Catalogue of the Music of Larry Bell

Opus number: 53

Title: Ten Poems of William Blake

Instrumentation: soprano and piano

Date written: May 2000

Length: twenty-four minutes

Performances: The Boston Conservatory, Catherine Thorpe, soprano, Larry Bell, piano, November 17, 2000.

Recording: tape at The Boston Conservatory library

Publisher: Ione Press, a Division of ECS Publishing

Program notes: Ten Poems of William Blake (based on William Blake’s  Songs of Innocence and of Experience)

Songs of Innocence: Introduction

Piping down the valleys wild

Piping songs of pleasant glee

On a cloud I saw a child

And he laughing said to me.

Pipe a song about a Lamb;

So I piped with merry cheer,

Piper pipe that song again––

So I piped, he wept to hear.

Drop thy pipe thy happy pipe

Sing thy songs of happy chear,

So I sung the same again

While he wept with joy to hear.

Piper sit thee down and write

In a book that all may read––

So he vanish’d from my sight.

And I plucked a hollow reed.

And I made a rural pen,

And I stain’d the water clear,

And I wrote my happy songs,

Every child may joy to hear

The Lamb

Little Lamb who made thee

Dost thou know who made thee

Gave thee life & bid thee feed,

By the stream & o’er the mead;

Gave thee clothing of delight,

Softest clothing wooly bright;

Gave thee such a tender voice,

Making all the vales rejoice:

Little Lamb who made thee

Dost thou know who made thee                                   

Little Lamb I'll tell thee,                                                                                                        

Little Lamb I’ll tell thee,                                               

He is called by thy name,                                              

For he calls himself a Lamb:                                   

He is meek & he is mild,

He became a little child.

I a child & thou a lamb,

We are called by hs name.

Little Lamb God bless thee,

Little Lamb God bless thee.

 

Nurse’s Song

When the voices of children are heard on the green

And laughing is heard on the hill,

My heart is at rest within my breast

And everything else is still

Then come home my children, the sun is gone down

And the dews of the night arise

Come come leave off play, and let us away

Till the morning appears in the skies

No no let us play, for it is yet day

And we cannot go to sleep

Besides in the sky, the little birds fly

And the hills are all covered with sheep

Well well go & play till the light fades away

And then go home to bed

The little ones leaped & shouted & laugh’d

And all the hills ecchoed

Infant Joy

I have no name

I am but two days old.–

What shall I call thee?

Happy I am

Joy is my name,–

Sweet joy befall thee!

Pretty joy!

Sweet joy but two days old.

Sweet joy I call thee:

Thou dost smile.

I sing the while

Sweet joy befall thee.

Spring

Sound the flute!

Now it’s mute.

Birds delight

Day and Night.

Nigtingale

In the dale

Lark in Sky

Merrily

Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year

Little Boy

Full of  joy.

Little Girl

Sweet and small.

Cock does crow

So do you.

Merry voice

Infant noise

Merrily Merrily to welcome in the Year

Little Lamb

Here I am,

Come and lick

My white neck.

Let me pull

Your soft Wool.

Let me kiss

Your soft face.

Merrily Merrily we welcome in the Year

Songs of Experience:  Introduction

Hear the voice of the Bard!

Who Present, Past, & Future sees

Whose ears have heard,

The Holy Word,

That walk’d among the ancient trees.

Calling the lapsed Soul

and weeping in the evening dew:

That might controll

The starry pole:

And fallen fallen light renew!

O Earth O Earth return!

Arise from out the dewy grass;

Night is worn,

And the morn

Rises from the slumberous mass.

Turn away no more:

Why wilt though turn away

The starry floor

The watry shore

Is giv’n thee till the break of day.

The Garden of Love

I went to the Garden of Love.

And saw what I never had seen:

A Chapel was built in the midst,

Where I used to play on the green.

And the gates of this Chapel were shut

And Thou shalt not, writ over the door;

So I turn’d to the Garden of Love,

That so many sweet flowers bore,

And I saw it was filled with graves,

And tomb-stones where flowers should be:

And Priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,

And binding with briars, my joys & desires.

The Sick Rose

O Rose thou art sick.

The invisible worm,

That flies in the night

In the howling storm:

Has found out thy bed

Of crimson joy:

And his dark secret love

Does thy life destroy.

 

The Tyger

Tyger Tyger, burning bright,

In the forests of the night;

What immortal hand or eye,

Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies,

Burnt the fire of thine eyes?

On what wings dare he aspire?

What the hand, dare sieze the fire?

And what shoulder, & what art,

Could twist the sinews of they heart?

And when thy heart began to beat,

What dread hand? & what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain,

In what furnace was thy brain?

What the anvil? what dread grasp,

Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears

And water’d heaven with their tears:

Did he smile his work to see?

Did he who made the Lamb make thee?

Tyger Tyger burning bright,

In the forests of the night:

What immortal hand or eye,

Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

The Voice of the Ancient Bard

Youth of delight come hither,

And see the opening morn,

Image of truth new born.

Doubt is fled & clouds of reason,

Dark disputes & artful teazing.

Folly is an endless maze.

Tangled roots perplex her ways,

How many have fallen there!

They stumble all night over bones of the dead:

And feel they know not what but care:

And wish to lead others when they should be led

All music is published by Casa Rustica Publications, 73 Hemenway Street, #501, Boston, Massachusetts 02115
e-mail: LBell10276@aol.com