The old oaken bucket (William Rhys-Herbert)

From ChoralWiki
Jump to navigation Jump to search

Music files

L E G E N D Disclaimer How to download
ICON SOURCE
Icon_pdf.gif Pdf
Icon_mp3.gif Mp3
File details.gif File details
Question.gif Help
  • (Posted 2024-01-25)  CPDL #78881:     
Editor: David Anderson (submitted 2024-01-25).   Score information: Letter, 8 pages, 418 kB   Copyright: Personal
Edition notes:

General Information

Title: The old oaken bucket
Composer: Anonymous (Traditional)
Arranger: William Rhys-Herbert
Lyricist: Samuel Woodworth
Number of voices: 4vv   Voicing: SATB
Genre: SecularPartsong

Language: English
Instruments: A cappella

First published: 1906 J. Fischer & Bro.
Description: This tune is often cited as a folk or traditional melody, but it is also often attributed to George Kiallmark (1781–1835).

External websites:

Original text and translations

English.png English text

How dear to my heart are the scenes of my childhood,
When fond recollection presents them to view!
The orchard, the meadow, the deep-tangled wildwood,
And every loved spot which my infancy knew;
The wide-spreading pond, and the mill which stood by it,
The bridge, and the rock where the cataract fell;
The cot of my father, the dairy-house nigh it,
And e’en the rude bucket which hung in the well —
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hung in the well.

That moss-covered vessel I hail as a treasure;
For often, at noon, when returned from the field,
I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure,
The purest and sweetest that nature can yield.
How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing!
How quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell;
Then soon, with the emblem of truth over-flowing,
And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well —
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket arose from the well.

How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it,
As, poised on the curb, it inclined to my lips!
Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it,
Though filled with the nectar that Jupiter sips.
And now, far removed from the loved situation,
The tear of regret will intrusively swell,
As fancy reverts to my father’s plantation,
And sighs for the bucket which hangs in the well —
The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket,
The moss-covered bucket which hangs in the well.