Thomas Hardy’s Poetry in Song

Four of twelve Hardy poems
set to music, composed and sung by

Lewis Alpaugh

Set 2

WHEN I SET OUT FOR LYONESS

When I set out for Lyonesse,
  A hundred miles away,
When I set out for Lyonesse,
  The rime was on the spray,
And starlight lit my loneliness
When I set out for Lyonesse
  A hundred miles away,
  A hundred miles away!

What would bechance at Lyonesse
  While I should sojourn there
What should bechance at Lyonesse
  No prophet durst declare,
Nor did the wisest wizard guess
What would bechance at Lyonesse
  While I should sojourn there,
  While I should sojourn there!

When I came back from Lyonesse
  With magic in my eyes,
When I came back from Lyonesse
  All marked with mute surmise
My radiance rare and fathomless
When I came back from Lyonesse
  With magic in my eyes,
  With magic in my eyes!

 

When I Set Out For Lyoness

IN CHURCH

“And now to God the father,” he ends,
And his voice thrills up to the topmost tiles;
Each listener chokes as he bows and bends,
And emotion pervades the crowded aisles.
Then the preacher glides to the vestry door,
And shuts it, and thinks he is seen no more.

The door swings softly ajar meanwhile,
And a pupil of his in the Bible class,
Who adores him as one without gloss or guile
Sees her idol stand with a satisfied smile
And re-enact in the vestry-glass
Each pulpit gesture in deft dumb-show
That had thrilled the congregation so,
That had thrilled the congregation so!

In Church

 ROSE–ANN

Why didn’t you say you was promised, Rose-Ann?
 Why didn’t you name it to me,
Ere ever you tempted me hither, Rose-Ann,
 So often, so wearifully?

O why did you let me be near ‘ee, Rose-Ann,
 Talking things about wedlock so free,
And never by nod or by whisper, Rose-Ann
 Give a hint that it wasn’t to be?

Down home I was raising a flock of stock ewes,
 Cocks and hens, and wee chickens by scores,
And lavendered linen all ready to use
 And dreaming that they would be yours.

Mother said: “She’s a sport-making maiden, my son”;
 And a pretty sharp quarrel had we;
O why do you prove by this wrong you have done
 That I saw not what mother could see?

Never once did you say you was promised, Rose-Ann,
 Never once did I dream it to be;
And it cuts to the heart to be treated, Rose-Ann,
 As you in your scorning treat me!

Why didn’t you say you was promised, Rose-Ann?
 Why didn’t you name it to me,
Ere ever you tempted me hither, Rose-Ann,
 So often, so wearifully?

O why did you let me be near ‘ee, Rose-Ann,
 Talking things about wedlock so free,
And never by nod or by whisper, Rose-Ann
 Give a hint that it wasn’t to be?

Rose-Ann

   THE MAN HE KILLED

  “Had he and I but met
  By some old ancient inn,
We should have sat us down to wet
  Right many a nipperkin!

  “Instead we met as infantry,
  And staring face to face,
I shot at him and he at me
  And killed him in his place.
  And killed him in his place.

  “I shot him dead because—
  Because he was my foe,
Just so; my foe of course he was;
  That’s clear enough; although

  “He thought he’d ‘list, perhaps
  Off-hand like—just the same as I—
Was out of work—had sold his traps—
  No other reason why.
  No other reason why.
  
“Yes; quaint and curious war is;
  You shoot a fellow down
You’d treat if met where any bar is,
  Or help to half-a crown,
  Or help to half-a-crown.”
 

The Man He Killed

Listen to More
Set 1

Another four Hardy poems with music, composed
and sung by Lewis Alpaugh