Gene Stenger, tenor

Robert Blocker, Dean

student recital

Institute of Sacred Music · Martin Jean, directorMarch 3, 2014 • Marquand Chapel

tenor

gene stenger

John Dowland 1563–1626

Henry Lawes 1595–1622

Franz Joseph Haydn1732–1809

Fine Knacks for Ladies

Come Again: Sweet Love Doth Now Invite

In Darkness Let Me Dwell

Flow My Tears

The Rose (Go Lovely Rose)

Inconstancie in Woman (I Am Confirm’d A Woman Can)

Love Despis’d (In Love? Away, You Do Me Wrong)

Ian Tuski, guitar

Mit Würd und Hoheit angetan, from Die Schöpfung

Recitative: Gefesselt steht der breite See from Die Jahreszeiten

As a courtesy to the performers and audience, silence electronic devices.

Please do not leave the hall during selections. Photography or recording of any kind is prohibited.

Anonymous

Anonymous

Anonymous

Anonymous

Edmund Waller and Henry Kirke White

Sir John Suckling, Jr.

Anonymous

Barthold Heinrich Brockes


Student Recital

Monday, March 3, 2014 • 4:00 pm • Marquand Chapel

tenor

Simon Jacobs, piano

gene stenger

Gene Stenger, tenor

Haydn

Jean-Philippe Rameau1683–1764

Stefano Donaudy 1879–1925

Francesco Paolo Tosti1846–1916

Aria: Hier steht der Wand’rer nun from Die Jahreszeiten

Fatal amour, from Pygmalion

Règne Amour, from Pygmalion

Spirate pur, spirate, from 36 Arie di Stile Antico

O del mio amato ben, from 36 Arie di Stile Antico

La Serenata

Malìa

L’alba sepàra dalla luce l’ombra, from Quattro canzoni d’Amaranta


Ballot de Sauvot

Ballot de Sauvot

Alberto Donaudy

Alberto Donaudy

Alfredo Cesareo

Emanuele Pagliara

Gabriele d’Annunzio

john dowland

Fine Knacks for LadiesAnonymous

Fine knacks for ladies, cheap choice brave and new, Good pennyworths but money cannot move, I keep a fair but for the fair to view, A beggar may be liberal of love, Though all my wares be trash the heart is true.

Great gifts are guiles and look for gifts again, My trifles come, as treasures from my mind, It is a precious jewel to be plain, Sometimes in shell the Orient’s pearls we find, Of others take a sheaf, of me a grain.

Within this pack pins points laces and gloves, And diverse toys fitting a country fair, But in my heart where duty serves and loves, Turtles and twins, Court’s brood, a heavenly pair, Happy the heart that thinks of no removes.

john dowlandCome Again: Sweet Love Doth Now InviteAnonymous

Come again: Sweet love doth now invite, Thy graces that refrain to do me due delight, To see, to hear, to touch, to kiss, to die, With thee again in sweetest sympathy.

Come again, That I may cease to mourn, Through thy unkind disdain: For now left and forlorn, I sit, I sigh, I weep, I faint, I die, In deadly pain and endless misery.

Texts & Translations

Gentle Love, Draw forth thy wounding dart, Thou canst not pierce my heart, For I that to approve, By sighs and tears more hot than are thy shafts, Did tempt, while she for triumph laughs.

john dowlandIn Darkness Let Me DwellAnonymous

In darkness let me dwell, the ground shall sorrow be, The roof despair to bar all cheerful light from me, The walls of marble black that moisten’d still shall weep, My music hellish jarring sounds to banish friendly sleep. Thus wedded to my woes, and bedded to my tomb, O, let me, living, living, die, till death do come. In darkness let me dwell.

john dowlandFlow My TearsAnonymous

Flow my tears fall from your springs, Exil’d for ever: let me mourn: Where night’s black bird her sad infamy sings, There let me live forlorn.

Down vain lights shine you no more, No nights are dark enough for thoseThat in despair their last fortunes deplore, Light doth but shame disclose.

Never may my woes be relieved, Since pity is fled, And tears, and sighs, and groans my weary daysOf all joys have deprived.


From the highest spire of contentment, My fortune is thrown, And fear, and grief, and pain for my desertsAre my hopes since hope is gone.

Hark you shadows that in darkness dwell, Learn to contemn light, Happy, happy they that in hellFeel not the world’s despite.

henry lawesThe Rose (Go, Lovely Rose) Text by Edmund Waller and Henry Kirke White

Go, Lovely Rose, Tell her that wastes her time and me, That now she knows, When I resemble her to thee, How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that’s young,And shuns to have her graces spiedThat hadst thou sprungIn deserts, where no men abide, Thou must have uncommended died. Small is the worthOf beauty from the light retired; Bid her come forth, Suffer herself to be desired, And blush not so to be admired.

Then die that she, The common fate of all things rareMay read in thee, How small a part of time they shareThat are so wondrous sweet and fair!

henry lawes

Inconstancie in Woman (I Am Confirm’d A Woman Can) Text by John Suckling, Sir

I am confirm’d a woman can Love this, or that, or any man;This day her love is melting hot, Tomorrow swears she knows you not; Let her but a new object find, And she is of another mind. Then hang me, Ladies, at your door, If e’er I dote upon you more.

Yet still I’ll love the fair one, why? For nothing but to please mine eye; And so the fat and soft skin’d dame, I’ll flatter to appease my flame;For her that’s musical I long, When I am sad to sing a song. But hang me, Ladies, at your door, If e’er I dote upon you more.

I’ll give my fancy leave to rangeThro’ ev’ry face to find out change; The black, the brown, the fair shall be, But objects of variety; I’ll court you all to serve my turn, But with such flames as shall not burn. For hang me, Ladies, at your door, If e’er I dote upon you more.

henry lawesLove Despis’d (In Love? Away, You Do Me Wrong) Anonymous

In Love? Away, you do me wrong, I hope I have not lived to long, Free from the treachery of your eyes, Now to be caught and made a prize: No, Lady, ‘tis not all your ArtCan make me and my freedom part.

In Love! ‘Tis true, with Spanish wine, Or the French juice Incarnadine, But truly not with your sweet face, This dimple, or that hidden grace: There’s far more sweetness in pure wine, Then in those lips or eyes of thine.

Your god you say can shoot so right,He’ll wound a heart in darkest night, Pray let him throw away a dart, And try if he can hit my heart: No, Cupid, if I shall be thine, Turn Ganimed, and fill us wine. Come fill us a cup of Sherry, And let us be merry, There shall nought but pure wine, Make us love-sick or pine; We’ll hug the cup and kiss it, We’ll sigh when e’re we miss it, For ‘tis that that makes us jolly, And sing High trolly lolly!


franz joseph haydn Mit Würd und Hoheit angetan, from Die SchöpfungText by Barthold Heinrich BrockesTranslation by Bard Suverkrop

Uriel:Mit Würd’ und Hoheit angetan, Mit Schönheit, Stärk’, und Mut begabt, Gen Himmel aufgerichtet steht der Mensch, Ein Mann und König der Natur. Die breit gewölbt’ erhab’ne Stirn Verkünd’t der Weisheit tiefen Sinn, Und aus dem hellen blicke strahlt Der Geist, des Schöpfers Hauch und Ebenbild. An seinen Busen schmieget sich Für ihn, aus ihm geformt, Die Gattin, hold und anmutsvoll. In froher Unschuld lächelt sie, Des Frühlings reizend Bild, Ihm Liebe, Glück, und Wonne zu.

franz joseph haydn

Gefesselt steht der breite See, andHier steht der Wand’rer nun, from Die JahreszeitenText by Barthold Heinrich BrockesTranslation by Bard Suverkrop

Lukas:Gefesselt steht der breite See, Gehemt in seinem Laufe der Strom. Im Sturze vom türmenden Felsen hängtGestockt und stumm der Wasserfall.Im dürren Haine tönt kein Laut; Die Felder deckt, die Täler füllt Ein’ ungeheure Flockenlast. Der Erde Bild ist nun ein Grab, Wo Kraft und Reiz erstorben liegt, Wo Leichenfarbe traurig herrscht, Und wo dem Blicke weit umher Nur öde Wüstenei sich zeigt.


With majesty and dignity attired, With beauty, strength, and courage endowed, Heavenward stands man erect, A man and King of nature. The broad arching solemn browProclaims a deep mind of wisdom, And from the bright gaze shinesThe spirit, the breath and image of the Creator. Against his breast nestles,Created for him, and from him, The wife, lovely and graceful. In happy innocence she smiles, The charming image of spring, His love, happiness, and joy upon.

The broad lake stands constrained, The river is restricted in its course. In its plunge from the towering cliffsThe waterfall hangs frozen and silent.No sound is heard from the barren grove; Covering field and filling valleyIs the enormous flakey weight. Earth’s image is now a grave, Where strength and charm dead lie, Where a corpse-colored sadness lies, And where to gaze near and farOnly a desolate wasteland is seen.


Hier steht der Wand’rer nun,Verwirrt und zweifelhaft, Wohin den Schritt er lenken soll. Vergebens suchet er den Weg; Ihn leitet weder Pfad noch Spur. Vergebens strenget er sich anUnd watet durch den tiefen Schnee; Er find’t sich immer mehr verirrt. Jetzt sinket ihm der Mut, Und Angst beklemmt sein Herz, Da er den Tag sich neigen sieht, Und Müdigkeit und FrostIhm alle Glieder lähmt. Doch plötzlich trifft sein spähend Aug’ Der Schimmer eines nahen Lichts. Da lebt er wieder auf; Vor Freuden pocht sein Herz. Er geht, er eilt der Hütte zu, Wo starr und matt er Labung hofft.

jean-philippe rameau Fatal Amour, from PygmalionLibretto by Ballot de Sauvot, based on the myth of Pygmalion as told in Ovid’s Metamorphoses

Pygmalion: Fatal Amour, cruel vainqueur, Quels traits as-tu choisis pour mepercer le coeur? Je tremblais de t’avoir pour maître. J’ai craint d’être sensible, il falloit m’en punir; Mais devais-je le devenirPour un objet qui ne peut l’être? Fatal Amour, cruel vainqueur, Fatal Amour, cruel vainqueur, Quels traits as-tu choisis pour mepercer le coeur?Insensible témoin du trouble qui m’accable, Se peut-il que tu sois l’ouvrage de ma main? Est-ce donc pour gémir et soupirer en vain Is itQue mon art a produit ton image adorable? Fatal Amour, cruel vainqueur,Quels traits as-tu choisis pour me?

Here stands the traveler now, Confused and doubtful, Whither he should turn his step. He seeks his way in vain; For no path or track leads him. In vain he struggles forthAnd wades through the deep snow; He finds himself always more lost. Now his courage falters, And fear oppresses his heart, Then he sees the day itself set, And weariness and frostIn him all limbs paralyze. But suddenly meets his peering eyeThe glimmer of a near light. He is then revived; His heart beats for joy. He goes on and hurries to the cottage, Where, stiff and weary, refreshment awaits him.

All-powerful Love, cruel conqueror, What darts have you chosen to pierce my heart? I trembled to have you as a master. I feared being sensible, and deserved punishment; But did I have to fall in loveWith an object incapable of feeling? All-powerful Love, cruel conqueror, All-powerful Love, cruel conqueror,What darts have you chosen to pierce my heart? Unfeeling witness of the pain that afflicts me,Can you really be the work of my own hand? only to moan and sigh in vainThat my art has created your lovely face? All-powerful Love, cruel conqueror, What darts have you chosen to pierce my heart?

Reign, Love, may your flame sparkle. Fire all your arrows in our souls.On hearts true to your commandsEmpty your quiver. You prepare for us, charming god, The happiest of fates. I have from you the object of my heart’s desire, And this dear creature breathes, and enjoys life Thanks to the spark of your divine flame.

Blow, then, blow about my beloved, Breezes, and ascertainIf she holds me dear in her heart.Blow, blow then, breezes!If in her heart she holds me, ascertain, Breezes blessed, breezes light and blessed!

Oh, the lost enchantment of my dearly beloved! Far from my sight isThe one who was my glory and my pride! Now through the silent roomsI always seek her and callWith a heart filled with hope. But I seek in vain, I call in vain! And yet my weeping is dear to me,

jean-philippe rameau Règne Amour, from PygmalionLibretto by Ballot de Sauvot, based on the myth of Pygmalion as told in Ovid’s Metamorphoses

Pygmalion:Règne, Amour, fais briller tes flames. Lance tes traits dans nos âmes. Sur des coeurs soumis à tes loisÉpuise ton carquois. Tu nous fais, dieu charmant, Le plus heureux destin. Je tiens de toi l’objet dont mon âme est ravie, Et cet objet si cher respire, tient la vieDes feux de ton flambeau divin.

stefano donaudySpirate pur, spirate, from 36 Arie di Stile Antico Text by Alberto Donaudy

Spirate pur, spirate attorno a lo mio bene, Aurette, e v’accertate S’ella nel cor mi tiene.Spirate, spirate pur, aurette!Se nel suo cor mi tiene, v’accertate, Aure beate, aure lievi e beate!

stefano donaudyO del mio amato ben, from 36 Arie di Stile Antico Text by Alberto Donaudy

O del mio amato ben perduto incanto!Lungi è dagli occhi miei Chi m’era gloria e vanto! Or per le mute stanzeSempre la cerco e chiamoCon pieno il cor di speranze.Ma cerco invan, chiamo invan! E il pianger m’è si caro,


Che di pianto sol nutro il cor.Mi sembra, senza lei, triste ogni loco. Notte mi sembra il giorno; Mi sembra gelo il foco. Se pur talvolta spero Di darmi ad altra cura, Sol mi tormenta un pensiero: Ma, senza lei, che faro? Mi par così la vita vana cosaSenza il mio ben.

francesco paolo tosti La SerenataText by Giovanni Alfredo Cesareo

Vola, O serenata: La mia diletta è sola, E, con la bella testa abbandonata, Posa tra le lenzuola: O serenata, vola.

Splende pura la luna, L’ale il silenzio stende, E dietro i veli dell’alcova brunaLa lampada s’accende. Pura la luna splende. Vola, o serenata, vola. Ah! Là.

Vola, o serenata: La mia diletta è sola, Ma sorri dendo ancor mezzo assonnata, Torna fra le lenzuola:O serenata, vola.

L’onda sogna su’l lido, E’l vento su la fronda; E a baci miei ricusa ancora un nidoLa mia signora bionda. Sogna su’l lido l’onda. Vola, o serenta, vola. Ah! Là.


Since I nourish my heart with tears alone.Everywhere seems sad without her.Day seems as night to me; Fire seems cold to me. However, if sometimes I hopeTo give myself to another, I am tormented by one thought: But, without her, what would I do? To me life seems so emptyWithout my beloved.

Fly, o serenade!My beloved is alone, And with her lovely head lying back, Is resting between her sheetsO serenade, fly to her.

Shines, pure the moon, Silence spreads its wings, And behind the veils of the dark alcoveThe lamp is lit. Purely the moon shines. Fly, o serenade, fly. Ah! La.

Fly, o serenade!My beloved is alone, But smiling and still half asleep, She returns between her sheets: serenade, fly to her.

The wave dreams on the shore, And the wind in the branches; And still declines to shelter my kissesMy fair lady. The wave dreams on the shore. Fly, o serenade, fly. Ah! La.

francesco paolo tosti Malìa (Enchantment/Spell) Text by: Rocco Emanuele Pagliara

Cosa c’era ne’l fior che m’hai dato? Forse un filtro, un arcano poter! Ne’l toccarlo’l mio core ha tremato, M’ha l’olezzo turbato’l pensier. Ne le vaghe movenze, che ci hai? Un incanto vien forse con te? Freme l’aria per dove tu vai, Spunta un fiore ove passa’l tuo piè.

Io non chiedo qual plaga beataFino adesso soggiorno ti fu: Non ti chiedo se Ninfa, se Fata, Se una biona parvenza sei tu!Ma che c’è ne’l tuo sguardo fatale? Cosa ci hai ne’l tuo magico dir?Se mi guardi, un’ebbrezza m’assale,Se mi parli, mi sento morir!

francesco paolo tosti L’alba sepàra dalla luce l’ombra from Quattro canzoni d’AmarantaText by Gabriele d’Annunzio L’alba sepàra dalla luce l’ombra , E la mia voluttà dal mio desire. O dolci stelle, è l’ora di morire. Un più divino amor dal ciel vi sgombra.

Pupille ardenti, o voi senza ritorno, Stelle tristi, spegnetevi incorrotte!Morir debbo. Veder non voglio il giorno,Per amor del mio sogno e della notte.

Chiudimi, o Notte, nel tuo sen materno, Mentre la terra pallida s’irrora. Ma che dal sangue mio nasca l’auroraE dal sogno mio breve il sole eterno!


What was in the flower you gave me? Perhaps a potion, a mysterious power!My heart trembled when I touched it, Its perfume troubled my mind. What is there in your lovely movement? Did you perhaps enchant me? The air vibrates wherever you go, The flowers bloom in your footsteps.

I do not ask in what region blessedYou have lived until now: I do not ask if you are a nymph, a fairy, Or a blonde apparition! But what is there in your fatal glance? What is there in the magical sound of your voice?When you look at me, joy overwhelms me, When you speak to me, it’s as if I’m dying!

The dawn divides the darkness from the light. And my sensual pleasure from my desire. Oh sweet stars, it is the hour to die. A more divine love takes you from the sky.

Passionate eyes, you that will come no more, Sad stars, you will be extinguished uncorrupted!I must die, I do not wish to see the day, For love of my dream and of the night.

Enfold me, o night in your maternal bosom,While the pale earth covers itself in dew. But let the dawn be born from my bloodAnd the eternal sun from my brief dream!

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Robert Blocker, Dean

Documents

Gene Stenger, tenor