Vaughan Williams had already begun work on the Five Mystical Songs as early as 1906. However, a period of study in 1908 with Maurice Ravel, during which he had acquired (in his own words) "a little French polish" had intervened before he resumed work on them, and they had been thoroughly revised and re-orchestrated before their first performance at the Worcester Festival of 1911.

The choice of George Herbert's (1593-1633) metaphysical religious verse might at first seem an odd one, given Ralph Vaughan Williams' reputation as 'Christian Agnostic' and his legendary ambivalence towards religious orthodoxy. Whatever his beliefs, however, this vicar's son, an alumnus of Charterhouse School, found the aesthetic appeal of Anglican ritual compelling. His passionate interest in the music of the Tudor period for its own sake and as a resource from which to build truly English music had already born fruit a year earlier in his Fantasia on a Theme of Thomas Tallis, which, notwithstanding his agnosticism, was a palpable expression of English spirituality. In addition, the speech rhythms and directness of expression in Herbert's profound poetry must have proved irresistible for Vaughan Williams the folk song collector. Herbert's musical imagery was a gift for any composer, but it was especially suitable for Vaughan Williams' mix of mysticism and sensuality. Indeed, the brilliant way in which the composer combined and contrasted solo baritone, choir and orchestra led some to suggest that it is a work of greater genius even than the Tallis Fantasia itself.

I Easter
Rise, heart; thy Lord is risen, Sing his praise
Without delays,
Who takes thee by the hand, that thou likewise
With him may'st rise:
That, as his death calcinèd thee to dust,
His life may make thee gold, and much more, Just.

Awake, my lute, and struggle for thy part
With all thy art.
The cross taught all wood to resound his name,
Who bore the same.
His stretched sinews taught all strings, what key
Is best to celebrate this most high day.

Consort both heart and lute, and twist a song
Pleasant and long:
Or, since all music is but three parts vied
And multiplied;
O let thy blessed Spirit bear a part,
And make up our defects with his sweet art.

From the outset the baritone soloist's Rise, heart vividly expresses the exhilaration and burning faith of the poet, his exhortation echoed throughout in the choir's response. Every note of the opening verse faithfully mirrors the poet's evocative language, as he unfolds the Easter mystery. Each successive phrase, words and music, contains its own resurrection allegory, each more ecstatic that the last, moving inexorably from the initial tenderness of Who takes thee by the hand to the ardour of and much more, Just and a stirring reprise of Rise heart.

A change of tonal centre and a delicately varied orchestration reflect the more intimate nature of the second verse, pointing up every detail of Herbert's explicit musical imagery. Even His stretched sinews taught all strings what key is best to celebrate this most high day is used to effect a magical reprise when the soloist, prompted this time by the chorus, introduces the final stanza and returns with new words to the music of Rise heart.

II I got me flowers
I got me flowers to strew thy way:
I got me boughs off many a tree;
But thou wast up by break of day,
And brought'st thy sweets along with thee.

The Sun arising in the East,
Though he give light, and the East perfume;
if they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.

Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavour?
We count three hundred, but we miss:
There is but one, and that one ever.

The second movement is equally spellbinding by virtue of its economy of gesture. Repeated string chords introduce a touchingly simple tune for the soloist, unadorned except for its melismatic cadences, and sparingly accompanied by harp and woodwind, with the addition of muted strings in its second verse. An unexpected tonal shift and the humming of the choir effect a magical change of mood for the opening of the third verse: Can there be any day but this? But even this mood of restrained joy is transformed when soloist and choir unite to declaim, fortissimo, There is but one and that one ever.

III Love bade me welcome
Love bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lack'd any thing.

A guest, I answer'd, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?

Truth Lord, but I have marr'd them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You must sit down, says Love, And taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.

In Love bade me welcome, what Herbert himself described as '(one) of the many spiritual conflicts that have passed between God and my soul' is clearly played out and resolved, with the soloist recounting the poet's own self doubt and Love's response to it. A seamless yet subtly varied accompaniment of muted strings (augmented by woodwind when appropriate), points up the contrast between the reassuringly familiar modality accompanying the words of Love and the restless shifting harmony of Herbert's words of doubt. When the resolution comes, it is marked by music of sublime beauty. Vaughan Williams revisits the harmonic world of Can there be any day but this? but this time stays. In a stroke of inspiration, he evokes a vision of beatific rapture, accompanying Love's final invitation, "You must sit down and taste my meat" and its acceptance, " So I did sit and eat," with a wordless chorus to the plainsong Eucharistic hymn, O Sacrum Convivium.

IV The Call
Come, my Way, my Truth, my Life:
Such a Way, as gives us breath:
Such a Truth, as ends all strife:
Such a Life, as killeth death.

Come, my Light my Feast my Strength:
Such a Light, as shows a feast:
Such a Feast as mends in length:
Such a Strength, as makes his guest.
Come, my Joy, my Love, my Heart:
Such a Joy, as none can move:
Such a Love, as none can part:
Such a Heart, as joys in love.

In contrast, The Call, scored for baritone solo and orchestra, is a model of restraint and simplicity. Its lovely modal melody, which rises to a dignified climax in the harmonically more adventurous final verse, evokes medieval plainsong, and its melismatic cadences seem absolutely right for the poet's timeless message.

V Antiphon
Let all the world in every corner sing,
My God and King.

The heav'ns are not too high,
His praise may thither fly:
The earth is not too low,
His praises there may grow.

Let all the world in every corner sing,
My God and King.

The church with psalms must shout,
No door can keep them out:
But above all, the heart
Must bear the longest part.

Let all the world in every corner sing,
My God and King.

George Herbert (1593-1633)

The exuberant final movement, scored for chorus and orchestra is an irrepressible expression of unanimity. This bustling paean of praise with perpetuum mobile quavers and orchestral bell effects, is in the ebullient style that became a hallmark of the composer in such works as the opening of Hodie and the Finale of his Symphony No. 8. A firm favourite with audiences from its first performance in 1911, it was cited as evidence that Vaughan Williams had indeed 'arrived' as a composer and was worthy of inheriting the mantle of such illustrious musical forbears Lawes and Purcell.

© J. S. Whitehead 2003