Beautiful. Actually not written for Queen Mary's funeral, except for "Thou Knowest Lord, the Secrets of our Hearts". These Purcell funeral Sentences were written much earlier. The funeral of Queen Mary at Westminster used the funeral sentences by Thomas Morley, who was a long time choir master at the Abbey and it was tradition to use his settings. Purcell did contribute the one Sentence "Thou Knowest,..."
HAVE, fair fallen, O fair, fair have fallen, so dear to me, so arch-especiàl a spirit as heaves in Henry Purcell, An age is now since passed, since parted; with the reversal Of the outward sentence low lays him, listed to a heresy, here. Not mood in him nor meaning, proud fire or sacred fear, Or love or pity or all that sweet notes not his might nursle: I'is the forgèd feature finds me; t'is the rehearsal Of own, of abrupt self there (that) so thrusts on, so throngs the ear. Let him Oh! with his air of angels then lift me, lay me! only I’ll Have an eye to the sakes of him, quaint moonmarks, to his pelted plumage under Wings: so some great stormfowl, whenever he has walked his while The thunder-purple seabeach plumèd purple-of-thunder, If a wuthering of his palmy snow-pinions scatter a colossal smile Off him, but meaning motion fans fresh our wits with wonder.
Beautiful..
I love hearing the (very slight) French accent. Magnificent.
Beautiful. Actually not written for Queen Mary's funeral, except for "Thou Knowest Lord, the Secrets of our Hearts". These Purcell funeral Sentences were written much earlier. The funeral of Queen Mary at Westminster used the funeral sentences by Thomas Morley, who was a long time choir master at the Abbey and it was tradition to use his settings. Purcell did contribute the one Sentence "Thou Knowest,..."
Where did you hear this from?
It's still..awesome..
Thanks
Correct slow march for movement of a coffin . The drums are excellent.
Bien por el intérprete de los timbales. Expresa un gran control y contención. Otro se hubiera vuelto loco 🤡. El tema incita.
HAVE, fair fallen, O fair, fair have fallen, so dear to me, so arch-especiàl a spirit as heaves in Henry Purcell,
An age is now since passed, since parted; with the reversal
Of the outward sentence low lays him, listed to a heresy, here.
Not mood in him nor meaning, proud fire or sacred fear, Or love or pity or all that sweet notes not his might nursle:
I'is the forgèd feature finds me; t'is the rehearsal
Of own, of abrupt self there (that) so thrusts on, so throngs the ear.
Let him Oh! with his air of angels then lift me, lay me! only I’ll
Have an eye to the sakes of him, quaint moonmarks, to his pelted plumage under
Wings: so some great stormfowl, whenever he has walked his while
The thunder-purple seabeach plumèd purple-of-thunder,
If a wuthering of his palmy snow-pinions scatter a colossal smile Off him, but meaning motion fans fresh our wits with wonder.
Thanks for sharing this wonderful poem by G. M. Hopkins!
Está bien. Purcell siempre está bien. Pero veo (oigo) que está realizada con instrumentos modernos. Eso... Aunque suene snob, se nota. Yo lo noto.
There was me...
In the midst of life we are in Death