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28 May 13 - 09:11 AM (#3520007) Subject: Lyr Req: Music of the Stream From: Sian H Anyone know this UK song from 1855, words by Arthur Ransom? |
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28 May 13 - 10:26 AM (#3520018) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Music of the Stream From: GUEST "music of the stream", arthur ransom Google that, Sian. One page that will come up shows as Whiteman's guide to Hastings, St. Leonards, and the neighbourhood - Page 58 - Google Books Result books.google.ca/books?id=gbIHAAAAQAAJ Spencer Whiteman - 1874 Arthur Ransom : — SONG OF FAIRLIGHT GLEN. I loved ... the trembling leaves would gleam ; But the best of all was the waterfall, And the music of the stream ! Open that. The song seems to be called 'Song of Fairlight Glen' |
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28 May 13 - 02:16 PM (#3520105) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Music of the Stream From: GUEST,leeneia Here ya go: SONG OF FAIRLIGHT GLEN. I loved the lone place in my childish days, For the primrose blossomed there, And the violets grew among the harebells blue, And the spring birds warbled clear : And the green boughs swung in the breeze, and sung Like the music of a dream ; But the charm of all was the waterfall, And the dripping of the stream. ' • Drip ! drip ! drip ! The water still falls on the mossy lip Of the old grey stones in the stream. I loved the lone place in my youthful days, When I wandered there alone ; When far from the strife of the tide of life, I mused on the silent stone ; And the noontide ray of the summer day Through the trembling leaves would gleam ; But the best of all was the waterfall, And the music of the stream ! Drip! drip! drip! The water still falls on the mossy lip Of the old grey stones in the stream. |
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28 May 13 - 02:20 PM (#3520107) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Music of the Stream From: GUEST,leeneia Here's the paragraph that preceded the poem. I'm entering it separately because for some reason, highlighting text in the book was a touchy and unreliable process. The writing certainly makes a person long to visit the beautiful glen. "Proceeding through a small white gate, near Fairlight Place, we are led to Fairlight Glen, which nature has, indeed, lavished her pencil upon. The vegetation is in great profusion and variety, bearing undeniable testimony to the mildness of the climate. Every lover of rustic scenery should visit " our Glen." Nature's own handiwork is here to be met with in all its beauty. Lofty trees, with their rich foliage, overshadow our path, while the banks, on either side, are thickly studded with almost every species of English wild-flower. The golden hawkweed, saxifrage, the coroneted gipsy, wild rose, and many others, each in the season, are here to be met with. We insert the following lines by the kind permission of their author, the Rev. Arthur Ransom" I might just set the poem to music, with an instrument doing the drip drip drip notes. Thanks, Sian and Guest. |
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28 May 13 - 03:04 PM (#3520115) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Music of the Stream From: GUEST Thank you. |
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12 Jun 13 - 02:06 PM (#3525681) Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Music of the Stream From: Sian H Thanks Leeneia. That's been so helpful. I'm working on a collaborative project involving local songs and so will be working on this next. (with music too)(Sorry for delay replying. Lost internet for a while) Sian |
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16 Jun 13 - 12:17 AM (#3526919) Subject: Lyr Add: SONG OF FAIRLIGHT GLEN (Arthur Ransom) From: Jim Dixon The above copy is missing a verse, and it has line breaks in odd places. I hope this one is better: From Whiteman's Guide to Hastings, St. Leonards, and the Neighbourhood by Spencer Whiteman (Hastings: Spencer Whiteman, 1874), page 58: SONG OF FAIRLIGHT GLEN. I loved the lone place in my childish days, For the primrose blossomed there, And the violets grew among the harebells blue, And the spring birds warbled clear: And the green boughs swung in the breeze, and sung Like the music of a dream; But the charm of all was the waterfall, And the dripping of the stream. Drip! drip! drip! The water still falls on the mossy lip Of the old grey stones in the stream. I loved the lone place in my youthful days, When I wandered there alone; When far from the strife of the tide of life, I mused on the silent stone; And the noontide ray of the summer day Through the trembling leaves would gleam; But the best of all was the waterfall, And the music of the stream! Drip! drip! drip! The water still falls on the mossy lip Of the old grey stones in the stream. It is sweet to rove through the wild wood grove When the heart is dull and sad! It is sweet to feel the melody steal O'er the heart and make it glad! And every sound in the glen around Is sweet as a gentle dream; But the best of all is the waterfall, And the dripping of the stream. Drip! drip! drip! The water still falls on the mossy lip Of the old grey stones in the stream. |