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cover: Edward Burne-Jones, Laus Veneris, 1873-1878, 

Laing Art Gallery, Newcastle upon Tyne, England

The Seventy-first Season of

The William Nelson Cromwell and F. Lammot Belin

Concerts

National Gallery ofArt

2,938th Concert

National Gallery ofArt Vocal Ensemble 

Rosa Lamoreaux, artistic director, soprano 

Andrew Earle Simpson, pianist

Presented in honor of Pre-Raphaelites:

Victorian Art and Design, 1848-igoo

April 14, 2013

Sunday, 6:30 pm

West Building, West Garden Court

Admissionfree
Program

Claude Debussy (1862-1918)

La Damoiselle due,

Rosa Lamoreaux, soprano; Rebecca Kellerman Petretta, soprano;

Barbara Hollinshead, mezzo-soprano; Roger Isaacs, countertenor

Sir Henry R. Bishop (1786-1855)

O, by Rivers, by Whose Falls

Sir Charles Hubert Hastings Parry (1848-1918)

Willow, Willow, Willow

Matthew Heil, tenor

Sir Arthur Sullivan (1842-1900)

The Long Day Closes

Traditional

The Voice ofToil

From Chantsfor Socialists

Ralph Vaughan Williams (1872-1958)

Love’s Minstrels

Alex Rosen, bass

Thomas Morley (1557-1602)

Who Is Sylvia?

Arranged by Sir Henry R. Bishop

Vaughan Williams

Your Eyen Two

Matthew Smith, tenor

Traditional

The March ofWorkers

From Chantsfor Socialists

Vaughan Williams

Silent Noon

William Sharp, baritone

Andrew Earle Simpson (b. 1967)

O Mistress Mine

INTERMISSION

Charles Bennett (Active 1890-1925)

The Lady ofShalott, Part ill (A Bow-shot from the Bower Eaves)

Sir William Schwenck Gilbert (1836-1911) and Sir Arthur Sullivan 

Excerpts from Patience

IfYou Want a Receipt 

Mystic Poet

Am I Alone and Unobserved?

Your Maiden Hearts, Ah 

A Magnet Hung in a Hardware Shop

So Go to Him and Say to Him

When I Go out of Door

It’s Clear that Mediaeval Art
The Musicians

NATIONAL GALLERY OF ART VOCAL ENSEMBLE

Now in its ninth season as a chamber choir under the leadership of artistic 

director Rosa Lamoreaux, the National Gallery ofArt Vocal Ensemble has

presented special programs in honor ofGallery exhibitions, including

seventeenth-century Dutch music in honor ofJan Lievens: A Dutch Master

Rediscovered (2008) and Pride ofPlace: Dutch Cityscapes ofthe Golden Age

(2009), as well as music by Vivaldi and other Italian composers in honor of

Venice: Canaletto and His Rivals (2011). In January 2010 members ofthe Vocal

Ensemble joined forces with the early music ensemble artek to perform

Claudio Monteverdi’s Vespers ofthe Blessed Virgin (1610) on the occasion ofits

400th anniversary year, and in December 2012 the group sang the Gallery’s

traditional Viennese New Year concert. Members ofthe Vocal Ensemble 

participating in tonight’s concert are:

Rosa Lamoreaux, artistic director, soprano

Rebecca Kellerman Petretta, soprano

Barbara Elollinshead, mezzo-soprano

Roger Isaacs, counter-tenor

Matthew Smith, tenor

Matthew Heil, tenor

William Sharp, baritone

Alex Rosen, bass

ROSA LAMOREAUX

Acclaimed by the Washington Post for her “scrupulous musicianship...

gorgeous sound, and stylistic acuity,” soprano Rosa Lamoreaux maintains

an international career of broad scope, including solo recitals, chamber

music, opera, and orchestral performances at Carnegie Hall, the Dorothy

Chandler Pavilion, the Kennedy Center, Royal Albert Hall, Strathmore Hall,

and the Washington National Cathedral, among other major concert venues. 

Highlights ofthe current season include Bach cantatas and the B Minor

Mass at the Phillips Collection, Bethlehem Bach Festival, and Washington

4

National Cathedral; and American musical revues for the Dumbarton

Concert Series. Her concert tours abroad have included performances in

Germany, Italy, and the United Kingdom as well as Brazil, Japan, and Peru.

Now in her ninth season as artistic director ofthe National Gallery ofArt

Vocal Ensemble, she also works with ArcoVoce, Chatham Baroque, the 

Folger Consort, Four Nations Ensemble, Hesperus, Musica Aperta, and 

Opera Lafayette. Lamoreaux maintains a website at www.rosasings.com.

ANDREW EARLE SIMPSON

A pianist and composer of opera, orchestral, silent film, chamber, choral,

and vocal music, Andrew Earle Simpson is ordinary professor and chair of

the division oftheory and composition at the Benjamin T. Rome School of

Music ofthe Catholic University ofAmerica. His music has been performed

across the United States and abroad by such ensembles as Cantate Chamber

Singers, Cedar Rapids Symphony Chamber Players, Contemporary Music

Forum, counterjinduction, Great Noise Ensemble, Indianapolis Chamber

Orchestra, Red Cedar Trio, and Tampa Bay Composers Forum. Active as a

composer, pianist, and organist for silent films, Simpson has appeared

frequently in this capacity at the National Gallery as well as the afi Silver

Theater in Silver Spring, Maryland; J. Paul Getty Villa in Malibu, California;

the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts; Library ofCongress;

National Museum of Women in the Arts; and New York Public Library for

the Performing Arts at Lincoln Center. In 2008 he made his Italian debut

at the Giomate del Cinema Muto in Pordenone, Italy, and in 2009 he 

performed a program ofhis film music at the Sala Cecilia Meireles in Rio

De Janeiro, Brazil.

5
Program Notes

Queen Victoria had been on the throne for little more than a decade when

seven fervent young men formed a secret society in London in 1848 with

the aim ofrejuvenating the arts in industrial-age Britain. Bonding over their

mutual passion for medieval art and disdain for contemporary painting

practices, they called their group the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood in acknowledgment oftheir admiration of art prior to Raphael (1483-1520). The three

most talented members were John Everett Millais, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, and

William Holman Hunt—ages nineteen, twenty, and twenty-one, respectively.

Along with other artists in their circle, most significantly their mentor Ford 

Madox Brown, they sowed the seeds of a self-consciously avant-garde movement, one whose ideals they published in a short-lived journal, The Germ.

Combining scientific precision, an innovative approach to subject matter,

and brilliant, clear colors, Pre-Raphaelitism was Britain’s first avant-garde 

art movement. The first major survey ofthe art ofthe Pre-Raphaelites to be

shown in the United States, Pre-Raphaelites: Victorian Art and Design, 1848-

1900, remains on view in the West Building until May 19, 2013.

As an official group, the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood stayed together for 

only five years. But a second generation of artists, centered on Rossetti and

led by Edward Burne-Jones and William Morris, arose in the 1860s with the

aim of cultivating beauty in everyday life. By the end ofVictoria’s reign in

1901, the Pre-Raphaelite legacy had permeated all areas of British art and

design, from painting and sculpture to photography and the decorative arts.

Pre-Raphaelite paintings often addressed subjects ofmoral seriousness,

whether pertaining to history, literature, religion, or modern society, which

they saw as ripe for redemption. Hunt’s The Awakening Conscience depicts a

moment ofsalvation. A kept woman, on hearing the song her lover has been

singing—legible in the painting as “Oft in the Stilly Night,” a setting by Sir

John Stevenson (1761-1833) of a poem by Thomas Moore (1779-1852)—realizes her mistaken ways and rises from his lap, reminded oflost innocence

by the sentimental lyrics. The fallen woman was a shocking subject, but it 

fascinated many painters, including Rossetti, who addressed the controversial

theme in a poem—“The Blessed Damozel”—and a number ofdrawings.

6

Claude Debussy set “The Blessed Damozel” to music in 1888, as a

cantata for solo voices with the title La Damoiselle elue. The music and text 

evoke perfectly the feminine ideal present in many Pre-Raphaelite works.

The ensuing part-songs and airs on tonight’s program draw on Shakespeare

and other popular Elizabethan writers, as well as Chaucer and Rossetti. 

William Morris (1834-1896), the English textile designer whose work is well 

represented in the exhibition, was a fervent socialist who set several ofhis

socialist texts to popular tunes and bound them in a book, Chantsfor Socialists, which is also on display in the exhibition. The two Morris songs on this

program demonstrate the diversity oftunes that he chose to carry his texts.

The second halfofthe concert opens with excerpts from Alfred Lord

Tennyson’s “The Lady of Shalott,” a poem based loosely on Arthurian legends,

set to music by Charles Bennett, a composer who was a voice teacher at the

New England conservatory in the early twentieth century. William Holman

Hunt’s The Lady ofShalott, included in the exhibition, is suggestive ofthe

famous character’s unrestraint. As described by Tennyson, the lady defied a

curse that condemned her to live in isolation while weaving images ofthe

outside world, which she was allowed to glimpse only through a mirror.

The selections from Gilbert and Sullivan’s operetta Patience demonstrate the satirical wit written into the roles ofthe male characters, as they

vie for the admiration ofthe ladies. With its mockery ofthe characters’

emphasis on perfection, the operetta is a satire on the Pre-Raphaelites’

moralistic philosophy. The aesthetic movement was so popular and easy

to ridicule that satirizing it made Patience a box office success. The two

poets in the story, Bunthorne and Grosvenor, are given to reciting their

own verses aloud, principally to the admiration of a chorus ofrapturous

maidens. The poetry declaimed by Bunthorne is emphatic and obscure,

strongly contrasted stylistically with Grosvenor’s poetry, which is simple

and pastoral. According to some authorities, Gilbert based his main characters on the poets Algernon Charles Swinburne and Dante Gabriel Rossetti.

Program notes based on materials provided by Rosa Lamoreaux and

Margaret Doyle, associate curator, department ofexhibition programs,

National Gallery ofArt
TEXTS AND TRANSLATIONS

LA DAMOISELLE ELUE

French translation by

Gabriel Sarrazin (1853-fl.l920)

SSAA:

La Damoiselle elue s'appuyait 

Sur la barriere d'or du Ciel,

Ses yeux etaient plus profonds que 1'abime

Des eaux calmes au soir.

Elle avait trois lys a la main

Et sept etoiles dans les cheveux.

Une Recitante:

Sa robe flottante,

N'etait point omee de fleurs brodees,

Mais d'une rose blanche, present de Marie,

Pour le divin service justement portee;

Ses cheveux qui tombaient le long de ses epaules,

Etaient jaunes comme le ble mur.

SSAA:

Autour d'elle des amants

Nouvellement reunis,

Repetaient pour toujours, entre eux,

Leurs nouveaux noms d'extase;

Et les ames, qui montaient a Dieu,

Passaient pres d'elle comme de fines flammes.

Une Recitante:

Alors, elle s'inclina de nouveau et se pencha 

En dehors du charme encerclant,

Jusqu'a ce que son sein eut echauffe

La barriere sur laquelle elle s'appuyait,

Et que les lys gisent comme endormis

Le long de son bras etendu.

SSAA:

Le soleil avait disparu, la lune annelee

Etait comme une petite plume 

Flottant au loin dans l'espace; et voila

Qu'elle parla a travers l'air calme,

Sa voix etait pareille a celle des etoiles

Lorsqu'elles chantent en choeur.

THE BLESSED DAMOZEL

Poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti (1828-1882)

SSAA:

The blessed damozel leaned out

from the gold bar ofHeaven;

her eyes were deeper than the depth

ofwaters still at even;

she had three lilies in her hand,

and the stars in her hair were seven.

Narrator:

Her robe, ungirt from clasp to hem,

no wrought flowers did adorn,

but a white rose ofMary's gift,

for service meetly worn;

her hair that lay along her back 

was yellow like ripe com.

SSAA:

Around her, lovers, newly met 

'mid deathless love's acclaims,

spoke evermore among themselves 

their rapturous new names;

and the souls mounting up to God 

went by her like thin flames.

Narrator:

And still she bowed herself and stooped

out ofthe circling charm;

until her bosom must have made

the bar she leaned on warm,

and the lilies lay as if asleep

along her bended arm.

SSAA:

The sun was gone now; the curled moon

was like a little feather 

fluttering far down the gulf; and now

she spoke through the still weather.

Her voice was like the voice the stars

had when they sang together.
La Damoiselle Elue:

"Je voudrais qu'il fut deja pres de moi,

Car il viendra.

N'ai-je pas prie dans le ciel? Sur terre,

Seigneur, Seigneur, n'a-t-il pas prie,

Deux prieres ne sont-elles pas une force parfaite?

Et pourquoi m'effraierais-je?

The Blessed Damozel:

"I wish that he were come to me,

for he will come," she said.

"Have I not prayed in Heaven? - On earth,

Lord, Lord, has he not prayed?

Are not two prayers a perfect strength?

And shall I feel afraid?

"Lorsqu'autour de sa tete s'attache l'aureole,

Et qu'il aura revetu sa robe blanche,

Je le prendrai par la main et j'irai avec lui

Aux sources de lumiere;

Nous y entrerons comme dans un courant,

Et nous y baignerons a la face de Dieu.

"When round his head the aureole clings,

and he is clothed in white,

I'll take his hand and go with him

to the deep wells of light;

we will step down as to a stream,

and bathe there in God's sight.

"Nous nous reposerons tous deux a l'ombre

De ce vivant et mystique arbre,

Dans le feuillage secret duquel on sent parfois

La presence de la colombe,

Pendant que chaque feuille, touchee par ses plumes,

Dit son nom distinctement.

"We two will lie in the shadow of

that living mystic tree

within whose secret growth the Dove

is sometimes felt to be,

while every leafthat His plumes touch

saith His Name audibly.

"Tous deux nous chercherons les bosquets

Ou trone Dame Marie

Avec ses cinq servantes, dont les noms

Sont cinq douces symphonies:

Cecile, Blanchelys, Madeleine,

Marguerite et Roselys.

"We two," she said, "will seek the groves

where the Lady Mary is,

with her five handmaidens, whose names

are five sweet symphonies,

Cecily, Gertrude, Magdalen,

Margaret and Rosalys.

"11 craindra peut-etre, et restera muet,

Alors, je poserai ma joue

Contre la sienne; et lui parlerai de notre amour,

Sans confusion ni faiblesse,

Et la chere Mere approuvera

Mon orgueil, et me laissera parler.

"He shall fear, haply, and be dumb:

then I will lay my cheek

to his, and tell about our love,

not once abashed or weak:

and the dear Mother will approve

my pride, and let me speak.

"Elle-meme nous amenera la main dans la main

A celui autour duquel toutes les ames

S'agenouillent, les innombrables tetes clair rangees

Inclinees, avec leurs aureoles,

Et les anges venus a notre rencontre chanteront,

S'accompagnant de leurs guitares et de leurs citoles.

"Herselfshall bring us, hand in hand,

to him round whom all souls

kneel, the clear-ranged unnumbered heads

bowed with their aureoles:

and angels meeting us shall sing

to their citherns and citoles.

"Alors, je demanderai au Christ Notre Seigneur,

Cette grande faveur, pour lui et moi,

Seulement de vivre comme autrefois sur terre;

Dans l'Amour; et d'etre pour toujours,

Comme alors pour un temps,

Ensemble, moi et lui."

"There will I ask ofChrist the Lord

thus much for him and me: -

only to live as once on earth

with Love, - only to be,

as then awhile, for ever now

together, I and he."
SSAA:

Elle regarda, preta l'oreille et dit,

D'une voix moins triste que douce:

La Damoiselle Elue:

"Tout ceci sera quand il viendra."

SSAA:

Elle se tut;

La lumiere tressaillit de son cote, remplie

D'un fort vol d'anges horizontal.

Ses yeux prierent, elle sourit;

Mais bientot leur sentier

Devint vague dans les spheres distantes.

Une Recitante:

Alors, elle jeta ses bras le long 

Des barrieres d'or.

Et posant son visage entre ses mains,

Pleura.

PART-SONGS AND AIRS

O, BY RIVERS, BY WHOSE FALLS

Poem by Christopher Marlowe (1564-1593),

adapted by Sir Henry R. Bishop

O, by rivers, by whose falls

Melodious birds sing madrigals,

The shepherd swains shall dance and play 

For thy delight on each May-day.

With a fa la la la lal la ...

Where silver sands and pebbles sing

Eternal ditties to the spring,

There shall you pass the welcome night 

In sylvan pleasures and delight.

SSAA:

She gazed and listened and then said,

less sad ofspeech than mild,

The Blessed Damozel:

"All this is when he comes."

SSAA:

She ceased.

The light thrilled towards her, filled

with angels in strong level flight.

Her eyes prayed, and she smiled.

I saw her smile. But soon their path

was vague in distant spheres:

Narrator:

And then she cast her arms along

the golden barriers,

and laid her face between her hands,

and wept.

WILLOW, WILLOW, WILLOW

Poem by William Shakespeare (1564-1616),

from Othello

The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree,

Sing all a green willow;

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee,

Sing willow, willow, willow.

The fresh streams ran by her, and murmur'd her

moans,

Sing willow, willow, willow;

Her salt tears fell from her, and soften'd the stones;

Sing willow, willow, willow,

Sing all a green willow must be my garland.
THE LONG DAY CLOSES

Poem by Henry F. Chorley (1808-1872)

No star is o'er the lake, its pale watch keeping,

The moon is half awake, through gray mist creeping.

The last red leaves fall 'round the porch ofroses,

The clock hath ceased to sound, the long day closes.

Sit by the silent hearth in calm endeavor 

To count the sounds ofmirth, now dumb forever:

Heed not how hope believes and fate disposes:

Shadow is 'round the eaves, the long day closes.

The lighted windows dim are fading slowly.

The fire that was so trim now quivers lowly.

Go to the dreamless bed where griefreposes;

Thy book oftoil is read, the long day closes.

THE VOICE OF TOIL

Poem by William Morris (1834-1896),

from Chantsfor Socialists

I heard men saying, leave hope and praying, 

all days shall be as all have been.

Today and tomorrow bring fear and sorrow, 

the never-ending toil between.

When earth was younger, midst toil and hunger,

in hope we strove, and our hands were strong;

Then great men led us, with words they fed us,

and bade us right the earthly wrong.

Let dead hearts tarry and trade and marry,

and trembling nurse their dreams ofmirth,

While we, the living, our lives are giving

to bring the bright new world to birth.

Come shoulder to shoulder ere earth grow older!

The Cause spreads over land and sea;

The world now shaketh and fear awaketh,

and joy at last for thee and me.

LOVE'S MINSTRELS

Poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti,

from The House ofLife

One flame-winged brought 

a white-winged harp-player,

Even where my lady and I lay all alone;

Saying: "Behold this minstrel is unknown;

Bid him depart, for I am minstrel here:

Only my songs are to love's dear ones dear."

Then said I, "Through thine hautboy's

rapturous tone,

Unto my lady still this harp makes moan,

And still she deems the cadence deep and clear!

Then said my lady: "Thou art passion ofLove

And this Love's worship: both he plights to me.

Thy mastering music walks the sunlit sea:

But where wan water trembles in the grove,

And the wan moon is all the light thereof,

This harp still makes my name its voluntary."

WHO IS SYLVIA? WHAT IS SHE?

Poem by William Shakespeare,

from The Two Gentlemen of Verona

Who is Sylvia? what is she,

That all her swains commend her?

Holy, fair, and wise is she;

The heav'ns such grace did lend her,

That she might admired be.

Is she kind, as she is fair?

For beauty lives with kindness:

Love doth to her eyes repair 

To help him of his blindness,

And being help'd, inhabits there.

Then to Sylvia let us sing,

That Sylvia is excelling;

She excels each mortal thing 

Upon the dull earth dwelling:

To her let us garlands bring.
YOUR EYEN TWO

Poem by Geoffrey Chaucer (13437-1400),

from Merciless Beauty

Your eyen two will slay me suddenly:

I may the beauty ofthem not sustene,

So woundeth it throughout my herte kene.

And but your word will helen hastily

My hertes wounde, while that it is green,

Your eyen two will slay me suddenly;

I may the beauty ofthem not sustene.

Upon my troth I say you faithfully,

That ye be ofmy life and death the queen,

For with my death the truthe shall be seen:

Your eyen two will slay me suddenly:

I may the beauty ofthem not sustene,

So woundeth it throughout my herte kene.

THE MARCH OF THE WORKERS

Poem by William Morris,

from Chantsfor Socialists

What is this the sound and rumor?

What is this that all men hear?

Like the winds in hollow valleys

when the storm is drawing near.

Like the rolling on of ocean

in the eventide offear?

'Tis the people marching on.

Whither go they and whence come they,

what are these of whom ye tell?

In what country are they dwelling

'twixt the gates of heav'n and hell?

Are they mine or thine for money?

Will they serve a master well?

Still the rumour's marching on.

Hark, the rolling ofthe thunder!

Lo, the sun! and lo, thereunder 

Riseth wrath and hope and wonder,

And the hosts come marching on.

Forth they come from grief and torment:

on they wend t'ward health and mirth;

All the wide world is their dwelling,

ev'ry comer ofthe earth;

Buy them, sell them for thy service!

Try the bargain what 'tis worth,

For the days are marching on.

These are they who build thy houses, 

weave thy raiment, win thy wheat,

Smooth the rugged, fill the barren, 

turn the bitter into sweet,

All for thee this day and ever.

What reward for them is meet?

Till the host comes marching on.

Hark, the rolling ofthe thunder!

Lo, the sun! and lo, thereunder 

Riseth wrath and hope and wonder,

And the hosts come marching on.

SILENT NOON

Poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti,

from The House ofLife

Your hands lie open in the long fresh grass,

The finger points look through like rosy blooms:

Your eyes smile peace. The pasture gleams and

glooms

'Neath billowing skies that scatter and amass.

All round our nest, far as the eye can pass,

Are golden kingcup fields with silver edge,

Where the cow-parsley skirts the hawthorn hedge.

'Tis visible silence, still as the hour-glass.

Deep in the sun-search'd growths the dragon-fly 

Hangs like a blue thread loosen'd from the sky:

So this wing'd hour is dropt to us from above.

Oh! clasp we to our hearts, for deathless dower,

This close-companion'd inarticulate hour,

When twofold silence was the song oflove.
O MISTRESS MINE

Poem by William Shakespeare,

from Twelfth Night

O mistress mine! Where are you roaming?

O! Stay and hear; your true love's coming,

Who can sing both high and low.

Trip no further, pretty sweeting;

Journeys end in lovers meeting.

Fa la la la la la la.

Ev'ry wise man's son doth know.

Fa la la la la la la.

What is love? 'Tis not here after;

Present mirth hath present laughter,

What's to come is still unsure.

In delay there lies no plenty;

Then come kiss me, sweet and twenty;

Fa la la la la la la.

Youth's a stuffwill not endure.

Fa la la la la la la.

THE LADY OF SHALOTT

Excerpts from the poem by

Alfred Lord Tennyson (1809-1892)

PARTI

On either side the river lie

Long fields of barley and ofrye,

That clothe the wold and meet the sky;

And thro' the field the road runs by

To many-tow'r'd Camelot;

And up and down the people go,

Gazing where the lilies blow 

Round an island here below,

The island of Shalott.

Only reapers reaping early

In among the bearded barley,

Hear a song that echoes cheerly 

Down to tow'r'd Camelot:

And by the moon the reaper weary,

Piling sheaves in uplands airy,

List'ning, whispers, "'Tis the fairy

Lady of Shalott."

PART II

There she weaves by night and day

A magic web of colors gay.

She has heard a whisper say,

A curse is on her ifshe stay

To look down to Camelot.

She knows not what the curse may be,

And so she weaveth steadily,

And little other care hath she,

The Lady of Shalott.

But in her web she still delights

To weave the mirror's magic sights,

For often thro' the silent nights

A funeral, with plumes and lights,

And music, went to Camelot.

Or when the moon was overhead,

Came two young lovers lately wed;

"I am halfsick ofshadows," said

The Lady of Shalott.

PART III

A bow-shot from the bower eaves,

He rode between the barley sheaves,

The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,

And flamed upon the brazen greaves

Of bold Sir Lancelot.

A red-cross knight for ever kneel'd 

To a lady in his shield,

That sparkled on a yellow field

Beside remote Shalott.

The gemmy bridle glitter'd free

Like to some branch ofstars we see,

Hung in a golden Galaxy.

The bridle bells rang merrily 

As he rode down to Camelot.

And from his blazon'd baldric slung

A mighty silver bugle hung,

And as he rode his armor rung

Beside remote Shalott.

His broad brow in the sunlight glow'd;

On burnish'd hooves his war-horse trode;

From underneath his helmet flow'd

His coal-black curls as on he rode,

As he rode down to Camelot.

From the bank and from the river 

He flash'd into the crystal mirror,

"Tirra lirra," by the river 

Sang Sir Lancelot.
She left the web, she left the loom,

She made three paces thro' the room,

She saw the water-lily bloom,

She saw the helmet and the plume,

She look'd down to Camelot.

Out flew the web, and floated wide;

The mirror crack'd from side to side;

"The curse is come upon me," cried

The Lady of Shalott.

PART IV

In the stormy east-wind straining,

The pale yellow woods were waning,

The broad stream in his bank's complaining,

Heavily the low sky raining

Over towr'd Camelot.

Down she came and found a boat

Beneath a willow left afloat,

And round about the prow she wrote

The Lady ofShalott.

And down the river's dim expanse -

Like some bold seer in a trance,

Seeing in his own mischance 

With a glassy countenance -

Did she look to Camelot.

And at the closing ofthe day

She loosed the chain and down she lay;

The broad stream bore her far away,

The Lady of Shalott.

Lying robed in snowy white

That loosely flow'd from left to right,

The leaves upon her falling light,

Thro' the noises ofthe night.

As the boat-head wound along

The willowy hills and fields among,

They heard her singing her last song,

The Lady of Shalott.

What is this? And what is here?

And in the lighted palace near 

Died the sound ofroyal cheer:

And they cross'd themselves for fear,

All the knights at Camelot.

But Lancelot mused a little space:

He said, "She has a lovely face:

God in His mercy lend her grace,

The Lady of Shalott."

EXCERPTS from PATIENCE

Libretto by Sir William S. Gilbert (1836-1911)

IF YOU WANT A RECEIPT

Colonel and Dragoons

Ifyou want a receipt for that popular mystery,

Known to the world as a Heavy Dragoon,

Take all the remarkable people in history,

Rattle them offto a popular tune.

The pluck of Lord Nelson on board ofthe Victory -

Genius ofBismark devising a plan -

The humor ofFielding (which sounds contradictory)

Coolness ofPaget about to trepan -

The science ofJulien, the eminent musico -

Wit ofMacaulay, who wrote ofQueen Anne -

The pathos of Paddy, as rendered by Boucicault -

Style ofthe Bishop of Sodor and Man -

The dash of a D'Orsay, divested of quackery -

Narrative powers of Dickens and Thackeray -

Victor Emmanuel - peak-haunting Peveril -

Thomas Aquinas and Doctor Sacheverell -

Tupper and Tennyson - Daniel Defoe -

Anthony Trollope and Mister Guizot!

Ah! Take ofthese elements all that is fusible,

Melt 'em all down in a pipkin or crucible -

Set 'em to simmer and take offthe scum,

And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!

Ifyou want a receipt for this soldier-like paragon,

Get at the wealth ofthe Czar (ifyou can) -

The family pride of a Spaniard from Aragon -

Force ofMephisto pronouncing a ban -

A smack ofLord Waterford, reckless and rollicky -

Swagger ofRoderick, heading his clan -

The keen penetration ofPaddington Pollaky -

Grace of an Odalisque on a divan -

The genius strategic ofCassar or Hannibal -

Skill of Sir Garnet in thrashing a cannibal -

Flavour ofHamlet - the Stranger, a touch of him -

Little ofManfred (but not very much of him) -

Beadle ofBurlington - Richardson's show -

Mister Micawber and Madame Tussaud!

Ah! Take ofthese elements all that is fusible,

Melt 'em all down in a pipkin or crucible -

Set 'em to simmer and take offthe scum,

And a Heavy Dragoon is the residuum!
MYSTIC POET

Maidens and Bunthorne, Dragoons

Mystic poet, hear our prayer, -

Twenty love-sick maidens we -

Young and wealthy, dark and fair,

All of county family.

And we die for love ofthee -

Twenty love-sick maidens we!

Yes, we die for love ofthee -

Twenty love-sick maidens we!

Though my book I seem to scan

In a rapt ecstatic way,

Like a literary man 

Who despises female clay;

I hear plainly all they say,

Twenty love-sick maidens they!

He hears plainly all they say,

Twenty love-sick maidens they!

Though so excellently wise,

For a moment mortal be,

Deign to raise thy purple eyes

From thy heart-drawn poesy.

Twenty love-sick maidens see -

Each is kneeling on her knee!

Twenty love-sick maidens see -

Each is kneeling on her knee!

Though, as I remarked before,

Anyone convinced would be 

That some transcendental lore

Is monopolizing me,

'Round the comer I can see

Each is kneeling on her knee!

'Round the comer he can see

Each is kneeling on her knee!

Now is not this ridiculous, 

and is not this preposterous?

A thorough-paced absurdity -

Explain it ifyou can.

Instead ofrushing eagerly

to cherish us and foster us,

They all prefer this melancholy literary man.

Instead ofslyly peering at us,

Casting looks endearing at us,

Blushing at us, flushing at us, flirting with a fan;

They're actually sneering at us,

fleering at us, jeering at us!

Pretty sort oftreatment for a military man!

In a doleful train

Two and two we walk all day,

For we love in vain!

None so sorrowful as they

Who can only sigh and say,

Woe is me, a-lack-a-day!

Twenty love-sick maidens we,

And we die for love ofthee!

Yes, we die for love ofthee!

AM I ALONE AND UNOBSERVED?

Bunthorne

Am I alone, and unobserved?

I am!

Then let me own

I'm an aesthetic sham!

This air severe

Is but a mere

Veneer!

This cynic smile

Is but a wile

Of guile!

This costume chaste

Is but good taste

Misplaced!

Let me confess!

A languid love for lilies does not blight me!

Lank limbs and haggard cheeks do not delight me

I do not care for dirty greens

By any means.

I do not long for all one sees

That's Japanese.

I am not fond of uttering platitudes

In stained-glass attitudes.

In short, my medievalism's affectation,

Bom of a morbid love of admiration!
Ifyou're anxious for to shine

in the high aesthetic line

as a man of culture rare,

You must get up all the germs

ofthe transcendental terms,

and plant them ev'rywhere.

You must lie upon the daises 

and discourse in novel phrases 

ofyour complicated state ofmind.

The meaning doesn't matter 

ifit's only idle chatter

of a transcendental kind.

And ev'ryone will say,

As you walk your mystic way,

"Ifthis young man expresses himself

in terms too deep for me,

Why, what a very singularly deep young man

this deep young man must be!"

Then a sentimental passion

of a vegetable fashion

must excite your languid spleen;

An attachment a la Plato

for a bashful young potato,

or a not-too-French French bean!

Though the Philistines may jostle,

you will rank as an apostle

in the high aesthetic band,

Ifyou walk down Piccadilly 

with a poppy or a lily

in your mediaeval hand.

And ev'ryone will say,

As you walk your flow'ry way,

"Ifhe's content with a vegetable love

which would certainly not suit me,

Why, what a most particularly pure young man

this pure young man must be!"

Yes, who is this, whose god-like grace

Proclaims he comes of noble race?

I am a broken-hearted troubadour, 

Whose mind's aesthetic and whose tastes

Esthetic! He is aesthetic!

Yes, yes, I am aesthetic

And poetic!

Then, we love you!

They love him! Horror!

They love him! Horror!

They love me! Horror! Horror! Horror!

YOUR MAIDEN HEARTS

Duke, Ensemble

Your maiden hearts, ah, do not steel

To pity's eloquent appeal,

Such conduct British soldiers feel.

Sigh, sigh, all sigh!

To foeman's steel we rarely see

A British soldier bend the knee,

Yet, one and all, they kneel to ye.

Kneel, kneel, all kneel!

Our soldiers very seldom cry,

And yet -1 need not tell you why -

A teardrop dews each martial eye!

Weep, weep, all weep!

BUT WHO IS THIS?

Ensemble, Grosvenor, Bunthorne

But who is this, whose god-like grace

Proclaims he comes of noble race?

And who is this, whose manly face

Bears sorrow's interesting trace?
10

A MAGNET HUNG IN A HARDWARE SHOP

Bunthorne, Maidens

"I was the beau ideal

ofthe morbid young assthetical -

To doubt my inspiration

A magnet hung in a hardware shop,

And all around was a loving crop

Ofscissors and needles, nails and knives,

Offering love for all their lives;

But for iron the magnet felt no whim,

Though he charmed iron, it charmed not him;

From needles and nails and knives he'd turn,.

For he'd set his love on a Silver Chum!

was regarded as heretical -

Until you cut me out

with your placidity emetical."

Sing "Booh to you - Pooh, pooh to you"

and that's what I shall say!

Sing "Hey to you - Good day to you" -

Sing "Bah to you - Ha! ha! to you" -'

A Silver Chum!

A Silver Chum!

His most aesthetic - very magnetic -

Fancy took this turn -

"IfI can wheedle a knife or a needle,

Why not a Silver Chum?"

Sing "Booh to you - Pooh, pooh to you"

And that's what you should say!

I'll tell him that unless

he will consent to be more jocular -

Sing "Booh to you - Pooh, pooh to you"

And iron and steel expressed surprise,

The needles opened their well-drilled eyes,

The pen-knives felt "shut up", no doubt,

The scissors declared themselves "cut-out".

The kettles they boiled with rage, 'tis said,

While ev'ry nail went offits head,

And hither and thither began to roam,

Till a hammer came up and drove them home.

And that's what you should say!

To cut his curly hair,

and stick an eyeglass in his ocular -

Sing "Bah to you - Ha! ha! to you" -

And that's what you should say!

To stuff his conversation

It drove them home?

It drove them home!

While this magnetic - peripatetic -

Lover he lived to learn,

By no endeavor can magnet ever

Attract a Silver Chum!

full of quibble and of quiddity,

To dine on chops

and roly-poly pudding with avidity -

He'd better clear away

with all convenient rapidity.

Sing "Hey to you - Good day to you" -

And that's what you should say!

SO GO TO HIM AND SAY TO HIM

Jane, Bunthorne

Sing "Booh to you - Pooh, pooh to you"

And that's what I shall say!

So go to him and say to him,

with compliment ironical -

Sing "Hey to you - Good day to you" -

Sing "Bah to you - Ha! ha! to you" -'

Sing "Booh to you - Pooh, pooh to you"

Sing "Hey to you - Good day to you" -

And that's what I shall say!

And that's what you should say!

"Your style is much too sanctified -

your cut is too canonical" -

Sing "Bah to you - Ha! ha! to you" -

And that's what I shall say!
WHEN I GO OUT OF DOOR

11

A pushing young particle - "What's the next article?" -

Bunthorne, Grosvenor Waterloo House young man!

When I go out of door, Conceive me if you can,

Of damozels a score A matter-of-fact young man,

(All sighing and burning, An alphabetical, arithmetical,

And clinging and yearning)

Will follow me as before.

Every-day young man!

I shall, with cultured taste, Conceive me ifyou can,

* * Distinguish gems from paste, A crotchety, cracked young man,

And "High diddle diddle" An ultrapoetical, superaesthetical,

- Will rank as an idyll, Out-of-the-way young man!

* IfI pronounce it chaste!

A most intense young man, IT'S CLEAR THAT MEDIAEVAL ART

A soulful-eyed young man -

An ultrapoetical, superaesthetical,

Ensemble

Out-of-the-way young man! It's clear that mediaeval art

alone retains its zest,

Conceive me, ifyou can, To charm and please its devotees

An ev'ry-day young man: we've done our little best.

A common-place type, We're not quite sure if all we do

With a stick and a pipe, has the Early English ring;

And a half-bred black-and-tan; But, as far as we can judge,

Who thinks suburban "hops"

More fun than "Monday Pops," -

it's something like this sort ofthing:

Who's fond of his dinner, You hold yourselflike this,

And doesn't get thinner You hold yourselflike that,

On bottled beer and chops. By hook and crook you try to look

both angular and flat.

A common-place young man - We venture to expect

A matter-of-fact young man - That what we recollect,

A steady and stolidy, jolly Bank-holiday, Though but a part oftrue High Art,

Every-day young man! will have its due effect.

A Japanese young man - Ifthis is not exactly right,

A blue-and-white young man - we hope you won't upbraid;

Francesca da Rimini, miminy, piminy, You can't get high Aesthetic tastes

Je-ne-sais-quoi young man. like trousers, ready made.

True views on Mediasvalism,

A Chancery Lane young man - Time alone will bring,

A Somerset House young man - But, as far as we can judge,

A very delectable, highly respectable it's something like this sort ofthing:

t Three-penny-bus young man!

You hold yourselflike this,

A pallid and thin young man - You hold yourselflike that,

' A haggard and lank young man, By hook and crook you try to look

A greenery-yallery, Grosvenor Gallery, both angular and flat.

Foot-in-the-grave young man! To cultivate the trim

Rigidity oflimb,

A Sewell and Cross young man, You ought to get a Marionette,

A Howell and James young man, and form your style on him.