QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women's

QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women’s Voices 8.557495

The Arnold Book of Old Songs – English Songs Come love be all my joy. [1] Drink to me only Thou alone art my delight. Text: Ben Jonson (1573–1637) Come love be my heart of gold And who but my Lady Greensleeves. Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Oh who is sweet as she is sweet Or leave a kiss within the cup Above all things that mortals prize: And I’ll not ask for wine. I’d lay a kingdom at her feet The thirst that from the soul doth rise Nor seek a richer merchandise. Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove’s nectar sup, Come love be all my joy I would not change for thine. Thou alone art my delight, Come love be my heart of gold, I sent thee late a rosy wreath, And who but my Lady Greensleeves. Not so much honouring thee, As giving it a hope that there Oh who is rare as she is rare It could not withered be. And who is such a charming maid. But thou thereon didst only breathe The lute shall tell her my despair And sent’st it back to me; And fill with song the myrtle shade. Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee. Come love be all my joy Thou alone art my delight, [2] Over the mountains Come love be my heart of gold, Text: From Percy’s Reliques, And who but my Lady Greensleeves. collected by Thomas Percy (1729–1811) Oh who is kind as she is kind Over the mountains Whose gentle heart could ne’er betray! And over the waves, If Argus prove himself but blind Under the fountains Yet she would have my constancy. And under the graves, Under floods that are deepest Come love be all my joy Which Neptune obey, Thou alone art my delight, Over rocks that are steepest, Come love be my heart of gold, Love will find out the way. And who but my Lady Greensleeves.

Where there is no place 3 Songs from Love at the Inn For the glow-worm to lie, Text: Rodney Bennett (1890–1948) Where there is no space For receipt of a fly: [4] Little Moth Where the midge dare not venture Lest herself fast she lay, When a maiden goes a-wooing, If Love come he will enter And her feet incline to roam, And will find out the way. It may well be her undoing; She were wise to stay at home. Some think to lose him Ah! Love is a lighted candle, Or have him confined. And the maiden a moth flitting by; Some do suppose him, But go too near, Poor thing, to be blind; Poor pretty dear, But if ne’er so close ye wall him, She may fall in that flame and die! Do the best that ye may, Blind Love, if so ye call him, Little maiden, mark my story Soon will find out his way. And take warning while you may, Should you flutter anigh that candle bright, You may train the eagle Oh! turn in your airy, fairy flight, To stoop to your fist, And fly little moth, away. Or you may inveigle The phoenix of the East. [5] Love Calls Through the Summer Night The lioness you may move her To get o’er her prey, Far in the darkness a nightingale is singing But you’ll ne’er stop a lover, Singing his love and sorrow to the moon; Love shall find out the way. Lost in the branches, the nightwind, winging, Wakens the leaves to a low sweet tune. [3] My Lady Greensleeves Text: John Irvine (1903–1964) Oft have I heard them, nights unending, Heard them and loved them and gone my way; Oh who is fair as she is fair Now with their passion a new note is blending, And who can such a grace possess! Born of their beauty, but more than they. The rose itself could but compare Nor rob her of her comeliness.

QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women’s Voices 8.557495

Love calls through the summer night, Which I gaze on so fondly today, Love sings with a strange delight, Were to change by tomorrow, Calls our young hearts to find his way, And fleet in my arms, Let him lead us where’er he may. Like fairy gifts fading away, Dear heart, shall he call in vain, Thou would’st still be ador’d, as this moment thou art, When ne’er he may ask again? Let thy loveliness fade as it will, Ah! love, wherever you lead us, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart We follow the roadway of dreams tonight. Would entwine itself verdantly still.

Swift to the dawn the enchanted hours are flying, It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, Bringing the time of waking all soon. And thy cheeks unprofan’d by a tear, Songs will be hushed, and the love-light, dying, That the fervour and faith of a soul can be known, Pass with the stars and the waning moon. To which time will but make thee more dear: No the heart that has truly lov’d never forgets, Come as it may with tears or laughter, But as truly loves on to the close, Bring as it will either rose or rue. As the sunflow’r turns on her god, when he sets, Why should we care for what may come after? The same look which she turn’d when he rose. Still for a while, only dreams are true. [9] Oh! ’tis sweet to think Love calls through the summer night, Text: Thomas Moore Love sings with a strange delight, Calls our young hearts to find his way, Oh! ’tis sweet to think that where’er we rove, Let him lead us where’er he may. We are sure to find something blissful and dear; Dear heart, shall he call in vain, And that when we’re far from the lips we love, When ne’er he may ask again? We have but to make love to the lips we are near! Ah! Love, together wherever you lead us, The heart like a tendril, accustom’d to cling, We follow the wonderful roadway of dreams. Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone, But will lean to the nearest and loveliest thing Follow, come follow, love of my heart tonight. It can twine with itself, And make closely its own. [6] If Love Should Pass Me By Then oh! what pleasure, One morning very early Where’er we rove, At the bud of the day, To be doom’d to find something, still, that is dear, I heard a maiden singing, And to know, when far from the lips we love, And this she did say: We have but to make love to the lips we are near. ‘Love may be false, ’Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise, And free of heart am I. To make light of the rest, I’ll say no word to him, heigh-ho! If the rose is not there; So, Love, go pass me by.’ And the world’s so rich in resplendent eyes, ’Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a pair. As homeward she was going Love’s wing and the peacock’s are nearly alike; At the close of the day, They are both of them bright, Again I heard her singing, But they’re changeable too: And this did she say: And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, ‘Love may be false, It will tincture love’s plume with a different hue. Yet sad of heart am I... He may be false, and yet, heigh-ho! Then oh! what pleasure, If Love should pass me by!’ Where’er we rove, To be doom’d to find something, still, that is dear, [7] Irish Song – The Rose of Tralee And to know, when far from the lips we love, Text: Edward Mordaunt Spencer (?–1888), We have but to make love to the lips we are near. melody by Charles William Glover (1806–1863) Duets – 4 Part-Songs for Women’s Voices The pale moon was rising above the green mountains, The sun was declining beneath the blue sea, [10] Come Lady-Day When I strayed with my love to the pure crystal fountain Text: May Pemberton (dates unknown) That stands in beautiful vale of Tralee; She was lovely and fair as the rose of the summer When the snow is off the mountains Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me; Come Lady-Day, come Lady-Day! Oh, no! ’Twas the truth in her eye ever dawning And merrily flow the fountains That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee. Come Lady-Day, come Lady-Day!

The cool shades of ev’ning their mantle were spreading I’ll deck me with a string o’ pearls, And Mary was smiling and list’ning to me. A silken mesh upon my curls, The moon through the valley her pale rays was shedding, For Love will come to me, When I won the heart of the Rose of Tralee. On Lady-Day, on Lady-Day! Though lovely and fair as the rose of the summer, Yet ’twas not her beauty alone that won me; When the daffodils are dancing Oh, no! ’Twas the truth in her eye ever dawning, Come Lady-Day, come Lady-Day! That made me love Mary, the Rose of Tralee. With the sunlight on them glancing Come Lady-Day, come Lady-Day! The Arnold Book of Old Songs: Irish Songs I’ll take a honeycake so fine, [8] Believe me, if all those endearing young charms A golden cup of sparkling wine, Text: Thomas Moore (1779–1852) And go to meet my Love On Lady-Day, on Lady-Day! Believe me, if all those endearing young charms

QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women’s Voices 8.557495

That wantons through the flow’ry thorn, [11] The Starlings Thou minds me o’ departed joys, Text: Charles Kingsley (1819–1875) Departed never to return.

Early in springtime, on raw and windy mornings, Aft hae I rov’d by bonnie Doon, Beneath the freezing house-eaves I heard the starlings sing. To see the rose and woodbine twine; ‘Ah! dreary March month, is this then a time for building wearily? And ilka bird sang o’ its love; Sad, sad to think that the year is but begun.’ And fondly sae did I o’ mine. Wi’ lightsome heart I pu’d a rose, Late in the autumn, on still and cloudless ev’nings, Fu’ sweet upon its thorny tree; Among the golden reed-beds I heard the starlings sing. But my fause lover stole my rose, ‘Ah! that sweet March month, when we and our mates were courting And ah! he left the thorn wi’ me. merrily, Sad, sad to think that the year is all but done.’ [15] Charlie is my darling Text: Anonymous [12] To a Harebell by a Graveside Text: George Darley (1795–1846) Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling, Oh! Charlie is my darling, Pretty flower, mourn for me: The young chevalier. I’d rather hear thee sigh Than friends that counterfeit a grief ’Twas on a Monday morning, They feel no more than I. Right early in the year, When Charlie came to our town, Pretty flower, mourn for me: The young chevalier. I’d rather have thy tear Than all a hypocritic world Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling, Could waste upon my bier. Oh! Charlie is my darling, The young chevalier. Pretty flower, mourn for me: And, dirger’s time to save, As he cam’ marching up the street, Hang down thy little passing bell The pipes play’d loud and clear. And ring me, ring me to my grave. And a’ the folk cam’ rinnin out To meet the chevalier. [13] It was a lover and his lass Text: William Shakespeare (1564–1616) Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling, from As You Like It Oh! Charlie is my darling, The young chevalier. It was a lover and his lass, With a hey, and a ho, Wi’ Hieland bonnets on their heads And a hey nonino, And claymores bright and clear, That o’er the green cornfield did pass, They cam’ to fight for Charlie In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, And the young chevalier. When birds do sing, hey ding a ding ding; Sweet lovers love the spring. Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling, Oh! Charlie is my darling, Between the acres of the rye, The young chevalier. With a hey, and a ho, And a hey nonino, [16] Ca’ the yowes to the knowes These pretty country folks would lie, Text: Robert Burns In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding ding; Ca’ the yowes to the knows Sweet lovers love the spring. Ca’ them whaur the heather grows, Ca’ them whaur the burnie rows, This carol they began that hour, My bonnie dearie. With a hey, and a ho, And a hey nonino, Hark, the mavis evening sang, How that life was but a flow’r Sounding Cluden’s woods amang; In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, Then a faulding let us gang, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding ding; My bonnie dearie. Sweet lovers love the spring. Fair and lovely as thou art, And therefore take the present time, Thou hast stol’n my very heart; With a hey, and a ho, I can die but canna part, And a hey nonino, My bonnie dearie. For love is crowned́ with the prime In the spring time, the only pretty ring time, Ca’ the yowes to the knows When birds do sing, hey ding a ding ding; Ca’ them whaur the heather grows, Sweet lovers love the spring. Ca’ them whaur the burnie rows, My bonnie dearie. The Arnold Book of Old Songs – Scottish Songs Duets – 3 Part-Songs for Women’s Voices [14] Ye banks and braes Text: Robert Burns (1759–1796) [17] Where Go the Boats? Text: Robert Louis Stevenson (1850–1894) Ye banks and braes o’ bonnie Doon, How can ye bloom sae fresh and fair! Dark brown is the river, How can ye chant, ye little birds, Golden is the sand. And I sae weary fu’ o’ care? It flows along for ever, Thou’lt break my heart, thou warbling bird With trees on either hand.

QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women’s Voices 8.557495

Green leaves a-floating, Qui n’vive de la peine Castles of the foam, Du pauvre laboureur. Boats of mine a-boating Where will all come home? The Man Behind the Plough Translated by Rodney Bennett On goes the river And out past the mill, The man behind the plough, Away down the valley, He has trouble and to spare. Away down the hill. From the cradle to the grave Heavy burden must he bear. Away down the river, Come rain, come wind, come tempest, A hundred miles or more, No matter when or how, Other little children His toil must be unceasing, Shall bring my boats ashore. The man behind the plough.

[18] Windy Nights The man behind the plough, Text: Robert Louis Stevenson He has bairns to call his own; Must breed them to his trade, Whenever the moon and stars are set, Some are babes and some half grown. Whenever the wind is high, Come rain, come wind, come thunder, All night long in the dark and wet, No matter when or how, A man goes riding by. His life is toil and labour, Late in the night when the fires are out, The man behind the plough. Why does he gallop and gallop about? The man behind the plough, Whenever the trees are crying aloud, He will sing the time along; And ships are toss’d at sea, As he guides the cleaving share By, on the highway, low and loud, Never is the day an hour too long. By at the gallop goes he. No prince, nor duke, nor lordling, By at the gallop he goes and then Nor king with crown on brow By he comes back at the gallop again. But lives upon his labour, The man behind the plough. [19] Summer Sunset Text: Romney Marsh (Roger Quilter) (1877–1953) [21] L’amour de moi Text: Anonymous Silver flows the river, Golden gleams the sky; L’amour de moi Lovely day of summer, S’y est enclose You must bid goodbye. Dedans un joli jardinet. Ou ̀ croit̂ la rose et le muguet, Don a veil of silver, Et aussi fait la passerose. Crown your head with gold, Ere the night has fallen Ce jardin est bel et plaisant, Deep and dark, and cold. Il est garni de toutes fleurs. On y prend son ébattement, Dying day of summer, Autant la nuit comme le jour. Lay you gently down With your shroud of silver Hélas! il n’est si douce chose And your golden crown. Que de ce doux rossignolet Qui chante au soir, au matinet The Arnold Book of Old Songs – French Songs Quand il est las, il se repose.

[20] Le pauvre laboureur Je la vis l’autre jour cueillir Text: Anonymous La violette en un vert pré. La plus belle qu’onc que je vis, Le pauvre laboureur Et la plus plaisante a ̀ mon gré. Il a bien du malheur. Du jour de sa naissance Je l’ai regardée une pose; L’est déjà malheureux. Elle etait́ blanche comme lait, Qu’il pleuv’, qu’il tonn’, qu’il vente, Et douce comme un agnelet, Qu’il fasse mauvais temps, Vermeille et fraichê comme rose. L’on voit toujours sans cesse Le laboureur aux champs. My Lady’s Garden Translated by Rodney Bennett Le pauvre laboureur L’a deux petits enfants; There is a garden that all sweets encloses, Les menè à la charrue, Where my love is wont to stray; N’ont pas encor’ quinze ans. There blow the fairest flow’rs of May Qu’il pleuv’, qu’il tonn’, qu’il vente, And, lovelier yet, soft damask roses. Qu’il fasse mauvais temps, L’on voit toujours sans cesse There by her side among the flow’rs Le laboureur aux champs. Would I might pass the days of June, Fleeting the careless summer hours, Le pauvre laboureur Whether by night or by noon. Il est toujours chantant; Quand il est à la charrue Happy the nightingale that haunts its closes, Il est toujours content. Telling his love as best he may: Il n’est ni roi, ni prince, Freely he sings both night and day, Ni ducque, ni seigneur, And then at last in peace reposes.

QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women’s Voices 8.557495

Sudden echoes downward flinging, Fairer than blossom red or white, Like a strange, enchanted song Lily or violet wet with dew, No flow’r that blooms the summer through Ding-a-dong, ding-a-dong. Half so fair is to my sight. ’Twas but yesterday she fled From the rosebuds green and red, I saw her gath’ring matchless posies; Left her curling bracken bed. Yet were they not so sweet as she. Fled away in very fear, Would that my fortune were to be For the Stranger-guest was near. As dear to her as are the roses. Yesterday she was a-maying; [22] Joli mois de mai Now the bell is swinging swaying Text: Anonymous Now a fairy dirge is playing Down soft valleys like a song Aime-moi, bergère, et je t’aimerai. Ding-a-dong, ding-a-dong. Ne sois point legé re,̀ Je ne le serai. [26] Blossom-Time Ah! que l’amour est gai, Text: Nora Hopper (1871–1906) Le joli mois de mai! Blossom on the plum, Mon coeur et ma vie Wild wind and merry; Je te donnerai; Leaves upon the cherry Jamais d’autre amie And one swallow come. Je ne servirai. Ah! que l’amour est gai, Red windy dawn, Le joli mois de mai! Swift rain and sunny; Wild bees seeking honey, Pretty Month of May Crocus on the lawn, Anonymous Blossom on the plum.

Will you love me, pretty one Grass begins to grow, As I love thee? Dandelions come; I’ll be true and loving Snowdrops haste to go If you’re true to me. After last month’s snow, Ah! love is sweet and gay, Rough winds beat and blow. The pretty month of May! [28] Weep you no more Now, my own, my dearest, Text: Anonymous You have all my heart; We will love for ever, Weep you no more, sad fountains; Nevermore to part. What need you flow so fast? Ah! love is sweet and gay, Look how the snowy mountains The pretty month of May! Heav’n’s sun doth gently waste! But my Sun’s heav’nly eyes 6 Duets View not your weeping, That now lies sleeping, [23] / [27] Daisies after Rain Softly now softly lies Sleeping. Text: Judith Bickle Sleep is a reconciling, The daisy stars are swaying lakes, A rest that peace begets; When sunshine follows rain, Doth not the sun rise smiling They move like fairies in a mist, When fair at even he sets? Shaking fair heads, again. Rest you, then, rest, sad eyes! Melt not in weeping, Rose petals fall, the poppies bend, While she lies sleeping, Knowing their hour is done; Softly now softly lies But daisies lift their shining eyes, Sleeping. And laugh, up to the sun. [29] I gotta robe [24] My heart adorn’d with thee Text: Negro spiritual Text: Mirza Schaffy (Friedrich Bodenstedt) (1819–1892), translated by Roger Quilter I got a robe, You got a robe, My heart adorn’d with thee All of God’s children got a robe. Is like the Heavens when the sun is bright; When I get to Heav’n goin’ to put on my robe, Thou giv’st it light, goin’ to shout all over God’s Heav’n, And without thee, (Ev’rybody talkin’ ’bout Heav’n ain’t goin’ there!) Deep fall the shadows of the night. I got a shoes, E’en as the Earth her beauty hides You got a shoes, When murky darkness round her steals, All of God’s children got a shoes. And only with the laughing sun When I get to Heav’n goin’ to put on my shoes, All her rich glory she reveals. goin’ to walk all over God’s Heav’n, (Ev’rybody talkin’ ’bout Heav’n ain’t goin’ there!) [25] The Passing Bell Text: Winnifred Tasker I got a harp, You got a harp, ’Tis the Passing Bell of Spring, All of God’s children got a harp. Hear it safely slowly swinging! When I get to Heav’n goin’ to play on my harp

QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women’s Voices 8.557495

goin’ to play all over God’s Heav’n, (Ev’rybody talkin’ ’bout Heav’n ain’t goin’ there!) When he was dead and laid in grave Her heart was struck with sorrow, [30] ’Tis St Valentine’s Day ‘O mother, mother, make my bed, Text: William Shakespeare For I shall die tomorrow.’’ from Hamlet ‘Farewell,’ she said, ‘ye virgins all, Good morrow, ’tis Saint Valentine’s day, And shun the fault I fell in; All in the morning time, Henceforth take warning by the fall And I a maid at your window Of cruel Barb’ra Allen.’ To be your Valentine. [34] Three Poor Mariners [31] What will you do, love? Text: Anonymous Text: Melody by Samuel Lover (1797–1868) O we be three poor Mariners, ‘What will you do, love, when I am going, Newly come from the seas, With white sails flowing, the seas beyond? We spend our lives in jeopardy, What will you do, love, when waves divide us, While others live at ease. And friends may chide us for being fond?’ ‘Though waves divide us and friends be chiding, So we’ll go dance the round, the round, the round, In faith abiding I’ll still be true, So we’ll go dance the round, And I’ll pray for you on the stormy ocean, And he that is a bully, bully boy, In deep devotion that’s what I’ll do!’ Come pledge me on the ground, the ground, the ground.

The Arnold Book of Old Songs – English and We care not for those martial men That do our states disdain, Welsh Songs But we care for those marchant men Who do our states maintain.

[32] The Jolly Miller Text: Anonymous So we’ll go dance the round, the round, the round, So we’ll go dance the round, There was a jolly Miller once And he that is a bully, bully boy, Lived on the river Dee; Come pledge me on the ground, the ground, the ground! He danced and sang from morn till night, Come pledge me on the ground. No lark more blithe than he. And this the burden of his song [35] Since first I saw your face For ever used to be Text: Anonymous, melody by Thomas Ford (c. 1580–1648) I care for nobody, no, not I, If nobody cares for me. Since first I saw your face I resolv’d to honour and renown you: If now I be disdain’d I wish my heart had never known you; I love my mill, she is to me What I that lov’d and you that lik’d, Both parent, child and wife; Shall we begin to wrangle? I would not change my station for No, no, no, my heart is fast Another one in life. And cannot disentangle. Then push, push, push the bowl, my boys, If I admire or praise you too much And pass it round to me; That fault you may forgive me; The longer we sit here and drink Or if my hands had stray’d to touch, The merrier we shall be. Then justly might you leave me.

I ask’d you leave, you bade me love, Thus like the miller, bold and free, Is’t now a time to chide me? Let us rejoice and sing. No, no, no, I’ll love you still, The days of youth were made for glee What fortune e’er betide me. And time is on the wing. This song shall pass from me to thee, The sun, whose beams most glorious are, Around this jovial ring: Rejecteth no beholder, Let heart and voice and all agree And your sweet beauty past compare made my poor eyes the To sing ‘Long live the King.’ bolder.

Where beauty moves and wit delights, [33] Barbara Allen And signs of kindness bind me, Text: Traditional There, o there, where’er I go, I’ll leave my heart behind me! In Scarlet Town, where I was born, There was a fair maid dwellin’, [36] The Ash Grove Made ev’ry youth cry ‘Well-a-day!’ Text: Rodney Bennett Her name was Barb’ra Allen. Away in the shadows a lone bird is singing, All in the merry month of May The wind whispers low in a sighing refrain; When green buds they were swellin’, Their music makes memory’s voices go winging: Young Jemmy Grove on his death-bed lay The Ash Grove in beauty I see once again; For love of Barb’ra Allen. The voices of friends that the long years have taken, Oh faintly I hear them, the song and the word. Then slowly, slowly she came up, How much in the heart can so little awaken: And slowly she came nigh him, The wind in the leaves and the song of a bird! And all she said when there she came ‘Young man, I think you’re dying’. How little we knew, as we laughed there so lightly, And time seemed to us to stretch endless away, As she was walking o’er the fields The hopes that then shone like a vision so brightly She heard the dead-bell knellin’, Could fade as a dream at the coming of day! And ev’ry stroke the dead-bell gave And still, spite of sorrow, whene’er I remember, Cried ‘Woe to Barb’ra Allen!’

QUILTER: Folk Song Arrangements • Complete Part-Songs for Women’s Voices 8.557495

My thoughts will return like a bird to the nest, And there in the Ash Grove my heart be at rest. No matter though summer may wane to December, And there in the Ash Grove my heart be at rest.

[3] My Lady Greensleeves © 1951 by Boosey & Co Ltd. Reproduced by permission of Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd. [4] Little Moth (from Love At The Inn) © 1946 Ascherberg Hopwood & Crew Ltd, London W6 8BS Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications Ltd. All Rights Reserved. [5] Love calls through the summer night (from Love At The Inn) © 1940 Ascherberg Hopwood & Crew Ltd, London W6 8BS Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications Ltd. All Rights Reserved. [6] If Love should pass me by (from Love At The Inn) © 1940 Ascherberg Hopwood & Crew Ltd, London W6 8BS Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications Ltd. All Rights Reserved. [10] Come Lady-Day © 1938 Ascherberg Hopwood & Crew Ltd, London W6 8BS Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications Ltd. All Rights Reserved. [19] Summer Sunset © 1938 Ascherberg Hopwood & Crew Ltd, London W6 8BS Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications Ltd. All Rights Reserved. [20] Le pauvre laboureur / The Man Behind the Plough © 1951 by Boosey & Co Ltd. Reproduced by permission of Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd. [24] My heart adorn’d with thee The sung text is reproduced by kind permission of Vizard, Tweedie Solicitors [23] / [27] Daisies after rain © 1951 Ascherberg Hopwood & Crew Ltd, London W6 8BS Reproduced by permission of International Music Publications Ltd. All Rights Reserved. [36] The Ash Grove © 1951 by Boosey & Co Ltd. Reproduced by permission of Boosey & Hawkes Music Publishers Ltd.