​VOCAL TEXTS​

Autumn

Text inspired by John Keats’ Ode to Autumn, 1819. Martin’s Autumn, 1995, set most of the original text, together with fragments of a letter (here produced in italics) which Keats wrote to his friend John Hamilton Reynolds just after completing the Ode.

How beautiful the season is now

How fine the air, a temperate sharpness about it.

Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness, Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;                                        Conspiring with him how to load and bless

With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,             And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;

To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease,

For summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.

I never liked stubble fields so much as now, Aye better than the chilly green of the spring.

Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?

Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, Lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;                                             Hedge-crickets sing; with treble soft

While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft

Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; and now with treble soft

The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies...

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Death be Not Proud

From the sonnet by John Donne, 1609

 

Death, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and Dreadful, thou art not soe;

For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow, Die not, poore Death, nor yet cans’t thou kill mee. From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee, Much pleasure; then from thee do go.

Then from thee much more must flow, And soonest our best men with thee doe goe.

 

Rest of their bones, and soul’s deliverie.

Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell, And poppie or charms can make us sleep as well

And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?

One short sleep past, we wake eternally

And Death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.

 

Drawing Details in an Old Church

Poem by Thomas Hardy, 1840 - 1928

I hear the bell-rope sawing, And the oil-less axle grind, As I sit alone here drawing

What some Gothic brain designed; And I catch the toll that follows From the lagging bell,

Ere it spreads to hills and hollows Where the parish people dwell.

I ask not whom it tolls for, Incurious who he be;

So, some morrow, when those knolls for One unguessed, sound out for me,

A stranger, loitering under In nave or choir,

May think, too, "Whose, I wonder?" But not inquire.

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The Death of Colonel Boles: a cantata

One movement from the Millennium composition: Between Now and Always, commissioned by Hampshire Music 2000 with funds made available by the Millennium Festival Fund. It was written for and premiered by Keith Clark, Christine Stevenson and the Hampshire County Youth Choir & for Glyn Evans and the Eastleigh Area Recorder Ensemble, with Joseph Spooner, cello.

Words by Philip Sealey, reproduced with kind permission.

Programme note:

In December 1643, the commander of the King’s western army, Lord Hopton, managed to outflank the Parliamentary forces stationed at Farnham under the command of Sir William Waller. Hopton pressed on towards Sussex, leaving Lord Crawford to hold Alton with a troop of horse, assisted by Colonel Boles with a company of infantry.

Hopton warned Crawford to keep a watchful eye on the movements of Waller. This warning was lightly taken. On running short of wine, Crawford asked Waller if he could send him a butt of wine in exchange for a fat ox. The wine duly arrived and Crawford promised he would deliver the ox. Waller replied that there was no need, he intended to come in person to fetch it. That night the Parliamentary commander kept his word and attacked. Crawford was nearly trapped. To prevent lines of communication being completely cut, he gave the order for the cavalry to retreat, leaving Colonel Boles and his infantry to hold out.

Boles and his men fought gallantly for several hours, finally sheltering in the church itself. The door was eventually battered down and bullets swept the church as the Parliamentarians swarmed into the building. Sixty Royalists fell, the remaining twenty faltered, but Boles fought on – up the pulpit steps – striving to keep off his assailants. Finally, Boles called out the name of the King for whom he had given his all, as a heavy blow from the but of a musket crashed down on his head and he fell dead in the pulpit.

I. Prologue

Boles - St Lawrence's Church in cold December.

This is the place where the dead still live among the embers,

fragments of a time that smoulders still upon the stones, along the aisles, between these oaken pews,

then and forever.

The air is charged with powder, there are bullets in the walls,

the pulpit steps still bear the scars which time does not erase.

I am no ghost you hear,

my shoulders rub with yours, what I exhale you breathe in.

My past is yours and England's: somewhere between here and there, between Winchester and London,

in this small market town,

trapped between now and always

St Lawrence's Church, in bleak December;

as though it were but yesterday.

II. interlude: Sir William Waller: his Jigg

III. The Battle of Alton

Royalists:

And so we saw them at the break of day coming down the Basing Road, pale scarves of breath about their heads, their heads, their muskets primed and ready, this thirteenth day of December,

sixteen forty-three.

with Parliamentarians:

And so we saw them at the break of day upon the higher ground, pale scarves of breath about, their muskets barely ready, this thirteenth day of December, sixteen forty-three.

Royalists:

They had sent us wine from Farnham, but we had never dreamed they would march along the Basing Road to collect themselves the fatted ox we had promised in return.

Royalists:

They were so thick in number as they advanced upon the church where we had ralliedto make a final stand.

with Parliamentarians:

They were but few in number as we advanced upon the church where they had fledto make a desperate stand.

Royalists:       

The cavalry had left us, the wine remained untasted and we were here with Colonel Boles, so few against these rebels, these puritans, these levellers, and all the others who would stand this kingdom on its head.

Royalists:   

Long live the King, God save King Charles, Long live the King, God save King Charles

with Parliamentarians:

Death to the traitors, death to the king, Long live the People's Army!

Royalists: 

Amongst the tumbled graves we fought with pike and musket, hand to hand.

Parliamentarians: 

They sought the church and barred the door where they thought their god would save them.

Boles.

St Lawrence's Church in cold December, sixteen forty-three.

IV.interlude: Prince Rupert's March

V. St. Lawrence Church

Royalists: 

Through smoke and fire we'd reached this place and now we stood and waited.

Outside we heard them make their plans while Christ hung on the wall.

We came for sanctuary, but found it not.

We looked for God beneath this hollow roof.

Boles:

God damn my eternal soul if I do not run my sword

through the heart of any man who falls and begs for quarter.

Royalists: 

And then they broke the doors and we met them,

face to unholy face.

VI.interlude: Hopton's Dumpe

VII.Bring me a mourning scarf

Parliamentarians: 

We will be blamed I have no doubt, they will call us godless men;

while Colonel Boles was valiant we soldiers were only cowards.

Royalists:

To kill him in the church upon the pulpit steps

Parl.iamentarians:

But before you blame us you should hear what we have come to do.

King:

Bring me a mourning scarf lay out my darkest coat,

I have lost the bravest man that ever fought for me.

Parliamentarians:

We have come not only for Boles not only for the King.

Royalists:

To beat him to the floor.

Parliamentarians:

We have come to raise the servant against the master, the poor against the rich.

Royalists:

To kill him like a dog.

Parliamentarians:

We have come to stand this kingdom on its head beneath the eyes of god.

Royalists:

To slay him in this church.

King:

Bring me a mourning scarf lay out my darkest coat,

I have lost the bravest man this kingdom ever saw.

Parliamentarians:

Shed no tears for Colonel Boles or all the others who died here, their day is past,

our time has come.

VIII. interlude: Colonel Boles: his Pavane

IX. Epilogue

Royalists:

Bring me a mourning scarf, lay out my darkest coat

I have lost the bravest man this kingdom ever saw.

Parliamentarians:

Bring us the victor's wreath, lay out our brightest clothes

we have won the hardest fight this country ever saw.

Boles

Between then and forever St Lawrence's Church

now and always

 

Mary Rose

Mary Rose is a composition project, one movement from the Millennium composition: Between Now and Always, commissioned by Hampshire Music 2000 with funds made available by the Millennium Festival Fund. Words by Philip Sealey.

Four Sea Shanties for children’s choir with piano.

i)The ballad of the Mary Rose

Come all you gallant sailors and listen to my song

It is about the bravest ship that ever carried sail ‘Twas in the year of forty-five all on a summer’s day The Mary Rose out out to sea

The Frenchman for to slay

The King stood on the castle, the ladies, too, were there And whie they watched, the French drew near

This ship beyond compare

They fired their guns upon our lads a broadside answered we But as she turned the wind did blow across the silvery sea

She shuddered once, she shuddered twice, her helm began to slip But none could stop the fatal role that sank this famous ship.

So raise your glasses high, my boys, and let us drink to those who lost their lives upon the decks of the glorious Mary Rose.

ii)The Cabin Boy’s Song

When I was but a little lad, I’d always wanted to be

A cabin boy in a fighting ship far out on the glittering sea

I took my shirt, I took my coat, it was the seaman’s life I chose In old Portsmouth town I made my mark

For to sail on the Mary Rose

Heave Ho, my lads, heave ho, haul up on the anchor chain We’re sailing out to meet the foe and hey will not see France again

Heave ho, my lads, heave ho.

Now I work for the captain bold and must keep his fine cabin trim I sleep at night in the rocking dark by the light of a candle dim Heave ho…

Tomorrow morn we raise our sails, the ship like a bird will be free And I will have earned my dearest wish to be out on the glittering sea Heave Ho, my lads, heave ho, haul up on the anchor chain

We’re sailing out to meet the foe and hey will not see France again Heave ho, my lads, heave ho, my lads, heave ho, my lads, heave ho.

iii)Seven Fathoms Deep

Seven fathoms deep my husband lies

Among his old friends among their cold bones so close to shore Seven fathoms deep my father sleeps

Under the salt wave under the long swell so close to home.

Seven fathoms deep my boy does sleep

Below the main deck below the main shrouds so close to me.

Seven fathoms deep our loved ones lie Down in the dark their voices sigh We pray for them and softly weep We dream of them and sadly sleep

They call for us while our hearts ache They dream of us but cannot wake. 

iv)Mary’s Lament

I was born the finest lady, I had pearls and jewels all my life

Men travelled far just to gaze on me, and a sea captain made me his wife.

You washed the white salt from my bones and combed the seaweed from my hair.

One summer’s day it all did end and the waters rose over my head And I found myself without a friend as I slept the dark sleep of the dead Youn cleaned the fine sand from my eyes

and scraped the seashells from my skin.

Long years passed and you forgot me – you barely remembered my name But then you returned and searched the sea and you cradled me up in my shame

you took the treasure from my heart and every secret from my soul. You lay me in a stranger’s bed and stripped all my fine clothes from me

You looked at me like someone dead that people would pay to come and see.

Bear me back o’er the waters, deep and lower me into my grave Let me lie alone ‘neath the restless wave

Don’t wake me again from my sleep.​​​​​​​​​

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