Classical Music | Baritone

Recorded on 10/12/2004, uploaded on 01/19/2009

Musician's or Publisher's Notes

In 1825, Franz Schubert set to music seven selections from Sir Walter Scott's epic poem The Lady of the Lake. They were published a year later as his op. 52. Undoubtedly, the most famous of the set is the sixth song, "Ellens Gesang III," or as it is more commonly known, Schubert's "Ave Maria."

The final song, on the other hand, Lied des genfangenen Jägers ("Song of the Imprisoned Hunter"), is taken from the final canto of Scott's poem. It describes a hunter, eager to return to the sport, yet trapped within the towers of a castle and, though they are the halls of a king, he finds no joy in them. Schubert's strophic setting begins with a fanfare-like figure on the dominant of the key of D minor. This figure then forms the interlude between each musical strophe, as well as the coda. The heroic, dactylic rhythm of the fanfare remains as a prominent figure throughout the accompaniment after the voice enters. The vocal melody, itself, is stately though not without an uneasy sense of longing. This restlessness is also evident in the alternation between the tonic key of D minor and its parallel major between each stanza of text, suggesting the hunter's sorrow but also his pride.     Joseph DuBose

Lied des gefangenen Jägers     Franz Schubert

Mein Roß so müd' in dem Stalle sich steht,
Mein Falk' ist der Kapp und der Stange so leid,
Mein müßiges Windspiel sein Futter verschmäht,
Und mich kränkt des Turmes Einsamkeit.
Ach, wär ich nur, wo ich zuvor bin gewesen.

Die Hirschjagd wäre so recht mein Wesen!
Den Bluthund los, gespannt den Bogen:
Ja, solchem Leben bin ich gewogen!
Ich hasse der Turmuhr schläfrigen Klang,
Ich mag nicht seh'n, wie die Zeit verstreicht,

Wenn Zoll um Zoll die Mauer entlang
Der Sonnenstrahl so langsam schleicht.
Sonst pflegte die Lerche den Morgen zu bringen,
Die dunkle Dohle zur Ruh' mich zu singen;
In dieses Schlosses Königshallen,

Da kann kein Ort mir je gefallen.
Früh, wenn der Lerche Lied erschallt,
Sonn' ich mich nicht in Ellen's Blick,
Nicht folg' ich dem flüchtigen Hirsch durch den Wald,
Und kehre, wenn Abend taut, zurück.

Nicht schallt mir ihr frohes Willkommen entgegen,
Nicht kann ich das Wild ihr zu Füßen mehr legen,
Nicht mehr wird der Abend uns selig entschweben:
Dahin, dahin ist Lieben und Leben.

--Sir Walter Scott
Lay of the Imprisoned Huntsman

My hawk is tired of perch and hood,
My idle greyhound loathes his food,
My horse is weary of his stall,
And I am sick of captive thrall.

I wish I were, as I have been,
Hunting the hart in forest green,
With bended bow and bloodhound free.
For that's the life is meet for me.

I hate to learn the ebb of time,
From yon dull steeple's drowsy chime,
Or mark it as the sunbeams crawl,
Inch after inch, along the wall.

The lark was wont my matins ring;
The sable rook my vespers sing;
These towers, although a king's they be,
Have not a hall of joy for me.

No more a dawning morn I rise,
And sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
Drive the fleet deer the forest through,
And homeward wend with evening dew;

A blithesome welcome blithely meet,
And lay my trophies at her feet,
While fled the eve on wing of glee-
That life is lost to love and me!

--Sir Walter Scott

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Courtesy of International Music Foundation.

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