The Penguin Book of English Folk Songs

by Ralph Vaughan Williams (editor)

This paperback book is in good used condition

Genres: Music, Folklore

128 pages, Paperback

First published January 1, 1959

About the author

Ralph Vaughan Williams OM was an English composer. His works include operas, ballets, chamber music, secular and religious vocal pieces and orchestral compositions including nine symphonies, written over sixty years. Strongly influenced by Tudor music and English folk-song, his output marked a decisive break in British music from its German-dominated style of the 19th century.

Vaughan Williams was born to a well-to-do family with strong moral views and a progressive social outlook. Throughout his life he sought to be of service to his fellow citizens, and believed in making music as available as possible to everybody. He wrote many works for amateur and student performance. He was musically a late developer, not finding his true voice until his late thirties; his studies in 1907–1908 with the French composer Maurice Ravel helped him clarify the textures of his music and free it from Teutonic influences.

Vaughan Williams is among the best-known English symphonists, noted for his very wide range of moods, from stormy and impassioned to tranquil, from mysterious to exuberant. Among the most familiar of his other concert works are Fantasia on a Theme by Thomas Tallis (1910) and The Lark Ascending (1914). His vocal works include hymns, folk-song arrangements and large-scale choral pieces. He wrote eight works for stage performance between 1919 and 1951. Although none of his operas became popular repertoire pieces, his ballet Job: A Masque for Dancing (1930) was successful and has been frequently staged.

Reviews

[Paul Bryant · Rating 5 out of 5]

I started home twixt twelve and one. My lover's hand was on the door. Crying Oh my God what have I done.Your waist it is so slender. Your fingers long and small. When first to this country a stranger I came I heard my mother say. I heard my mother say that I was meant for rambling. And I would easy go astray. O mother mother make up my bed. We'll prick the little baby with a silvery pin. Of his needle he made a spear. Of his thimble he made a bell. Look how she floats. She's drowing on the tide. She should have been my bride. Your waist it is too slender. Did she light you up to bed? She has taken out her little pen-knife. So now you cruel parents, listen to me. My name is Bold Doherty. My name is Dennis O'Reilly. My name is John Johanna. My name is sweet William. Oh yes sir, my name is Lee. How can you say it's a pleasant bed when none lies there but a factory maid? All you young men with pity look on me. Your pretty little feet they tread so neat. I made her to lie down on red roses. Sally go round the roses. This pretty little maid she grew thick about the waist. Your waist so slender. Not thinking any harm. The pretty little songbirds.

[V · Rating 3 out of 5]

Now all I need to do is find some friends to drink with then sing these ina lout-ish manner.

In all seriousness though, it's well laid out with a large notes section.