Credits
PERFORMING ARTISTS
Roland Wood
Baritone
Martyn Brabbins
Conductor
English Northern Philharmonia
Orchestra
Christopher Purves
Baritone
Elgan Llŷr Thomas
Tenor
Huddersfield Choral Society
Choir
David Greed
Leader
COMPOSITION & LYRICS
Sir Edward Elgar
Composer
Songteksten
Arch-Druid: Bard, what read ye in the field
Of the war-god’s silver shield?
Orbin: Round the field the shadows gather,
Dull, and dim, and dark, my father.
Arch-Druid: Vanish, shadows! let him see
Clearly what the omens be.
Orbin: I see an eagle flying
With beak and talons red,
I see a warrior lying
On the green earth dead.
Chorus: Taranis, descend to aid!
Arch-Druid: Grim the vision, grim and stern,
Minstrel, which thine eyes discern:
Gaze again, and mark it well,
What thou seest, speak and tell.
Orbin: Dim and dark the shadows gather
Round the shield again, my father.
Arch-Druid: No more, the fated hour is past.
(The Druid Maidens resume the choric measure round the Oak)
Druid Maidens: Thread the measure left and right,
Druid maidens, clad in white.
Arch-Druid (aside) and Druids: The omens speak in gloom at last;
And must our hero toil in vain
Unbless’d upon the battle plain?
Or, with the Druids’ blessing go,
Like fire from heaven, upon the foe?
Desert your priests, ye gods; tonight
Still shall his soul be arm’d for fight:
Arch-Druid: Children, break off the mystic ring:
Attend,—obey,—behold the King.
(Enter Caractacus and Soldiers)
Caractacus: Hail to thee, father: Druids, hail!
Interpreters of bliss and bale,
Tell me, before I meet the foe,
What fate the holy omens show.
(The Arch-Druid ascends his throne)
Arch-Druid: For the banded tribes of Britain
I stretch my arms abroad,
Mine is the ancient wisdom,
And mine the voice of god;
Go forth, O King, to conquer,
And all the land shall know,
When falls thy charmed sword edge,
In thunder on the foe.
Chorus: Go forth, O King, to conquer,
In thunder on the foe.
Arch-Druid: But Rome and all her legions
Shall shudder at the stroke,
The weapon of the war-god,
The shadow of the Oak;
The blade that blasts and withers,
The dark and dreadful spell,
Which reaping in the whirlwind,
Shall harvest them in hell.
Written by: Sir Edward Elgar
