Not for the strong in the world, not for the zealous
in war, but for the countryman with peaceful root,
ploughing his furrow unjealous,
a god plays on his flute.
It is a tale from Hellas...
I.
Who breathes an air in season
upon his pipe at dawn
too high for human reason,
born of the heaven-born?
Who makes interpretation,
knows the flute's hidden word,
turned earthly elation
for plant and herd?
Who is it gently leading
his flock afield to graze,
kindly his creatures feeding
with herb and crystal lays?
Who walks amid the meadow
where sultry summer falls,
and sleeps in earth's shadow
on straw with tralls?
II.
Apollo dwells in a Thessalians stall.
There are no laurels 'round his golden head:
sent down from the high god's Olympian hall,
doomed for a year to earn his daily bread,
a shepherd lives in a Thessalian stall.
The servants know him not in their attire,
far down the board they lay his bowl and spoon.
He shares his bed with cattle in the byre.
No earthly object does he call his own.
A god goes hid in shepherd's plain attire.
III.
'Round watchful autumn embers
he gathers the shuddering band,
and binds up the wounded members
with comforting hand.
A home in story fits him,
in song and poem his birth.
Yet plaintless he acquits him
in duty on Earth.
IV.
Where gods have passed over
will blessing be spread.
What though the cloak cover
his golden head,
bare soil blossoms forth in his tread.
He plays in a hollow
new-turned by the plougher,
for creatures to follow,
for sun and shower,
where Death is deprived of his power.
V.
Now blessed be Thessalia's lord,
withing whose courts we toil.
Whe cock-crow summons him abroad,
he walks on hallowed soil.
For he who dwells with hinds in stall,
whose common fare he shares,
has moon for sister, sun at call,
and walks among the stars.
VI.
What woodland is transmuted
in radiance,
as wedding-songs are fluted,
and creatures dance?
From out what unknown portal
took he his way,
who is not as a mortal,
nor come to stay?
Does he remember, banished
by mead and shore,
a world of music vanished
and know no more?
Does he recall the singing,
the virgin choir,
the exstasy outwinging
a deathless lyre?
VII.
And gods are walking yet upon this earth.
One of them may be sitting on your hearth.
Do not suppose a god can ever die.
He passes you unmarked by your dull eye.
He bears no purple robe, no sceptred rod.
Only his influence reveals a god.
The never-broken rule runs in this wise:
A who walks on earth walks in disguise.
VIII.
Think you at morning hour
sheep-flocks would crop the mound,
that grass-grown earthy bower,
if gods could not be found?
Think you the spring would flower
binding a wreath around
all dead men's earthy bower,
if gods could not be found?
IX.
If a look bid us mingle
in quiet Agape -
us, dull and coldly single
as most men be;
if a hand, all unbidden,
like true celestial balm
on soul misery-ridden,
should touch our palm;
and if a radiance guide us
where we tormented trod -
then unrevealed beside us
there walks a god.
“Katarina Pilotti & Mattias Nilsson in the final movement of L-E Larsson's Förklädd Gud. The camera is poorly positioned, and the video quality poor. Ok sound, though. Recorded 28 Jan 2007, on the 50th anniversary of St Botvid's Church in Oxelösund, Sweden.”And:
“Mattias Nilsson sings the baritone aria in Förklädd Gud (Disguised God) by L-E Larsson. Unfortunately, the (unattended) camera merely catches glimpses of Nilsson. Also, the limiter distorts the sound a bit.”So the musicians are amateurs, and this music was written so amateurs could play it? Yes, listening to the recordings I think it is amateurs playing! :-) Both singers are professional though. But the soprano sounds a bit forced of some reason? Sounds as she is really working hard?
About Disguised God (only on Swedish). And the Swedish composer Lars-Erik Larsson.
And here are the lyrics, both in Swedish and English, by Hjalmar Gullberg. About Gullberg in English and in Swedish. He was an unwanted child. Born out of marriage.
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