Op. 7 The Mill Suite

Op. 7 The Mill Suite ミル（水車）組曲

 

 

The Mill Suite was commissioned by the Mill Hill Music Festival and performed at the opening concert of the 2003 festival. Scored for choir and string quartet, it sets to music five romantic English poems containing the word “mill”.

「ミル（水車）組曲」は、Mill Hill音楽祭からの依頼で、２００３年のオープニング・コンサートに際して書かれた曲です。合唱と弦楽四重奏で編成され、「mill（水車）」という言葉を含む、英国ロマン派の詩５作品に合わせた音楽です。

Sheet Music Download 楽譜のダウンロード

Full Score, Choir Score (Piano Reduction), Violin I, Violin II, Viola, Cello

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Poems 詩

I. Song (Percy Bysshe Shelley, 1792-1822)

A widow bird sate mourning for her love upon a wintry bough;
The frozen wind crept on above, the freezing stream below.
There was no leaf upon the forest bare, no flower upon the ground,
And little motion in the air – except the mill-wheel’s sound.

 

II. The Second Visit (Thomas Hardy, 1840-1928)

Clack, clack, clack, went the mill-wheel as I came,
And she was on the bridge with the thin hand-rail,
And the miller at the door, and the ducks at mill-tail;
I come again years after, and all there seems the same.

And so indeed it is: the apple-tree’d old house,
And the deep mill-pond, and the wet wheel clacking,
And a woman on the bridge, and white ducks quacking,
And the miller at the door, powdered pale from boots to brows.

But it’s not the same miller whom long ago I knew,
Nor are they the same apples, nor the same drops that dash
Over the wet wheel, nor the ducks below that splash,
Nor the woman who to fond plaints replied, ‘You know I do!’

 

III. The Brook-Side (Richard Monckton Milnes, 1809–85)

I wander’d by the brook-side, I wander’d by the mill;
I could not hear the brook flow, the noisy wheel was still;
There was no burr of grasshopper, no chirp of any bird,
But the beating of my own heart was all the sound I heard.

I sat beneath the elm-tree; I watch’d the long, long shade,
And, as it grew still longer, I did not feel afraid;
For I listen’d for a footfall, I listen’d for a word,
But the beating of my own heart was all the sound I heard.

He came not, — no, he came not — the night came on alone,
The little stars sat, one by one, each on his golden throne;
The evening wind pass’d by my cheek, the leaves above were stirr’d,
But the beating of my own heart was all the sound I heard.

Fast silent tears were flowing, when something stood behind;
A hand was on my shoulder, I knew its touch was kind:
It drew me nearer—nearer, we did not speak one word,
For the beating of our own hearts was all the sound we heard.

 

IV. The Old Oaken Bucket (Samuel Woodworth, 1785-1842)

How dear to this heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wild-wood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew!
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell,
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e’en the rude bucket that hung in the well …

 

V. The Wish (Samuel Rogers, 1763-1855)


Mine be a cot beside the hill,
a bee-hive’s hum shall sooth my ear;
A willowy brook, that turns a mill,
with many a fall shall linger near.

The swallow, oft, beneath my thatch,
shall twitter from her clay-built nest;
Oft shall the pilgrim lift the latch,
and share my meal, a welcome guest.

Around my ivy’d porch shall spring
each fragrant flower that drinks the dew;
And Lucy, at her wheel, shall sing
in russet gown and apron blue.

The village-church, among the trees,
Where our first marriage-vows were giv’n,
With merry peals shall swell the breeze,
And point with taper spire to heav’n.