The moorland witch, Op.28 no.3 (Eduard Hecht)

From ChoralWiki
Revision as of 01:09, 1 January 2024 by CHGiffen (talk | contribs) (Text replacement - "* {{PostedDate|2023" to "*{{PostedDate|2023")
(diff) ← Older revision | Latest revision (diff) | Newer revision → (diff)
Jump to navigation Jump to search

Music files

L E G E N D Disclaimer How to download
Icon_pdf.gif Pdf
Icon_snd.gif Midi
Icon_mp3.gif Mp3
MusicXML.png MusicXML
Logo_capella-software_kurz_2011_16x16.png Capella
File details.gif File details
Question.gif Help
  • (Posted 2023-10-26)  CPDL #76716:     
Editor: David Anderson (submitted 2023-10-26).   Score information: Letter, 12 pages, 771 kB   Copyright: Personal
Edition notes:
  • (Posted 2020-07-06)  CPDL #59556:         
Editor: James Gibb (submitted 2020-07-06).   Score information: A4, 10 pages, 150 kB   Copyright: CPDL
Edition notes: Includes a keyboard reduction of the a cappella choral score.

General Information

Title: The moorland witch
Composer: Eduard Hecht
Lyricist: Edwin Waugh

Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: SecularPartsong

Language: English
Instruments: A cappella

First published: 1885 in Novello's Part-Song Book (2nd series), Vol. 18, no. 505

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

There lives a lass on yonder moor,
She wears a gown of green;
She's handsome, young, and sprightly,
With a pair of roguish e'en:
She's graceful as the mountain doe,
That snuffs the forest air:
And she brings the smell of the heather-bell
In the tresses of her hair.

'Twas roaming careless o'er the hills,
As sunlight left the sky,
That first I met this moorland maiden
Bringing home her kye:
Her native grace, her lovely face,
The pride of art outshone,
I wondered that so sweet a flower
Should blossom thus alone.

Alas, that ever I should meet
Those beaming eyes of blue,
That round about my thoughtless heart
Their strong enchantment threw.
I could not dream that falsehood lurked
In such an angel smile;
I could not fly the fate that lured
With such a lovely wile.

And when she comes into the vale,
To try her beauty's power,
She'll leave a spell on many a heart,
That fluttered free before.
But oh, beware her witching smile,
'Tis but a fowler's snare;
She's fickle as the mountain wind
That frolics with her hair!
She's fickle, oh, beware!