The old oaken bucket (George Kiallmark): Difference between revisions
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==Music files== | ==Music files== | ||
{{Legend}} | {{#Legend:}} | ||
*{{PostedDate|2004-04-08}} {{CPDLno|6912}} [http://www.mutopiaproject.org/cgibin/piece-info.cgi?id=436 {{net}}] | |||
* | {{Editor|Stan Sanderson|2004-04-08}}{{ScoreInfo|A4|2|69}}{{Copy|Public Domain}} | ||
:{{EdNotes|}} | |||
: | |||
==General Information== | ==General Information== | ||
{{Title|''Old Oaken Bucket, The''}} | |||
{{Composer|George Kiallmark}} | |||
{{Voicing|1|Solo Soprano}} | |||
{{Genre|Secular|Folksongs}} | |||
{{Language|English}} | |||
{{Instruments|Piano}} | |||
{{Pub|1|1826}} | |||
{{Descr| }} | |||
{{#ExtWeb:}} | |||
==Original text and translations== | ==Original text and translations== | ||
{{Text|English | {{Text|English| | ||
:How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood | :How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood | ||
:When fond recollections presents them to view: | :When fond recollections presents them to view: | ||
| Line 51: | Line 46: | ||
:The tear of regret will intrusively swell, | :The tear of regret will intrusively swell, | ||
:As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, | :As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, | ||
:And sighs for the bucket that hung in the well. | :And sighs for the bucket that hung in the well.}} | ||
[[Category:Sheet music]] | {{DEFAULTSORT:Old oaken bucket, The (George Kiallmark)}} | ||
[[Category:Sheet music]] | |||
[[Category:Romantic music]] | |||
Latest revision as of 18:03, 3 November 2023
Music files
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- (Posted 2004-04-08) CPDL #06912:
- Editor: Stan Sanderson (submitted 2004-04-08). Score information: A4, 2 pages, 69 kB Copyright: Public Domain
- Edition notes:
General Information
Title: Old Oaken Bucket, The
Composer: George Kiallmark
Number of voices: 1v Voicing: Soprano solo
Genre: Secular, Folksong
Language: English
Instruments: Piano
First published: 1826
Description:
External websites:
Original text and translations
English text
How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood
When fond recollections presents them to view:
The orchard, the meadow, the deep tangled wildwood,
And ev'ry loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide spreading pond, and the mill that stood by it,
The bridge and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy house nigh it,
And e'en the rude bucket that hung in the well.
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-cover'd bucket that hung in the well.
That moss covered bucket I hailed as a treasure,
For often at noon, when return'd from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing,
And quick to the white pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth overflowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well.
How sweet from the green, mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full flowing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Tho' filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from the loved habitation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father's plantation,
And sighs for the bucket that hung in the well.