaves that love us' to
some traditional air, though I could not tell that air or any other on
another's lips, and _The Ballad of Father Gilligan_ to a modification
of the air _A Fine Old English Gentleman_. When, however, the rhythm is
more personal than it is in these simple verses, the tune will always
be original and personal, alike in the poet and in the reader who has
the right ear; and these tunes will now and again have great beauty.
NOTE BY FLORENCE FARR.
I made an interesting discovery after I had been elaborating the art
of speaking to the psaltery for some time. I had tried to make it
more beautiful than the speaking by priests at High Mass, the singing
of recitative in opera and the speaking through music of actors in
melodrama. My discovery was that those who had invented these arts
had all said about them exactly what Mr.
Arnold Dolmetsch and Mr. W.
B. Yeats said about my art. Anyone can prove this for himself who
will go to a library and read the authorities that describe how early
liturgical chant, plain-song and jubilations or melismata were adapted
from the ancient traditional music; or if they read the history of the
beginning of opera and the 'nuove musiche' by Caccini, or study the
music of Monteverde and Carissimi, who flourished at the beginning of
the seventeenth century, they will find these masters speak of doing
all they can to give an added beauty to the words of the poet, often
using simple vowel sounds when a purely vocal effect was to be made
whether of joy or sorrow. There is no more beautiful sound than the
alternation of carolling or keening and a voice speaking in regulated
declamation. The very act of alternation has a peculiar charm.
Now to read these records of music of the eighth and seventeenth
centuries one would think that the Church and the opera were united in
the desire to make beautiful speech more beautiful, but I need not say
if we put such a hope to the test we discover it is groundless. There
is no ecstasy in the delivery of ritual, and recitative is certainly
not treated by opera-singers in a way that makes us wish to imitate
them.
When beginners attempt to speak to musical notes they fall naturally
into the intoning as heard throughout our lands in our various
religious rituals. It is not until they have been forced to use their
imaginations and express the inmost meaning of the words, not until
their thought imposes itself upon all listeners and each word invokes a
special mode of beauty, that the method rises once more from the dead
and becomes a living art.
It is the belief in the power of words and the delight in the purity of
sound that will make the arts of plain-chant and recitative the great
arts they are described as being by those who first practised them.
_THE WIND BLOWS OUT OF THE GATES OF THE DAY. _[A]
FLORENCE FARR.
The wind blows out of the gates of the day,
The wind blows over the lonely of heart,
And the lonely of heart is withered away,
While the fairies dance in a place apart,
Shaking their milkwhite feet in a ring,
Tossing their milkwhite arms in the air
For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing
Of a land where even the old are fair
And even the wise are merry of tongue.
But I heard a reed of Coolaney say,
When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung,
The lovely of heart must wither away.
_THE HAPPY TOWNLAND. _[D]
FLORENCE FARR.
O Death's old bony finger
Will never find us there
In the high hollow townland
Where love's to give and to spare;
Where boughs have fruit and blossom
at all times of the year;
Where rivers are running over
With red beer and brown beer.
An old man plays the bagpipes
In a gold and silver wood;
Queens, their eyes blue like the ice,
Are dancing in a crowd.
Chorus.
The little fox he murmured,
'O what of the world's bane? '
The sun was laughing sweetly,
The moon plucked at my rein;
But the little red fox murmured,
'O do not pluck at his rein,
He is riding to the townland
That is the world's bane. '
FOOTNOTE:
[D] The music as written suits my speaking voice if played an octave
lower than the notation. --F. F.
_I HAVE DRUNK ALE FROM THE COUNTRY OF THE YOUNG. _[E]
FLORENCE FARR.
I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young
And weep because I know all things now:
I have been a hazel tree and they hung
The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough
Among my leaves in times out of mind:
I became a rush that horses tread:
I became a man, a hater of the wind,
Knowing one, out of all things, alone, that his head
Would not lie on the breast or his lips on the hair
Of the woman that he loves, Until he dies;
Although the rushes and the fowl of the air
Cry of his love with their pitiful cries.
_THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS. _
W. B. Y.
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream,
And caught a little silver trout.
_THE HOST OF THE AIR. _
A. H. B.
O'Driscoll drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and tree tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.
FOOTNOTE:
[E] To be spoken an octave lower than it would be sung. --F. F.
_THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER. _
W. B. Y.
I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
And the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
And their day goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress;
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.
_Printed by_ A. H. BULLEN, _at The Shakespeare Head Press,
Stratford-on-Avon_.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 25, stage direction, mixed case "TEIg" was changed to "TEIG" (TEIG
and SHEMUS go out)
Page 70, "marhsalled" changed to "marshalled" (marshalled into rude
order)
Page 112, "The CHILD" changed to "THE CHILD" to match rest of usage in
text (THE CHILD makes a)
Page 214, "_Les Matinees de Timothe Trimm_" was retained as printed as
it appears spelled this way in more than one text. More common is "_Les
Matinees de Timothee Trimm_. "
Page 216, "apre" changed to "apres" (Deux jours apres)
Page 217, "Des" changed to "Des" (Des qu'elle fut)
Page 218, "enchaines" changed to "enchaines" (enchaines dans une prison)
Music Transcriber's Notes:
Rhythms have been added to all songs where words are to be spoken on a
single note, to match the rhythm of speech.
Shadowy Waters--Although Yeats states in his notes on the music (pp.
223-24) that this piece was played on a violin in actual performance,
he states that it is meant to be "Forgael's magic harp. " For that
reason, and reasons of improved sound in midi, a harp sound has been
used.
The Airy Bachelor--in bar 3, the second and fourth quarter notes have
been corrected to eighths. In "Johnnie Gibbons," bar 1, the first note
should be a dotted quarter. In "The Lion shall lose his strength," bar
3, the first note should be a dotted quarter.
I--The rests should be quarter rests. II and III--The key and time
signature are missing in the original, so the transcriber has guessed
at them and adjusted the rhythm to the words.
The Song of Wandering Aengus--a sixteenth rest and fermata have been
added to bar 7 to match the rhythm of the other lines in the song.
The Song of the Old Mother--In bars 3 and 19, the first note should be
sharp. In the line "And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress," the
eighth note for "but" should be in the next bar.
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FOOTNOTE:
[B] Mr. Synge has outdone me with his _Play Boy of the Western World_,
which towards the end of the week had more than three times the number
in the pit alone. Counting the police inside and outside the theatre,
there were, according to some evening papers, five hundred. --_March,
1908. _
THE MUSIC FOR USE IN THE PERFORMANCE OF THESE PLAYS.
All the music that is printed here, with the exception of Mr. Arthur
Darley's, is of that kind which I have described in _Samhain_ and in
_Ideas of Good and Evil_. Some of it is old Irish music made when all
songs were but heightened speech, and some of it composed by modern
musicians is none the less to be associated with words that must
never lose the intonation of passionate speech. No vowel must ever be
prolonged unnaturally, no word of mine must ever change into a mere
musical note, no singer of my words must ever cease to be a man and
become an instrument.
The degree of approach to ordinary singing depends on the context, for
one desires a greater or lesser amount of contrast between the lyrics
and the dialogue according to situation and emotion and the qualities
of players. The words of Cathleen ni Houlihan about the 'white-scarfed
riders' must be little more than regulated declamation; the little song
of Leagerie when he seizes the 'Golden Helmet' should in its opening
words be indistinguishable from the dialogue itself. Upon the other
hand, Cathleen's verses by the fire, and those of the pupils in the
_Hour-Glass_, and those of the beggars in the _Unicorn_, are sung as
the country people understand song. Modern singing would spoil them for
dramatic purposes by taking the keenness and the salt out of the words.
The songs in _Deirdre_, in Miss Farr's and in Miss Allgood's setting,
need fine speakers of verse more than good singers; and in these,
and still more in the song of the Three Women in _Baile's Strand_,
the singers must remember the natural speed of words. If the lyric
in _Baile's Strand_ is sung slowly it is like church-singing, but if
sung quickly and with the right expression it becomes an incantation
so old that nobody can quite understand it. That it may give this
sense of something half-forgotten, it must be sung with a certain lack
of minute feeling for the meaning of the words, which, however, must
always remain words. The songs in _Deirdre_, especially the last dirge,
which is supposed to be the creation of the moment, must, upon the
other hand, at any rate when Miss Farr's or Miss Allgood's music is
used, be sung or spoken with minute passionate understanding. I have
rehearsed the part of the Angel in the _Hour-Glass_ with recorded notes
throughout, and believe this is the right way; but in practice, owing
to the difficulty of finding a player who did not sing too much the
moment the notes were written down, have left it to the player's own
unrecorded inspiration, except at the 'exit,' where it is well for the
player to go nearer to ordinary song.
I have not yet put Miss Farr's _Deirdre_ music to the test of
performances, but, as she and I have worked out all this art of spoken
song together, I have little doubt but I shall find it all I would have
it. Mr. Darley's music was used at the first production of the play and
at its revival last spring, and was dramatically effective. I could
hear the words perfectly, and I think they must have been audible to
anyone hearing the play for the first or second time. They had not,
however, the full animation of speech, as one heard it in the dirge
at the end of the play set by Miss Allgood herself, who played the
principal musician. It is very difficult for a musician who is not a
speaker to do exactly what I want. Mr. Darley has written for singers
not for speakers. His music is, perhaps, too elaborate, simple though
it is. I have not had sufficient opportunity to experiment with the
play to find out the exact distance from ordinary speech necessary in
the first two lyrics, which must prolong the mood of the dialogue while
being a rest from its passions. Miss Farr's music will be used at the
next revival of the play.
Mr. Darley's music for _Shadowy Waters_ was supposed to be played
upon Forgael's magic harp, and it accompanied words of Dectora's and
Aibric's. It was played in reality upon a violin, always pizzicato,
and gave the effect of harp playing, at any rate of a magic harp. The
'cues' are all given and the words are printed under the music. The
violinist followed the voice, except in the case of the 'O', where it
was the actress that had to follow.
W. B. YEATS.
_March, 1908. _
THE KING'S THRESHOLD.
_THE FOUR RIVERS. _
FLORENCE FARR.
The four rivers that run there,
Through well-mown level ground
Have come out of a blessed well
That is all bound and wound
By the great roots of an apple,
And all fowls of the air
Have gathered in the wide branches
And Keep singing there.
ON BAILE'S STRAND.
_THE FOOL'S SONG. _
FLORENCE FARR.
Cuchulain has killed kings,
Kings and sons of kings,
Dragons out of the water and witches out of the air,
Banachas and Bonachas and people of the woods.
Witches that steal the milk,
Fomor that steal the children,
Hags that have heads like hares,
Hares that have claws like witches,
All riding a-cock-horse,
Out of the very bottom of the bitter black north.
ON BAILE'S STRAND.
_SONG OF THE WOMEN. _
FLORENCE FARR.
May this fire have driven out
The shape-changers that can put
Ruin on a great king's house,
Until all be ruinous.
Names whereby a man has known
The threshold and the hearthstone,
Gather on the wind and drive
Women none can kiss and thrive,
For they are but whirling wind,
Out of memory and mind.
They would make a prince decay
With light images of clay
Planted in the running wave;
Or for many shapes they have,
They would change them into hounds
Until he had died of his wounds
Though the change were but a whim;
Or they'd hurl a spell at him,
That he follow with desire
Bodies that can never tire
Or grow kind, for they anoint
All their bodies joint by joint
With a miracle-working juice
That is made out of the grease
Of the ungoverned unicorn;
But the man is thrice forlorn
Emptied, ruined, wracked, and lost,
That they follow, for at most
They will give him kiss for kiss
While they murmur "After this
Hatred may be sweet to the taste;"
Those wild hands that have embraced
All his body can but shove
At the burning wheel of love
Till the side of hate comes up.
Therefore in this ancient cup
May the sword-blades drink their fill
Of the home-brew there, until
They will have for master none
But the threshold and hearthstone.
_THE FOOL'S SONG. _--II.
FLORENCE FARR.
When you were an acorn on the tree top,
Then was I an eagle-cock;
Now that you are a withered old block,
Still am I an eagle-cock.
DEIRDRE.
_MUSICIANS' SONG. _--I.
FLORENCE FARR.
First Musician.
"Why is it," Queen Edain said,
"If I do but climb the stair
To the tower overhead
When the winds are calling there,
Or the gannets calling out,
In waste places of the sky,
There is so much to think about,
That I cry, that I cry? "
Second Musician.
But her goodman answered her:
"Love would be a thing of naught
Had not all his limbs a stir
Born out of immoderate thought.
Were he any thing by half,
Were his measure running dry,
Lovers, if they may not laugh,
Have to cry, have to cry. "
The Three Musicians together.
But is Edain worth a song
Now the hunt begins anew?
Praise the beautiful and strong;
Praise the redness of the yew;
Praise the blossoming apple-stem.
But our silence had been wise.
What is all our praise to them
That have one another's eyes?
DEIRDRE.
_MUSICIANS' SONG. _--II.
FLORENCE FARR.
Love is an immoderate thing
And can never be content
Till it dip an ageing wing,
Where some laughing element
Leaps and Time's old lanthorn dims.
What's the merit in love-play,
In the tumult of the limbs
That dies out before 'tis day,
Heart on heart or mouth on mouth
All that mingling of our breath,
When love-longing is but drouth
For the things that follow death?
_MUSICIANS' SONG. _--III.
FLORENCE FARR.
First Musician.
They are gone, they are gone
The proud may lie by the proud.
Second Musician.
Though we were bidden to sing, cry nothing Loud.
First Musician.
They are gone, they are gone.
Second Musician.
Whispering were enough.
First Musician.
Into the secret wilderness of their love.
Second Musician.
A high grey cairn.
What more to be said?
First Musician.
Eagles have gone into their cloudy bed.
DEIRDRE.
_MUSICIANS' SONG. _--III.
SARAH ALLGOOD.
FIRST MUSICIAN
They are gone:
They are gone; the proud may lie by the proud.
SECOND MUSICIAN
Though we are bidden to sing, cry nothing loud.
FIRST MUSICIAN
They are gone, they are gone.
SECOND MUSICIAN
Whispering were enough.
FIRST MUSICIAN.
Into the secret wilderness of their love.
SECOND MUSICIAN
A high grey cairn.
What more is to be said?
FIRST MUSICIAN
Eagles have gone into their cloudy bed.
SHADOWY WATERS.
ARTHUR DARLEY.
Sailors. And I! And I! And I!
Dectora. Protect me now, gods, that my people swear by.
Dectora. I will end all your magic on the instant. [C]
This sword is to lie beside him in the grave.
It was in all his battles.
I will spread my hair, and wring my hands, and wail him bitterly,
For I have heard that he was proud and laughing, blue-eyed, and
a quick runner on bare feet,
And that he died a thousand years ago.
O! O! O!
But no, that is not it.
I knew him well, and while I heard him laughing they killed him at
my feet.
O! O! O! O!
For golden-armed Iollan that I loved.
Forgael. Have buried nothing by my golden arms.
Forgael. And knitted mesh to mesh we grow immortal.
FOOTNOTE:
[C] The Violinist should time the music so as to finish when Aibric
says "For everything is gone".
THE UNICORN FROM THE STARS.
_IRISH TRADITIONAL AIRS. _
"The Airy Bachelor. "
Oh come all ye airy bachelors,
come listen unto me.
A sergeant caught mefowling,
and he fired his gun so free . . .
His comrades came to his relief,
And I was soon trapanned. . .
And bound up like a wood-cock
That had fallen into their hands.
"Johnnie Gibbons. "
1.
Oh Johnnie Gibbons my five hundred healths to you,
Its long you're away from us over the sea.
2.
Oh Johnnie Gibbons its you were the prop to us,
You to have left us, we're fools put astray.
"The Lion shall lose his strength. "
Oh the Lion shall lose his strength,
And the bracket thistle pine . . .
And the harp shall sound sweet, sweet at length
Between the eight and nine.
THE HOUR-GLASS.
_TRADITIONAL ARAN AIR. _
I was going the road one day . . .
O! the brown and the yellow beer,
And I met with a man that was no right man, . . .
Oh my dear, my dear.
CATHLEEN NI HOULIHAN.
FLORENCE FARR.
I.
I will go cry with the woman,
For yellow-haired Donough is dead,
With a hempen rope for a neck-cloth,
And a white cloth on his head.
II.
Do not make a great keening
When the graves have been dug tomorrow.
III.
They shall be remembered forever
[repeat 3 times]
The people shall hear them forever.
MUSIC FOR LYRICS.
Three of the following settings are by Miss Farr, and she accompanies
the words upon her psaltery for the most part. She has a beautiful
speaking-voice, and, an almost rarer thing, a perfect ear for verse;
and nothing but the attempting of it will show how far these things
can be taught or developed where they exist but a little. I believe
that they should be a part of the teaching of all children, for the
beauty of the speaking-voice is more important to our lives than that
of the singing, and the rhythm of words comes more into the structure
of our daily being than any abstract pattern of notes. The relation
between formal music and speech will yet become the subject of science,
not less than the occasion of artistic discovery; for I am certain
that all poets, even all delighted readers of poetry, speak certain
kinds of poetry to distinct and simple tunes, though the speakers may
be, perhaps generally are, deaf to ordinary music, even what we call
tone-deaf. I suggest that we will discover in this relation a very
early stage in the development of music, with its own great beauty, and
that those who love lyric poetry but cannot tell one tune from another
repeat a state of mind which created music and yet was incapable of the
emotional abstraction which delights in patterns of sound separated
from words. To it the music was an unconscious creation, the words a
conscious, for no beginnings are in the intellect, and no living thing
remembers its own birth.
I give after Miss Farr's settings three others, two taken down by Mr.
Arnold Dolmetsch from myself, and one from a fine scholar in poetry,
who hates all music but that of poetry, and knows of no instrument that
does not fill him with rage and misery. Mr. Arnold Dolmetsch, when he
took up the subject at my persuasion, wrote down the recitation of
another lyric poet, who like myself knows nothing of music, and found
little tunes that delighted him; and Mr. George Russell ('A. E. ') writes
all his lyrics, a musician tells me, to two little tunes which sound
like old Arabic music. I do not mean that there is only one way of
reciting a poem that is correct, for different tunes will fit different
speakers or different moods of the same speaker, but as a rule the more
the music of the verse becomes a movement of the stanza as a whole,
at the same time detaching itself from the sense as in much of Mr.
Swinburne's poetry, the less does the poet vary in his recitation. I
mean in the way he recites when alone, or unconscious of an audience,
for before an audience he will remember the imperfection of his ear in
note and tone, and cling to daily speech, or something like it.
Sometimes one composes to a remembered air. I wrote and I still speak
the verses that begin 'Autumn is over the long leaves that love us' to
some traditional air, though I could not tell that air or any other on
another's lips, and _The Ballad of Father Gilligan_ to a modification
of the air _A Fine Old English Gentleman_. When, however, the rhythm is
more personal than it is in these simple verses, the tune will always
be original and personal, alike in the poet and in the reader who has
the right ear; and these tunes will now and again have great beauty.
NOTE BY FLORENCE FARR.
I made an interesting discovery after I had been elaborating the art
of speaking to the psaltery for some time. I had tried to make it
more beautiful than the speaking by priests at High Mass, the singing
of recitative in opera and the speaking through music of actors in
melodrama. My discovery was that those who had invented these arts
had all said about them exactly what Mr.
Arnold Dolmetsch and Mr. W.
B. Yeats said about my art. Anyone can prove this for himself who
will go to a library and read the authorities that describe how early
liturgical chant, plain-song and jubilations or melismata were adapted
from the ancient traditional music; or if they read the history of the
beginning of opera and the 'nuove musiche' by Caccini, or study the
music of Monteverde and Carissimi, who flourished at the beginning of
the seventeenth century, they will find these masters speak of doing
all they can to give an added beauty to the words of the poet, often
using simple vowel sounds when a purely vocal effect was to be made
whether of joy or sorrow. There is no more beautiful sound than the
alternation of carolling or keening and a voice speaking in regulated
declamation. The very act of alternation has a peculiar charm.
Now to read these records of music of the eighth and seventeenth
centuries one would think that the Church and the opera were united in
the desire to make beautiful speech more beautiful, but I need not say
if we put such a hope to the test we discover it is groundless. There
is no ecstasy in the delivery of ritual, and recitative is certainly
not treated by opera-singers in a way that makes us wish to imitate
them.
When beginners attempt to speak to musical notes they fall naturally
into the intoning as heard throughout our lands in our various
religious rituals. It is not until they have been forced to use their
imaginations and express the inmost meaning of the words, not until
their thought imposes itself upon all listeners and each word invokes a
special mode of beauty, that the method rises once more from the dead
and becomes a living art.
It is the belief in the power of words and the delight in the purity of
sound that will make the arts of plain-chant and recitative the great
arts they are described as being by those who first practised them.
_THE WIND BLOWS OUT OF THE GATES OF THE DAY. _[A]
FLORENCE FARR.
The wind blows out of the gates of the day,
The wind blows over the lonely of heart,
And the lonely of heart is withered away,
While the fairies dance in a place apart,
Shaking their milkwhite feet in a ring,
Tossing their milkwhite arms in the air
For they hear the wind laugh and murmur and sing
Of a land where even the old are fair
And even the wise are merry of tongue.
But I heard a reed of Coolaney say,
When the wind has laughed and murmured and sung,
The lovely of heart must wither away.
_THE HAPPY TOWNLAND. _[D]
FLORENCE FARR.
O Death's old bony finger
Will never find us there
In the high hollow townland
Where love's to give and to spare;
Where boughs have fruit and blossom
at all times of the year;
Where rivers are running over
With red beer and brown beer.
An old man plays the bagpipes
In a gold and silver wood;
Queens, their eyes blue like the ice,
Are dancing in a crowd.
Chorus.
The little fox he murmured,
'O what of the world's bane? '
The sun was laughing sweetly,
The moon plucked at my rein;
But the little red fox murmured,
'O do not pluck at his rein,
He is riding to the townland
That is the world's bane. '
FOOTNOTE:
[D] The music as written suits my speaking voice if played an octave
lower than the notation. --F. F.
_I HAVE DRUNK ALE FROM THE COUNTRY OF THE YOUNG. _[E]
FLORENCE FARR.
I have drunk ale from the Country of the Young
And weep because I know all things now:
I have been a hazel tree and they hung
The Pilot Star and the Crooked Plough
Among my leaves in times out of mind:
I became a rush that horses tread:
I became a man, a hater of the wind,
Knowing one, out of all things, alone, that his head
Would not lie on the breast or his lips on the hair
Of the woman that he loves, Until he dies;
Although the rushes and the fowl of the air
Cry of his love with their pitiful cries.
_THE SONG OF WANDERING AENGUS. _
W. B. Y.
I went out to the hazel wood,
Because a fire was in my head,
And cut and peeled a hazel wand,
And hooked a berry to a thread;
And when white moths were on the wing,
And moth-like stars were flickering out,
I dropped the berry in a stream,
And caught a little silver trout.
_THE HOST OF THE AIR. _
A. H. B.
O'Driscoll drove with a song
The wild duck and the drake
From the tall and tree tufted reeds
Of the drear Hart Lake.
FOOTNOTE:
[E] To be spoken an octave lower than it would be sung. --F. F.
_THE SONG OF THE OLD MOTHER. _
W. B. Y.
I rise in the dawn, and I kneel and blow
Till the seed of the fire flicker and glow;
And then I must scrub and bake and sweep
Till stars are beginning to blink and peep;
And the young lie long and dream in their bed
Of the matching of ribbons for bosom and head,
And their day goes over in idleness,
And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress;
While I must work because I am old,
And the seed of the fire gets feeble and cold.
_Printed by_ A. H. BULLEN, _at The Shakespeare Head Press,
Stratford-on-Avon_.
* * * * *
Transcriber's Notes:
Obvious punctuation errors repaired.
Page 25, stage direction, mixed case "TEIg" was changed to "TEIG" (TEIG
and SHEMUS go out)
Page 70, "marhsalled" changed to "marshalled" (marshalled into rude
order)
Page 112, "The CHILD" changed to "THE CHILD" to match rest of usage in
text (THE CHILD makes a)
Page 214, "_Les Matinees de Timothe Trimm_" was retained as printed as
it appears spelled this way in more than one text. More common is "_Les
Matinees de Timothee Trimm_. "
Page 216, "apre" changed to "apres" (Deux jours apres)
Page 217, "Des" changed to "Des" (Des qu'elle fut)
Page 218, "enchaines" changed to "enchaines" (enchaines dans une prison)
Music Transcriber's Notes:
Rhythms have been added to all songs where words are to be spoken on a
single note, to match the rhythm of speech.
Shadowy Waters--Although Yeats states in his notes on the music (pp.
223-24) that this piece was played on a violin in actual performance,
he states that it is meant to be "Forgael's magic harp. " For that
reason, and reasons of improved sound in midi, a harp sound has been
used.
The Airy Bachelor--in bar 3, the second and fourth quarter notes have
been corrected to eighths. In "Johnnie Gibbons," bar 1, the first note
should be a dotted quarter. In "The Lion shall lose his strength," bar
3, the first note should be a dotted quarter.
I--The rests should be quarter rests. II and III--The key and time
signature are missing in the original, so the transcriber has guessed
at them and adjusted the rhythm to the words.
The Song of Wandering Aengus--a sixteenth rest and fermata have been
added to bar 7 to match the rhythm of the other lines in the song.
The Song of the Old Mother--In bars 3 and 19, the first note should be
sharp. In the line "And they sigh if the wind but lift a tress," the
eighth note for "but" should be in the next bar.
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