When I came last to Ludlow Amidst the moonlight pale, Two friends kept step beside me, Two honest lads and hale. Now Dick lies long in the churchyard, And Ned lies long in jail, And I come home to Ludlow Amidst the moonlight pale.
Bredon Hill : eight songs for tenor voice and piano to poems of A. E. Housman
Song Cycle by Geoffrey Allen (b. 1927)
1. When I came last to Ludlow  [sung text not yet checked]
Authorship:
- by Alfred Edward Housman (1859 - 1936), no title, appears in A Shropshire Lad, no. 58, first published 1896
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Researcher for this page: Ted Perry2. Loveliest of trees  [sung text not yet checked]
Loveliest of trees, the cherry now Is hung with bloom along the bough, And stands about the woodland ride Wearing white for Eastertide. Now, of my threescore years and ten, Twenty will not come again, And take from seventy [springs]1 a score, It only leaves me fifty more. And since to look at things in bloom Fifty springs are little room, About the [woodlands]2 I will go To see the cherry hung with snow.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Edward Housman (1859 - 1936), no title, appears in A Shropshire Lad, no. 2, first published 1896
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Patricia Dillard Eguchi) , copyright © 2018, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- HEB Hebrew (עברית) (Max Mader) , "היפה בעצים", copyright © 2014, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
1 Manton: "years"
2 Steele: "woodland"
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
3. Twice a week the winter thorough [sic]  [sung text not yet checked]
Twice a week the winter thorough Here stood I to keep the goal: Football then was fighting sorrow For the young man's soul. Now in Maytime to the wicket Out I march with bat and pad: See the son of grief at cricket Trying to be glad. Try I will; no harm in trying: Wonder 'tis how little mirth Keeps the bones of man from lying On the bed of earth.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Edward Housman (1859 - 1936), no title, appears in A Shropshire Lad, no. 17, first published 1896
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Researcher for this page: Ted Perry4. Reveille  [sung text not yet checked]
Wake: the silver dusk returning Up the beach of darkness brims, And the ship of sunrise burning Strands upon the eastern rims. Wake: the vaulted shadow shatters, Trampled to the floor it spanned, And the tent of night in tatters Straws the sky-pavilioned land. Up, lad, up, 'tis late for lying: Hear the drums of morning play; Hark, the empty highways crying "Who'll beyond the hills away?" Towns and countries woo together, Forelands beacon, belfries call; Never lad that trod on leather Lived to feast his heart with all. Up, lad: thews that lie and cumber Sunlit pallets never thrive; Morns abed and daylight slumber Were not meant for man alive. Clay lies still, but blood's a rover; Breath's a ware that will not keep. Up, lad: when the journey's over There'll be time enough to sleep.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Edward Housman (1859 - 1936), "Reveille", appears in A Shropshire Lad, no. 4, first published 1896
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Researcher for this page: Ted Perry5. On the idle hill of summer  [sung text not yet checked]
On the idle hill of summer, Sleepy with the flow of streams, Far I hear the steady drummer Drumming like a noise in dreams. Far and near and low and louder, On the roads of earth go by, Dear to friends and food for powder, Soldiers marching, all to die. East and west on fields forgotten Bleach the bones of comrades slain, Lovely lads and dead and rotten; None that go return again. Far the calling bugles hollo, High the screaming fife replies, Gay the files of scarlet follow: Woman bore me, I will rise.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Edward Housman (1859 - 1936), no title, appears in A Shropshire Lad, no. 35, first published 1896
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]6. White in the moon  [sung text not yet checked]
White in the moon the long road lies, The moon stands blank above; White in the moon the long road lies That leads me from my love. Still hangs the hedge without a gust, Still, still the shadows stay: My feet upon the moonlit dust Pursue the ceaseless way. The world is round, so travellers tell, And straight though reach the track, Trudge on, trudge on, 'twill all be well, The way will guide one back. But ere the circle homeward hies Far, far must it remove: White in the moon the long road lies That leads me from my love.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Edward Housman (1859 - 1936), no title, appears in A Shropshire Lad, no. 36, first published 1896
See other settings of this text.
Researcher for this page: Ted Perry7. 'Tis time I think  [sung text not yet checked]
'Tis time, I think, by Wenlock town The golden broom should blow; The hawthorn sprinkled up and down Should charge the land with snow. Spring will not wait the loiterer's time Who keeps so long away; So others wear the broom and climb The hedgerows heaped with may. Oh tarnish late on Wenlock Edge, Gold that I never see; Lie long, high snowdrifts in the hedge That will not shower on me.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Edward Housman (1859 - 1936), no title, appears in A Shropshire Lad, no. 39, first published 1896
See other settings of this text.
Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- CHI Chinese (中文) [singable] (Dr Huaixing Wang) , copyright © 2024, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
8. Bredon Hill  [sung text not yet checked]
In summertime on Bredon The bells they sound so clear; Round both the shires they ring them In steeples far and near, A happy noise to hear. Here of a Sunday morning My love and I would lie, And see the coloured counties, And hear the larks so high About us in the sky. The bells would ring to call her In valleys miles away; "Come all to church, good people; Good people come and pray." But here my love would stay. And I would turn and answer Among the springing thyme, "Oh, peal upon our wedding, And we will hear the chime, And come to church in time." But when the snows at Christmas On Bredon top were strown, My love rose up so early And stole out unbeknown And went to church alone. They tolled the one bell only, Groom there was none to see, The mourners followed after, And so to church went she, And would not wait for me. The bells they sound on Bredon, And still the steeples hum, "Come all to church, good people." - O noisy bells, be dumb; I hear you, I will come.
Authorship:
- by Alfred Edward Housman (1859 - 1936), "Bredon Hill", appears in A Shropshire Lad, no. 21, first published 1896
See other settings of this text.
Note: "Bredon" is pronounced /breedon/Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]