T H E D E P A R T M E N T 0 F music
VASSAR COLLEGE
OCTOBER 9, 1 96o, at 8:30 O'CLOCK
SKINNER RECITAL HALL
ALBERT VAN ACKERE, baritone
HUGUETTE VAN ACKERE, piano
PROGRAM
I
Ye twice ten hundred deities Henry Purcell
(Conjurer's song from The Indian Queen; (1658-1695)
text by Sir Robert Howard and
John Dryden)
Not all my torments
(Realization by Benjamin Britten)
Arise, ye subterranean winds
(from The Tempest; text by Shadwell)
Mbrike Lieder (1888) Hugo Wolf
28. Gebet (iHo-i903)
Lord, send what thou deemest best, but not without measure
give sadness or pleasure. For midway, rather, lies the heart's
pure treasure.
12. Verborgenheit
Entice me not with the joys of love. Leave this heart of mine
alone with its rapture and its pain.
13- Im FrUhling
Here on a hill in spring while lying, on clouds my thoughts are
flying. 0, loved one, say where art thou hidden?
0 heart, what memories sweet doest thou recall, when over the
gold-green branches dusk must fall? Days that never can return.
5. Der Tambour
If mother could a sorceress be, she'd have to go with me to
France and cook me right royal fare. My drum a large dish
would be, the drumsticks my knife and fork. My shako I would
fill with wine, and the moon would shine with tender light and
make me think, sweet love, of you.
T H E D E P A R T M E N T 0 F music
VASSAR COLLEGE
OCTOBER 9, 1 96o, at 8:30 O'CLOCK
SKINNER RECITAL HALL
ALBERT VAN ACKERE, baritone
HUGUETTE VAN ACKERE, piano
PROGRAM
I
Ye twice ten hundred deities Henry Purcell
(Conjurer's song from The Indian Queen; (1658-1695)
text by Sir Robert Howard and
John Dryden)
Not all my torments
(Realization by Benjamin Britten)
Arise, ye subterranean winds
(from The Tempest; text by Shadwell)
Mbrike Lieder (1888) Hugo Wolf
28. Gebet (iHo-i903)
Lord, send what thou deemest best, but not without measure
give sadness or pleasure. For midway, rather, lies the heart's
pure treasure.
12. Verborgenheit
Entice me not with the joys of love. Leave this heart of mine
alone with its rapture and its pain.
13- Im FrUhling
Here on a hill in spring while lying, on clouds my thoughts are
flying. 0, loved one, say where art thou hidden?
0 heart, what memories sweet doest thou recall, when over the
gold-green branches dusk must fall? Days that never can return.
5. Der Tambour
If mother could a sorceress be, she'd have to go with me to
France and cook me right royal fare. My drum a large dish
would be, the drumsticks my knife and fork. My shako I would
fill with wine, and the moon would shine with tender light and
make me think, sweet love, of you.
